The Oligarch
The Oligarch
By
Vartan Mansuryan
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Cover Design by Jacob Ayvazov
Cover Photo Provided by Vito Smiles
Kindle E-book Edition Published 2016
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Copyright © Hen Alex Man Publishing Inc. 2016
All Rights Reserved
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First published by Hen Alex Man Publishing Inc. United States, 2016
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First Edition Published, December 2016
Copyright © 2016 by Vartan Mansuryan
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Hen Alex Man Publishing Inc.
Los Angeles, California
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The Oligarch is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by William Bryant III
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
For Seda, Henry, and William
1
All I want to do is drink this shot of bourbon. I’m not a bourbon drinking kind of man, tequila is my drink of choice, but the bottle and glass keep calling my name. The bottle tells me, “Hey, look at me, I’m right here,” and the glass says, “Reach out and touch me and give me a kiss.” I gave that shot glass a kiss. The bourbon made its way from my tongue to my throat and down to my belly. Suddenly, I felt warm inside. The glass called out again, “Hey you! Give me another kiss. I won’t bite.”
“You’re a son of a bitch!” I said.
“You’ll forget everything my friend.”
Then it called my name, “Bobby! Take another shot. All your troubles will go away. This is how drinking works. You tip my lid and out comes my magic nectar of the gods – the glass does the rest.”
“You’re a bastard!” I yelled out.
I kissed the little glass shot one more time. Then I waited for a few minutes until my insides agreed with me again. My knees and toes went numb. My tongue and stomach adjusted to the flavor of the bourbon. One more kiss, and another, and another! The room went silent. They both stopped talking to me.
“Hey!” I called out, “What’s going on? Why don’t you say something? A minute ago, you two wouldn’t shut up. Say something. Say something! Talk to me! I’m all alone here!”
They both stayed silent. My fists came flying and I shattered them. The bottle went first, then the little guy. They took it like real champs, not even a slight groan or a cry.
“Hey!” someone called out, “what the fuck are you doing?”
“Who’s there?”
“You crazy lunatic! Get out! Get out of my bar!”
Bar? I’m at a bar? How did I get to a bar? I don’t like bars. What would I be doing at a bar?
Of course, now I remember, it’s the bar on…
It was hot and humid outside. They tossed me out like I was some sort of a bum! I smashed my forehead against a trash can on the way down. If only they knew who I was. But I was in no mood of introducing myself. I’m Robert Martin, everyone knows me around here.
I stood up and felt the sweat dripping down my forehead, or was that blood? It didn’t matter. I only cared for the walking. I needed to walk out of this alley and onto the street. A person in my condition had no business being in an alley. Anything could happen in an alley. I could be robbed or killed or someone could bust up my face just for the fun of it.
Walk Bobby, walk faster! Get out onto the streets.
“Don’t call me Bobby. My name is Robert Martin.”
And there I was talking to myself while trying to stay up on my two feet. I leaned against the red brick walls of the alley. One by one, one foot after the other, I crawled forward. Then my knees buckled and I nearly fell on my face.
Stay up! Stay awake.
The end of the alley was approaching. I could hear the cars zipping by, the buses breaking and starting and making those distinct engine noises, honking horns and pedestrians talking. The noises became louder as I neared the end of the alley. Where the heck was I? Burbank? Glendale? Hollywood? I must be in the valley; it’s always hot in the valley. I should not have worn this jacket.
Keep walking! Success! I made it!
I looked up at the street sign, Colorado Blvd. I must be in Glendale… No, wait! This wasn’t Glendale. This was someplace else. How could I forget. Pasadena! I’m in Pasadena. I hardly come out this way.
Keep walking. Where’s my car? Hello! Car! Where are you?
Where’s that crazy car? Did I even come out here with a car? I shouldn’t even be driving right now. I need to sit down somewhere. A coffee shop! I see a coffee shop. Sit, order coffee, relax for a few minutes and everything will be okay.
I sat at the last table of the empty patio area. Waiter! Where’s a waiter when you need one? I looked up and the Starbucks signs stared back at me. They don’t have waiters at Starbucks. Time to walk again. I approached the counter and kept my eyes down so they wouldn’t notice how drunk I was.
“May I take your order sir?”
“Coffee. Hot,” I said with my mouth covered.
“Would you like anything else?”
“No. Just coffee.”
“Would you like to try our new scones.”
“No. How much?”
“Dollar ninety-five sir.”
Dollar ninety-five for a cup of coffee, how ridiculous did that sound?
“Son!” I shouted out, “I will place a five-dollar tip, in this plastic tip jar of yours, if you could bring my coffee out to me. Out there on the patio.”
“You can place the tip in the tip jar sir.”
