No Place in the Sun

by John Mulligan

  ‘We could always move into the furnishing business, fit out the houses for them when they’re finished.’

  ‘That’s an idea, Andy, but everything we sold so far has a completion date at least two and a half years down the road, so what do we do in the meantime if this river dries up?’

  Walter took a long draught from his pint. ‘Anyway, the margin on the furniture wouldn’t give us the kind of returns we are getting from the property sales. I mean seriously, lads; we’re getting money for old rope here.’

  ‘Speak for yourself, Walter, I’m just barely getting by.’

  ‘Yes ,Tom, we’ll have a collection for your rent next week. Anyway, Harry and myself have opened another furrow, or we’re about to.’

  Tom was suddenly interested. ‘Have you moved in to the French market then?’

  ‘No, that’s too specialised, we’re looking at opportunities further east.’

  Andrew was curious too. ‘Where, in China?’

  ‘No, not that far away, we have signed up a deal in Hungary, in Budapest.’

  ‘Oh lovely.’ Andrew was excited. ‘I’d love to go to Budapest. It’s supposed to be a lovely city; they have those great thermal baths and all that kind of thing.’

  Tom was interested. ‘What’s the score in Budapest? I was looking at those cities, you know, Budapest and Prague, didn’t know where to start. Budapest looks promising right enough, good quality location, nice city.’

  ‘This is between us of course.’ Walter didn’t want to give away too much. ‘We got two projects from an Israeli developer in the city centre, on the border between Districts six and seven, best part of town and at a good price. He was in a bit of financial difficulty so he let us in as the sole agent. We promised to clear at least fifty percent of the projects or we suffer penalties, but if we go over the target we make a killing.’

  Tom was surprised at how far ahead Harry and Walter had moved in such a short space of time. ‘You guys are really going international, fair play to you.’

  ‘We’re just trying to stay ahead of the game, Tom, trying to avoid a slump if Spain peters out.’

  ‘Anything over there that might suit us? If two companies go in there it might start a stampede. If you are trying it on your own you might have an uphill battle, but if Scorpio goes in as well it could create a stir. What do you think?’

  ‘You’re probably right, Tom, there might be strength in numbers, but I don’t want you trampling all over our patch. We have big projects to sell in a good area; there mightn’t be room for competition. I’m thinking of our penalty clause.’

  ‘How about a secondary area? I don’t particularly want to go head to head with yourself and Harry either. We’ve managed to avoid getting in each other’s way in Spain so far; I’d like to keep it that way.’

  Walter pondered Tom’s suggestion. It might be a good idea to have two players in Budapest; the papers would be carrying twice as much advertising and it would put the city on the map with Irish buyers. ‘You have a good point, Tom, we need a lot of publicity to make this work, most buyers don’t even know where Budapest is, there’ll need to be a big information campaign to kickstart it.’

  ‘So, have you a contact for me over there?’

  ‘You could try Amir Mamzer, but count your fingers after you shake hands with him.’

  ‘Is he that bad?’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to do business with him, but he seems to know his stuff; it’s just that he’s a bit shifty. You could handle him all right though.’

  ‘So why didn’t you do business with him yourselves?’

  ‘He works in areas where sites are cheap, and he sells cheap apartments to Israeli investors who buy in the expectation that these areas will come up in value at some stage. Only thing is, I think that he works in places that will be slow to improve, so maybe even Scorpio wouldn’t like to market his stuff.’

  Andrew had been listening with interest. ‘We sell in Montana Fea don’t we? I’m sure that this chap can’t be any worse.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  The plane lost height slowly and the details of the countryside below came gradually into focus. The Danube looped around and almost back on itself as it wended its way through flat land ruled by straight lines into a patchwork of huge fields. A small partly-wooded hill loomed ahead and the plane banked around it; the city opened up beyond the hill, clustered around a large island in the huge river that was spanned by several long bridges. The part of the city close to the Danube seemed old and sedate; Tom could make out a large castle on high ground overlooking the river. Further out, neighbourhoods appeared to alternate between red-roofed suburban housing and large tower blocks of apartments. He could see what looked like the Grand Prix circuit, and a football stadium, and then the plane banked steeply and turned and descended towards the airport.

