Peter Pišt'anek - Rivers of Babylon

Urban clears his throat. “That’s all very well,” he says. Urban is glad Rácz is thinking so far ahead. After all, the situation is changing at incredible speed. What was unthinkable just two or three months ago is now quite simple. But Urban can’t understand where he comes into this.

The stoker offers Urban a cigarette and gives him a light. Rácz was thinking of Urban when he spoke about a creative employee. Ďula is an idiot. Rácz hates doing the rounds of government offices. And besides, quite frankly, he doesn’t feel like it. And now’s the time when you have to run round government offices. Rácz wants to buy the hotel. That has to be done somehow. He’s got the money. Urban will be able to buy the whole government, if need be. Besides, Rácz believes that Urban has all the necessary charm and can express himself well. He can get access anywhere. And he’ll never regret it. Rácz is offering him a good position. A salary he’s never dreamt of. He can start immediately: unofficially, for the time being, as Rácz himself is still registered as a stoker. They’ll sign a contract afterwards. Rácz is straight: he says what he thinks. “Well then?”

Urban shakes his head. He doesn’t know if he’s the right man for this kind of work. He will, of course, think Rácz’s offer over. But he can’t give him an answer off the cuff.

Rácz gets upset. His face goes red. “What?” He can’t understand. A firm offer like this needs thinking over? Hasn’t Rácz made himself clear? He is, after all, offering Urban a solid position in Rácz’s future company. Urban will never have to hustle as a foreign currency dealer, or make videos of children’s idiotic smiles, or pimp two whores. And if this isn’t good enough, then Rácz really doesn’t know what is!

Finally he wins Urban over. They drink to it. Rácz smiles contentedly. The two of them, Rácz and Urban, will show everybody. Nobody can hold a candle to them! Then there’s another topic, more of a personal nature. Rácz ought to buy a good car. Not a Škoda, or cheap Mercedes that stupid butchers buy to pretend that they amount to something! Rácz wants something really luxurious. He has money, though not to throw about. But he’ll pay good money for a good car. Does Urban know of anything suitable?

Urban has a good think. Yes, there is something he might know of. Khunt is selling a beautiful Volvo. It’s a big luxury saloon. If Rácz likes, Urban will arrange it.

Rácz nods. He’s interested. And the third thing, a more or less personal request: could Urban lend him a few books about art, culture, and so on? Rácz would like to read something about painters, writers, and that sort of thing. But not a big fat book. Rácz doesn’t have the time for that. Something in a nutshell.

Urban bursts with suppressed laughter. Yes, Urban will look out for something. Certainly.

Rácz mutters approvingly. And to get back to the main thing: Urban must keep himself free for tomorrow. Dealing with the bureaucrats will have to begin. He’ll have to find out what possibilities there are of buying the Hotel Ambassador. Rácz falls silent. “And now, let’s drink to it.” Then he adds, “To all of it!”

* * *

Mozoň is unhappy. Everything happened so quickly that he couldn’t even use the anæsthetic injection, or give a signal to his two subordinates hanging around the snack bar in front of the hotel. He was listening at the door of Rácz’s suite when the door opened, Rácz himself came out and, without bothering to explain himself, dragged Mozoň in by his hair. The first blow of Rácz’s fist knocked out the former secret policeman’s self-confidence, the next took away his ability to use the self-defence moves he’d been taught, and a mighty kick in the testicles finally forced him to whine and beg for mercy. “Mercy!” he whimpered. “Mercy!”

Rácz stands over him proudly, his fists clenched. Ďula kneels over Mozoň, finishing a tight knot. The secret policeman is trussed as tightly as a rolled ham.

“Well?” asks the stoker. “Why are you spying? What are you looking for here?”

Mozoň is silent. He reflects on what he’s done wrong. Until now he’s been sure that he was behaving circumspectly and vigilantly. Now he feels like a boy caught masturbating. Rácz bangs his fist on the little table.

