Rise of an Oligarch: The Way It Is: Book One

by Carlito Sofer

  The one detail that was clear already was that this was no amateur setup. The shooting required planning and precise intelligence. Snipers need to prepare, find a position and know where and when the target would appear. This was a professionally conducted operation with the stench of the KGB or something similar all over it. Before jumping to any conclusions, Arthur needed facts. The truth would surface. It always did.

  “These sons of whores aren’t going to stop until they achieve whatever they’re after,” thought Arthur. “What bloody mess have you got yourself into this time, boss?”

  4 The USSR is Dead, Long Live Ukraine

  Before 1991 the people in the USSR were living on another planet, isolated from the West behind the Iron Curtain. And then in 1989 the Berlin Wall fell, and within two years the USSR dissolved. Mikhail Gorbachev, the reformist, or the best CIA spy as some argue, swayed the Soviet empire enough to be broken-up by the republics’ leaders in the aftermath of a failed military coup by hardliners. Ukraine, freed from the grip of the USSR, started a turbulent journey from a communist republic to a supposedly democratic, free-market economy. The winds of change were felt everywhere.

  Kiev, 1991

  With my regular schooldays over, I started studying civil engineering at the Institute of Higher Education in Kiev. It wasn’t because I wanted to study, and I certainly didn’t want to become an engineer. Planning roads and buildings had never been a dream of mine, but there were several good reasons for pursuing that career.

  Every Jewish mother expects her son to become a lawyer, a doctor or at least an engineer - you basically have three choices. Unfortunately, being Jewish in Ukraine meant that I would probably need Gorbachev’s personal recommendation to the rector of the Law School if I was to have any chance of being admitted there.

  There was also nothing appealing in becoming a doctor, working long hours in Ukraine’s underfunded and decrepit public healthcare system. Saving people’s lives or contributing to society was never a strong enough motivation for me, so medicine was never really a choice of mine either. By a process of elimination, this left me with engineering - in my mind, the best choice from a bad bunch.

  There were more pragmatic reasons to go to university. University students weren’t drafted to the military, and I didn’t have the slightest desire to join Ukraine’s armed forces.

  Another reason was that university students were paid stipends. Although it wasn’t much, a small monthly allowance was better than nothing. You go to university, you study a bit and then get some money. This appeared to be a very nice arrangement.

  And finally, and most importantly, this is what Sasha expected me to do. I couldn’t disappoint him after he had done so much for our family over the years, supporting my mother and me. He had sacrificed his education so I could have mine, so I had to do what I had to do.

  At least I knew that I could get into university with my good high-school grades without the need to bribe anyone or use personal connections. You rarely got anything based on merits.

  Once again I was one of the youngest students in class. Most students were from the small towns outside Kiev, were four or five years older than me and entering university after finishing their military service. Regrettably, there were only a small number of girls studying with us - engineering wasn’t very attractive to attractive women.

  Since I was fresh out of high school I had a fresh mind, unspoiled by serving years in the mind-numbing armed forces. I was far better than most other students in subjects that required intensive studying, especially mathematics. This, and being one of a handful of students from the big city, earned me respect from my fellow students.

  As Ukraine was newly independent, business entrepreneurship - a new concept in the previously communist country - was blossoming. But the government was in turmoil, leaving a fertile ground for gangsters and racketeering groups, extracting protection from the new businesses. The businesses had to join a protection racket, known as krysha - a roof in Russian. Usually, the protectors protected their clients from nobody but the protectors themselves.

  Many young athletes joined the gangs instead of aspiring to gold medals in the Olympics. You could easily discern the kind of sport they did by their body shape and injuries. Well-built with a broken nose - a boxer. Broad shoulders with torn ears - a wrestler. Enormous muscles with little to no brain - a bodybuilder. Short with broad shoulders and a quadratic head - a weightlifter.

  The few of my schoolmates who spoke decent English were engaged in illicit trade with tourists, selling soviet souvenirs, like babushkas, samovars, military hats, watches and belts. Through my connections I had a constant supply of western clothes my friends had obtained from Brit or German tourists.

  I remember proudly showing off my Adidas Torsion sneakers, which were relatively fresh on the market even in Germany, with a matching black Adidas sport suit. I felt exceptionally elegant wearing the latest fashions from Western Europe, adopting mostly a sport style, just as any good racketeer would.

  Soon enough I was able to establish quite a reputation with the dembels, or military veterans, who lived in the institution’s dormitories where most students stayed. If you knew where to look and had the right connections, you could buy anything at campus, from clothes and trainers to weapons and drugs.

  One of my mates from high school, Shurik, who was studying road planning, suggested that we play preferans with our neighbours. Preferans is a popular card game throughout Eastern Europe that requires three or four players and can be played for money, as was often done by students at the institute. I agreed, and Shurik led the way to one of the dorms on a different floor to ours. He knocked lightly on the door, which was opened by a mean-looking man I would soon learn was named Gigo.

  At first sight, it was clear that it was necessary to be cautious around this guy. His broken nose was an indication of his favourite sport, his head was as big as a punching bag, and when he spoke, his thick accent confirmed my observations. A Georgian boxer.