  It was pleasantly warm and sunny, and the bus brought the passengers quickly to the terminal building. He had expected more formalities, but the policeman barely glanced at his passport before stamping it with a red stamp and waving him on. The sliding door opened and he walked through. Look out for the airport minibus desk, Walter had told him, and there it was; you couldn’t miss it.

  ‘Which hotel?’ The woman was curt but not unfriendly.

  ‘The Central.’

  ‘Single or return?’

  ‘Return please.’

  ‘Wait over there, the driver will call you.’ She indicated a row of seats close by the desk.

  Tom was impressed, it seemed like a good system, and not too expensive as far as he could judge. Hard to figure out this money, a thousand forint was about four euro, more or less, so the return ticket was about ten euro, or was it twelve? Walter had warned him about the taxis, how they were known to fleece foreigners; the airport minibus was safe and reliable.

  He didn’t have to wait very long; the driver collected some papers from the desk and called out the names of several hotels, including the Central. A few other passengers trooped out behind the driver and boarded the bus; Tom sat in the back seat and called Amir Mamzer.

  ‘Good evening, Mr. Mamzer, Tom Murphy here, just confirming our meeting tomorrow morning. Where do you want to meet?’

  ‘Welcome to Hungary, Mr. Murphy.’ He pronounced is as ‘Ungaria’ in a heavy Israeli accent. ‘Where are you staying, which hotel?’

  ‘The Central, do you know it?’

  ‘Of course, very good hotel. I can meet you near there, in Gerbeaud’s coffee house, nine o’clock in the morning, ok?’

  ‘Sounds good, how do I get there?’

  ‘Is no problem from your hotel, just come out front door and turn towards the river, walk five minutes to Vorosmarty Ter, very near.’

  The hotel was comfortable, and he was tempted to lie back and watch TV, but he dragged himself out and went to find some food. He followed the Israeli’s directions to Gerbeaud’s coffee house; it was only a few minutes away, facing on to a pleasant square that was surrounded by old buildings for the most part and which was only spoiled by one modern office building that seemed entirely out of touch with its neighbours.

  Looks like the planners here are no better than anywhere, he mused. Maybe this city is an easy place to do business.

  Gerbeaud’s didn’t have much in the way of food, it was mostly a coffee house that sold a mouth-watering selection of cakes and desserts, but the friendly waitress in her traditional garb of long skirt and puff-sleeved blouse brought him a pot of tea and a perfectly presented sandwich on a small silver tray. He ate slowly, taking in his surroundings. The coffee shop dated from the eighteen hundreds; it hadn’t suffered much from modernisation in the meantime, resulting in a pleasing place to while away some time and watch the world go by. Dark mahogany cabinets with brass edging and crystal chandeliers gave the place an authentic period feel.

  There was nothing period about the bill though. Even allowing for some continuing confusion with the currency values, Tom reckoned that this coffee house was as expensive as any
thing he had seen anywhere. Still, the square was obviously a tourist area, and you would expect to find tourist prices in such a place.

  He finished his tea and walked outside; the café was closing and the waitresses were hovering around, anxious for him to be out of their way. He walked across the square and down towards the river; it was a balmy night and a lot of people were out strolling and taking in the ambience of this pleasant city. He stood for a while along the promenade above the riverbank, leaning on the heavy cast-iron railing and looking across the river at the floodlit castle on the hill on the far bank, and at the huge suspension bridge that was lit up by thousands of bulbs along its span and cables. An old yellow tram rumbled past close beside him on the track by the riverbank, its iron wheels squealing as it negotiated the bends close to the big bridge.

  It was time to head back; Tom turned and retraced his steps, crossing Vorosmarty Square and passing the darkened façade of the coffee shop. The numbers of strollers had diminished and his footsteps echoed as he entered the narrow street leading up towards his hotel.

