Then a thought hits Carla like a lighting bolt. She could kill LeFreak herself. She could stand in front of him and, looking him in the eye, pull the trigger. Bang. Blood, brains on the carpet, and LeFreak is no more. She definitely can kill. No second thoughts, no regrets, no afterthoughts.
And then, as an exercise, she imagines herself shooting Yuri in cold blood. Just to see how it would be. She first imagines him betraying her, to make the scene more realistic—Yuri has changed sides and sold secrets to LeFreak, instead of buying secrets from his men, and he has used her money to build his own team to overthrow her. That scenario has been brewing in her mind for a while anyway, so it is not that difficult to imagine. Yuri deserves to die. Bang. More blood and brains on the carpet; Yuri is no more. This is nothing, she thinks. I can do this.
It occurs to Carla that she has rarely been out of the house. Yuri and the other henchmen that she employs control the streets. All she has is what they report back, which is second hand, filtered information. That is when her first major crisis of confidence hits her. She is not used to this. Doubt is alien to her. She knows infallible, boundless confidence. Doubt, self-doubt, is the ugliest feeling she has ever experienced. It leaves a rotten, bitter taste in her mouth.
That evening Carla calls Yuri and asks him to come over. Yuri arrives half an hour later ready to perform any sexual fantasy that she may have dreamt of. But Carla greets him in a pantsuit.
“Have you ever killed anyone?” she asks.
“What kind of question is that?” he snaps.
“Yuri, it is the question that I’m asking, and I expect an honest answer.” Yuri, who has come prepared to satisfy a nymphomaniac, is taken aback by her seriousness.
“I am sorry to disappoint you Carla, but I will not answer your question. And I will go further and tell you that you have no right to ask that question in the first place. Now, if there is nothing more, I have to go. You made me waste valuable time.” And Yuri heads for the door. He is still seething from their last meeting. He knows that she needs him, and he is not going to put up with her whims to this extent.
“Stop!” Carla’s is so abrupt that Yuri freezes. He turns around and faces her.
“Sit down, please.” Her voice is calmer and Yuri marvels at her self-control. He takes a seat on the chair facing the sofa where Carla is sitting, and stares at her with deliberate defiance.
“Now,” she says, maintaining the calmer tone, “tell me what’s bothering you.”
“We need to modify a few things.” He runs his fingers through his hair. He has a bright blue silk shirt on with the top three buttons undone, light brown corduroy pants, and a suede jacket. He is wearing cologne. He feels awkward; he is painfully aware that he is not dressed for a business negotiation.
“Go on,” she says, in a patronizing tone that adds to his discomfort.
“This is not the relationship that I had with your father. He trusted me more. I had a cut in the revenue that I generated, aside from the fixed salary. I ran things on my own for him, he did not check every detail. If we cannot work like that, then this is not going to work.”
“How long did you work for him?” asks Carla.
“Eight years.”
“Don’t you think that the trust between us will come? I’ve only known you for a few months.”
“Maybe. But we’re no longer talking about running routine errands. We’re talking about recovering millions and getting rid of the LeFreak threat. You cannot treat me as a salaried employee.” Yuri is happy with himself. In spite of his not so businesslike attire, he comes across as serious, balanced and calm. Most of all, he feels he’s regaining a measure of control, no matter how Carla chooses to respond.
“What do you want?”
“Ten percent of everything that I generate. A fixed amount of two million drams a month for expenses that I do not have to account for. And I want to hire a few men of my own.” Yuri’s gaze on Carla is as steady as his voice.
“Whoa! That is quite a list, Yuri. As I said, relationships like that are built over time. I don’t mind some modifications, as you put it, but we take it slower than that.”
“Depends on what you mean by slower.”
“I don’t mind paying you ten percent of any new business that you generate,” says Carla. She has thought about this before calling Yuri over. “Just to be very clear, so there is no misunderstanding later, that has to be both new business and business generated by your own efforts. If I give you leads and use my own sources to help you get the business, you do not get ten percent. If it is not a new source of income, just recovering an old asset that you did not build, you do not get ten percent. Are we clear on that?”
“What do I get in those cases?”
“It depends. It depends on the amount, and the nature of your role. It can range anywhere from two percent, if your role is relatively minor and the amount is large, to a maximum five percent if your role is significant and the amount is smaller. You have to trust me too as we figure this out.” Carla waits, eyes fixed on Yuri. After a few second, he nods. Yuri wants to ask what would be his share if he recovered the villa in Dubai, but decides against it. It would be at least two percent, and possibly he can argue for a bit higher, given the significance of his role. Somewhere in the 60,000 to 75,000 euro range. Not bad; he can live with that.
“Let’s move to the two million dram in expenses,” says Carla. “I concede. I will trust you with that, but I have to see results. If the results are there, I will not question how you’re spending the money. If the results are not satisfactory, we revisit this issue, in fact we revisit everything.” She waits again. Yuri nods.
“Of course,” she adds, “you may consider giving me an accounting once in a while, even though I will not ask for it, as a confidence building measure. I leave that up to you.” She waits, looking at him, but he does not react.
