Page 19 of Pursuing the Egoist
“Yes, but…”
“What time did he leave?”
“Four AM. Quite a few stayed till morning.”
Locking his eyes with Greg’s, Yugo ordered as he got up, “Check the woman.”
A FEW HOURS LATER, GREGstumbled into his office—eyes dark, face pale. Offering Yugo another folder, he let his arms hang alongside his body, fists crumpling the tail of his jacket.
Flipping it open, Yugo worked his mouth. “I was right. It’s Lena Vogel, Sergen’s wife. What was she doing in that hotel?”
“This is where things get interesting. Her name isn’t on the records. I checked the security footage. She exited the elevator on the sixth floor and entered room 605. The room was fully paid for in cash and booked under the name Matilda Lang.” Greg plucked a USB flash drive out of his chest pocket and offered it to Yugo before resting his palms against the top of the desk. Craning his neck, he looked at the display from behind it. “This happened an hour later.”
Pushing the silver device into the slot, Yugo ran a single video file.
A long corridor, painted in plain beige, stretched far beyond the field of vision of the security camera but overlooked the door of room 605. In a few seconds, Leiris approached the door, glanced around, then knocked. The door opened, letting him in, then closed behind his back.
“Is that so…” Yugo lifted his hand to his mouth in a habitual gesture, and his sharp teeth squeezed the side of his thumb.
Working in distribution, Sergen was one of a few men with no direct supervisor, and he operated between the divisions, doing all kinds of odd jobs for everyone. Yugo remembered attending his wedding where he’d first seen Lena Vogel. He hadn’t stayed long, so was surprised he remembered her face years after. Yet here she was, inviting the police officer into a hotel room booked under a fake name.
“Tell Gustavo to leave Gaston alone. Burn Sergen instead. Start spinning his name to the media. Make him look bigger than he is,” Yugo said, clicking the replay button. He couldn’t see the face of the person who opened the door, but he saw a female hand and the grotesque wedding ring. “A man who can’t satisfy his wife and keep her in line is too weak for the organization.”
A sudden movement in front of him preceded a loud crash. Yugo frowned, glaring up from the screen. A mixture of confusion and annoyance bled through Greg’s features as he stared down at the scattered papers on the dark wooden floor.
“What’s wrong with you?” A low growl-like warning made its way into Yugo’s voice.
“Nothing…” Greg replied without looking up. Dropping to his knees, he gathered the papers; the back of his neck showed pink. Collecting the last sheets, Greg put them back on the desk.
“What’s going on?” Pressing his hands against the desk, Yugo got up and leaned forward, looking the man in the eye.
“Seriously, Boss, it’s nothing…” Greg’s bushy brows squashed together in a stubborn expression. Seconds stretched; the eye contact lasted.
Growing tired of this game, Yugo said, “Whatever you are dealing with—sort it out or take personal time. Your half-assed presence is annoying. If you can’t be here for me now, fuck off and don’t come back until this shit is sorted. Am I clear?”
Black eyes reflecting nothing, Greg nodded. “Don’t worry, Yugo. It’s really nothing.”
Greg rarely called him by his name. Ever since Yugo was a kid, Greg had always called him Boss. Jokingly, at first, then out of a habit, until it gradually adopted notes of respect. Yugo never minded the title, but whenever Greg called him by his first name, Yugo knew the man was serious.
“It better be,” Yugo said, not convinced at all.
Greg gave him a short nod of appreciation.
The soft backrest bounced beneath Yugo as he slumped back into his chair, eyes fixing on the messy pile of papers, but the way Greg’s shoulders relaxed under the baggy jacket didn’t escape his attention.
“What about him?” Snapping back into his usual, calm demeanor, Greg lifted his chin toward the pile of photographs.
Tapping the desk with his nails, Yugo looked at Leiris’ face. “Women like him, don’t they?”
“No wonder,” Greg said as he picked up one of the photographs from the desk, examining it. “He is a good-looking lad.”
“He is?” Yugo peered into Kuon’s features with renewed interest. Cut in a military-style, his hair was too short for Yugo’s liking. But now, looking closer, he noticed his eyes. Unlike his straightforward face, his dark-brown eyes were warm, promising. Still, the man didn’t suit Yugo’s taste. Too muscular, Leiris had already overstepped his twinkish years. Picking up another photograph, where the detective was captured from behind, he scrutinized his form. His ass was tight and firm, legs sinewy, and shoulders too broad. Yugo never lusted after the brawny type, preferring slender, smaller men with smooth skin and no body hair. Nevertheless, he had to agree with Greg, from the general point of view, Leiris was rather handsome.
“Do you think she is sleeping with him?”
“Maybe?”
“If not that, what on earth could he promise her? She has everything. He has nothing.”
