“The men like that one, too, but I prefer the big one so I can hit my customers in the head with it. Is fun.”
Whatever gets you up in the morning. The possibilities to make money with the gang seem bountiful. I executed my normal contract. The gang gets three months of consulting and free product––and I get a 15 percent cut of the weekly take during that time. The more I help them make money, the more I make. After three months, we dissolve our relationship and they become normal clients of Teleco, running everything through a business front I set up.
The Russians were pretty diversified. They dealt in money laundering, extortion, fraud, loan sharking, credit card scams, and protection rackets. Auto theft was their big racket and their biggest moneymaker, even more so since I created the Set-Up-and-Watch program. I realized they wasted a lot of time chasing after cars and then waiting for the right time to take them. I had the perfect solution: GPS. They identify the cars they want and then send the kids who work for them out to find the cars. When they do, they attach a GPS band somewhere under the vehicle. Then they can keep track of them and boost them in more efficient ways. Better to grab five cars that happen to be within a two-mile radius rather than just two. It was this sort of thinking that doubled the gang’s productivity. Wireless business solutions are a no-brainer. Ivan knows that. If he didn’t, I’d be dead by now.
Chapter 6
Across the street from the Russian Tsar was a tiny deli that sold all sorts of smoked meats, cheeses, cakes, candies, Georgian wines, and Russian vodka—real authentic stuff from the motherland. Even the clerks wore typical Russian retail attire: blue smocks with white trimmings over their personal clothes. It was also a great place to sit and watch people eat at the Russian Tsar. And that’s exactly what Grigory Orlov was doing behind his newspaper and cup of tea.
Oh, and he was also seething.
Every Wednesday, Orlov would slip into the deli at a quarter to noon and purchase a cup of tea and the local newspaper, the Odesskiy Listok. He would then settle at the counter against the window and watch. Ever since Darby Stansfield gained the ear of his boss, Ivan Renko, this became routine.
Motherfucker, Orlov would repeatedly mumble under his breath while he watched the two. Who is this man? He’s not one of us.
Orlov was overseer of the gang’s support group—essentially middle management. He never did take a liking to Darby. He had met him about a month and a half ago and hated that he had waltzed right into Ivan’s good graces. It had taken Orlov five years to gain Ivan’s trust, and more importantly his ear. Starting off as a hired hand and eventually working himself up to the position of overseer, even now he believed he didn’t get the respect he deserved. And suddenly this punk shows up and Ivan listens to everything he says? It was a slap in the face. To Orlov, it felt like a public ass-fucking.
Darby was not his equal. He hated the smug look on his face and the way he walked and talked and moved his fucking hands when he spoke. Orlov wanted him out of the gang and out of his life. It didn’t help that Darby embarrassed him in front of the others by demonstrating how quickly he could double the take on his operations, boosting cars, with his stupid Teleco gadgets. The Set-Up-and-Watch program was Orlov’s Achilles heel. He went nutso anytime someone mentioned it.
Orlov’s only goal was to make Darby disappear. The only difficulty in doing this is that Ivan made him an untouchable; Darby had a bulletproof halo around him. Ivan didn’t want anyone messing with the money machine.
The rest of the gang didn’t seem to mind the salesman hanging around. Why would they? He was showing them how to make more money. Guys who were scraping by before Darby came around now wore gold chains and diamond knuckle rings with their sportswear. They showered the wives and kids with presents and even took family holidays.
“Things are good with this guy. Let’s not mess with it,” Orlov would hear. Most of them knew how he felt toward Darby. Some even tried to reason with him, but nothing would calm him. Orlov was of the traditional mindset. As far as he was concerned, Darby was not one of them. He did not belong.
Chapter 7
The next day I rolled into the office of Teleco Wireless fairly early, a little after eight, and the quietness of the twelfth floor threw me. By nine, most of the heavy-hitters were in and yacking it up on the phones. Not me, though. I was busy clearing my schedule in anticipation of my upcoming spring break.
