“Very well. In which case, allow me to take my pick.”
Then — I kid you not! — he began reciting a children’s counting rhyme, pointing his finger at each of us in turn,
“Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor,
Wizard, Warrior, Rogue or Gambler,
Dwarf or Druid, friend or foe,
One of us will have to go!”
His finger alighted on my chest. “You. You’re free to go.”
All eyes were upon me. One of the guys grinned triumphantly, not bothering to conceal his relief.
My ears were burning. My throat seized. I received a “high pulse rate” system message.
I stared at his groomed manicured finger poking my chest, then looked up at him.
“You can go now,” he repeated.
I feverishly rummaged through all my available options. Finally, I braced myself and rose from my seat. “If I may-”
He raised a protesting hand. “Oh, no, no, please stop. Should I call security?”
He seemed to be losing his patience with me. This guy valued every minute of his time.
“Please don’t,” I said. “I’m going now. I just wanted to make a counteroffer. You won’t be losing anything by accepting it.”
“Make it quick.”
“I’m gonna close a sale before the end of the working day. If I fail, you won’t see me again. Do you need an extra sale?”
“Absolutely. You can sit down-” he faltered.
“I’m Phil,” I helpfully offered.
“I know your name. You can sit down, Phil. And you,” he turned to the guy with a smug grin, “you can go now.”
Now I knew what it looked like when someone wiped a smile off your face. The guy turned crimson. Stuttering, he mumbled something in his defense which met with Pavel’s cold, disdainful glare.
The guy beat a dignified retreat, slamming the door behind him.
A new quest message followed,
A One-Day Chance
You must close a sales deal for packaging products produced by Ultrapak, Ltd.
Deadline: end of the workday
Rewards:
A chance to win a sales rep’s position with the company
XP: 1500 pt.
Reputation with the company’s commercial director Pavel Gorelov: +10 pt.
Current Reputation: Indifference 0/30
Penalties:
Loss of your chance to work with Ultrapak, Ltd
Reputation with the company’s commercial director Pavel Gorelov: -30 pt.
Current Reputation: Indifference 0/30
“Now, where were we?” the director continued. “Today I’m going to introduce you to our products and give you a quick guided tour of the company. Then I’ll assign each of you to one of our managers so you can watch them sell...”
He turned to me. “That doesn’t apply to you, Phil. I suggest you don’t waste your time and start selling as soon as you acquaint yourself with the list of our products.”
* * *
BIAXIALLY ORIENTED polystyrene, or BOPS for short, stands for those clear plastic containers used by supermarkets, restaurants and fast food joints to sell salads, prepackaged foods, cream cakes and other goodies. It can’t be reused which means that the demand for it is just as high as for the foods themselves.
This particular type of packaging had caught my attention — especially when I compared the price charged by Ultrapak with its real price which I could see in my mental interface. Its market price was 6 rubles apiece. Peanuts. Still, Ultrapak sold it at 324 rubles apiece.
What was the catch?
Once we’d finished familiarizing ourselves with the company’s produce, Pavel sent me directly to the sales department where he found me a spare desk with a telephone. A dog-eared business phone directory sat on the desk next to it, covered with its previous owner’s scribbles: “Not to call”; “Speak to Svetlana the company buyer”, “They’re all idiots!!!”
No one had shown me the client base. I could understand them. I was still a nobody here.
I spent the next hour copying the names of all of the city’s markets and fast food chains, then walked around the room with the list to make sure I didn’t call someone who was already a client. Other reps stared at me like I was some kind of idiot. Still, they didn’t tell me as much. Instead, they glanced over my list, ticking off the names of their own clients.
One of the managers, the fat Cyril Cyrilenko, took me aside. Assaulting me with a strong tobacco breath, he told me to follow him into the smoking room.
I agreed unhesitantly. In my situation, any information was precious.
“You don’t need to call Pesco Market,” he said. “I work with them.”
He drew hard on his cigarette, then wheezed, exhaling, “How did you manage to get a sale? Normally, he won’t let trainees anywhere near sales for a week at least. How did you do it?”
“Dunno,” I didn’t feel like lying to a potential workmate. “He wanted to fire me straight away. He said we were one too many. So what he did, he...”
“He recited a counting rhyme,” Cyril grinned and immediately exploded in a bout of coughing. “Isn’t that typical. He always uses the same rhyme. Was it the one about wizards and rogues? I’ll tell you something. He didn’t like you from the start. He already knew how to recite the rhyme so that it ended with you.”
“What was the point? They could simply fail my interview.”
“Or no, they couldn’t. If he fired someone now, the others would give up hope and become desperate. So how come he didn’t give you the boot?”
“I promised him a sale. If I fail to close a deal by the end of the day, then he can fire me.”
“You’re not shy, are you?” he laughed, then exploded in another bout of coughing.
I peered at his health numbers. 62,6%. Should I say something? Or ask about his health? He might think I was prying.
A new task message appeared in my view.
Ask about Mr. Cyrilenko’s health and suggest he makes an appointment with the doctor.
