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“Nyet.” Zigor shrugs. “They carry all my things for me. What not to like?”
I shift impatiently, checking the time on my phone. Jasper better not be dawdling in the depot office so he can avoid Zigor’s jokes.
“How much longer till the driver gets here?” I ask.
I want to get back to the lab.
“Ten minutes.”
“You said that twenty minutes ago.”
In response, Zigor pulls out a toothpick and starts picking his teeth. He does this with maximum smacking and clicking sounds, leering at me the whole time.
“Where you get those pants?” he says. “I like.”
“Honestly, Zigor, your approbation is an insult. Knowing you like them makes me like them less.”
He stares at me a minute, then bursts into braying laughter. The Bookends smile too, but only because they think they’re supposed to. I’m pretty sure neither one of them speaks English.
“Funny girl,” Zigor says.
Luckily Jasper reappears before Zigor can ask me on another date. He’s been trying to pressure me into coming out for a drink every time I see him. I told this to Adrik, hoping he’d murder him, but Adrik’s shocking lack of jealousy continues. He only laughed and said, “Zigor’s a lightweight. He’d probably pass out on the table after two shots.”
At last our truck arrives. We’ve paid for the use of the most distant loading bay, the one where the cameras don’t work.
Jasper drives the SUV right up to the back of the truck.
The Bookends help with the unpacking. This takes longer than expected because this time the product is hidden inside the frames of several treadmills. We have to take the machines apart using wrenches and Allen keys.
When we’re finished, Jasper and I climb back into the SUV, planning to drive the product back to the lab.
Zigor jumps in the backseat. “I come with you.”
“That’s not necessary—” Jasper starts.
“Filipp and Georgiy will follow,” Zigor says placidly.
Seized by an evil impulse, I ask Zigor, “What’s your favorite song? I’ll DJ.”
“You haveHard Bass School?”
“Of course.” I find it on Spotify. “That’s Jasper’s favorite.”
I play what is commonly known as the “gopniknational anthem” at top volume. It’s a pounding, repetitive, ass-fuck of a song, the Russian equivalent ofGangnam Styleif it were sung by squatting thugs in tracksuits.
Jasper turns and stares at me silently.
I promised Adrik I would be nice to Jasper … but I also promised myself not to let opportunities pass me by. And this is the perfect opportunity to give Jasper an aneurysm.
“You want it on repeat?” I say to Zigor.
“Da!This song best song, can never play too much.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Narkotik ne klass
Ya yedu na hard bass!
