Doing Lunch

by Doing Lunch Free(Lit)

  “Simple. Before we ship them but after we’ve gotten payment, we plug up the turrets with solid metal.”

  “You might get away with that with one shipment, then Russia is dead in the water.”

  “Maybe not,” interjected Allison, who now found the electrical currents flowing her way. “What if we only offer to sell everything in lots with the shipping date being the same for everything Russia sells?” Russo and Mikhail looked at one another, convinced that an answer had been reached.

  “This is going to be one spring cleaning that is going to turn a buck,” suggested Russo. The three were now as happy as the children who anxiously awaited their return.

  The military installation at Devorsk was once the pride and joy of the Soviet military. Now that the union had broken up, it had become the primary base of the Russian military. Not only did it house the mainstay of the tank divisions, it housed the generals who would give the orders that had those tanks hit the road. Located in the middle of nowhere, the jeep carrying General Ryaskoff stood out.

  Gaining entry to the base, his driver knew it well. Swiftly he drove the jeep up in front of a two story white building that was very officious in appearance. The building was as sterile looking as Ryaskoff was stilted. The formal training that he received as a youth was thoroughly drummed into him as he continued to move toward the same beat his entire life

  Entering the building and climbing the steps two at a time, he reached the second floor and hurriedly moved toward an office. Entering the office of General Ardansky, he found his comrade and friend caught up in a game of solitaire.

  “You have nothing better to do with your time?”

  “Not since the Soviet Union broke up.”

  “Well that is about to change, Seymour.”

  “The Soviet Union is getting back together?” General Ryaskoff thought about how he wanted to phrase it before he spilled the beans. He knew that even if General Ardansky would not go along with the plan, he would not tell.

  “We are going to try.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, we. I have established contact with some of our old comrades, Ardansky, and we have decided that Russia can no longer be ripped off. I am sure that you have seen the number of foreign countries that are now doing business here in Russia?”

  “I have.”

  “Are you aware that many of these foreign companies are taking Russia’s natural resources?”

  “I was wondering why you were saving them.” Ardansky’s snide remark had General Ryaskoff rethinking his position.

  “I would like you to join us, Seymour, in our glory.” General Ardansky merely looked at Ryaskoff with disbelief. The look in his eyes sent a clear message to General Ryaskoff that he should not count his chickens with this man even if they were hatched, they might fly the coup.

  “You mean, General, that you would not like to return to the way things had been, the days when you had power, authority?”

  “You and Edina don’t go out much, do you? What do you two do at the retreat, go to the war room and play what if? Margo and I were in Moscow about two weeks ago. We ate Tex-Mex for the first time, loved it. Next time we go back, she said she wants to try the Cajun. Loosen up, Ryaskoff, things are changing and maybe they’re changing for the better.”

  “Yes, they are changing but we will change them back.”

  “Well if you do, leave the restaurants, Margo and I still have plenty of foods we have not tried yet.”

  Ryaskoff knew that he couldn’t display his displeasure in the way he would like, one that would leave someone physically hurt. Working at making his eyes appear as intense as possible when he stared at the general, he was shocked when Ardansky returned the compliment by sticking his tongue out at him. This was someone that Ryaskoff knew he would have to take care of with the fait accompli’ of the second Russian Revolution.

  Leaving the office, General Ryaskoff knew that he had to reassess the situation. He was starting to worry how distorted his perception of reality was not being able to determine who might or might not help him. Moving out into Red Square, his eyes searched the area for someplace where he could gather his thoughts. Noticing a man strolling with a cup of hot coffee, the perfect spot to rethink the People’s Revolution hit home, Starbucks.

  Having just made a deal with the largest maker of automotive engine manufacturer in Europe, Mikhail was ready to celebrate since the deal could bring Russia one thousand new jobs over three years. He would have celebrated, too, except for the fact that he was to meet B. Czar, who had called him to tell him that he was working on a deal to sell Russia’s military hardware.

  Having picked up something to eat at the Golden Arches, he was now bringing it back to his office to await his black market expert. He needed something to fill the walls of his stomach so that it would not growl. The last time he met B. Czar in that condition, the discussion was prolonged because B. Czar had trouble getting a word in edgewise because of the growling.

  Having barely fallen into his leather chair, one of the few luxuries he allowed the state to pay for, he heard a knock at his office door.

  “That you, B. Czar?”

  “Betcha it is, buddy, and just you wait until you hear what is behind door number one.”

  “Just get in here.”

  B. Czar slid into the office, a large shopping bag in hand.

  “Get rid of that happy meal because I just brought you an aphrodisiac for dinner.” Reaching into the bag, he removed a clear covered tray that revealed a lobster tail, some vegetables and a salad. After handing it to Mikhail, he removed another one for himself that he placed on the desk. Reaching back down into the bag he removed a six-pack of an imported German beer, which he placed on the desk.

  “Now this is a happy meal!”

  “B. Czar, what’s the occasion?”

  “I have sold the hardware.” B. Czar’s words did not ring a bell with Mikhail and for some odd reason he took the term hardware literally. He started having thoughts of B. Czar selling all of the doorknobs from the Kremlin on the black market. Maybe that really was not a bad idea since they were solid brass.