  ‘Do you speak English? Can you help us please?’

  The two girls looked like tourists, poring over a street map by the light from a shop window.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t be of much help, I’m a stranger here myself, but I do at least know where we are.’

  Tom took the map from the dark haired girl and refolded it to show the area around Vorosmarty Square.

  ‘We’re here, just beside the square and on the street leading to Deak Ter.’

  ‘Then can you help us to find this pub?’

  The blonde girl unfolded a piece of paper with the name of a bar and a street address written on it in block letters.

  Tom looked at the address, and then back to the map. He spotted the street name in an instant; it was very near to where they were standing. ‘That’s it, just there.’

  The girls seemed puzzled. ‘So it is that direction.’ The brunette pointed towards the river; Tom shook his head.

  ‘No, the other way, over there, just two streets away.’

  ‘Can you show us? The blonde had a lost look about her, seemed anxious to find the bar.

  ‘Are you meeting friends there?’

  Tom thought she was attractive; maybe a drink in this company might be a nice way to spend an hour. She pointed to her dark haired friend.

  ‘She is meeting her boyfriend there, we said we would be there half an hour ago but we could not find the place.’

  ‘Let me show you the way.’ Tom took the map and headed off in the direction of the street. The blonde girl walked alongside him, her friend following behind.

  ‘So, where are you from?’ Tom wondered at her accent.

  ‘I am from Hungary, but not from Budapest. We are from a small town in the East of the country. I think maybe you never heard of it.’

  ‘You have very good English.’

  ‘Yes, is not too bad I think; we studied English in school.’

  They turned into the street that Tom had spotted on the map; it was narrow and not as brightly lit as the main street, and the lights from a small bar glowed brightly about half way along it. A thick-set man stood at the doorway, arms folded, but on seeing Tom and the girls approach he spoke into a small radio that crackled back at him. Tom immediately slowed, he didn’t like the look of this; it smelled of a setup.

  ‘Come, that is the place, let us have a drink.’ The brunette now had hold of one of his arms and the blonde was clinging to the other.

  ‘Just a minute.’ Tom was buying time, the street was quiet and he felt that he was being led into a trap.

  ‘Why are you stopping? Let us all have a drink together.’ The blonde was pleading, almost whining. He was sure now that he was being set up; maybe going to be mugged as soon as he entered the bar. They were pulling at his elbows now but Tom had seen enough; he broke free and retreated back down the street, the swearing of the two women echoed after him as he sprinted around the corner on to Vaci ut and back to his hotel.

  He was panting as he entered the lobby.

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’ the concierge was concerned about his guest.

  Tom told the man of his experience; the older man smiled sadly.

  ‘Every night they do this, always to men on their own. The police move them along but it not illegal, they are breaking no law.’

  ‘But surely if they rob you, then that is against the law.’

  ‘No they do not rob you exactly, just you buy them a drink maybe and one for yourself, then they bring the bill, maybe five hundred euros each drink, fifteen hundred euros for the bill.’

  ‘And this is legal?’ Tom was incredulous.

  ‘Yes, is on the menu, very small print on the wall, anyway most foreigners do not easily convert the prices from forint, they think they are making mistake themselves, until bill comes.’

  ‘And what if I didn’t pay?’

  ‘Always they pay; the barmen are big and strong. Yes, always they pay.’

  Tom shuddered at the thought; the doorman had indeed been a huge man, broad shoulders and no neck, thick muscular arms straining the material of his suit. Yes, he could imagine it; you would probably have to pay right enough.

  He headed for the lifts. ‘Thanks for the information; I should have talked to you before I went out.’

  The elderly concierge smiled. ‘You are welcome, sir, and I hope that you have a good stay in Budapest. Please do not judge us all by the behaviour of these mafia types.’

  ‘Of course not, and thank you.’

  ‘Good night, sir.’

  The morning was bright and sunny and the stroll to the coffee house was agreeable; the events of the previous evening were just an unpleasant memory. He pushed open the door of Gerbeaud’s and looked for Amir Mamzer.

