04-29-2014, 07:01 PM
Yefim Pokrovskii pulled up the ramp that led to the back side of a waste water treatment facility. In the distance, the surface of Moscow River was a black road tonight beneath a crescent moon. His bike rumbled over the slats of wooden bridges constructed half a century ago, and after passing the final vodokanal, he signaled to the boys inside the treatment center to open the warehouse doors.
He walked the bike into park, kicked down the stand, and dismounted. "Privet, boys," he said with a laugh.
Two of the four men waiting around were flipping cards. The third looked up from a Wallet screen. The last, Boris, the oldest of the five men, with jagged gray hair and square, mechanically shaped jaw, was finishing off the last of the vodka. In the background were rows of huge tanks dug into the earth churning pools of dark water.
Yefim scratched his scalp when he pulled a black helmet from his head. Boris was the night foreman. The two jokers with cards were his underlings, and the final man was Yefim's brother, Avdei, who left his Wallet behind and came to greet him.
"When's he coming?" Avdei asked.
Movement caught Yefim's eye from the camera on his brother's Wallet screen. A taxi had pulled up to the front of the facility, and a scrawny American labored out the back seat. He looked around, and although his face was half-covered by curls, Yefim knew it was him.
He pointed at the screen
"Its payday, boys," he said.
Avdei smirked and signaled to the card players. "Bute, Simos. Bring him round here. Our man wants to buy a motorcycle." They tossed back the last of their vodka, shoved out of their seats and stalked out of sight.
Yefim and Avdei joined Boris, who finally glanced up and grumbled. "If there's blood, I don't want it on my floor."
Yefim shrugged. "Fair enough, Boris."
He walked the bike into park, kicked down the stand, and dismounted. "Privet, boys," he said with a laugh.
Two of the four men waiting around were flipping cards. The third looked up from a Wallet screen. The last, Boris, the oldest of the five men, with jagged gray hair and square, mechanically shaped jaw, was finishing off the last of the vodka. In the background were rows of huge tanks dug into the earth churning pools of dark water.
Yefim scratched his scalp when he pulled a black helmet from his head. Boris was the night foreman. The two jokers with cards were his underlings, and the final man was Yefim's brother, Avdei, who left his Wallet behind and came to greet him.
"When's he coming?" Avdei asked.
Movement caught Yefim's eye from the camera on his brother's Wallet screen. A taxi had pulled up to the front of the facility, and a scrawny American labored out the back seat. He looked around, and although his face was half-covered by curls, Yefim knew it was him.
He pointed at the screen
"Its payday, boys," he said.
Avdei smirked and signaled to the card players. "Bute, Simos. Bring him round here. Our man wants to buy a motorcycle." They tossed back the last of their vodka, shoved out of their seats and stalked out of sight.
Yefim and Avdei joined Boris, who finally glanced up and grumbled. "If there's blood, I don't want it on my floor."
Yefim shrugged. "Fair enough, Boris."