“Of course. It is a simple plan, but potentially lucrative.”
David had been a silent companion, but now he leant forward and said, “I don’t like the word potentially; it hints at the possibility of losing money.”
Roman seemed a little put out at the statement, but forced a smile before he replied.
“Anton has informed me that you’re serious people. I wouldn’t insult you by proposing something that will lose money. I have some draft numbers I can give you that set out our projections. I’ll leave them with you, if you like.”
“That would be preferable,” David answered.
“Then I believe everything is covered,” I announced, bringing the meeting to a close.
I was happy that David had jumped straight into his new role, so I let him take the figures from Roman to study at his own volition. David was still green in Ukraine and didn’t know that potentially meant guaranteed when arranged properly. But I didn’t want to spoil the plot for him. He’d learn.
Using Roman’s connections, the dodgy research and our money, we were able to persuade the Office of Agrarian Policy and Food of Ukraine to enforce the mandatory vaccination of all domestic animals across Ukraine, with our newly formed subsidiary, Neplokho Pharmaceuticals, charged with supplying the vaccine.
The wholesale cost of each vaccine was minimal as it was purchased from a Chinese manufacturer. The placebo vaccine was sold to each farm with a margin that was enough to cover the payments to the Minister of Agrarian Policy and Food of Ukraine, our friend Roman and a finder’s fee to Anton for the introduction, as well as to generate a sizeable profit for Neplokho Pharmaceuticals.
Morally, David and I didn’t like this project. We basically stole millions from the people of Ukraine who paid the vaccine’s full price for a service that was completely unnecessary. It was similar to the protection business, just in a different wrapping. After years of living in poverty I felt for the poor farmers. However, I got over it. It was just business, nothing personal.
It was more difficult for David to come to terms with the scheme.
“I’m a lawyer, not a thief,” David protested. “This is like Robin Hood in reverse; we steal from the poor and give to the rich.”
“Most lawyers are thieves, David. Don’t be naive.”
“Okay, lawyers bend the rules here and there. Lawyers lie when it’s in the best interests of their clients. And yes, lawyers sometimes behave unethically when it’s in their best interests. But this, Misha, this is a fraud, theft, embezzlement, bribery, forgery and a dozen more criminal felonies. Misha, this isn’t right. It isn’t right I’m telling you. I’m not sure I want anything to do with it.”
“It’s your choice, David. I won’t force you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. But if you leave, then the deal will still go through with or without you.”
“But if I go back to Israel, what am I going to do? Being a lawyer sucks. You work like a slave and the senior partners get all the glory. You get to spend all day going over every little fucking sentence in a contract that nobody wants to read. Being a junior lawyer in a law firm is for losers. Over here it’s like the money just waits to be collected. People here are suckers. Screw it.”
“Then what’s your problem?” I asked. “You either quit and return to Israel, or stay and make a lot of money.”
“You make it sound so straightforward, my friend.”
“There are too many complications in life already. Your choice is a simple one.”
***
To help David decide whether to stay or go, I took him out that night, to hit Kiev’s top clubs. He didn’t like the dodgy dealings in Ukraine, but I was sure that he’d like the local beauties. David’s exotic, almost Persian look was going to attract the ladies like moths to a flame. Over a few drinks at a trendy bar, he soon noticed that the Ukrainian girls were simply gorgeous, while the men were mainly ugly, in both soul and appearance.
“I can’t believe how beautiful the girls are in here!” David said incredulously. “Did you hire all the best hookers to hang around, to sway my decision?”
“David...how could you offend me like that? I wouldn’t do such a thing,” I replied, feigning shock.
“I’m not so sure.”
“Seriously, my friend; this is just a normal gathering of normal girls. Factory worker or shop-girl by day: sexy huntress by night.”
“And what are they hunting?” David asked, intrigued by the statement.
I leaned in closer, beckoning David to mirror my movement.
“Come closer.”
“What? What is it they hunt?”
I cupped my hand and whispered in David’s ear.
“They hunt cock. Money-smelling cocks. You idiot, they’re the same as the girls in such clubs in Tel Aviv. The only difference is that here they’re easy. They don’t play games. They want to hang around money, fuck, snort coke and have expensive things bought for them by fools like you and me.”
“Well...I kind of knew that.”
“We’re just lucky here that the girls are exceptionally beautiful, and easily impressed by a small show of generosity.”
David leaned back into his chair, smiling and shaking his head. I watched as he drained his vodka, and then studied the girls standing around, hoping to be noticed.
“You know what?” he finally said when his curiosity had been satisfied.
“What’s that, my friend?”
“Kiev girls are pretty fucking hot,” he said, with a wink.
I took a bag of powder from my pocket and poured a pile out on to the table.
“What, here in the open? Just in front of everyone,” David asked, looking around nervously.
“Don’t worry. The police aren’t allowed in this club. And even if they were, they would probably sell you some shit. Calm down!”
I looked at David, who grinned back at me. I divided the mound into a series of lines using a credit card, pulled a bill from my wallet, and snorted a long, fat line of coke.