He agreed, and I fumbled to take out the money from my pocket and pay him what I owed, plus the five dollars. It was difficult but I managed. I saw eyes looking in my direction. They were judging me. Some of them whispered things. The younger ones laughed at me; the older crowd was appalled by my condition. I wanted to scream and tell them, “Haven’t you people seen a drunk before?” Everyone’s allowed to be drunk at least once in their lifetime. This was my drunken getaway. Don’t judge me. I’m a good person. I’m Robert Martin. Everyone knows who I am.
I could kill all of you!
I made it out to the patio and sat down and the coffee came. I looked down at the white cup. A neat plastic lid with a small opening for my mouth to sip the delicious coffee stared back at me. Suddenly, the opening of the lid winked at me. “You don’t look so good buddy,” said the lid. I was startled and nearly smacked the cup off the table. But it would have been a terrible idea to waste such an expensive cup of coffee.
“I’ll be alright. I just need some coffee,” I replied to the cup.
I reached down for the cup and held it in my hand. It was a hot cup of coffee, but my hands were too numb to tell my brain. Instead, I held the cup and dozed off. I’m not sure how long I was out, must have been a few seconds or maybe even minutes. I was jolted awake by the hot coffee dripping onto my pants. This time my brain was smart enough to notice.
“Hey buddy,” cried out the coffee, �
�you going to take a sip or what?”
“Give me a minute. I just burned my balls.”
The cup laughed and said, “You’re a real funny guy.”
I took a long sip and burned my tongue in the process. I didn’t care. I needed to be awake. How did I end up here? When I was finished with the cup I tossed it away on the sidewalk.
“That’s littering.”
“Shut up!”
Walk… All I needed to do now was keep walking. Taxi, I need a taxi.
“Call a taxi!”
My hands went into my pockets in search of my phone. It was gone. I had it a minute ago; I must have dropped it. I walked back to the coffee shop.
“Hey,” I burst through the doors, “did I leave a phone here? Anyone seen my phone? It was an iPhone. A black one. Anyone find a phone? It’s very important that I get my phone. I’m waiting for a phone call. I’m supposed to meet a buddy of mine. My life is in that phone.”
“Buddy! That’s it, that’s the reason I’m here for. I need to meet a buddy, a friend, an acquaintance. I was supposed to meet him at the bar. Shit! Why did I leave the bar? And where’s my damn phone?”
The coffee shop patrons all shook their heads and said no. No one had seen my phone. They were lying of course, one of them must have my phone. I made a fist and readied myself to punch the geek behind the counter.
“Hey!” a voice shouted out.
“Who said that?” I turned my attention away from the cashier.
“Sir,” said the cashier, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Hey buddy!” said the voice again, “over here.”
I looked outside.
“Where are you?”
“Sir,” said the cashier again.
“Outside! Come outside,” said the voice.
I ran towards the door and barreled through. The customers were relieved to see me go.
“Your phone,” it was the damn cup talking to me again, “it’s sitting right there on the table. Where you left it.”
I looked behind me and saw my phone on the table.
“Thanks a lot. I owe you one.”
“Wait,” said the cup, “aren’t you going to dispose of me like a normal person. I need to be inside a trash can.”
“No time now. I need to meet a friend. Sorry.”
I sprang for my phone and grabbed it. It rang as I picked it up from the table. I answered.
“Robert, where are you?” said Charlie.
“Charlie, I’m at the Starbucks. Can you come down here? I’m sure it’s very close. I only walked for a bit to find the place. Just come down here. I’ll wait by the patio. Should I grab you a cup?”
“We agreed on meeting at the bar. You can’t change plans on me like that.”
“No, no, I didn’t change plans. They tossed me out of there Charlie.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know. They must not have liked the way I look. I think they know Charlie; they know who I am. Everyone knows Robert Martin.”
“What? Are you drunk again? Stay where you are. I’m coming there.”
Charlie hung up the phone. I sat back down on the patio chair. I was so tired. All I wanted to do now was go to sleep, the coffee had done me no good. My eyes closed.
“Hey,” said a feminine voice, “are you alright.”
I blinked several times.
“Who’s there?” I cried out.
“You don’t look so good.”
“I just need to sleep.”
“Do you live around here?”
“No.”
“You shouldn’t be out here like this. The place is closing soon and the manager’s about to call the cops on you.”
I peered over at the employees standing inside the Starbucks, their eyes fixated on me. I gave them the finger and smiled.
Gentle hands helped me stand up. I nearly fell on my face but she held onto me.
“Take it easy,” she said, “Where do you live?”
I don’t remember the rest.
2.
“Finally! You’re awake,” she said.
I wanted to ask who she was but the first thing that came to my mind was, “smoke.”
“Where are my cigarettes?”
I saw a hand come towards me, it held a pack of smokes. I took the pack and lit a cigarette in my mouth. Inhaling toxic so deep into my lungs never felt better. I rubbed my forehead to try and clear my mind. Then I felt it; it was a burst of pain which shot through my neck and out my eyeballs. Why couldn’t I clear my head? I looked up at the figure standing in front of me. A blurred vision of a female appeared before me. Who was she?
