Kiev

A few days later, Dmitri was waiting impatiently for Sergei to pick him up at his flat for the long drive to Kiev. He was late.

‘Why did I agree to this?’ Dmitri wondered. ‘If I’m going to break the law then I should at least join a ‘gang’ that’s reliable’. He lit a cigarette, his second of the day. ‘On a normal day I don’t smoke,’ he told himself, ‘when I’m with Sergei I’m practically a chain smoker. This trip will take years off my life.’ He looked at his watch again. ‘Most of them spent waiting for him to show up.’

Dmitri toyed with the idea of phoning Sergei’s mobile, but decided against it. He had visions of Sergei crashing the car while trying to answer his phone. 

Finally a car horn hooted outside. Dmitri slung his rucksack on his back and locked the door behind him.

“What’s in the bag?” asked Sergei. “I thought we were picking up the loot in Kiev, not taking it with us.”

“You’re late,” said Dmitri, ignoring Sergei’s comments. “You said 8.00, it’s almost 9.00. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, we’ll never get there at this rate.”

“Relax Dmitri, it’s an eight hour drive, nine tops.”

“It is a ten hour drive Sergei, that’s if the traffic is kind to us. If you try and get there in eight I’m not going with you. The aim of this trip is to discreetly travel to Kiev, not to get our pictures in every newspaper in the world because you broke the land speed record en route. And the bag contains a change of clothes for our stay in Kiev. Where are your things?”

Sergei laughed. “You worry so much about everything, Dmitri. My things are on me, I’m wearing them.”

“The same clothes?”

“Why not? I’m not a fashion model.”

“It’s a ten hour drive each way. I dread to think what you’ll smell like by the end of the journey home. Think of your fellow traveller.”

“I told you Dmitri, it’s an eight hour drive each way, so no need to worry.”

“Ten. Or else I get out. What speed would you need for eight hours, about 100 mph? Can this car even go that fast?”

“You want to see?”

“No. This isn’t a game Sergei. It’s serious stuff. I’m taking a big risk for you. Just drive responsibly, don’t get stopped by the police.”

 

Sergei drove in silence for a while, as he negotiated the roads leading out of the city. A thought struck Dmitri? “Where are you shoes?”

“My shoes? Where do you think they are? They are on my head, I am wearing them as a hat. It is the latest thing.”

“I mean where is the consignment of shoes you are taking to Kiev? That’s the reason you were going.”

“No Dmitri, I am picking up the shoes in Kiev. I am using the money from the dividend.”

“But you didn’t know about the dividend when you planned the trip.”

“No, but I knew I would find the money. It is what I do.”

Dmitri took a road atlas out of his bag.

“I sketched out a route in case you forgot.”

“Relax, Dmitri. I have a sat nav, nearly new. Besides, I’ve driven to Kiev a dozen times.”

“So why have you just taken the turning to Moscow?”

“Ah, sorry Dmitri, I’ve done a lot of business in Russia recently. Force of habit. I shall turn around.  You know I enjoy driving, I sometimes think I could set up my own business.”

“You think there’s a market for drivers who can’t tell the difference between driving to Kiev and driving to Moscow.”

Sergei ignored the comment. “I’m a good driver, a fast driver when I’m allowed, and I can concentrate for a long time.”

 

“You Sergei? You’ve the attention span of a blink.”

“I can concentrate when I have to. I can drive for hours. I enjoy it.”

Sergei drove. As promised his concentration didn’t lapse, though he talked constantly, roving from topic to topic. Often Dmitri would have to remind Sergei where they were going, as he tended to want to turn off at random points on their journey. More frequently he would have to tell him to slow down.

“Can you stop some time, Segei. I need to phone the newspaper with tomorrow’s obituary.”

“I’m not stopping while you write an obituary,” said Segei. “We’ve got to get to Kiev today.”

“I’ve already written it. I just need to phone it through to the paper.”

“So I don’t need to stop. You can make the call while I’m driving.”

 

“No Sergei, I need to think Sergei, which means I need to be clear of your gabber and yabber.”

 

“I do not gabber.  I’m just a communicator, an open channel of ideas.”

“A channel you can’t switch off.  Like a broken television.”

“That’s what I like about you Dmitri. Anyone else would just moan at me, you manage to find something funny in everything, even your insults. Now for me a broken television would be one you couldn’t switch on, I wouldn’t mind if you couldn’t switch it off, that’s what the television’s for, to be on, to be making a noise.”

Eventually Sergei did what he was asked and stopped at a service station.

Dmitri was glad to get away from the car and stretch his legs. Sergei, he realised, had been talking constantly throughout the entire journey. Though the car park in the service station was busy, with traffic and people, it seemed the holiest temple of silence in comparison.