“Damn that’s good,” I gushed, wiping my runny nose with the back of my hand. “That’s Colombian shit, my friend. Enjoy!” I said, offering David the hundred dollar bill.
“It would be rude not to,” he said, before hoovering up his line in double-quick time.
“Buy one of these girls a drink,” I stated matter-of-factly, “and later on you’ll be snorting coke off her sexy tummy while her friend blows you.”
“I can think of worse ways of ending an evening,” he joked.
“A man needs to relax in the way he enjoys most of all. You and I... we cannot change the world. That’s the way it is. If you cannot beat them, why not join them? Work with me, David, and I’ll make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. I promise. Are you ready to do what it takes?”
“I was born ready,” answered David, with his face red and the veins on his forehead bulging as if they were about to explode.
“Well then, let’s drink to that,” I said as we raised our glasses and drunk the ice cold vodka.
“So, you are with me?”
“For my sins...yes, I’m with you.”
“We’re going to be the fucking kings of Kiev!”
***
When I went to bed, alone, after the night with David, the effects of the cocaine slowly left my system. My thoughts turned darker as I started to come down. I couldn’t fall asleep as my body was full of energy. I felt my heart beating hard, feeling each heartbeat in my head like a drum.
All kinds of incessant questions wracked my brain. Was David right? Are we pieces of shit? What’s the point of all this? Have I just brainwashed my best friend? Am I going to die tonight from an overdose? What is mama going to think when they find my rotting body after a week? If my papa could see me now he would die of shame.
I woke up with a hangover, feeling my head buzzing. My ears rang constantly. I went to the toilet, threw up, ate a breakfast without any real appetite, and decided that fuck it, the project would go on.
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***
In line with tradition, we didn’t pay any taxes on real profits. Taxes aren’t for the rich.
My accountant, whose nickname was The Bookkeeper, was a very tall, skinny, pale man with large black-rimmed glasses and thin blonde hair. He looked more like a mantis than a man. He was the Picasso of creative accounting. He didn’t care about generally accepted accounting principles, laws or regulations. They were purely an inconvenience, getting in the way. All he cared about was money, and how to make his clients happy. He cooked the books and our tax bill was inconsequential.
With or without taxes, the true profits were channelled to our offshore accounts through our brokerage firm in Switzerland, Neplokho Brokerage Services. The firm’s task was to contract all the export produce of Azov Oil & Gas Company at cost price and sell it at real price to European clients, thus accumulating all the profits in Switzerland. We hardly made any money in Ukraine and didn’t have any profits for which taxes were due.
David, who was now a fixture in the company, was still trying to master the local nuances of business.
“Why, with such loopholes in the tax enforcement, do you even bother to pay tax at all?” he asked, after I’d explained our tax shenanigans.
“It’s because of another Ukrainian peculiarity. According to the law it’s perfectly fine to declare losses. However, if you declare losses, in practice, the local tax inspectors are instructed to refuse to accept tax returns reflecting such losses. ‘You don’t earn money, close the business’ they would say, and ‘you spoil our statistics.’ I could just coerce them through my connections, but I don’t want to be a black sheep. So I’ve instructed my accountants to pay a symbolic corporate tax, thus keeping us in line with all the other sheep. You can piss in the swimming pool, but don’t do it from the top diving board. We don’t want to attract attention.”
“Ha ha, I can see how that might be noticed,” David sniggered, picturing the scene in his head.
“If you keep your head down and don’t interest anybody, the tax authorities leave you alone, and the secret services won’t sniff around. The police won’t waste any effort to inspect you, no matter what you do.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“However,” I warned, “if you hit the headlines and flash some money, then suddenly the tax authorities are all over you. Not so much to collect taxes, but rather to ensure that you pay them to leave you alone. If you attract such attention, then the chances are that your competitors or enemies have likely paid the taxmen to give you some trouble. Nothing here is incidental.”
“You and your Ukrainian peculiarities,” David said. “I’ll never understand this place.”
“Yes, you will. Give it a couple of years and we’ll make you more Ukrainian than borscht. By the way, if you ever feel nostalgic for law and justice, let me know. I’ll buy you a position as a Supreme Court judge. You’ll see what justice means here from the inside, and I might benefit from having such a distinguished colleague in the courts.”
“I’m not sure I’d want to get involved with what you consider to be law in this country.”
“I understand. We have our own distinctive way of dealing with legal complications here.”
“So who is the Group’s main legal counsel?”
“There isn’t one.”
“How is that possible?” David asked, surprised by the revelation.
“I’ll try to explain. You see, contracts are usually just a hand shake. The sanctions for breaching them may vary from a bullet in the head to a car bomb.”
“With such sanctions, it isn’t surprising that parties usually abide meticulously to the contract,” David said understandingly.
“Exactly. You don’t hear about shots and explosions very frequently, huh? You see; here a lawyer’s work is a total frustration. They’re just writing clerks, nothing more than that. It doesn’t matter how well the contract is drafted or what advice they give. If nobody intends to go to court to protect their rights then what’s the point of having a lawyer? The only advice they follow here is which ammunition to use,” I explained.
