The former Party boss held a certain appreciation for Valovs superior operational skills but also harbored a slight fear due to the absence of compromising information on him. Consequently, their interactions were infrequent. Although the major had a direct superior, that person had recently gone on vacation, leaving Valov in charge. After explaining his request, the General leaned over to read the contents of the personal file.
Valov had made a peculiar request to seek approval for hiring the nephew of the informant named Larin as a porter. Larin, whose real name is Vlad Klimov, himself worked as a bartender in the departure zone of Sheremetyevo-2 and implored Valov not to obstruct his nephews employment. Larin had already handled all the necessary paperwork with the airport management using his connections, and the only remaining step was to secure the Committees approval.
I dont quite understand why he wants a relative to work there. And I understand even less why we need him, the General emphasized the word we.
Theres nothing illogical about it, the major responded quietly. There isnt a single shift change at the bar without shortages. The porters typically steal beer and cigarettes. They drink the beer and break the empty bottles so they can claim they were damaged in transit, and the cigarettes are simply smoked in the storage room, eliminating the need to carry them through the checkpoint. Sometimes they loosen the caps of the cognac bottles and extract ten or twenty grams. Currently, theyre short of a porter. All the shift bartenders have to come in an hour early and transport the goods themselves on carts they complain, but its better than shortages. A porter who doesnt drink and happens to be a relative of the senior bartender administrator is precisely what they need.
Well, what good is a teetotaling porter to us then? the General asked, once again emphasizing the word us.
None. But Larin wasnt rewarded at all for the mother-of-pearl icon case, the major replied.
Tsarevich Aleksey? the General became interested.
Yes, it all happened in his bar, and he was the one who provided the initial information, the major confirmed.
Right, but all the glory went to the Counter-smuggling team! He should be punished for this, the General exclaimed, laughing.
It had been a significant incident involving the wife of an African diplomat who had attempted to smuggle out an antique icon by strapping it between her legs and nearly strangling Officer Shubin from the Tenth Department (counter-smuggling) with his own tie. Many employees from the Tenth Department were rewarded, the woman was expelled from the country, and Sasha Shubin became the head of the department.
Well, I cant tell an informant that contraband isnt our job, that Department T and Department 10 are not the same, the major explained.
True, of course, the General agreed. But could he be revarded with money?
You clearly dont understand how much they make over there, Valov replied, daring to show a touch of insolence as he gazed out the window, his eyes filled with hatred. So let me tell you up to three hundred rubles a day! In just one day! And during the Olympics, that faggot managed to earn enough to buy a one-room cooperative apartment.
The general disliked Valovs tone and wanted to put him in his place, but Valov continued, The bartenders receive more tips in rubles and foreign currency in a five-day week than you and I together in a month. Theyre the ones who could motivate us with money.
Noticing the expression on the generals face, Valov fell silent.
Well, said the general, try to control your emotions and explain what you want from me. You could have approved the nephew yourself.
I cant. They are close relatives. The instruction states in special cases.
What instruction? the former Party member asked, immediately regretting his question.
Instruction Two Zero Sixty, the major replied in surprise.
Oh, youre a bitch, thought the general to himself. He was upset and changed the subject. Is he really a homo?
Yes. He was recruited in 1977 in an incident with his homosexual partner he was pulled out of the incarceration unit of the Zelenograd police department. Jealousy. Fight. Non-penetrating stab wound in the stomach.
I dont care for your attitude toward sources, pronounced the general in the officious tone of a former instructor of the Central Committee. But why so much hate? Why do you speak with such irritation about your own informant who has worked with you for years? Yes, sometimes they have a lot of money; yes, they are not awakened and called to report in the middle of the night as we sometimes are. They live materially better than us in some ways, but tell me honestly, would you change places with this Larin?
And again, the apparatchik realized he had blundered. After all, the informant was a homosexual. What a day!
NEPHEW AND UNCLE
Well, everything seems to be settled, said Vlad. You start work on Friday.
Dimas heart beat a tattoo what incredible luck! He had been living for four months in his uncles new cooperative apartment on Leningradskaya Street, a life he found quite pleasant. The apartment, although only one room, was quite large with a glassed-in balcony and a spacious kitchen.
Vlad had a custom-made sofa in the corner of the kitchen. One side of the sofa was wide, and the other side was narrow. This was where Dima slept and kept his clothes in large drawers. Vlad was rarely at home, and when he was, he usually played LPs on his expensive audio equipment and read Western magazines that foreign customers left at the bar.
After graduating with honors from the Moscow Institute for National Economics, Vlad quickly climbed the corporate ladder before becoming bored and requesting a transfer from the Moscow Food Production Center to manage a small café in the Moscow district of Izmailovo. His request was granted, and Vlad began to enjoy a life of freedom and good money.
Having been on the receiving end of fiscal reports for years, Vlad spent his evenings revising almost all his paperwork. An old accountant, Nina Ivanovna, had been asking for a pension for a long time, complaining of failing eyesight. Instead of a pension, the new manager started paying her a quarterly bonus and took over half of the accounts from her. The old lady could hardly believe her luck, and soon the enterprise began to function almost like a private business with neat reports and revenues just a little bit higher than those of the previous manager, while a significant portion was kept by Vlad.
The café didnt earn much, maybe a tenth of the culinary turnover, but by renting it out to the right people for weddings and birthday parties, the young manager made acquaintances. The food service also brought in a lot of money. Bones, for example, were a profitable commodity. Vlad received two small truckloads of bones per week from the meatpacking plant. He would bring his nephew, Dima, to the café to help and the two of them would trim the bones of cartilage and residual meat with special curved knives. These trimmings would then be used in meat pies and dumplings.
The unexpected arrival of his nephew pleased Vlad, not only because the boy was his only relative, but because Vlads own life had somehow stalled. Two years earlier, Vlad had experienced bouts of severe depression followed by some improvement, but the turbulent 1980 with the Moscow Olympics and the transition to work at Sheremetyevo, brought about a further improvement.