Val Karren - The Deceit of Riches

Del now took a chair and leaned towards me over the table. “No, they didn’t demand a thing. In fact, they just yelled and hollered in Russian at us about how they could break our legs or bash in our skulls if they wanted to. Isn’t that right, Love?”

“You know I don’t speak a word of this language, Blue-Eyes,” and then Els turned to me and said very matter of fact, “…but it’s true, they seemed very threatening and intimidating, but they didn’t lay a hand on us,” was Els’ theatrical reply.

“The two of you are absolutely nuts!” I laughed. “So that panic button is because you’re not worried they might come back? And that steel door is because…”

“Those, my friend, are a gift from the chief of police! He insisted.” Del put on a voice to mock his high connections in the city.

“And the squad car downstairs I guess was his idea as well?” I challenged.

“Yep, he wants to make sure that we are safe and snug,” Els said as she sat to wait for the stew to simmer.

Del did away with the acting and said in a serious tone, “Look, kid, whenever you do business in Russia, it’s never what it seems. The goons that broke in here were wannabes. They couldn’t have intimidated an old lady. They were scripted. They were obviously told not to hurt us but show us that we are vulnerable. They didn’t even try to steal anything, didn’t even ask if I had money in the house, which I don’t. We didn’t say anything. They did their thing and then they left and smashed a lamp and a glass or two on their way out. I almost laughed out loud at them.”

“What’s that all about then?” I was puzzled.

“It’s so that the police can put a tail on me and watch everywhere I go. They create a threat, make a show of how they are protecting me and insist that they send a squad car with me everywhere I go. Somebody is trying again to muscle in on the project and they think that if they know where I go in the daytime that they’ll be able to eventually push me out and take over with my contacts. The goons in Moscow were much better at this than the provincial boys,” he said leaning back in his chair.

“Misha told me that you were being protected by the mayor, why has this changed all the sudden?” I spoke out of turn.

“Hmmm… he shouldn’t have told you that,” Del scowled. “Listen, things here are always changing. You can’t ever get too comfortable. It’s like I told you earlier, you need to be ready to walk away at any given moment. When it gets too dangerous, we will do the same. Don’t ever trust anybody in business here, not even the mayor or the chief of police. Everybody has their price.”

“Am I in danger?” I asked directly.

“I don’t believe so. If it gets so far that I have any suspicions I will let you know and we will stop the project,” he assured me.

“OK, agreed,” I nodded in agreement, but felt an uneasy feeling come over me, making a knot in my stomach

“So, let’s eat!” Del said as he dished out potatoes and gravy.

After dinner, we sat in the living room and went over the notes of my interview with Mr. P. Del had obviously seen these types of characters in the past, up close and personal from the sounds of it so I was counting on him being able to help me see this character in the full light of day.

With my notebook resting on the arm of the couch, my pen behind my ear and another in the corner of mouth to chew on, I started. “I have the impression that I have chosen the wrong man to prove my model of how illegal money influences government policies… in the new Russia.”

“What makes you think he’s legit?” Del never minced his words. He knew how to go right to the core of the question.

“Well, it’s not a matter of him being honest and moral, I saw the drugs and girls going around that club. I’m not trying to be the vice squad here. It’s obvious a number of his current activities are obviously illegal, everybody thinks he runs the local protection rackets, but he seems to be against the idea of making himself richer at the cost of Russia’s future. He’s not out to rob the people or the land itself and move his wealth out of our Russia. He’s set to keep it all right here, create jobs, he says,” It sounded to myself that I was advocating for Mr. P. I was a bit taken back by it.

“How did he get his start?” Del looked pensive, looking through me.

“He was a young man distributing car parts to taxi garages and mechanics in 1989 and then it grew into importing cars from Germany,” I explained.

“Stolen car parts and stolen cars?” again Del went to the heart of the matter.

“He says he paid for them but admitted that he wasn’t paying full value as nobody then knew how to price anything in those years,” I apologized.

“You mean the car parts?” Del pushed.

“Yes, that’s correct. He didn’t say anything specifically about the imported cars from Germany.”

I was flipping through my first page of notes to perhaps jar my memory. I chewed hungrily on the pen in my mouth.

“I can assure you that he was part of a wider gang that was stealing cars in East and West Germany in the 1990s. They would put them in chop shops protected by the Red Army garrisons. The cars would be disassembled and smuggled through Poland as parts and reassembled in Russia in garages. The goons would then pay off the local traffic cops to get them Russian license plates and sell them for a huge profit here in Russia, and all over Eastern Europe. The Russians are very ingenious and industrious that way,” Del was painting a grandiose picture for me.

“He told me about crossing the border from Finland and paying off the border and customs controllers. He said he had a license for importing, so it sounds half legal. What was his quote… ‘It was all lawful, but they still had the guns, and so we had to help take care of them,’ or something like that.” I looked up puzzled from my notes.

“I wasn’t aware of any smuggling going on at the Finnish border. The Finns have always been above board. They tried really hard to stay out of that mess.” Del mumbled.

I moved the discussion along, “Well, anyhow, after a while their Russian car parts business got found out and the flow stopped from the local factory, but eventually he said they got it back because the factory director couldn’t penetrate his market and that his customers wouldn’t buy from the factory manager.”

“Kid, you what that means right?” Del sat up in his chair like a prairie dog had just heard a hawk in the sky.

“I can only think that to mean that he sent his thugs around to the garages and told them that if they ordered their parts from anyplace else the place would be burned down, fingers broken and the like,” I guessed.

“That’s exactly what that means,” he was almost sitting on the edge of his chair. “Oh yes, you’ve got a live one on the line, my friend.”

“Del,” I lowered my voice, “there is something else. You’re not going to like it.”

“C’mon boy out with it, what is there not to like?” he was getting really excited.

“Well. I asked him further what plans he has to grow his current businesses. We talked about him buying up retails stores for electronics and food, groceries and about the new supply chains he is building etcetera, etcetera, but then the topic of his night club came up, you know the one in the old church aways up the road here?” I was pointing out toward the river, motioning eastward, waiting for Del to start to piece things together himself.

“You mean the old church out by our building site?” Del didn’t have an idea of what was coming.

“Yes, that’s the one. Mr. P. is also planning an expansion of his night club into a casino and hotel on nearly the same site…” I held my breath to see what his reaction would be.