“Now, let’s come to the most difficult item on your list of demands. You want to hire your own men. That, I am not ready to accept. We either function as one organization, run by me, or not at all. I’m paying for your time, for your expenses, a healthy percentage of the income you bring in, and I am paying the salaries of everyone who works for you. I want to know who they are and I want to approve them before they’re hired. You can identify and propose candidates that I do not know, but you have to discuss them with me first and, if I want to meet them, I will meet them first, and then you can hire them only if I give my approval. Depending on the person, I may approve even before meeting them. But that will be my decision. I cannot compromise any more than that on this issue.”
Carla knows that Yuri has improved his position considerably through this negotiation, and the last point is not going to be a deal breaker. She herself is happy with the outcome. This will buy Yuri’s loyalty for a while, she reckons six months or so, before he gets restless again. And then she’ll re-evaluate and decide what to do.
She looks at him quietly for a long moment, but does not wait for a nod. She stands up before he makes any noticeable gesture.
“If we’re done here,” she says, walking toward the bedroom door, “why don’t you pour us a drink and join me inside?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Edik returns from Saralandj late. He calls to say they now have a concrete plan to liquidate the pig farm, and in a few weeks that chapter in Avo’s life will be closed. They will sell everything very cheap, he says. They have already found some farmers who’ll buy the mothers as well as the piglets even before they are totally weaned, as long as they look healthy..
“How’s Avo taking it?” I ask.
“Not well. He is angry, disappointed, frustrated. The only good news from Avo is that he has reduced his drinking a lot. I’m not sure if he’s avoiding getting drunk only in front of us. Ask one of your sisters about that.”
“I will, Edik jan, thank you so much for all this,” I say, wondering for the hundredth time why, although I now see why what happened to me matters to him.
“When will you return to Vardahovit?”
“I’ll leave in the morning. No particular time. Do you want to meet for a late breakfast?”
I hesitate for a minute. Breakfast isn’t really my thing.
“How late?” I ask.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m exhausted. I won’t be ready to face the day until around eleven. Can you come to my hotel or shall I come pick you up?”
“I’ll come,” I say. “I’ll be there around eleven. You can start without me if you get hungry.”
“Okay Lara. Bari qisher.” Good night.
The next morning, as I start my routine of making Diqin Alice and me coffee, my phone rings. I answer without checking the number, assuming it is Edik or Alisia.
“Habibty,” comes Ahmed’s voice over the phone. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No Ahmed, I’ve been up. How are you?”
“I am better than I’ve been for a long time, because I will be with you in two days.” He speaks fast, sounds almost rushed. “Day after tomorrow. I’m not sure exactly at what time I can leave Dubai, but it should be sometime in the evening when we land. Next time I call you it will be from Yerevan!”
The small coffee pot where we make Armenian coffee boils over and spills all over the small propane stove. I turn off the burner and put the pot aside. I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t even know if I should sound happy. I start wiping the stove with a damp towel, which sizzles as it comes in contact with the hot burner. Should I ask him how long he’d be staying, or would that sound too eager?
“Are you there?”
“Yes, Ahmed, sorry, just spilled something in the kitchen,” I say. Why do I always end up saying something stupid to him over the phone? But I want him to know that I have been distracted, so he won’t misinterpret my lack of reaction to his news.
“Please tell me it was the excitement of me visiting that made you spill it,” he laughs. Ahmed has no clue. The things that I agonize over do not even occur to him.
“Give me a minute, I have to put the phone down for just a second.” I put the phone down and finish wiping up the mess. Diqin Alice walks in, but I do not want to keep Ahmed waiting.
“Sorry,” I say to Diqin Alice. “I’ll restart the coffee in a minute. I need to finish this conversation.” I leave the kitchen.
“Have you made all your arrangements in Yerevan?” I ask.
“Manoj is coming with me. He’s taken care of everything. I’ll be there for a few days, I am not sure exactly how many yet. It depends on some of the irons I have in the fire, but at least two. I want to tour some of the country with you. I hope you can make some time for me Lara.”
My head is spinning. I think about all the irons that I have in the fire, Anna, Avo, Sona, Anastasia, classes.
“Sure, Ahmed. When you come we can discuss.”
“See you soon.” And the phone goes dead.
I sit at the edge of my bed for a moment, staring at the phone resting in my open palms in my lap. How am I going to deal with Ahmed here? Where does he want to go on his tour of the country? Manoj must have told him about the conditions in Saralandj. A chill passes down my spine. I sincerely hope he does not have Saralandj in mind. What if he wants to see my place in Yerevan? How can I bring him to this room? What do I do if he tries to get intimate? For three months I slept with him. What do I do now? ‘Acknowledge the past, confront the past, kill the past, then go forward free of the past.’ Edik’s words. They sound good. They have a ring to them that should connote feasibility. After all, if they sound that good, with the rhythm of a military march, then it must be imminently doable. Who am I kidding?
Diqin Alice pokes her head inside my door.
“Amen ban lav a?” Is everything okay?