He phoned the Luhansk Ekspres and read the obituary he’d written the night before. In truth he had no need to do this, the paper had a dozen Café Boris obits in reserve in case Dmitri was ever ill, but he didn’t like to use these. He liked the fact that nobody knew what the next obit was going to say until he phoned it through the day before.  Doing a job lot of a dozen and then leaving it for a week or so never appealed to him. He was an artist, not a journalist, he told himself.

“Bohdan Gayuk, Duck impersonator, aged 89, died after being besieged by a flock of marauding mallards on way home, having entertained customers at Café Boris with his bird impressions.”

Dmitri circled the car park a couple of times before returning to the car. Sergei was on his mobile phone, talking about a business deal. He hung up as soon as he realised Dmitri was there.

The drive continued. Sergei noticed the number of broken street lights on the road; “There’s business to be had there Dmitri. I know a man who deals in lights. I just need the right contact at the Road Ministry.”

Further on, several hours into the journey, Sergei noticed the speed restrictions, as if for the first time. “Why do they say 60 miles per hour on a road like this. I’m driving at 80, I could easily drive at 100, completely safe. There must be some idiots on the road if they have to set the limits that low,”

 

A few miles further on Sergei noticed the number of cafes and service facilities around Charkiv: “Every hundred metres there’s another café. I could set up business here, as a wholesaler to these cafes. With my contacts I could undercut their current contractors, the money would just pour in.”

Sergei also observed the absence of service facilities around Izjum. “I could set up a café here, Dmitri, it’s been miles since we passed anywhere, thing of the trade I’d get.”

“Sergei, will you stop talking. I’m trying to think.”

“Think? What do you have to think about?"

“I’m going over the plan. I’m making sure we’re not making any mistakes. This is serious stuff we’re getting into. I’m making sure that we don’t do anything that could be chased.”

“I thought we’d been through all this a thousand times already. It’s a perfect plan.”

“Only a thousand? Something like this you should go through ten thousand times.”

They drove in silence for a while,  Sergei was soon showing signs of agitation at the silence, and began to tap his hand against the wheel, as if beating out the rhythm of boredom. “Can we at least have music?”

“What CDs do you have?”

“I don’t have any CDs. We have radio.”

“Sergei, I asked for silence from your yabber, I’d hardly want it replaced by the equally annoying yabbering of a DJ.”

“DJ. That’s a job I could do Dmitri, I have the gift of the gabber, as you frequently tell me.”

The hours passed. They drove a hundred miles. And another hundred. Every so often Dmitri would find something to worry about: “Are you sure you don’t want me to take over driving, you will get tired?” “You’re going too fast, Sergei, slow down.” “This isn’t the quickest way, I don’t know why you didn’t let me navigate.” “We should stop for food some time. We’re nearly at Poltava, it will be good to have a proper break, stretch our legs, have a meal, drink lots of coffee.”

“There’s a bar I know in Poltava, Dmitri. A fantastic place. Lots of girls.”

“No drinking Sergei. You’re driving, remember.”

“I was thinking about that. We don’t need to get to Kiev today. We can spend a night in Poltava. There’s a terrific brothel I’ve been to before. Why not, now we have a little money, enjoy ourselves. After all, it’s not often we have a boys’ outing like this is it Dmitri.”

“I don’t believe you sometimes Sergei. This is a covert operation to carry out a million Hyvenna fraud, we do not stop for hookers. You are not Robert De Nero.”

“De Nero. I love De Nero. That scene in Taxi Driver ...”

“The point is, Sergei, we need to get to Kiev, finish our business, and drive back tomorrow. This is not a holiday. I’ve made arrangements to meet my friend, I’m not rescheduling.”

The visit to Poltava passed without  incident, though Dmitri had to drag Sergei away from shops, bars and a sign advertising cut-price flying lessons. “I’ve often thought I’d make a great pilot, Dmitri. Think of it, the money I could make. There is good money for couriers.”

They found a restaurant, Sergei was persuaded to stick to coffee and they were back on the road within an hour. Dmitri considered this a major achievement. Travelling with Sergei reminded him of his teaching days, trying to control a class of 30 or 40 pre-pubescent children. Though of course, Sergei was more of a handful than any class of his had ever been.

They eventually arrived in Kiev around 8 pm. It was dark and they took a while to find a place to park, there was no parking at the hotel they had booked, but it was dirt cheap and they were, as Sergei happily pointed out on many occasions, ultra-millionaires.

 

They checked into their hotel and arranged to meet at a restaurant they’d passed on the way from the car park, but Sergei crashed out as soon as he arrived in his room. He awoke at 7.00 a.m. the next day, still in his clothes. He stank like a rank animal and was glad for his change of clothes. He showered, changed and went down for breakfast. Sergei was waiting for him, with a big grin on his face.

“What happened to you, Dmitri? I waited ten minutes in that restaurant.”