  We organised a game and played while drinking beer and vodka. The course of the game, which requires considerable thinking and planning ahead, together with the alcoholic socialising, allowed me to get to know Gigo better. It was obvious that he was a bit slow-witted and savage, and it would be better to have him as a friend, rather than an enemy. I didn’t drink too much so I could keep my wits about me. Shurik kept our glasses topped up as I joined the game as the fourth player. It was too easy - I counted the cards and won. Gigo was a bad loser and didn’t take his loss well.

  “Pah! You have the luck of the devil,” Gigo declared, looking threateningly at me. “I need a piss.”

  Gigo staggered off and I waited a few seconds before going after him.

  “Gigo... wait a sec, man.”

  I caught up with him before he disappeared behind the toilet’s door.

  “I only really play for fun. You don’t need to pay me, my friend. Only do me a favour and collect the money from the other players for me. I’ll gladly relieve those peasants of a few coins and share some with you.”

  Judging from Gigo’s furious behaviour, it was unlikely he would’ve paid me anyway. This way I hoped I could get him on my side and use his threatening look for my own benefit. Gigo stopped dead and looked at me quizzically. For a brief moment I wondered if I’d made a bad decision, but then Gigo smiled, showing his gold teeth.

  “Okay, let me piss first.”

  I returned to the others, who’d opened another bottle of vodka. Gigo sauntered in as the glasses were filled.

  “Yes...a toast to our victor,” he said, grabbing a glass. “To Misha.”

  “To Misha,” the group chorused.

  “And don’t forget to pay the man,” Gigo added aggressively. “I get upset when my friend is upset.”

  There were a few nervous laughs, but before the other players left, they made a point of counting out their losses in front of Gigo.

  I stayed behind and helped Gigo finish the bottle. An ide
a was hatched to set up a nice hustling scheme. Gigo would find a couple of students, and I would join the game as a fourth hand, pretending that Gigo and I didn’t know each other. The plan was to lose small amounts as bait then later on switch to using marked cards on the higher stakes. These hands would be fixed so that Gigo won, and the students and I would owe him money. Eventually Gigo would declare, “The game’s over. Now the three of you pay me my cash.”

  A few days later we put our plan to action, and the scene played out just as I’d predicted. When the time of the game expired and the pot reached a decent size, Gigo won the hand and demanded his winnings.

  When I protested saying, “I want to continue playing to have a chance of winning my money back,” Gigo threatened me.

  “Pay now or I’ll shove a bottle of vodka up your ass and break your arms. You won’t be able stop shitting from your enlarged arsehole and have no arms to wipe your bum.”

  I immediately paid him. Following my example, the other students paid up without further complaints.

  ***

  I was impressed with Gigo’s natural extortion capabilities and keeping with the spirit of the time, I was looking to expand our entrepreneurial activities. We started extracting protection money from the lokh students - lokh being Russian slang describing a sucker.

  We began coercing the lokhs into paying us monthly fees for protection. I did the talking and ruthless Gigo did the threatening. I had a natural talent for acting. Gigo had a natural talent for looking frightening.

  Our normal pitch was, “You have a nice business. All the gangs roaming the streets; it’s terrible. The bastards have no respect to honourable business owners like yourself. The country isn’t what it used to be,” I said while shaking my head, making tut-tuts of disapproval and taking a long, deep sigh.

  “It would be a shame if something happened to your business. You know that the policemen don’t care; they work with the damn hooligans. But don’t you worry, we’re here to help you. For a monthly fee we’ll ensure that you and your business and your family are safe. You wouldn’t want someone like Gigo here to do something nasty to your daughter/wife/girlfriend/mama. Believe us; it’s going to cost us more than you.”

  Racketeering didn’t feel satisfying. I didn’t enjoy it and I didn’t like doing it, but I had to make a living somehow. I became a bully like Igor from my first school. It was easy money but nothing to be proud of. Decency and business were bad companions.

  One of our clients was a student named Vlad who ran a video store next to the university. To prove him our worthiness and to ensure that he had enough money to pay us, we helped him collect debts from customers who didn’t pay on time. What we didn’t realise was that the video store was in the territory of a violent racketeering gang. One day we went to Vlad and demanded our monthly payment, but he shrugged his shoulders and protested.

  “I’ve already paid protection to another gang. Their leader, Nazar, threatened me that if I didn’t pay he would burn down the store and kick my ass.”

  Vlad actually expected us to intervene on his behalf against Nazar.

  “I’m paying you protection, so protect me. Nazar will hurt me. Please help.”

  We weren’t a real racketeering gang; we were just trying to act like one. Gigo, being an ex-boxer and not the sharpest tool in the box, told Vlad we would sort it out.

  “You don’t worry, Vlad. We take care of you.”

  “Thank you, I hear that Nazar is vicious.”

  “Let us worry about Nazar,” Gigo said in a soothing voice. “Now you pay us.”

  Poor Vlad didn’t have enough cash to pay us since the other gang had already taken his money. I told Gigo to beat him, but not too rough. Vlad, who was two years older than me, started crying and begging for mercy like a little girl. I felt sorry for him. The decent people I knew were just about surviving, while the crooks and manipulators were much better off. And I needed to be better off.

