Kyiv, June 23: The so-called Hasidic Strip Bar in Kyiv’s Podil District has been shut down, lowering the heat on simmering interfaith animosity and offering hope that a string of murders…

“Have you got the paperwork on that new guy?” “He’s no longer with us.” “What do you mean he’s no longer with us? He was only just hired.” “Dickerson canned…

“It was that punk, Kowalski.” “How do you know?” “I picked up a tip while on ice.” “On Frunze?” “That’s right.” Dickerson had read Smith’s last report, which clearly included…

“Are you Welsh Losser?” “No… no, NOOOO!” The room grows silent, then dark, as if nobody’s there. When illumination resumes, the strangely familiar scene of The Checkout kitchen takes hold…

“Good morning, everyone!” “And welcome to The Welsh Losser Emporium for middle-aged clothes-conscious men.” “Hi, I’m Hal Halfbit” “And I’m Judy McFarland… from America’s Newsroom.” But where’s Welsh Losser, PR…

JS: Ok, Dirk, so tell it like it was. DD: Ok, I will. Your regular readers can rest assured that the last piece I’m on record as writing for Kyiv…

“Hey Steve, spiff up that promo piece for the Silver School of English,” shouts the editor. It’s freezing in the newsroom, so Kowalski’s got a knit cap pulled down over…

John Smith enters the broken-up and frozen-over flat of his colleague Detective Dirk Dickerson through the window. Smith uses a penknife to pry open the window frame, then props it…

The one-room flat in Podil is iced over from the floor up. The window is shattered from something heavy thrown through it.  A snowdrift has begun to accumulate. White powder…

There’s a feeble green light visible through the crack under the door. Otherwise, it looks completely dark in there. There’s no sound from the other side either, except a faint clicking…