“Ha, Diqin Alice,” I say, jumping to my feet. “I’ll start a new pot of coffee. Sorry for the mess.” It is good to have a chore to do. I get busy, chatting with her about nothing. We drink the coffee together at the kitchen table. I wash the cups and the pot, and go back to my room to get ready. It is almost eleven. I’ll be ten minutes late for Edik.
The breakfast room at his hotel has a big buffet that reminds me of some of the spreads in Dubai, displaying almost everything imaginable on a breakfast menu. I walk in and see him sitting at a table talking on the phone. Several men and a few women turn to watch me as I approach his table. I am so used to this by now that I just ignore it. Edik has a cup of coffee in front of him, but no food. I wave and join him. He signals that he won’t be long, and points to the buffet. I’m not comfortable starting without him, but wonder whether he does not want me to hear his conversation. I don’t remember ever being like this. Worrying about everything, trying to second-guess what people may want or what they may think. I hate it. When did I start being like this?
I stop worrying about Edik’s phone call. I don’t want to start breakfast alone. So I stay in my chair and wait for him to finish. There! One less source of unnecessary anguish. The waiter comes carrying a large pot, offering coffee. I accept, and smile amiably at Edik.
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” he says, ending the call. He leans over and kisses my cheek. “Are you hungry?”
“Can we sit for a minute? I mean, if you’re not rushing.”
“Of course. I’m not rushing.” He looks me over and takes a sip of his coffee. “I have to cover a story for one of the news agencies.” He says. “I may have to go to Georgia for a few days. But that’s not until next week. What’s new with you?”
“Ahmed will be here day after tomorrow.” I take another sip of coffee, put the cup down and then look at him.
“Finally!” He says, with a mixture of excitement and nonchalance that only he can pull off. “I was beginning to give up on him.”
“Edik, this is going to be difficult for me.” I want him to know, but I am not looking for feedback.
“I know,” he says seriously. “But it does not have to be.”
“I know the theory: acknowledge, confront and kill the past, then move on.”
“Precisely,” he says, holding my gaze.
“It’s the ‘moving on’ part that I’m not sure of.” I say, even though I am equally scared of all the parts.
“But if you manage the first three, that should be the easiest.”
“What if I don’t know how I want to move on?”
“Then you take your time deciding, Lara. No one can force you to rush into a decision if you don’t want to be rushed.”
Buy time, I think. Put off decisions. Not because I want to procrastinate, but because I don’t know.
“Will I have time to decide?” I ask more to myself than to Edik.
“Lara, you’re overthinking this again. You cannot answer every question in advance. Didn’t I tell you once to let it come to you, and then take it as it comes? First see what he wants, when he wants it, and then decide if that is something you also want. Why are you all worked up about it now?”
“It is easier to figure out what you don’t want than what you do,” I say, ignoring his question. In Ahmed’s case, that is precisely my problem. I am one hundred percent sure of what I do not want with him. And I am totally in the dark when it comes to what I do want, if anything.
“That is true, but it is also true that the hungry monkey does not dance. Let’s get something to eat.”
“The hungry monkey does not dance?” I ask laughing.
“That’s from my father. Wandering entertainers would pass through his village when he was a kid. They’d play the drums, and they’d have these monkeys that were trained to dance to the drumbeat. And then they would pass a hat to gather money. They’d say the bit about the hungry monkey not dancing while asking for money. It stuck in my dad’s head.”
We eat in silence for a while.
“Edik jan,” I say after he consumes half his plate, “I have an unfair question. But you’re the only one I can ask.”
“Ask,” he says, putting a slice of
ham in his mouth. “The reason I love your questions is because they are almost all unfair.” He turns to me briefly and winks.
“I will describe to you two opposite sides of Ahmed, and then ask you to give me a single word assessment of him. Just listen first,” I say when I see his eyebrow rising. “Side one,” I begin. “He bought me as he buys any property. He had a few other concubines in his estate at the time. I was a captive there. I had to adhere to strict rules of behavior.” I stop for a second, but he is busy eating. “Side two,” I continue, “he treats me better than anyone outside of my family, and of course you, has ever treated me, better than Anna’s father ever treated her, better than anyone has ever treated Anastasia. He never makes me feel cheap, never gives me any reason to be offended. He is loving, caring, generous, clean, considerate.” I decide to stop there before I start sounding like I’m in love with the guy. Edik’s attention is still on his plate. “Now,” I ask, putting my hand on his arm, because I want him to look at me at this point. “Is he a good man or a bad man? Just answer with one word. Good or bad?”
Edik takes a sip of coffee.
“Neither.” Before I can protest, he adds, “I know you want the good or bad answer, Lara, I know that is the question you’re struggling with, but I’m telling you, based on the information you gave me, he is neither good nor bad. I’ve already told you that it is men like him, men who pay for sex, that sustain Ayvazian’s crimes. If I focus only on that aspect, I’d say he’s bad. But that’s not what you’re asking me. He’s a man who likes women without complications, it seems to me. He likes sex, and he prefers to buy it. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. Who else would keep a few concubines? It seems you were more than a concubine, so in your case things were a bit complicated. But ‘good’ and ‘bad’ don’t enter the picture. He is who he is.”
The Doves of Ohanavank Page 19