“Hey, Tolstoy.”
I looked up to find Tav standing in the doorway of my office. He had a Slim Jim in one hand and a Mountain Dew in the other. “Get in here.” I motioned him in. “Hurry.”
Tav enjoyed dropping these little Russian-isms around the office, knowing only he and I knew what he was talking about, but I hated it. I kept thinking someone was listening and would piece things together.
“How many times do I have to tell you to quit with the Russian?”
“What? No one knows. Stop crying.”
Tav is my best friend and has been ever since we met at age seven. We both work at the same big wireless company on the West Coast. He’s a bean counter due to him being half Asian—at least that’s how he explains it to me. His other half is Jewish. Yeah, let that sink in for minute. He’s got a little height on me but most of it is leg not torso, if you know what I mean.
“So, how’s business? You reeling in normal clients to keep your heavy-hitter status?”
“Business is fine.”
I knew what Tav was getting at. He didn’t like my side venture, the result of my last great Darbytastic idea. He thinks a telecommunication consultant to the criminal world is stupid, not to mention unsafe.
I can’t argue with him there. I got him accidentally involved with a Triad gang while he was in Hong Kong with me. I wish I were kidding, but I’m not. How does one beg forgiveness for that? Let’s just say I have a lot of payback coming before he lets that one slide.
“Darb, did you forget what happened with the last gang? I mean, you’re back on track here at Teleco. You got promoted and have heavy-hitter status. Go legit, man.”
I rolled my eyes. Tav had just hit play on the same conversation we’ve had over and over. “Look Tav, I can’t. I need to keep this going to fully secure my place here,” I said, motioning to my office with my hand. “I can’t let it go at this moment. Things are still too shaky.” Tav shook his head and turned away, walking towards my window. I leaned back in my chair and exhaled loudly. “I learned a lot from the last deal, you know. I’m smarter this time around. I’ve been schooled in ‘gangonomics’.”
Tav stood on the other side of my office looking out of the window, quietly punishing me. There was no fog today, so the view extended all the way across the bay to Sausalito. The sun made the bay look like millions of sparkly pieces with sailboats zipping around. But I knew Tav; he could give a rat’s ass about the view.
I crumpled a piece of paper into a ball and launched it at his head. It was time to lighten the mood. “Listen up. I got some great news: I’m taking a vacation.”
“Yeah? Where to?”
“Minsk.”
“Minsk?”
“Belarus, my friend.” I took the flier out of my backpack and put it on my desk.
Tav’s attitude changed as he walked back to my desk and took a seat. “Holy cow. These women are smoking hot.”
“No kidding. Why do you think I’m heading over there?”
“What is this: some sort of sex tour?”
“No way, man. This is nothing like those BangCock trips to Thailand that your buddy takes three or four times a year.”
“Who? Reggie? Nah, man. He only went like once or twice. His wife found out. The guy’s grounded for life now.”
“Whatever. You know what I’m saying.” I went on to explain to Tav how the tour worked. There were parties at night, dates during the day and maybe a little action in between. I wanted Tav to understand that, for me, this was real. I wasn’t some young gun heading to Tijuana for the weekend. “Tav, this is an honest wa
y for me to meet a Russian woman. I might find someone over there. You never know.”
“Wow, I can totally see why you’re flying halfway around the world rather than working the pool of roughly 350,000 single women that San Francisco has to offer. Brilliant. I mean, why use the salt shaker in front of you when you can reach across the table and use the other one?”
I threw both of my arms up in the air. “Well, if you lay it out that way, of course it doesn’t make sense.” Deep down inside I knew that what Tav was saying was right. Sort of. All I had going for me was the Hottie Defense: These women were so hot that I couldn’t take a pass.
“So you go, you get to know them, maybe hit it off, then you leave after what––a week? What happens then?” he asked.
