| |
The music was deafening in the strip club. The tattooed man signaled for a waitress. He was in a sour mood and beginning to hate his favorite strip joint. They needed some new women. All these women were old, nasty skags.
A waitress with big hair and big boobs sauntered over and knelt down, her breasts in his face, “What can I getcha, honey? That’s a great tattoo on your hand. Snake, right? It’s nice work,” she said as she admired his ink.
The man nodded, “Git me a beer, a tall one, now.”
The waitress smiled at him. “You been in before?”
He nodded. “Yeah, lotsa times.”
“Well,” she purred in his ear, “You’re new to me, and I love the colors in your tattoo, and you look really hot in those scrubs. You work over at the hospital?” she asked in her most sexy purr.
“Yeah,” he roared. “Leave me alone, I’m gonna use the phone.”
The waitress scurried off, angry with her head held high. What a bastard. Maybe I’ll spit in his beer.
“Man, you there?” the tattooed man spat into the phone, his face in a snarl as he watched the retreating back of the waitress, who he’d most likely pissed off.
“Yeah, where’re you?” Oleg asked with an impatient edge.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he barked. “Did you call that crazy woman from his office ...the ugly one he sleeps with?”
“Who?” Oleg was clueless. “The mistress? I can’t find her.”
Tattoo man was impatient as he watched all shapes and sizes of women bump and grind at the bar. He had work to do, and it was cold and he was sick of screwing around with stupid people. “The one that’s the office manager, the psycho bitch.”
Oleg was quiet for a second. “The office manager. Can’t find her.”
“Where the hell is Smirkowitz?” Tattoo asked.
“Smirkowitz is missing. I just learned about the office mistress, but I don’t know much about her,” Oleg admitted. “I’d never heard of this until today.
“She lives somewhere in the area on a farm. She is part of some religious group, but I also heard she is crazy,” Tattoo added. “Why don’t you know about her?”
Oleg was speechless. “I had no idea. How do I reach her?”
The tattooed man was irritated. His voice dripped with mockery. “What the hell, Branislava? Aren’t you Smirkowitz’s handler? Haven’t you been his handler forever?” Tattoo’s voice taunted him.
Oleg didn’t reply, but he was angry. He didn’t consider this man his equal, “Yeah, asshole, I’m his handler and have been for four years. No one ever told me about a mistress. Why didn’t you tell me? You’re the grunt and you’re supposed to report in.” Oleg was fuming, ready for a fight. He’d never liked the cocky low-life guy he was working with now. He wasn’t Bratva, just hired muscle.
Tattoo examined his snake-tattooed hand and replied. “Nah, not now, but you’re incompetent. How can I know about the woman and you not know?” the man asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
Oleg was furious. “Just get the women, and get them to the rendezvous place tonight. Or you’ll pay with your life when I tell Dimitri you’re responsible,” he promised.
“And just how in the hell do—”
“Figure it out,” Oleg hissed as he hung up the phone.