Peter Pišt'anek - Rivers of Babylon

“It’s a brilliant idea, chief!” Tupý smiled.

Both subordinates were shaking and yawning with impatience.

It only took a few hours of hanging around the Hotel Ambassador, standing under the plane trees and drinking coffee in the hotel bar and keeping their trained secret-police ears alert to work out what was worrying the Albanians, the gypsies, and the Slovak currency dealers. All the hustlers were angry with an unknown smart-alick who’d neatly jumped the queue and grabbed the foreign currency right from under their noses. Šolik and Tupý conveyed this information to their chief in the conspiratorial villa. When Mozoň found out that his subordinates hadn’t brought any money with them, he got really angry. Šolik and Tupý had to explain everything in detail.

“Well then, let’s squeeze that bloke! The one buying all the currency. That’d be a great catch!”

“Yes, chief,” Šolik nodded and sighed. “But how do we find him? He doesn’t operate near the hotel. If he did, he’d have been lynched a long time ago.”

“Do I have to think of everything?” Mozoň complained and got up from his chair. He began pacing the room with long strides. He stopped by the window and looked onto the street. “I’ve got it,” he said after a while. “We’ve got to find out where the mystery man does his dirty deals. We’ve got to find the point where he comes into contact with foreigners and buys their money. That’s where we’ve got to catch him. All clear to you now?”

“Yes,” agreed Tupý uncertainly.

“No,” confessed Šolik.

“You fools,” said Mozoň, and laughed. “How are we going to find the location? Simply by covering the itinerary a western tourist covers when he comes here. From customs to the hotel. Somewhere along this route our mystery man appears. You catch him and squeeze him hard. I mean, hard! And then, when you show him that there is a way he can get himself out of it, he’ll kiss both your hands. Now go! Go to the border crossing and elbow your way onto a bus. The customs officers will let you in when you show them the warrant cards. And if you don’t succeed on the first bus, get out and get on the next one. Repeat from the beginning. And don’t even think of coming back without money! Dismissed!”

That was a few days ago, and there’s still plenty of money left. Joy reigns in the safe house. There’s fine food and champagne from morning till knocking-off time. Waiting for the good old days to come back is much more pleasant now. Mozoň’s booming voice cheerfully reverberates through the rooms of the safe house.

“Only don’t let’s cock it all up, or blow money on stupid things,” Mozoň says firmly, but kindly when he spots Tupý bringing in a Lego set costing thirteen hundred crowns. However, at heart, Mozoň does not grudge his subordinates their naïve extravagance. Times are hard. Political change can’t be expected soon. Mozoň believes that shopping sprees help his subordinates keep up their ideology and morale, so he lets them shop. He’s reintroduced the ten-minute morale-boosters that he used to give his men when they first came to the safe house, and which he’d neglected when they suddenly became rich.

“Where did you get all this money?” Mozoň asks, expecting a familiar, often heard answer.

“It was a brilliant idea,” says Tupý.

“A brilliant idea to use those police warrant cards,” says Šolik.

“Really? Brilliant?” asks Mozoň. “And what do you two propose to do?” he rebukes them. His subordinates are taken aback. However, Mozoň continues to show his disappointment, saying that he does what he can. And if it weren’t for him, they’d have to go begging. Who’d employ them? They’ve got a dubious past. What’s more, they’re totally unskilled. Mozoň doesn’t mind admitting this about himself. He’s never done anything in his life. He was kicked out of Law Faculty after a couple of semesters. Then for three years he worked as a barman. Then he joined the Secret Police, State Security. But nobody can deny he did those two semesters. At least he’d been a student. And that is why he, Mozoň, is the chief and not Šolik, or heaven help us, Tupý! And as their superior officer, he orders them to go and do something.

“Like what?” Tupý asks.

“There are a lot of possibilities,” says Mozoň. They could go into the streets and find out the popular mood, listen to what people talk about, what they like and what they don’t like. Or get back to that hotel and try to squeeze some other hustler. Does Mozoň have to come up with all the ideas? Couldn’t they think of something, too? Does he have to lead them by the hand all the time? They’re on enemy territory and they must never forget it! They should act accordingly. They’re at war. It’s a war without trenches or shooting. It’s a battle of wits. Mozoň touches his forehead meaningfully. Šolik and Tupý are both puffed with pride. They’ve never looked at their pathetic existence from that angle. “Victory is assured,” said Mozoň, “but everyone has to contribute.” Above all, they have to think for themselves, so that he doesn’t have to do all the thinking and plotting by himself! Where would Šolik and Tupý be without him? Yes, up shit creek!

* * *

Another early morning, and Rácz has put in a lot of useful work. First, the cops dealing with the Ambassador Hotel area showed up. A big raid on currency dealers was planned in two days’ time. Rácz should take care and warn his people about the threat. When it happens, the local cops won’t be able to help: special police from Prague will be carrying out the raid. The fat cop throws up his hands helplessly. Rácz is quiet and reflects. Certainly, he has to warn his own people. He doesn’t know if he should alert that bastard, Video Urban. He’s still furious with him for not revealing where he’d got currency for a whole week. But that’s not the point: over the last few days things have gone back to normal. Buses come to the hotel with currency not yet changed and the Albanians are busy again. Urban has disappeared somewhere. Rácz will think about letting Urban know of the risk, or fall into the hands of the Prague cops.

The fat cop seemed a bit ruffled, as if he had more to say.

“Well, what is it,” asks Rácz.

“You know, boss,” says the policeman, “how can I put it? Time is passing. It’s the twentieth of the month already.”

“So?” asks Rácz.

The policeman clears his throat. “You promised to keep us in mind. Christmas is coming… the bonus… the Christmas bonus.”

“Rácz doesn’t forget,” says Rácz. “If he makes a promise, he keeps it. He doesn’t need some pavement plodder to remind him of his promises!”

The policeman flushes red and lifts both arms in apology. Rácz reaches into his pocket and takes out an envelope. “Here you are,” he says, “a little bit extra. Share it out.”

Then Rácz goes and takes his seat at the bar. He orders vodka and waits for Khunt, the money dealer. Rácz gives Khunt the key to the hotel’s Renault minibus: in it are boxes of poor quality imitation Omega, Breitling and other watches. Fools and people who don’t know any better will fall for them. They have to be sold.

“I want X crowns,” says Rácz. Anything over that sum is Khunt’s. He can sell for as much as he wants. But that’s not all. Rácz takes out a list. He’s also got Denon and Sony cassettes. Obvious fakes. Cheap fakes from Hong Kong. Rácz doesn’t know much about them. He only knows the price. He knows how much he wants for them. If Khunt is interested, they have a deal.

Khunt agrees. He won’t say no. But he has to think a bit about it. For the time being, he wants to see the watches. If he likes them, he’ll buy the lot. He grabs the minibus key and gets up. He goes off to have a look.