I waited for his coughing bout to subside. “What do I have to lose? It’s not as if I have another job,” I said. “Maybe you could give me some advice? Tell me which places are best to avoid?”
“I shouldn’t count too much on our advice, if I were you. Competition is tough here. Everyone has mouths to feed and mortgages to pay. Rents, children, vacations; wives and mistresses to support..” he paused. “If I can be brutally honest, you don’t have a chance in hell. All the big clients are already taken — if not by us, then by other firms. And the small fry are just not worth it. You’ll spend months trying to close them and haggling over the bottom line. They count every cent and won’t just sign up because you’re there.”
“I see,” I replied, wondering if I should ask him about the difference in market price. “If you don’t mind me asking... what’s with the high profit margin?”
His Interest bar began to shrink. I had to be more open and persuasive. I didn’t lose anything by trying, anyway.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “I just need this job real bad, you know. I haven’t got a pot to piss in. My wife left me the other day. I don’t need advice, just some information.”
“Your wife left you? Oh... I’ve just got divorced myself. Not the best feeling, I have to admit,” he heaved a sigh and lit another cigarette. “Just between you and me. We have our own production line, you know. And marginality is virtually non-existent. The bosses prefer to work by volume. We already sell at wholesale prices while all these shops just whack on the price of the packaging on top of their own product price. And thirdly, the kickbacks. All buyers charge them. They buy in bulk at deflated prices and split the difference. Pavel is quite scrupulous about it. He has respect for the market, even though we have to deal with this problem every month. The most we can do is invite a buyer to a good restaurant, or give him a nice birthday present, but that’s the extent of it. You personally, what would you choose — a bo
ttle of good brandy for your birthday or a few thousand dollars under the table every month?”
“But this is-”
“I know. That’s why we do it like we do. Our price is the lowest on the market simply because it doesn’t include kickbacks, black cash conversions and higher profits. Come on, let’s go now.”
“Thanks,” I proffered him my hand.
Mechanically he shook it and walked out. I followed in his wake, mulling over what I’d just heard.
Back at my desk, I opened my phone and Googled the list of all the biggest supermarket chains. Then I spent some quality time studying each of them: their logos, the brands they carried, the number of stores and their respective locations, stocks and the names of their top management.
Then I opened my own map and highlighted all their offices all over the country. I took a deep sigh, crossed my fingers and entered a new search filter:
Delete all those who are not Ultrapak’s clients
A couple of dots disappeared from the map.
Bingo.
The rest was the database I could work with.
I ran a few more queries, narrowing my search by the type of packaging ordered, and excluding all those who bought our products for more than 50% over the wholesale price. A few more dots expired, leaving me with four chains out of the original ten.
I went back to Google and began looking up the companies’ owners, shareholders and beneficiaries. I perused their biographies and interviews, and copied all the data into a fat agenda I’d bought the night before.
By lunchtime, I was done. It had taken me a while but now I had plenty of KIDD points to play with.
All my fellow trainees and their coaches had already left for lunch and a bit of a get-together with their mentors and future workmates. No one had bothered to invite me along.
I hurried out of the building and bought myself a quick shawarma in the nearest underground passage. Strangely enough, this prime example of street food so popular in Russia didn’t result in any health alert messages. I wolfed my lunch down and returned to my desk.
As I walked into the room, I saw the stooping figure of a girl by the window. Seeing me, she turned away.
“Hi Marina,” I said. “Everything’s okay?”
“Everything’s fine, thank you,” she replied without turning.
Was it my imagination or had she been crying?
I checked her status. Her Mood was really low. Still, I decided to give her some space for a while. No good me trying to intrude on her feelings.
I took my place at the desk and sent a request to see the locations of my shortlisted candidates.
Much to my disappointment, all of them were either in a different town or abroad. My crazy initial idea of visiting them in person had failed miserably.
Or had it? As I zoomed in on the map, I saw that I’d been wrong. One of the markers must have overlapped with that of my own town which was why I hadn’t noticed it at first. It belonged to a certain Nicholas Valiadis, the owner of one of the supermarket chains.
Valiadis? Wait a sec. Wasn’t that the guy whom the old boy with the newspaper had mentioned? At the time, he’d suggested I remember the name. “One day you might be happy you did.”
I sent another search request to see his current location. Valiadis was in the gym, of all places. Was it my Luck kicking in? Had he been at home or in the office, my crazy idea wouldn’t have worked at all.
Very well. Let’s go to the gym. It wasn’t a humble budget affair like my own but a top fitness club where a year membership cost the price of a new car.
I gave them a call and booked a guest visit.
“I’m out to see a client,” I told Marina and rushed out. Ignoring the elevator, I took the steps three at a time, calling Uber as I hurried out.
I had no idea how I was supposed to approach him, let alone talk to him. That was something I’d have to think about on my way there.
As I rode an Uber cab, I kept an eye on his map marker. According to it, he must have been in the swimming pool. Where else can you spend half an hour just moving to and fro? His path through the weight room would have been much more complex.