“Answer!” he yells.

“Answer!” Ďula repeats and shakes their tied up captive.

Mozoň licks his dry lips. “I just happened to be passing. I heard talking. I couldn’t resist…”

“Liar!” the stoker shouts at him. “We’ve been watching you for several days. You’re as inconspicuous as a box of dynamite! I repeat: what are you doing here?”

Mozoň tries to collect some of his wits and says, “My name is Mugambia Bwawenu and I am a citizen of Mayoumbe!”

Rácz bursts out laughing. “Like fuck you are!” He walks up to the former secret policeman, spits on his hand and passes it over Mozoň’s face. “Aha!” he says, smiling, showing his dirty hand to Mozoň. “I’ll give you black man!”

Mozoň uses a momentary pause to invent an excuse. He clears his throat. “All right then,” he says with feigned resignation. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“You bet you will!” Rácz says and brings his clenched fist close to Mozoň’s nose: a fist clenched tightly like a stick of dynamite. “Smell it!” he orders.

Mozoň starts to talk. His name is Ščepán. He works as a bank clerk. He’s here incognito. It’s supposed to be a business trip. In fact, he came here to let off steam. He wanted to have a good time. You know, whores, and so on. He’s saved up some money. Not much. He’s put on the black man disguise because he’s heard that our whores can’t get enough of black men. But so far he hasn’t managed to pick up a single whore. He doesn’t seem to know how. But he does have money! Ščepán-Mozoň winks meaningfully, but Rácz’s metallic gaze is hard and merciless. Not a trace of understanding.

The stoker asks, “So you came here for the whores?”

Ščepán swallows and nods feverishly. “Yes, that’s it, actually.” That’s why Ščepán came. But, for God’s sake, his wife mustn’t find out. He never meant to spy on anyone. Never!

“Then why were you following me?” asks the stoker. “Why were you listening at the door?”

Ščepán, says Mozoň, wanted to contact the big man, Rácz. He wanted to ask if he’d take money to arrange a contact. Ščepán, knows that nothing happens without the big man Rácz’s say-so. So he wanted to talk to him man to man. Ščepán is innocent and utterly at Rácz’s mercy.

Rácz ponders. He doesn’t believe a single word the fake black man is telling him. He knows that some strange web of intrigue is being spun around him. He’s sure that the hotel lawyer is behind it. Ever since the lawyer refused Rácz’s invitation to the New Year’s Eve party, Rácz has had no illusions. He knows that he’s got an enemy. But the enemy has no way of getting at him; if Rácz falls, so does he. That’s why the lawyer is looking at various ways to get him. Rácz has heard rumours that the lawyer was aiming to become the manager of the hotel. It is also possible that the lawyer, on the other hand, knows of Rácz’s plan to buy the hotel. The lawyer hasn’t got the money to buy it, so he’s certainly trying something else. But what? This disguised black man, now grimacing with fear in his bonds, could be a link in a chain meant to shackle Rácz so that he can be thrown overboard. Rácz has to get to the mind behind the plot, to the lawyer himself. Only when he destroys the lawyer will Rácz be able to sleep soundly. But he can’t just make him disappear by locking him in the boiler-room. So he has to pretend that he believes Ščepán and has to let him go. Ščepán will lead him to the culprit. And when it turns out that the culprit really is the lawyer, Rácz will find a way of destroying him. And if it’s someone else, Rácz will at least find out who else is undermining him. Rácz can’t afford to be hot-tempered or impatient. His ambitions require a rather different stance: cunningly biding his time, swallowing his initial anger and delaying his relished vengeance until the very end, when it is more intense and exciting. So he overcomes his desire to yell at the fake black man he’s trussed up, clench his fists and tear him to pieces. Quite the opposite; he smiles and condescendingly asks him, “Whores? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’m the boss here! I’ll organize everything right now. You’ll be satisfied, Ščepán. And don’t be cross with us.”