“Have a seat.” Smith removes his hat and approaches the desk of the older, still well-built man. There’s a plain wooden chair with its back to him, which he withdraws from…

A pile of rubble – charred bricks, shards of glass, and a mangled metal construction frame – occupies the small plot on Pushkinskaya Street in the center of Kyiv, where…

“Hello Stephan, you’re looking well… I almost didn’t recognize you.” … “Would you like some lemonade… just made?” … “Never were much of a talker, were you, son? Oh, don’t worry…

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…