“Take it easy Bob,” she said, “I’ll make you some coffee.”
Bob? No one calls me Bob. I hated that name, a nickname to a real name.
I hate nicknames.
“Do you want sugar?”
“No,” I replied, “just black. Coffee’s on the top shelf.”
“No sugar, no cream, just black.”
“Yes.”
She had a young perky tone to her voice. I guessed her to be in her late teens or early twenties. What was she doing here in my apartment? Did I do anything with her? My wife wouldn’t like that. “Get up,” I told myself. I nearly fell over and grabbed on to the nightstand.
What’s happening?
She came back fifteen minutes later and said, “Breakfast is ready!”
I hated breakfast. I should have told her not to cook anything. Coffee would suit my stomach just fine. I stumbled into the living room area, she walked ahead of me. The room smelled like cooked eggs and bacon. I nearly vomited. My head still lingered in pain.
“Coffee! Please!”
She brought over a cup of hot coffee. Then she placed the hot plate of food in front of me.
“I’ll grab you a fork.”
Fork? Did I even have forks in this place?
“Hey, where are the forks.”
I guess not.
“I don’t have any forks. Do me a favor, grab me a few pain pills. Should be in one of the drawers.”
“How can someone not have forks?” she said.
She fetched me pain pills and water.
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I don’t eat this early.”
She walked over and sat across from me. She wore a blue flannel shirt; it was my shirt. I finally looked at her. My blurred vision subsided. Her face was clear now. The pain in my eyeballs stopped long enough for me to make out her eye color. Blue, long blonde hair, small nose, full lips. She was an exact copy of what the magazines deemed beautiful. I almost had to tell myself to stop staring at her.
“Drink your coffee,” she said with smile, “it’ll make you feel a lot better.”
I took a drink of the coffee, it felt good.
“Eat,” she said, “please! I promise you’ll like it.”
I took a few more sips and bit into the food. After the first bite, I realized how hungry I was. I took more chunks of food in my hand and ate.
“Slow down.”
“I don’t eat eggs. At least I haven’t in a long time. I miss the taste.”
My wife always nags me about eating healthy. I guess this is a healthy meal.
“I almost thought you weren’t going to wake up. You just fell on the bed and snored the whole night,” she said, “I also went shopping for food in the morning. I hope you don’t mind.”
“You went shopping?”
“Yes,” she giggled, “Where do you think the eggs came from? All you had was instant coffee and a block of goat cheese in the fridge. By the way, I owe you twenty-five dollars. I took money from your wallet. I hope you don’t mind.”
The headache came back as I tried to recall the previous night. I must have brought her up for a good time; she was a real nice whore for not stealing my money while I was passed out. Twenty-five dollars wasn’t a big deal.
“Thank you,” I said, “if I haven’t paid you yet, there’s money in my
wallet. But you already know that. Take what I owe you and you can leave.”
“Pay me? Who do you think I am?”
“Probably one of Murat’s girls.”
Murat was an acquaintance, a pimp. He’d bring a girl over when I needed to get away for the weekend. Always of the highest quality, and this one was beyond any of the previous ones he’d sent me.
“I’m not a hooker,” she said with a laugh, “Bob.”
“Don’t call me Bob. My name is Robert.”
“I know, it’s Robert Martin.”
“How did you know that?”
“You wouldn’t stop screaming it out all night. The Uber guy nearly kicked us out. I told him you were my drunk father.”
“Father?”
I wasn’t that old and she wasn’t that young. How stupid is this generation?
“Robert, don’t you remember anything from last night?”
“I have a headache. Thank you for the meal. I need to rest.”
I took the cup of coffee and walked over to the couch and sat down. The room was spinning. The blurriness was back. I chugged down the remaining coffee and leaned to one side of the couch with my head on the pillow. Why wouldn’t the headache stop?
“Hey,” she stood over me, “I’m not a hooker. I saved you buddy. Last night, I helped you get into the Uber. I’m not a hooker.”
“Uber? What Uber?”
“The Uber you called, in front of the coffee shop. You were standing there drunk out of your mind and talking to yourself. If I hadn’t saved you, you were probably going to get your ass kicked or something.”
My name is Robert Martin; no one would dare touch me.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Thank you, please leave. I need to be alone.”
I closed my eyes; the pain was unbearable. I needed more coffee or a pill or some water. My body refused to move from its position. Ask the girl, I told myself. I was too stubborn to say anything. I was too lazy to sit up. My limbs went cold and numb. Why can’t I move? Why won’t the pain go away? Then a fog came over my mind and washed away the worry. My body was at peace, but only for a brief moment. I opened my eyes and fell over onto the floor.
The Oligarch (Robert Martin Book 1) Page 1