  “Hardware, what hardware?”

  “Are you not trying to sell the tanks, the mortars, the cannons and everything else from the military?”

  “Well yes.”

  “Well it’s a done deal!”

  “What people bought the stuff?”

  “Just one.”

  “Just one person bought all of Russia’s military hardware? Who would do something like that and why?”

  “The who is the prince of Borneo and the why is because he wants to open up a group of theme parks. He figures he got the militia people and their kids in America hooked right off the bat.”

  Mikhail was floored by the answer, one that he would never have guessed in a million years. One thing was for certain, the theme would be unique.

  “I think the prince also plans to use some of the equipment for a party he is throwing this summer.”

  “What kind of party is it going to be with jeeps, tanks, personnel carriers?”

  “One, Mikhail, where all the guests have the nickname Captain Courageous.”

  “We have just too much stuff to fit on Borneo, where is he going to store all this stuff?”

  “Clean out your ears, Mikhail, he’s opening up theme parks and they are going to be all over the world. He’s already made arrangements to store the stuff in America. He wants the vehicles so that people can ride them. He figures that with all the gasoline that he could furnish for as cheaply as he can furnish it, it’ll make a bundle. He figures there are more than enough people with hidden military fantasies. He wants to claim the park as a place you can make your own war stories.”

  “Great! Why do I get the feeling that all those guys that dodged the draft will show up?"

  “The prince figured that, too. He’s planning on opening a theme park near Toronto.”

  “That’s great! America is trying to close down its
military bases and this guy wants to store hardware there. Only in America. How are we getting this stuff there?”

  “Simple, by ship through Gdansk in Poland.”

  “Why don’t we just ship it by rail to Asia and load it there?”

  “Because I made a deal with a friend of mine to give him the business. I get a ten percent commission."

  “I guess that’s free enterprise.”

  “You better believe it, Mikhail.”

  “So how much is Russia getting for the military hardware?”

  “Twenty-five billion.”

  “How did you manage to get that much for used equipment that everyone knew we couldn’t use?”

  “Simple, I’m getting ten percent of the sale of the equipment, too, remember, and I don’t want ten percent of a ten dollar bill. Now twenty-five billion, we’re talking some change here.”

  B. Czar never ceased to amaze Mikhail and while others who met him thought him obnoxious, which he was, he was important to Russia’s economic transition. If things went well for Russia’s development, B. Czar would be one of its heroes. How strange it would be to have a fast talking pitchman declared a national hero. Maybe even have a monument erected in his honor.

  “So let’s start eating,” suggested B. Czar, knowing exactly why he purchased the lobster. They set up chairs around Mikhail’s desk, which had been removed of its clutter. Russia was involved in so many deals and he had so many offers that he had hired a reader from one of the publishing houses in New York just to help him sort through everything. The success that Russia was meeting with only seemed to bring more offers of substance and now he was looking for a second reader with a business background, the work was starting to again overwhelm him. The two began savoring the tender lobster and the ice-cold beer and suddenly Mikhail’s thoughts were in America, not about Russia.

  “So Mikhail, have you started thinking yet about the Communist retreat in the Urals?” asked B. Czar, wanting to make certain that nothing escaped him while he was away.

  “I’ve done more than some thinking about it, B. Czar. While you’ve been gone, I’ve been checking with people.”

  “I think it could be very profitable, Mikhail, if we do it right. Just like Nirvana, I think we should gear it for the foreign investor.”

  “That seems to be the way everybody that I’ve talked to believes is what we should do.”

  “Then we do it. What have you talked about?”

  “Well the general feeling is that we should keep it quaint, don’t touch the lodge and maybe build a few more like it. Then build a few more groups like that until it forms a little town. Maybe something like an Aspen East.”

  “You make this anything like Aspen and you’ll be bringing in some money. I have a friend who would love to open up a Swedish restaurant in the town, how about it?”

  “How much is your take?”

  “One percent of the gross receipts,” answered B. Czar, with no shame whatsoever. Mikhail had seen B. Czar’s generosity with the children at the orphanage and he was aware of the other things that he had done to help the poor, the affirmed, and the helpless young. Mikhail knew that the black marketer had enough money to retire so he assumed that B. Czar now derived his pleasure from the art of the deal, the rewards had gotten to the point of being personally meaningless to him. He could live the luxurious lifestyle that he now enjoyed without ever needing another ruble, Cheveckny or dollar ever again.

  “I have given some thought to the transportation that would bring people to our ski resort. I think since we are catering to the rich that maybe Aeroflot should invest in several small aircraft that would be suited to luxury and first class service.”

  “Ah Mikhail, we are both business people at heart. I was thinking the same thing. You know, of course, that when Alexi signs the proclamation for eminent domain for the property the Communists might go off the deep end.”

  “So let them, the place has a swimming pool with a diving board,” remarked Mikhail with an “I don’t give a damn” attitude in his voice. One of the reasons that B. Czar had been so successful had been his ability to accurately size up situations. He now knew that Mikhail was going to go through with his plan to convert the facility near the Black Sea into a resort.

