Sergotoff had heard about the American subsidies where farmers were paid not to grow certain crops, but something like this? The offer by Monaco said something about the gambling industry to Sergotoff. What Sergotoff derived from the offer was that gambling was very lucrative. If it were lucrative then the profits had to come from people who lost. The Foreign Minister started having second thoughts about his desire to gamble since he knew he could never squelch Sophia’s desire to shop. Something was going to have to give.
“I am not authorized to make any deals. I will inform the premier when I return to Moscow.” While Sergotoff’s demeanor was very appropriate, inside his soul was craving to find out just how much money Monaco was turning over with the turning of the cards so that he might find out just what Nirvana could expect to earn.
Having attended a state dinner that night at the king’s palace in the honor of the German Chancellor, Sergotoff was now going to get a first hand idea of what really went on in the casinos of which he heard. The entourage of limousines made their way to Monte Carlo’s premier casino, the Casino Royale.
Entering the magnificent casino, it was the definitive expression of class. The Czar Alexander would have loved this elegance no matter who had to be a slave so that he could have it. All the croupees’ were dressed in tuxedoes, very stylish with silk strips down the sides of their trousers. The women croupees’ accented their tuxedoes with ruffled white blouses that were trimmed with lace while the males wore white shirts with rather stiff looking collars. Looking around at all the well-dressed people, patrons that Sophia knew had to be rich, many of which were influential, she felt like royalty.
The carpeting appeared new and it was something that Sergotoff wanted to discover. If it were new, he wanted to know how often they changed it because if it changed with any frequency at all, that would give him an idea of just how profitable the gambling business was. The crystal chandeliers gave him a pretty good idea, especially because a sharp elbow had pointed them out to him from Sophia. Twenty feet above her head and she still knew that it was real crystal. Now that was an eye for authenticity, thought Sergotoff.
The young king of Monaco was so preoccupied with the German official that he paid no attention to Sergotoff whatsoever. Serge knew that was going to be the case and had resigned himself to that fact, something he would not have done when he had complete control. After all, he thought, the chancellor from Germany came from a wealthy, industrious nation who had sent many a gambler to Monte Carlo. What did Russia have to offer?
Wandering through the casino, Sergotoff attempted to remember how to play each game as he reached the tables. He had only read the book last week and tried to commit them to memory but somehow they faded.
Stopping at the roulette table, Sophia leaned over to watch the small white ball bounce on the spinning wheel. She looked at the green felt table that served as a backdrop for red, black and white. The stacks of multi-colored chips distracted her eyes. Unlike most casinos in Las Vegas, Nevada, where the black chips represented a hundred dollars, here in Monte Carlo they were worth a thousand dollars.
“Oh look at all those chips, Serge. Maybe we should get some.”
“So you want to try some roulette?”
“Oh yes.”
“Okay then, let me get some chips.”
“Oh, get black, they will fit in with my color scheme.” Sergotoff smiled and walked over to the cage where it seemed that the clerk there was waiting for him.
“I would like a stack of twenty-five black chips.” The cashier slid the stack of chips in front of him.
“That will be twenty-five thousand dollars.” Suddenly Sergotoff believed that he had some form of a glandular disorder as his Adams Apple just seemed far too big to go back to where it started. He knew he had no choice because if he returned with any other chip that was of a lesser denomination, Sophia would find out that he did it because of the money.
Returning to the table with the twenty-five black chips, still keeping them as a stack, he placed them down in front of Sophia. Taking five chips, she placed them down on number thirty-seven, where another gambler had a much more significant stack placed as well. Sophia never noticed Serge grimacing as she placed the chips down to wager on the number. As the croupee’ spun the wheel, Serge closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them he found out they won. The white ball stopped at number thirty-seven paying thirty to one odds.
“Number thirty-seven,” declared the croupee', his voice sounding like one that was coming from the heavens to Serge. Looking down at the table, the number of chips he saw astounded him.
“We have done very well tonight, Sophia. I think we should call it a night.”
“I haven’t even gotten started yet.” Sophia moved most of the chips off to the side and waited for the man to place his bet. When he put his stack of chips on number nineteen, he found his chips sharing the number with Sophia’s chips. The number that the croupee’ announced was number six. As the croupee’ removed the stacks of chips from the table, the Russian Foreign Minister had to fight to hold back the tears that he felt were forming in his tear ducts.
His attention was quickly diverted as a beautiful brunette asked the patrons of the roulette table attempting to find out if anyone desired something to drink. Vodka was Sergotoff’s drink while Sophia long held a Martini as her favorite. Once it was in her hand, however, the Martini only lasted a short while. Watching his wife gamble and the type of drink she favored, Serge realized that his wife was probably more cut out for the western culture than he.