“Ten minutes? Is that all? Didn’t you stop to eat?”

“No, Dmitri. I had a better offer. I remembered when I got here than an old girlfriend of mine lives in Kiev now. I rang her and arranged to meet up. I shouldn’t have bothered booking a hotel. I came back for breakfast, I didn’t want it to be a complete waste of money. Besides, Nastya got up for work and there was nothing to eat in her flat.”

 

“Sergei, please tell me you didn’t mention our reason for coming here.”

“Of course I did, Dmitri.” He laughed at Dmitri’s expression, and continued. “I told her all about the shoes and my business deal. You didn’t think I’d mention the stolen share certificates did you?”

“Keep your voice down, Sergei. When will you get it into your skull that this isn’t a game? We have to treat this seriously.”

After breakfast the two went their separate ways.

“Why won’t you tell me who you’re meeting Dmitri?”

“It is best you do not know. I want to keep this as discreet as possible, so that nobody knows anything. The person I’m meeting won’t know about the shares, or the other Dmitri Stodnik. I’ll give him my bank card, so that he can collect the cash and send it on to me. He’s also arranged for an address for my mail to be forwarded to, which he’ll collect when needed.”

“It’s not a traceable address is it Dmitri?”

“No, of course not. It’s a safety deposit box in a hotel. He won’t need to go there very often, the money will go through my account, which he’ll access via my bankcard. The only things going to the postal address are the tax certificates and the bank statements.”

“He has your bank card?”

“Yes, my card and pin number. So that he can take cash out and forward it on to me. It is safer that way, there are a thousand different bank terminals in Kiev, and a million different people, he will be untraceable here. If I tried to take money out in Luhansk I would be vulnerable, there are not so many cashpoints, it would be possible to trace me if you were determined to do so.”

The two parted. Dmitri went to the bank he’d identified as the ideal place to open the account. It was the most central location, with a footfall of millions, he would pass through without being noticed. He arrived a few minutes before it opened, so walked around the square rather than hang around outside waiting. He didn’t want to be noticeable, even though nobody could possibly know what he was doing.

He arrived the second time just as the bank was opening and found his way to the front of a queue. The process of opening a new account was straightforward. They took note of the address from the various bills he had brought from the dead Dmitri’s house. The woman serving him asked to see his driving license, but didn’t take a copy of it. This was the one thing Dmitri had been concerned about. 

The woman then took note of the address for correspondence, the hotel pigeon-hole service Igor had set up, which was the second thing he had worried about. “No,” she said, “there is no problem with having separate correspondence address, a lot of customers do the same thing.” Dmitri was relieved, he was worried that this wouldn’t be allowed. He had a back-up plan of course, which was simply to write in with a change address a few weeks’ down the line, but that would mean the bank card and pin number would be sent to the deceased Dmitri’s address in Luhansk, and though he had taken the precaution of taking a copy of the key he didn’t want to be seen near that flat, not now he was about to expose himself to attention.

Finally he paid the cheque in. Okay, there was a third thing he had worried about. He had worried that the sum of money would be too much and would attract attention, but of course a bank in central Kiev deals with cheques for a hundred times that amount and the woman processed the cheque as routinely as Boris would process an order for a cup of coffee. No, scrap that analogy, try ‘as routinely as any other café owner would process an order for a cup of coffee’.  

Dmitri left the bank with the plan working perfectly. He couldn’t think of anything to worry about going wrong, other than a general ‘everything’. Next the met with Igor at the appointed café and handed over the bank account details, so that he could collect the dividend payments when they were made.

When Dmitri returned to the car it was full of shoes. Completely full, even the passenger seat was piled high with boxes of footwear.

“Sergei, what are you thinking? There is nowhere for me to sit.”

Sergei patted the passenger seat. “Sit here, Dmitri, next to me. You will have to have a few boxes of shoes on your lap, but …

“But what, but it’s only a ten hour drive. I don’t believe you Sergei.”

Uncomfortable though it was in a shoe-filled car, Dmitri chose not to complain. His worries about what could go wrong with setting up the bank account had come to nothing. There was no reason to suppose that there would be any problem with the cheques. Within a few days the bank card would come through, Igor would make the first withdrawal and he and Sergei would begin

The drive was exhausting. Because it was nearly midday when they set off, it was late at night when they finally arrived back in Luhansk. Sergei went to Café Boris for a celebratory drink but Dmitri needed to go home and sleep, after an exhausting, anxious couple of days. However, once in bed he found he couldn’t sleep. There was so much going on in his head.

Amid the worries and concerns about the police, about gangsters and about his mortal soul, there were brief moments about the relief of having regular income –  knowing that he would be able to silence his landlord’s constant requests for back-rent, that he would occasionally be able to eat and drink  at somewhere other than Café Boris.

In short, he had his life back.