  He wasn’t hard to find. At first it looked as if a small fire had broken out in the bay window in the smoking section. The small fat man had spread himself out around a table with his coat and briefcase occupying several chairs; a cigarette smouldered in the ashtray and another burned smokily between his lips. His eyes squinted from the column of smoke that rose in front of his face. ‘Mr. Murphy?’

  Tom extended his hand. ‘Mr. Mamzer? Yes, I’m Tom Murphy, nice to meet you.’

  ‘Sit down, sit down. You like maybe some coffee?’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll have a coffee please.’

  The fat man dropped heavily to his chair and lit another cigarette from the last one. ‘Welcome, welcome. I hope we can do much business together.’

  A smiling waitress placed two coffees on the table; he pushed one cup over to Tom. ‘You like some cakes maybe? Good cakes here, but damn fucking expensive, is better in my local coffee house but it is hard to find and I don’t want that you get lost.’

  The hotel breakfast had been good, but the cakes behind the glass looked appetizing. ‘Have they got apple pie? I fancy an apple pie.’

  Mamzer waved back the waitress. ‘Bring one angle amlet.’ He turned to Tom, ‘that’s English apple pie, that’s what they call it, no idea why, stupid fuck Ungarians.’

  ‘You don’t like Hungarians?’

  ‘Stupid lazy fuck bastards. Can’t do nothing for themselves, first the Russians have to do everything for them, now the Israelis.’ He pronounced it ‘Es-roy-elish’

  ‘So are there many Israeli developers in Budapest?’

  The little man lit another cigarette and looked at Tom in amazement. ‘All Es-roy-elish, no Ungarian developers, stupid lazy fuck bastards.’

  ‘So what kind of project have you got to show to me? Is it near here?’ Tom wondered if this guy was for real.

  Amir lit another cigarette, ignoring the one that smouldered in the ashtray. ‘No, not near here, is in eight district; I make a nice small development, maybe one hundred apartments, but I make you very good price.’

  ‘What’s a good price?’ Tom peered at the man through the smoke cloud.

  ‘How much you want to pay, we can make any p
rice, make smaller or bigger, depend on what your buyers want to pay.’

  ‘But does the planning permission not stipulate the size of apartments in the development?’

  The small man laughed loudly, coughing with the cigarette smoke. He tapped ash into the ashtray and sucked in smoke from the cigarette. ‘Stupid fuck bastards do what I tell them, I bring jobs and work to their district; no, don’t worry about small details, I sort out small details. How much your buyers want to pay?’

  Tom pondered for a moment. Walter had said that they were going to sell high end apartments in the city centre for about a hundred thousand, so probably a cheaper area might be sold at sixty or seventy thousand. He decided to pitch low.

  ‘Maybe forty thousand? Depends on the project.’

  The match flared and he took another deep drag. ‘Ok, we can make a project for forty thousand euros, no problem.’

  Tom was surprised. If that was the case, and if Irish buyers were going to behave as they did in Spain, it might be possible to sell these apartments for twice as much, or at least for sixty or seventy thousand. The possibilities were limitless.

  ‘So what commission would you pay us?’

  ‘Commission? You want commission? Make your own commission, put up the price of the apartments to make your commission.’

  Tom was surprised at the way business was done in Budapest; Walter hadn’t mentioned such a system. Still, this way might be better, a chance to make some serious money.

  ‘So, can we go to the project? I’d like to see it.’

  The Israeli laughed again. ‘There is not already any project, only some land where they park cars, but I have the project design in my office, not far to walk, Falk Miksa Street.’

  He threw some notes and coins on the table and gathered up his coat and briefcase, moving with surprising agility for a fat man with such a smoking habit. He propelled his stout frame along the sidewalk with enough speed to cause Tom to walk briskly to keep up, although the flow of his forward progress was interrupted by occasional pauses to light another cigarette.

  He stopped at a corner and pointed out a magnificent gothic style building that filled the view on the left across an open area. It reminded Tom of the English houses of parliament; a huge dome topped off the impressive structure.