The man that Sophia had been watching placed another bet, this time with fewer chips than he had before and the number he chose was number twenty-seven. Sophia, almost mimicking the man’s conduct, dropped her bet down to a single solitary chip with a measly one thousand dollars, possibly just enough to buy a Yugo, if she could find one, on the same number. The croupee’, declaring that there was no more wagering, spun the roulette wheel and when the white ball finally reached it’s destination, the numbered slot it fell into was twenty-seven. Sophia threw her arms up in joy.
“What was with the one chip, why didn’t you bet more?”
“But I...”
“You knew what you were doing, you bet five the first time.”
“Oh Serge, we’re just here to have a little fun.”
The man that had been Sophia’s lead to this point added ten more chips to his previous bet and placed them on number five. Sophia placed five chips on number five and looked at Serge for approval as she did. He remained stoic, his eyes affixed to the wheel. The spin of the wheel seemed as if it took forever and in Serge’s mind, it should have. The number four did nothing to put any money in his pocket.
The waitress returned with the drinks and she handed everyone the one they ordered. The man whose lead Sophia had followed handed the woman some money. Serge was oblivious to the action as he downed his drink with one slug. Finding the waitress still standing there, he ordered another vodka and was totally bewildered by her cold stare. The man of the hour leaned close to the Foreign Minister, wanting to keep the words he was about to speak between the two.
“Tip the lady, jackass.”
Sergotoff knew what a lady was and he knew what a jackass was, but what was a tip? There were plenty of people in English speaking countries that, like Sergotoff, had no idea what a tip was.
“What’s a tip?” The man, well dressed, well groomed, handsome and in his forties, stood in disbelief. He sensed that Sophia’s spouse really had no idea what a tip was. Grabbing one of the black chips from one of Sophia’s stacks, he handed it to the croupee'.
“Break that, please.” Within moments ten blue ones were returned to the gentleman. He then took one of the chips and gave it to the waitress, who smiled with delight.
“Be right back with that vodka, sir.” Sergotoff had just learned the power of a good tip. Sometime later that evening he would learn just how big a tip he had given her. If he were getting drinks for the
tip he had just given, Sergotoff would have been blind drunk in no time. That condition would have made him oblivious to Sophia's gambling.
The man then returned to the table and placed ten black chips on number seventeen. Sophia, not wanting to miss an opportunity, placed three black chips on the same number. The wheel did its rapid rotations with all eyes affixed to it. When it stopped, the small white ball sat in the slot marked twenty-five.
“Why don’t you two find another game of chance so I can have a chance?” While the man was winning and ahead substantially in the little time that Sophia had been matching his bets, the man was still annoyed with her matching his every move.
“I think maybe we should try dice, Sophia,” suggested Serge, the calm in his voice showing that he was still in control of himself. Not wanting to leave but sensing that it would be the wise thing since the croupee’ was also staring at them, they left the spinning wheel behind. Moving away toward the craps table, they hoped that they might be able to find a roll model that would lead them to the same kind of success.
The negotiations had lasted the entire night and now they were near complete. The only thing that remained was for the attorneys to look everything over. At four hundred dollars an hour, Mikhail was figuring that it could take them forever.
Russo was impressed with B. Czar’s ability to put together a deal. Maybe he had worked at one of the talent agencies in Hollywood before he went into the black market business in Russia. This deal he arranged would start Russia on the road to tract housing. In his proposal, and now in the actual deal itself, the Twang Brothers Construction Company would begin building houses in Russia. They would be given the wood for free from the timber that was now being cut in the forest of Siberia. In return, they would agree to build low cost housing and would help to train some of Russia’s unemployed in the skill areas, carpentry, electricity, etc. When they heard the small amount that they would have to pay, they leaped at the chance. With the lumber free, the labor and other materials dirt cheap, the Twangs saw a chance for a large profit margin. B. Czar was smart in approaching the Twangs from Texas since he was aware that in the previous fiscal quarter the Twangs had fallen below Wall Street expectations. They needed a shot in the arm.
While the Twangs had only committed to two thousand homes, which the Russian government was prepared to guarantee, B. Czar knew he had to do something to get things started. He was at a point in his life where he had enough financial success to last him four lifetimes, now he wanted something more. A little recognition for making life bearable for the Russian people really was not a bad way to go. He was fortunate that he was able to get the dry wall for cost from his friends in Asia. That new railroad line was really going to come in handy.
“You know, Mikhail, if this housing thing takes off, it could really jump-start the economy,” commented Russo.
“He’s right, Mikey. Just look at what the housing industry did for America right after World War Two,” added Allison. Having been directed to the right angle to make some more money, B. Czar leaped to his feet.
“Washing machines, dryers, swing sets in the back yard. I can get it all.” Watching B. Czar’s antics immediately made Allison believe that she had seen this man before on American television sometime after midnight on a channel that showed old films all night. He was sandwiched right between the car salesman and the guy who was going to teach you how to make a fortune in real estate with no money down after you gave him a couple hundred dollars for his self starter kit.
