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“Professor Yenin?” I raise an eyebrow. “I wonder if he knows he’s gonna have to answer questions and maybe say hello to people once in a while.”
Jasper gives a ghost of a smile, crushing his roll-up into the ashtray with his bare thumb. “I doubt that’s in his contract.”
Adrik returns with four shots and four foaming mugs of beer, thumping them down on the table.
“Time to get serious.”
The three guys hold their shots over the steins, counting down:Tri, Dva, Odin!I drop my own shot into the foam and we chug the mess down, warm and frothing because Russians, like Europeans, haven’t committed to chilling their beer.
Jasper finishes first, Adrik next, then me. The three of us pound the table with our fists, bellowing at Vlad as he sputters and spills, trying to get the last of it down the hatch.
“Mocha, blyat,” he grouses.
It doesn’t taste great, but the liquor sends a wave of warmth surging through my body, aided by Jasper’s spliff.
Adrik motions to the bartender for another round.
I know what he’s doing—and it just might work. Vlad is already relaxing in his chair, his big legs sprawled out in front of him, his face flushed and mellow.
“You ever see them live?” I ask, nodding to his t-shirt.
“Once—in Berlin.”
“My dad saw them play at Slane Castle.”
“Oh yeah?” he leans forward, resting his beefy elbows on the table. “Some people say that was their best show.”
“Are you one of those people?”
“No. I think it was Montreal in ’06.”
“How do you know?”
“ ’Cause I’ve watched every show they ever played on YouTube.”
Vlad has a slow and simple way of speaking, but I’m realizing he’s not an idiot. Or at least, not all the time. We get in a mostly good-natured argument over whether you can judge a live show from a recording, while Adrik quizzes Jasper about his new bike.
“How’s the KTM?” Adrik asks Jasper.
“Something’s rattling when I accelerate too hard.”
“Chief look at it?”
“Yeah—he can’t figure it out either.”
“You gonna take it in?”
“I guess.”
Adrik glances at me.
I could offer to fix it. But I don’t know if I want to extend a favor to Jasper just yet. I stay silent, and Adrik doesn’t suggest it for me.
The club is filling up, all the tables stuffed now, as well as every seat along the bar. I’ve been keeping an eye on Neve Markov’s party in case Ilsa happens to join them. I haven’t told Ilsa that I’m in Moscow—I haven’t told anyone yet, besides my parents.
A cluster of girls are dancing, slow and lazy, in the small space without tables that functions as a dance floor. I would guess they’re escorts, judging from the skin-tight mini-dresses barely covering their asscheeks. They’re all so young and pretty that if I saw them in a club in LA, I would think they were models or actresses. But that’s how it is here, as far as I can tell—too many stunning women everywhere you look, a common commodity, cheap as vodka.
Vlad watches the girls furtively.
