June 25, 1993
Friday
4:40 PM
We set up the computer and printer on the desk in my room. The place was turning into an exhibition of scientific and technological progress. Time to invite guests and dazzle them! I dashed from room to room, daydreaming. Zhora, sighing, counted the cash:
— Money's tight.
After a couple more sighs, he pulled his thoughts together:
— Got a buyer lined up for the Audi, but the registration papers aren't ready. The traffic cops are dragging their feet. Need to sort it out with Lenorych. Student, sit tight, figure out the computer, I'll be back soon. Gotta run out to Yasenevo.
— Zhora, I'm coming with you.
— Suit yourself, but it's a dicey business. Could get your face rearranged if they catch us.
— They won't catch us, — I smiled.
Standing next to Zhorik, I felt the euphoria a five-year-old feels perched on his father's shoulders at a May Day parade. Shame they stopped holding those workers' demonstrations.
We went out to the little courtyard, climbed into the sedan, and rolled through Petrovka, Lubyanka and Yakimanka to the south of Moscow. A grand torrent of plans poured out of Zhorik:
– ... we’ll pick up a color inkjet while we’re at it, a scanner, a laminator... hire a designer, although... he’s not really needed, we’ll manage ourselves. Once we’ve got the equipment set up, student, we’ll start cooking up papers no forensic examination will smell a thing wrong with. Ever hear of Photoshop? I’ve got a real feel for that gadget. There’s a piece of paper called a «promissory note». Money out of nowhere! As the Yanks say: money out of thin air. The outlay is next to nothing, and you can make… you have no idea how much. The main thing is to share a small cut with whoever needs it and jump off in time... Bastards, the lot of them!
Out of the blue, Zhorik drooped:
– We’re about to get fucked.