“I guess if you felt like there was some awesome connection, you would keep in touch though e-mail, phone calls, trips back there.”
“Seems like a lot of work. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they’re beautiful and have a different look from the women here but––”
Hottie Defense. He was coming around but I had to get rational on him to put it to bed. “Look, it’s no different than Match.com. It’s a way to reach out to women you normally wouldn’t come into contact with. Why limit yourself to one bar or one city or one country?”
Tav exhaled loudly. “When do you leave?”
“Three days.”
“That’s sudden.”
“The lady that’s running the tour had space on her next trip to Minsk. Plus, she said Belarusian women were the best.”
Tav picked up the flier and ogled the women once more. “I don’t blame you.”
Hey, he’s coming around. Maybe he’ll ride shotgun. “You should come.”
“What? Really?”
“Yeah, it’ll be great. We’ll be each other’s wingman.”
Tav’s eyes shot up to the upper right hand corner of his eye socket. He was calculating. That was a good sign.
“How much is it?”
“It’s $2,500 plus airfare. Though I’m using miles to pull it off.”
“I don’t think I have enough miles. The airlines will rape me this late in the game. No way I can swing last minute airfare and the cost of the tour.”
No sooner had Tav spoken those words than a foul-smelling shadow fell upon us.
“What tour are you two idiots talking about?”
Chapter 8
“You thinking of taking a vacation, Stansfield?”
We both looked toward my door only to see the village ogre, Harold Epstein, standing there. He’s the manager on the sixth floor, where he oversees the bottom-feeders—the sales associates who get stuck trying to sell wireless solutions to mom-and-pop retailers. It wasn’t so long ago that I used to be down there.
Harold’s the only guy I know who looks like a homeless man wearing a jacket and tie for the very first time. He also sports the most unruly nose hair I’ve ever seen. It curves around the nostril like a vine following a wall.
“I see you made another fine suit purchase straight off the rack––husky section.”
“Fuck you dickwad.”
“What are you doing up here? This floor is for heavy-hitters. Are you here to make out with my butt?”
Harold stood at the entrance to my office. I had banned him from ever setting foot inside. So far, the pear shaped fungoid was following my orders.
“What’s that flier? Is that porn?” he asked, while shaking his finger at us. “You know that’s against company policy.”
“Don’t be silly. We’re compiling a list of all the hot women around the world who so far have said they would never date you. Over three billion and counting.”
“I wouldn’t talk Darby. It’s not like you got them hanging on your arms.”
“Oh and how would Mr. I-Never-Been-To-A-Club know that?”
Harold now stood with both hands on his hips, like he had the authority of a mall cop. Tav and I must have had the same thought because we both started to snicker.
“Laugh all you want but I’ll be the one who will have the last laugh. I know you’re struggling with your sales.”
“The only thing I’m struggling with is the stench that is all you.”
The next thing I knew, Harold had marched right over to my desk. He leaned over my desk and got right in my face. His breath was now front and center, its arrival like a slap in the face. A grin appeared on his rotund face. “There’s a sales meeting. The big guy wants updates on how everyone is doing. See you in five.” Harold snickered and then flipped me the double bird as he backed out of my office.
Gerald Thorn, the VP of Sales at Teleco, is the “big guy” Harold was referring to. He was the heart and soul of the department and the best salesman to rise up the ranks. He could close anyone, even a bankrupt business owner.
But the sales meeting wasn’t what got my goat just now. As much as I couldn’t stand that feeble-minded man, what Harold said, well, it was true. It wasn’t like I dated steadily or had a long time girlfriend. I gave Harold crap about his lack of social life but who was I to talk? My love life was pretty much non-existent. Every now and then I would meet a girl but those moments were few and far apart. It made me despise him even more, because he was right.
“What a jerk,” Tav said as he placed a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t sweat him, Darb.”
“Do you think I’m a loser?”
“What?”
“A loser. You know there’s some truth to what he said. It’s not like I’m surrounded by women.”
