July 5, 1993
Monday
1:00 PM
After lunch Zhorik walked out to the center of the stage, around which the restaurant staff had clustered. Greeted the gathering on behalf of the investors, asked Anastasia Igorevna the cost of renovating the premises and replacing the equipment. Hearing an answer with plenty of zeros in it, he let out a loud sigh: «Bit pricey. Need to have a look at the budget! It stings, but for a worthy cause, no obstacle’s too big for investment! I think we can swing it.»
Then he turned to the staff: «What questions have piled up?» To the volley of complaints, requests, and wishes that followed, Zhorik replied: «In case it wasn’t clear, I’ll repeat myself: serious investors are ready to put money into the restaurant’s development, wages will go up, conditions will improve. Any other questions?»
I puzzled over it for a couple of seconds: where had Zhorik dug up serious investors?
Anatoly Stepanovich walked into the hall. With the policeman’s appearance, I cheered up. Stopped torturing myself with guesses about what fresh criminal stunt Zhorka would pull next. Now it’d be by the book!
Finished off my beer in one go, considered another, decided against rushing it. We still had work ahead of us. Look at Zhorik, buried in business, kicking up dust everywhere.
Zhora shook hands with Anatoly Stepanovich, froze in place, surrounded by a crowd. On one side, Anastasia Igorevna with the waitresses, on the other, the policeman with the bartender, the cooks and their assistants shuffling around opposite, Kirill and Vadim standing behind.
Whoa, where’d these two come from?
I hadn’t noticed my acquaintances from «Cher Ami» turn up. Right. Hm… Utterly baffled Vadim and apathetic Kirill wandered the restaurant, discussing matters with Anastasia Igorevna, vanishing through the back entrance and reappearing beside Zhorik. He, shoulder to shoulder with Anatoly Stepanovich, paced back and forth in measured steps, rattling off instructions. Maybe I should get up from the table too, wander around looking thoughtful?
The discussion of problems, inaudible, unclear, incomprehensible, wrapped up an hour later. Vadik and Kirill vanished. The staff returned to their posts. The «Closed» sign came down off the door.
Anatoly Stepanovich and Zhorik came back to the same table as before, well within earshot:
— That’s not how business gets done. Need to think it over, — the policeman stated.
— What’s there to think about? — Zhorik waved his hands like he was shooing flies. — No thinking required, write up your transfer request and move to central command. No prospects at all out in the field. You’ll never make general out there. Not ever, not for anything!
— I’ll think about it.
— Don’t think, just write the request. And let Karabanov out.
— Sent him home this morning. Just like we agreed, right after your call. He promised to be here by one.
Zhorik checked his watch, shook the policeman’s hand goodbye, and, moving over to my table, grumbled:
— Nothing’s right, nothing’s in the right place, nothing’s on time. Tolik and Chicha are tangled up in complications. Karabas is a bust. Semyonych keeps driving Nastyukha up the wall. What to do with this whole charity ward, no idea. We’ll put Vadik and Kirill and Lena on the second floor. That part’s more or less handled. But here, first floor and basement, what do we do with it? Can’t cram a trendy club in here. Not enough room. Unless we bring in some junkies and sink money into a glossy magazine, but Kiryukha’ll blow through all of it. And we’ve got no other promoters. Not worth investing seriously. Leave it as is. A dive’s a dive, always and everywhere.
Zhorik checked his watch:
— Head home, wait for me there. I’m going to swing by Karabas’s. Two hours round trip. Then a meeting on Plyushchikha at five, need to hash something out with a guy. You’ll meet him, chat, it’ll come in handy. I’ll pick you up around four. Time to get you plugged into the business.
I nodded: «About time!»