***
I had never been a religious man, but often I would pray at the local synagogue. The holy place gave me an opportunity to disengage from reality for a couple of hours and focus on nothing but praying and chatting with the other men. It felt safe, pure and spiritual, and gave me the one real chance to relax away from my hectic lifestyle.
It also meant I could engage with the rest of the Jewish community, who felt much the same as I did. The dwindling number of Jews who were left in Kiev needed to feel part of a community, members of the tribe, and so the synagogue was our tribal meeting place.
Another reason to go to synagogue was that most of the rabbis had strong ties with overseas orthodox Jewish lobby organisations. Generous donations to the synagogue were often rewarded by valuable connections with prominent Jewish businessmen who were engaged in the fields in which I was interested. The rabbis’ global network was surprisingly wide and powerful. Surely, god was on their side. A sufficient donation could even buy a miracle or two.
As I was praying, minding my own business, Boris came in. He wasn’t Jewish so I assumed that it was something urgent. He seemed tense. Once he spotted me, he came near and whispered into my ear, “Come outside, Misha. We need to talk.”
We stepped outside to a balcony, and took a seat in the sheltered area to avoid the heavy rainfall.
“What is so urgent that you have to disturb my prayers?”
Boris finished lighting a cigarette, took a big puff, and exhaled hastily.
“I’ve been informed that Vova Bondarenko, director at Neplokho Pharmaceuticals, has left the company and joined Zhivotnyye Vaccination Services, our main competitor. Our informer reported that yesterday he was personally introduced to the senior management at Zhivotnyye by the new minister.”
This wasn’t good news, as Zhivotnyye Vaccination Services was the baby of the new Minister of Agriculture, appointed in lieu of our recently-sacked partner. Legally the company was owned by his brother through an offshore shell company.
“That isn’t good news, Boris.”
“Vova, the son of a bitch, disclosed to them details of the tender that Neplokho Pharmaceuticals won half a year ago. He took with him sensitive materials, proving that scientific research corroborating our vaccine’s efficiency is dodgy. It’s a complete disaster.”
“If it gets out, then yes; it will be bad for us.”
“It’ll be all over the news if his new boss decides to leverage this info. We’re dead. What do you want us to do? We probably need to leave the country.”
I didn’t think that the impotence of our vaccine was a state secret. We were strong and our former partners in the Ministry of Agriculture were involved enough to quell any complaint, prosecutor’s office investigation or other nasty accusations that those damn farmers might throw our way. But now, they might have proof against us rather than just allegations. This was much more serious.
Vova was simply a traitor. I gave him a good job with a good salary and he spat in my face. He was too greedy. He stole incriminating documents from us and probably handed them to our competitors. There was only one thing to do with a traitor.
“Stop panicking and relax. Go find Gigo and tell him to get a trusted guy and find Vova right now. I’m sure the son of a prostitute thinks we don’t know shit yet, so we may surprise him. Take him to the abandoned storage depot next to the Dnieper. I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay, Misha, I’ll get right on it.”
“And make sure Gigo knows how important this is. He doesn’t need details; just make sure he knows not to rest till that traitor is found.”
Boris nodded and took off immediately. I went back into the synagogue to finish praying. I knew what I had to do, and praying seemed appropriate. I recited a Kaddish, a prayer that mourners recite after the death of a close relative.
“O God, full of mercy, who dwells on hi
gh, grant proper rest on the wings of the divine presence for the soul of the deceased.
May his resting place be in the Garden of Eden. May the master of mercy shelter him in the shelter of His wings for eternity; and may He bind his soul in the bond of life.
God is his heritage and may he repose in peace on his resting place.
Now let us respond: Amen.”
I spent several hours waiting at the synagogue, till eventually a call came from Boris. Feeling the vibration in my pocket, I stepped out so not to desecrate the holy place on Shabbat.
“That thing we discussed,” he said, sounding like a Hollywood Wiseguy. “It’s done.”
“Good. I’ll be there shortly.”
I pocketed the cell phone and closed my eyes. I knew what was coming and I needed a couple of minutes to prepare myself.
“Okay, Vova. Let’s see how happy you would be with your new job,” I thought as I headed for my car.
I arrived to the abandoned industrial site, which was the same place where Nazar had nearly killed Gigo and me a few years before. Gigo, Boris, Revaz, who was Gigo’s guy, and Vova were waiting for me in a large empty warehouse. The rain still fell heavily, beating a staccato drum beat on the metal roof as I entered the warehouse. Above the immense noise of the rainfall, I could already hear Vova screaming for mercy.
“Mr Vorotavich. Please. I can explain. I didn’t m…”
“Keep your mouth shut, traitor,” I spat with disdain. “Nobody saw you take him?” I asked Gigo.
“Nobody see, boss. We bundled him out the rear entrance of his building and threw him into the boot.”
“Okay.”
I now looked at Vova for the first time. He had a black eye, several abrasions on his face, and a piss stain on his trousers.
“Please...Mr Vorotavich...I...”
“I said keep your mouth shut,” I shouted.
Vova hung his head and started crying, but I felt no pity for him. He had betrayed me, and there had been no reason to do so.
Rise of an Oligarch: The Way It Is: Book One Page 12