Which meant I needed some swim shorts.
Finally, we were there. I took a deep breath and walked inside. Immediately I saw a small shop selling all sorts of training gear. I bought myself a pair of swimming trunks which cost the same as a decent business suit — and that was with the club discount!
Several young receptionists smiled to me from their desk. I explained the purpose of my visit, showed them my ID, paid for the guest’s three-session subscription and received a silicon guest bracelet, a pair of disposable slippers, a towel, a bathing cap and a bathrobe.
My crazy idea had already cost me much more than I could afford. All the money I’d set aside for the next two weeks was already gone. Never mind. I could always use a new pair of swim trunks. Ditto for the three-session ticket: that was in fact an excellent leveling opportunity. So I’d better relax and enjoy this educational foray into the life of the rich and beautiful.
The locker room was empty. Excellent. I undressed, took a quick shower and walked out into the pool.
The place was nice and clean. Soft upbeat music bubbled in the speakers. The walls were lined with deck chairs. Athletic life guards kept watch poolside. Bar servers froze by the walls, ready to take your order at your slightest sign. A group of pretty girls with legs which went on forever were chatting and laughing in the corner drinking their herbal teas.
Herbal? I wasn’t even sure it was tea at all. Whatever.
Valiadis was still busy doing his laps. I couldn’t see his bodyguards anywhere. Or could those life guards actually be his bodyguards? I’d hate to have to find that out. The more natural and “accidental” our conversation, the better.
I left the bathrobe, the slippers and the towel next to an available deck chair and entered the water. It wasn’t cold but it wasn’t very warm, either.
Trying not to splash, I swam slowly in the opposite direction. My swimming skills had always left a lot to be desired. My lung capacity was way below average. So after a couple of laps, I flipped onto my back and relaxed, watching Valiadis out of the corner of my eye.
Finally, I sensed it was now or never. He'd been here for an hour already. I would only have two opportunities to talk to him: either in the locker room or in the sauna. The latter option was even better. In the locker room, he’d probably be already thinking about work while in the sauna he might relax and lower his guard.
I got out of the water, toweled myself dry, removed the cap and headed for the sauna.
That turned out to be another puzzle. They didn’t just have one sauna. They also had a Russian steam bath and a Turkish hammam. Which one should I choose?
I finally decided on the sauna. Its glass door and the absence of steam offered an excellent view of the entire pool and the locker room door. If Valiadis headed there instead, I could catch up with him in no time.
I lasted the first ten minutes just fine, albeit sweating all over. Still, the longer I remained there, the more I wished I could run out and throw my overheated body into the welcoming freshness of the pool.
By the time Valiadis finally climbed out of the pool and headed for the Russian steam bath next door, the Thirst debuff was killing me. I rushed out of the sauna and headed for the cooler, gulping water down by the bucket. Once the debuff icon was gone, I toweled the sweat off and walked into the steam bath.
Valiadis was sitting there with his eyes closed, wearing a felt cap.
He pried his eyes open and nodded, greeting me. I did the same. He was in excellent shape, sinewy and fit with broad shoulders and a six-pack.
I took a seat some distance away from him, respecting his personal space. From where I could finally study his profile and stats.
Nicholas “The Duke” Valiadis
Age: 47
Current status: Tycoon
Social status level: 29
> Class: Businessman. Level: 33
Married
Wife: Arina Valiadis. Age: 38
Children: Sergei, son. Age: 16. Paulina, daughter. Age: 11
Criminal record: yes
Reputation: Indifference 0/30
Interest: 0%
I was quite happy that his Interest to me was at zero. I was afraid that by disturbing his privacy I might have alienated him.
“Mr. Valiadis?” I tried to strike up a conversation.
He tensed ever so slightly. His watchful stare sized me up. He must have decided I was no threat to him. “Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so. Still, it would be strange if I,” — I stressed the last word, “didn’t know you.”
“Why not?”
“Our company provides packaging materials for supermarket chains. So it’s my job to know everyone who’s anyone in our line of business.”
He nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. “I don’t think you’ve come here by accident.”
“I haven’t,” I admitted.
“One of the staff must have sold me, I suppose. Oh well. Shame about the pool, I liked it.”
He removed the felt cap and used it to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Are you the company owner?”
“Not at all. I’m not even their commercial director. If the truth were known, I’m just a trainee sales rep.”
“Are you really? So what is it you want from me, Mr. Trainee Sales Rep?”
“I want nothing from you, Mr. Valiadis. On the contrary. I’d like to help you lower your packaging costs.”
I paused, watching his Interest bar grow out of the red zone and stopping at 11% in the orange sector.
“Keep talking,” he said.
“I don’t know the conditions your suppliers offer, but I’m absolutely sure we can offer you 50% less.”
That caught his interest. It soared, reaching 50%. The sight gave me wings.
“If we take BOPS, for instance, we can supply it to you for 3.24 rubles. I’m pretty sure you’re now buying it for four-something. Or five even.”
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