The Time Stoppe(11)

“An accusation?” I try not to sound challenging—a task I, admittedly, have trouble with on occasion.

“Our comrade here told me some disturbing things about you.” Victor leans against a table, arms crossed. “He claims that you work with the cops as a snitch, or worse, that you’re a cop yourself.”

“What?” I didn’t expect that, and I don’t have any clever, or even dumb, comebacks for him. “What are you talking about?”

“He said you’d deny it.” Victor picks up a shot glass that’s been standing on his desk and downs the contents in one gulp. “But his story is rather persuasive, so I figured we should talk.”

This is bad. If Victor really believes this, I’m as good as dead. He wouldn’t threaten a cop and let her live. Then again, if he truly believed I was a cop, given what I know of Victor, I would already be dead. I debate Splitting and Reading him to figure out what’s what, but decide against it. After yesterday, my Depth is fairly low, even if some was recovered in the twenty-four hours that have passed. Still, if I overuse it, I’ll go Inert and be unable to Split for many days.

“I’m not a cop.” I start to fold my arms in front of my chest, realize it’s a defensive gesture, and run my hands through my hair instead. “That’s a ridiculous notion that only that syphilitic excuse for a brain could’ve come up with—”

“Suka.” The Russian insult comes out of Shkillet with a snarl.

“I thought I told you to shut it.” Victor points one threatening finger at Shkillet. “It’s not that ridiculous, my dear. He says cops—your colleagues—did that to his face.”

“Cops didn’t do it. I did.”

“I wasn’t done.” Now I’m the recipient of Victor’s threatening finger. “What he said is just a piece of the puzzle, you see. After that last game yesterday, I asked around.”

“And?” I ask, not liking where this is going.

“And you do have a tendency to . . . How should I put this delicately? To ask some odd questions during pillow talk.”

Shkillet sneers, and I try not to blush. It’s true that I’ve slept with a few gangsters. No one too monstrous, mind you, but definitely bad boys. I didn’t do it just to get information, though. I was attracted to them—though I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse. Yeah, I did end up asking about explosion experts when a good moment presented itself, and if it just happened to be post-coitus . . . Well, that’s when most men seem to let their guard down.

“I’m just interested in certain things.” I shrug. “Maybe I’m looking for someone to do a job for me. To settle a score. That doesn’t make me a cop.”

Victor stares at me. I meet his gaze. I’m determined not to show any weakness. And right now, my knees are feeling pretty weak. I don’t know what Victor has up his proverbial sleeve, and I don’t know where he’s going with this. I do much better when I have all the information.

“There’s also the matter of your name. You claim it’s Ilona, but we both know that you also go by Mira and Yulia and a bunch of others.”

Crap. Where did he get that from? I thought I’d covered my tracks well. Changing my name was actually for my brother’s sake, the going theory being that whoever killed Dad, if controlled by a Pusher, would want Eugene dead as well. But I can’t exactly tell Victor that.

“I win large sums of money.” I think really hard and really quickly, something I’ve learned to be good at. “Not just from you, but other legal venues as well. You can check with your people in Vegas. Given that, I think it’s only natural for me to want to retain some anonymity.”

“I can see that. To a point.” Victor takes a big bottle of vodka and refills his shot glass. “But you must see how, bundled together, this doesn’t look good.”

“No, I don’t agree.” I shift my weight from one foot to another. “I’d make the worst, most conspicuous undercover cop in the history of undercover work. I mean, I’m usually the only woman at those games. I stick out like a sore thumb.”

“She has a point there.” Victor waves his shot glass in Shkillet’s direction. “Even if I’d use a prettier metaphor to describe her.”

“Why are you even listening to her?” Shkillet says in frustration. “She’ll say anything to get out of here with her head still attached.”

“Because something more is going on here.” Victor downs the shot he’s been holding. “And I find this one rather interesting.”

“Then let me make her talk.” Shkillet takes his knife out, his hands practically shaking with eagerness. “Two minutes, and she’ll admit that she’s a cop, just like I say she is.”

“We’ll talk about you sneaking a weapon into this establishment in a moment.” Victor gives him a furious look. “First, I want to point something out to you. I ask the questions. I don’t need your help. I’m a good judge of people, and I know she’s hiding something. But I also think you’re not telling everything.”

“Oh, he’s hiding things from you,” I say, deciding to escalate matters.

“Is that so?” Victor raises his eyebrows, as if I can’t possibly know what I’m talking about. “What would he dare hide?”