August 1994
In mid-August, Zhorik posed a puzzle:
«Quit sitting around. Any other scumbags out there like Kislov?»
I remembered the manager who’d been trusted with a truckload of vacuum cleaners that spring, after Chicha’s little heist. Kislov sold the whole load off in a week and got promoted to «Head of Household Vacuum Technology.» At the start of summer he bailed on Proma and, together with a former Vatrushka accountant, registered his own company — so he could sell vacuum cleaners not for a three-hundred-dollar salary, but for thousands landing in his own account.
Just by existing, they were driving our vacuum cleaner sales into the ground! And the bastards, on top of everything, hadn’t been ashamed to take out a loan from Vadim, and had defaulted on the payment two days ago.
Zhorik drummed his palms on the desk:
«So-so-so! We need to pull Chicha away from his war with the athletes! He’s already tangled with the Orekhovo crew, we don’t need that. Let him do something useful, or they’ll all shoot each other over nothing. Meeting in two hours, we’re deciding this hard and fast!»
We held a small meeting: Zhorik, me, and an envoy from Chicha — a lean, calm, attentive man. The decision: Chicha’s athletes would head to Kislov’s warehouse and clean it out completely, citing the outstanding loan. No excessive violence; if the police showed up, call in the lawyers, who were on standby at Vadik’s.
The athletes carried out the order: nobody got hurt, the contents of the warehouse were moved to Khryakino. The guards were left alive and at their posts.
What was Zhorik plotting? Why did he need scumbags like Kislov? And how many of them were there? Turnover at the manager level at Proma was insane.
Zhorik explained:
«We’re going to deal with the ex-employees. Our pay’s above market rate — nobody leaves for no reason!»
We sat down in Zhorik’s office with a list of people who’d quit, asked Proma’s old-timers about customers who’d vanished right alongside their former managers. We found five names for a blacklist. After going through the sales training, the guys had struck out on their own with Proma’s clients in tow.
Zhorik got worked up:
«Now it’s clear how the competition breeds. We’re the ones raising these pigs ourselves! We nurture them, coddle them, push them up to the trough, feed them up fat — and they turn around and shit in the trough. No matter! Chicha will teach them some business hygiene. The punishment will be severe. But that’s not the main thing. The main thing is that it’s inevitable!»
«Is there any other way to handle it?» I hesitated.
«No!» Zhora snapped. Noticing my grimace, he explained:
«Look. You invested in the goods, ran the ads, brought in the customers. That’s your expense. These little piglets, without spending a single kopeck, get a ready-made sales channel, and now their only job is to get their hands on the same goods and resell them. No costs at all! And you end up losing money four times over!»
«How’s it four times?»
«Count it out. First time: when you invested in the goods and took the risk. Second: when your client left. Lost profit is a direct loss. Third: the piglets get their goods somewhere. Presumably from your own suppliers. Suppliers, seeing the sudden demand, jack up prices — that’s your loss too. Fourth — what are your overhead costs at Proma?»
«Fifty grand.»
«And they’ve got no overhead except renting a warehouse, since they’re sitting at home working the phone. So you’re in the red again. How do you fight four-fold injustice?»
«I don’t know.»
«I know. If they want to compete with you, let them carry the same expenses. Run ads, chase down clients, import, clear customs, hire security, and put Chicha’s crew on the payroll. Actually, we could rent out the athletes for a fee. Hmm... so-so-so... good idea, needs some thought...»
There was a grain of sense in Zhora’s reasoning.
We knocked back some cognac, called in Karabas, and sent him to the Terem to hand Chicha the piglet list, with instructions to clean the warehouses out completely. In case of trouble, produce Vadim’s lawyers with the paperwork. Tomorrow morning, Kostya and Seva would draw up official documents establishing that the former employees had literally stolen goods from Proma and were now trafficking in stolen property. Time to open a criminal case! Seva was delighted at the chance to corrupt his fellow lawmen, so they’d open the case and immediately close it as «solved.»
Karabas drove off. Zhorik topped off his glass, but didn’t finish it. He jumped up and, with a shout of «Eureka! A new milestone!» bolted off somewhere.
The next morning, Zhora ordered Masha to run an ad everywhere she could, reading: «Loans for LLCs to grow your business. Fast! Cheap! Confidential!»