“Don’t even begin to compare yourself with Harold. That guy couldn’t get to first base with a drunken blow-up doll.”
I turned to Tav. “I’m serious. I need to get my personal life in gear. I really need to make an effort to date. With a little candy on my arm, I could really stick it to the Neanderthal.” I stood up and began to gather my stuff for the meeting.
Tav folded his arms across his chest as he leaned back a bit. “I thought your hatred for him stemmed entirely from him trying to get you fired. Still is, just so you know.”
Tav was right. Harold’s been trying to get rid of me since Day One on the job. He almost had me, too. It was about a year ago. At the time, my client list was lagging and I had no prospects on the horizon. He was on the verge of firing me for underperforming on the job, but then I gave birth to my consulting idea and snagged a client. Best idea I ever had.
So far the only other person who knows about my side ventures is Tav, plus the gangs involved. Along the way there were others but they either ended up dead or were criminals themselves. Harold’s the only one who has an inkling that something about my clients isn’t right. He hasn’t figured it out yet, but with his determination to see me fired, he’s the most dangerous person I have to contend with. He’s constantly digging around like a pig at an all-you-can-eat trough.
“So what’s this about your sales dropping?” Tav asked. “I thought things were going well.”
“They are. I mean, I’m placing orders for the Russians. They’re just not big ones so I slipped a little. It’s not a big thing unless someone goes out of the way to make it a big deal. We all slip and rise throughout the month.”
“So this is Harold getting Gerald to hold an update meeting when he knows your sales are down so that you look bad.”
“Exactly. Now I gotta answer to Thorn––the guy who wrote the book on selling.”
Chapter 9
By the time I entered the conference room, it was packed with every heavy-hitter on the floor. It was standing room only. Sitting at the head of the conference table was Gerald Thorn, our fearless leader. “Everyone ready to sound off?” he asked.
A sound-off is when every heavy in the room shouts out his monthly goal and where he currently was at that moment. If you’re ahead, it’s glorious. If you’re behind, it’s dreadful. And to make things worse, Gerald started the sound-off on the opposite side of the room, making me dead last.
Frank Rose was up first. How conven
ient it was that Rose always found himself sitting next to the big guy. He was the golden child in the room—could do no wrong in Gerald’s eyes. I’m not dissing Rose, but when you drive a different Porsche to work every week, it says, “I’m top dog” and “Fuck all y’all” at the same time.
It was the fifteenth of the month. My monthly goal had been set at twenty-five thousand, and I was sitting at eight and a half. So I was off the mid-month mark by four thousand. That’s not that bad. I still have two more weeks to go. A lot can go down in two weeks.
Rose stood up straight like a pole. More like a tool. “End goal, forty-five thousand. Sales to date, fifty thousand.”
The room erupted in cheers. Backslapping and repeated “You the man” could be heard all around. Sonofabitch. Not only was he ahead, he had already beat his monthly goal. But hey, he’s the best of the heavies—he should be ahead. But as the sound-off continued, it revealed other heavies to be ahead as well, and most were right on target. So far there was only one guy behind and it was by a measly five hundred. When they hear my numbers, they’ll forget about him.
I looked over at Harold, who almost never sat in on our sound-offs. He had wiggled his pork butt into the chair right next to Gerald. That cross-eyed mutt stared at me with a grin resembling that of a sickened camel. His enthusiasm growing as the sound-off moved closer and closer to me. He was about to have a wet dream of epic proportions, when he would finally succeed in publicly humiliating me in front of Gerald and the whole heavy-hitter team.
What was I to do? I was unprepared. Had I more time, I’m sure I would have thought of an out. My mind started spitballing ideas.
Brain: Sneak out. No, wait! Start a fight.
Me: What?
Brain: Do the Exorcist thing with your head.
The worst was yet to come as my noggin continued to churn. Finally it declared what it believed to be its best idea yet.
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