  Gigo took his promise to Vlad seriously. We left Vlad in tears and walked back to campus.

  “We must go to the other gang and make sure they stop fucking with our clients. You and I go now to talk with this Nazar. He cannot take money from our clients.”

  “Gigo, are you fucking crazy? Did you forget? We don’t really have a gang, it’s just the two of us,” I reminded him.

  If it was up to me, we would’ve quit the racketeering business altogether and moved to a less complicated enterprise. However, soon I found out that it wasn’t that easy to get out once you were in.

  A couple of days later, as I was leaving the institute, counting my profits from another successful preferans game, five guys jumped out of a shabby Lada and walked towards me.

  A vicious looking thug blocked my path while his gorilla-looking friends surrounded me. He had a scar on the left side of his face which ran all the way from his forehead to the side of his mouth, giving him a lopsided grin when he spoke.

  “Privet, student. Nazar sends his regards. Our friend Vlad tells us you’ve been collecting from our area for quite some time.”

  I had to think fast.

  “Listen, smart guy,” I replied with as much confidence as I could muster. “You can tell Nazar that if he has any financial demands he can present them to Zhigan. This is his area and we collect for him.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “That’s his car over there,” I said, pointing to a BMW parked nearby. We stared at each other for five long seconds. I knew there were only two options he was considering: either kill me right away or get instructions from his boss and then kill me. As my stare was unwavering, he probably decided that I wasn’t bullshitting. He gave me a dismissive look, spat on the ground, turned around and jumped back in the car.

  I almost shat myself. Zhigan was a notorious racketeer. I’d never met him and didn’t have any wish to do so. This incident proved once again that wits and guts were superior to muscles and physical force. My quick thinking and control over my nerves drove those suckers away.

  I knew it wouldn’t take long before Nazar found out that I had nothing to do with Zhigan. Moreover, Zhigan would be furious if he found out that someone he didn’t know was using his name for backup. I was in deep shit. When I met up with Gigo I told him about the incident.

  “I know what you must do, Misha,” Gigo told me, nodding sagely. “You must go pay Nazar a visit before he finds out what happened and that we have nothing to do with Zhigan. You must settle things with him.”

  “You’re joking, he’ll kill us!”

  “This is business, my friend. The institute is our territory. Students are our clients. We must protect our territory,” Gigo preached.

  Gigo poured a couple of glasses of vodka and sparked up the joint he’d been rolling when I’d found him.

  “Relax, Misha. We’ll sort it out.”

  You should probably hold off making big decisions when you’re drunk and stoned, because a few shots and puffs later I agreed with Gigo’s stupid plan. As the Jewish Talmud teaches, “If someone comes to kill you, get up and kill him first.”

  We wobbled, stoned and drunk to the headquarters of Nazar’s gang in an old industrial park of abandoned garages and storage warehouses close to the Dnieper River. As soon as we entered the compound, Nazar and his crew appeared from nowhere, surrounded us and blocked the exit.

  Meeting Nazar was a shock. Because of his reputation, I’d expected him to be a huge, imposing figure. Instead, he was shorter than me. He had black hair swept back from his forehead, a stupid looking beard that only grew below his lower lip, and a lazy eye. He did look sinister, but physically he wasn’t that impressive. I thought that in a one on one fight, I would stand a chance, but unfortunately that wasn’t the ratio.

  “Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you want?” he hissed. I couldn’t tell where the hell he was looking as each of his googly eyes was looking in a different direction.

  “Nazar, we’re here to clear up the unfortunate misunderstanding about the
video store,” I replied as calmly as possible. “We want to make it up to you so no bad blood runs between us.” I was trying to use short words, not to confuse him.

  “The video store? Ah, yes...so you’re the two fools who mess with my business.”

  He looked at Gigo with one of his eyes and said, “And you must be the famous Gigo. I thought that you were taller.”

  “Did the thinking bit hurt?” Gigo sneered. “Do we sort this out or not?”

  I hadn’t seen Gigo that intoxicated before. I realised that his judgement was way out of focus and he would drive us straight into a brutal confrontation. I shivered. Here I was trying to find a peaceful resolution, and Gigo decided to act like...Gigo.

  “How many motherfuckers do you have with you, Nazar? Six. Why don’t you bring six more to make it fair,” Gigo went on, obviously stoned out of his mind. Gigo was never clever with words and this wasn’t the time to be a smart ass.

  Nazar nodded his head and three guys jumped us from behind. The next thing I remember is lying in a heap with a thug forcing me to look at Gigo. Poor Gigo looked like he’d put up a decent fight, but had eventually been overwhelmed. Two men with bloody faces held him down, while another pinned his hand on a wooden block.

  “You see what happens when you fuck with my business,” Nazar was saying to the bloody mess that was my friend.

  Nazar pulled a meat cleaver from behind his back and waved it in Gigo’s face.

  “I arrange for you a discount in manicure,” he screamed and chopped off Gigo’s middle finger. I then understood why Nazar was the leader of his gang; he was a ruthless son of a bitch.