  “Are you planning on putting in a golf course or two so the rich can play their game?”

  “I changed my mind about making this a resort for the well to do. I think there is another niche market we might look at.”

  “Really, who?” responded B. Czar, whose aroused voice conveyed to Mikhail that he did not think there was any niche market when it came to resorts except for the well to do or out and out rich.

  “The college students. I want to make the place like Fort Lauderdale.” The man with the nose for the deal was beside himself at the thought of building an entire resort just for college students. He was so flabbergasted at this idea that he merely sat staring at Mikhail in silence, totally oblivious that Mikhail had resumed eating his lobster dinner. It was several moments and one lobster tail before B. Czar finally lost the traces of his trance-like quality.

  “What is wrong with you?” snapped B. Czar, rising to stand in his chair so that he was looking down at Mikhail.

  “It’s a great idea, B. Czar. Look, we have Oxford, Cambridge and the other schools in England. There is the University of Stockholm and the other countries with their universities. There’s plenty to draw from.”

  B. Czar shook his head negatively, not wanting to believe a word he was hearing.

  “Look, B. Czar, the students need a place to let it all hang out.”

  “And what made you think they have any idea of how to let it all hang out?”

  “Hey, even if they don’t, there’s always the Stanford students at Stuttgart. Maybe they’ll bring one of their FuMuNu with them.”

  B. Czar was fluent in Russian and English and had a basic comprehension of Spanish and French. What kind of language was this FuMuNu?

  “What is this FuMuNu?” asked B. Czar, wanting his realm of knowledge expanded.

  “All it means is Fun and Music at Night.”

  “I got the FuMu, but how did Nu come to mean night?”

  “Maybe they just wanted it to rhyme?”

  “Just tell them not to enter any spelling contests.” Having finally regained his composure, B. Czar resumed what he intended to do when he first arrived, eat.

  “You know, B. Czar, Fort Lauderdale doubles as a vacation spot when the students aren’t in town. Palm Springs is the same way. Russia could do alright at both ends.”

  With the sound of another deal in the works, the entrepreneur had to decide between eating and dealing. The deal got the best of his desires.

  “I know what we can sell to rich people, what do you sell to students, cheat sheets?”

  “Lots of things. Tee shirts, shorts, sandals, CD’s, headsets, a ton of things.” The look in B. Czar’s eyes grew with every item that Mikhail mentioned. Raising his eyebrows several times in much the same manner as Groucho Marx had often done, B. Czar complimented it with a smile of delight. It was back to the lobster tail for some more celebration for B. Czar.

  “I forgot to tell you, last weekend the gambling receipts in Nirvana were equal to almost two million American dollars. Rausch says that the reservations are booked solid for the next six months.”

  “Good, good, if it keeps up we shall be able to eat some more lobster.”

  “We’re going to have to start implementing the plan to make all these companies public.” B. Czar continued eating the lobster tail, acting as if he had not heard a word that Mikhail had said. When it affected his finances, B. Czar was known for turning a deaf ear.

  “You might want to avoid it, Czar, but we must make these companies public. A market to trade them on will be our next endeavor.”

  “And you won’t let me buy stock in them?”

  “Of course not, B. Czar, that would not be fair. You and I already know what kinds of deals these c
ompanies have set up. It would be like insider trading in America.”

  “Well if you have a name for it somebody must be doing it. So let’s get with the program.”

  “It would not be fair.”

  “You are right, we must build an economy that the people believe they have a stake in.” With some lobster still remaining and almost a full bottle of beer that needed to be downed, B. Czar took to the task, leaving Mikhail to think about implementing his stock market system.

  Sergotoff’s house was always quiet at dinnertime since Serge and Sophia were only concerned about themselves, not each other. They shared very little and even at dinner the servants brought two of everything, including two bowls of gravy, two salt and pepper shakers so that they would not have to share more than was absolutely necessary.

  While eating her venison, Sophia eavesdropped on the conversation that her husband was having on the telephone. Quite often when he talked on the phone she was jealous of him because there was somebody at the other end that was listening to him. That was more than she had, she thought. When her husband slammed the phone down with such venom, she had a feeling that the ranting and raving would now start.

  “Damn, damn these people with their eminent domain!” Rising to his feet, he began moving about hurriedly, acting as if he was trying to catch his thoughts before they fled the premises.

  “What is eminent domain?” asked Sophia, only because she thought that she was annoying Serge, not because she had any real concern in his troubles.

  “You know what it is, Sophia, you are only asking to annoy me.” Sophia’s sarcastic smile that revealed nothing but teeth, served to confirm her husband’s charge.

  “And what did Alexi take from my poor, sweet, little baby today?”

  “The retreat in the Urals. No more skiing.”

  “Why that son of a bitch, what the hell does he think he’s doing?” The anger that erupted inside Sophia struck at the core of her primal instincts. Reaching down to her plate she grabbed a piece of venison and heaved it against the wall closest to her. The fact that she grabbed the meat with her bare hand, something she went out of her way to avoid, told her husband that civil unrest was brewing.