It was amazing how people could look at the same thing and come away with different ideas. When B. Czar started mentioning the ancillary items that were usually associated with a house, Mikhail viewed it as additional appointments that he was going to make to try to get the companies that manufactured these items in Europe and America to come to Russia and open plants there. Mikhail had developed the mindset that when someone mentioned a product, he thought job creation.
“You know, Mikhail, you might want to go over the building codes again,” suggested Russo.
“What just popped into your mind, Tim?” questioned Mikhail, knowing that with the contract this far along it must be something pretty important.
“I was just thinking. If the Twangs are from Texas, what do they really know about building houses in this cold climate?” The most obvious of questions that should have been raised at the beginning was now being asked as the contracts were being looked over.
“Tim’s right, Mikhail, we better find out how much construction they did in the Texas panhandle,” suggested Allison, knowing just how important this project meant to Russia. She was also quite aware how much money could be lost, something Russia could ill afford. Quickly Mikhail got on his cellular phone that was right at his side. Within moments, after punching in the numbers, he heard a greeting at the other end.
“Epstein, how do the contracts look?”
“We’re almost done but I think we should try for another loophole.”
“Do you know much about the Twang construction company?”
“Like what?”
“Like where have they done most of their construction?”
“When I talked to one of the Texas Twangs last night, he said they mostly built around the Houston area.”
“Scuttle the deal.”
“But, Mikhail, we’ve...”
“Scuttle it, Epstein.”
“Could you tell me why? Just do that, okay?”
“Simple, we don’t need straw huts in the tundra.” Mikhail closed up the cellular phone quickly before the conversation could go any further.
“Mikhail, the Twangs are going to eat up on this. They’ll take you to court so fast your head will spin. They’ll collect a bundle for doing nothing,” responded Russo, who apparently at the time had lost his presence of mind. He was acting like he was in the United States, not Russia.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tim, but I’m certainly glad that building a good court system isn’t at the top of my list of priorities.” Mikhail’s response to his statement caused Tim Russo to laugh, since he now realized that he superimposed America’s legal system on a country that really did not have one.
“Well what are we going to do about housing?” asked Allison, implying that Mikhail already had an answer to his dilemma. He didn’t.
“We’re going to have to come up with something. Does anyone mind if I turn on the television? My head needs a break.” The small negative nod served as the permission that Mikhail sought. Clicking remote, the news was being broadcast; just what Mikhail had hoped to catch. The newscaster was presenting a videotape of a story concerning several Moscow police officers working undercover in an extortion case. The scene showed the two men who were trying to extort money talking to their intended victim and within moments the two men started to physically assault the man. Mikhail expected that the police, who were watching on the hidden cameras, would immediately rush in and save the man. Nothing happened except that the victim continued to become brutalized by the two extortionists, leaving Mikhail in stunned silence. Tim Russo watched with keen journalistic interest while Mikhail now watched him, knowing that his friend sensed another story here, a story about the lack of a justice system in the new Russia.
“What the hell is wrong with these cops, are they trying to get the charges changed from extortion to murder?” screamed Mikhail, his sense of justice rearing its head. Before he knew it, the police entered and stopped the onslaught. Mikhail felt relieved and decided that he must turn the television off.
“That was something else we are going to have to do, start setting up some rules and regulations. Even a democracy needs that.”
“Mikey, what about this place, Minnesota? I hear it is very cold there?” asked B. Czar.
”Freeze your buns off in Minnesota. Probably colder than Moscow.”
“Then maybe they have people there who could build igloos?” The smile that Mikhail and Allison exchanged conveyed to B. Czar that he
had hit upon something.
“B. Czar, you know your American geography. We’ll get working on it right away.” Mikhail completely understood that B. Czar was referring to the fact that if contractors were brought who built housing in cold climates, they could deal with Russia’s climate. The black market expert relished the praise since he always acted as an independent and spent so much time shafting people that he very seldom received praise. It made his day much more pleasant when he got it.
The last twenty-four hour period in Monte Carlo had given Sergotoff a sense of capitalism. Watching the gambling, and then participating in it, he watched an awful lot of money change hands. In his case, he was fortunate that he ended up with more than he started with so he was starting to get a feel for this thing that Mikhail had referred to as capitalism.
The exquisite penthouse that he had rented afforded the Sergotoffs a beautiful view of the waterfront and its surrounding mountains. While he had not been successful with Sophia last evening, he really felt that it was strictly because she had too much to drink. He had ordered up a delightful breakfast that now sat on the table on the patio waiting for his wife to come out and join him.
Moving toward the patio, Sophia wore a light spring dress that suited the warm late morning. When she sauntered up to him and kissed him, he felt as most gamblers would who were in his situation, like he was on a winning streak.
“How much did we win last night?”
“Fifty-eight thousand in American dollars, my dear Sophia.”
“Then we can go shopping since we have more than we came with.”
There was going to be no fighting with Sophia’s logic. She had won some of it by following another gambler’s lead, so since she placed the bet, the money was hers. If Mikhail was not going to teach him the importance of circulation, his wife certainly was.
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