Genie for Hire by Neil Plakcy Read Free Book Online Page B

bagel, lox and cream cheese,
and leaned back in his chair. Jimmy listened some more. “Yeah, he’ll even buy
you lunch.”
    “Thanks, pal,” Biff said, when Jimmy had slapped the phone
shut. “I don’t exactly have a bottomless expense account, you know.”
    “All part of my mission to put some fat on your bones,”
Jimmy said. “You’re too fit, you know that? Meet him at this Cuban dive near
his office. La Guajira. One o’clock.”
    They finished eating, talking about Jimmy’s wife, the
poodle, and the lousy rain the week before. As they walked out together, Jimmy
said, “Watch your back. These Russian guys, they’re trouble.”
    “Thanks, Jimmy. I’ll talk to your guy, let you know how it
all spins out.”
    Biff left the bagel shop and walked along the winding
sidewalk, so caught up in his brain that he narrowly missed being hit by a
falling palm frond. When he reached the Aventura Beach Shopping Center, he
passed his own office, only touching the painted eye on the glass door,
continuing to Sveta’s studio. “Mr. Andromeda! You have found my files?” she
asked, as he walked in.
    She was sitting at a table in the front of the studio,
sewing the leg back on a plush stuffed dog.
    “I believe so.” He handed her the jump drive, and she got up
and led him through a beaded curtain back to the workroom. She slid the drive
into her laptop and called up Photoshop.
    The shots of Douschka Ovetschkin were even more beautiful
when properly displayed. Even Biff, who had been around the block a few times,
was impressed with her. The see-through negligee she wore, covering a black bra
and panties, didn’t hurt either. They were not pornography; Douschka was never
naked, and the photos were all in good taste. They were designed to enhance her
beauty, not cheapen it. A lesser photographer might have made her look like a
cheap hooker; instead, Sveta had taken a beautiful woman and turned her into a
goddess.
    “How I can thank you!” Sveta turned to Biff and kissed him
on the cheek, stepping up on her tip-toes to reach. Without even thinking, he
identified her perfume, Jean Paul Gaultier’s Classique. He also noticed the way
she bunched up her girls so that they flowed out of her blouse.
    When she landed on her feet again, she said, “How much do I
owe you for this great service?”
    “Nothing. I collected my fee from the thief.” He reached
into his pocket and retrieved the check she had given him as a retainer. “You
can have this back, too.”
    She squealed with delight as she took the check back. “How
nice!”
    He walked back outside, then down the sidewalk to his office.
He brewed himself a cup of coconut aloha tea and then wrote up notes on the
case for his file, saving the document in a folder on his hard drive called
Closed Cases.
    All he had to do was talk to the ATF agent and pass on what
he’d learned, and then he could put the whole business behind him. The AK-47s
and whatever else Kiril Ovetschkin was up to would be someone else’s problem.

5 –
La Guajira
    It was closing in on noon, and Biff had a long, tedious
drive diagonally across the county to reach La Guajira, the restaurant where he
was to meet the ATF agent. He went west on Miami Gardens Drive, through miles
of urban sprawl, the roadside dotted with insurance offices, mobile phone
stores, and check-cashing operations. Oh, for a couple of good alligators, he
thought, as he reached the Turnpike entrance. Wipe out a lot of the population,
let the Everglades claim the land again.
    But that would mean less business for a private
investigator. He shrugged. It was the way the world was.
    He used the mindless drive south on the Turnpike to think
through the case. Where could the files be? His search the night before had
established that they weren’t in Igor Laskin’s apartment. Did Laskin have an
office? A safe deposit box? Had he given them to his girlfriend Natasha for
safe keeping?
    He pulled up in front of La Guajira a few minutes