July 3, 1993
Saturday
1:40 PM
Not a minute had passed before Yefimych oozed into the room with a sheet of paper in hand, and cleared his throat. I turned my gaze to the property manager and studied his face. Definitely seen him recently, but exactly where, I couldn’t recall. Yefimych smiled honey-sweet:
— So, is it true you actually deal in… — Yefimych squinted sideways at the sheet, — syndi… sysiro… syndicated tranches of Eurobonds?
I shrugged. Yefimych came closer and, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, asked:
— Is the Swiss office actually happening? Lots of staff?
I shrugged. Zhorik hadn’t left any instructions. To avoid blurting out something I shouldn’t, I decided to play the part of a minor employee.
— Is the team a close-knit one? — the old man couldn’t settle down, kept peppering me with questions.
I shrugged again, with sound effects this time:
— It’s fine.
— Any single girls?
— There are.
Yefimych, firing off his baffling questions, little by little, step by step, crept right up close. Got close enough to lay a little hand on my shoulder and whisper in my ear:
— Getting some action?
I couldn’t find an answer. Yefimych broke into a long snicker:
— Heh-heh-heeeeh… All right, all right, you’re young, no need to be shy. You’ll introduce me to one who doesn’t say no, deal?
— Doubtful, — my power of speech finally returned.
— Why’s that?
For the tenth time, I wished Zhora had left instructions about the old geezer.
Yefimych took his little hand off my shoulder:
— When will Georgy Albertovich be here?
— About an hour.
— Here’s the thing. Georgy Albertovich promised to set some girls up with jobs. Maybe you could have a look? Sharp girls. Handy as gold-thread embroiderers, the lot of them!
— Maybe, — I shrugged vaguely.
— Splendid, then, — Yefimych boiled over with happiness. Clapped me on the shoulder, scurried toward the exit, and turned back halfway there:
— I’ll call them in now. You’ll have a chat. Excellent girls.
Winked a greasy little eye and was gone.
