to steal honestly?”
Greshenko shrugged and shook his head.
“Okay, you do…whatever you would do if you needed something and didn’t have time to bargain or pay right away.”
“Ah, some little playing of the shell game?”
“Whatever you say. I want a block of tickets for the finals of the World Cup matches. It’s early yet and there has to be someone who can make that happen, maybe our shipper. Like, if you were to hint we might be putting our business out for bid, they might find a way to come up with some tickets. Anyway, see what you can do.”
“These tickets are for who? Or should I say what?”
“Premiums, Yuri. Part of the package. Customers who stay with us after or before, watch the games free and in comfort. Marketing.”
Greshenko didn’t say so, but he was sure his contacts, the men he had been bullied into meeting, would have no trouble finding as many tickets as Leo wanted. Whether he would pay their price was something else entirely.
“I will talk to some people. You know that most of the tickets to the boxes and lounges are consigned already or sold. I may have access to a small block of first rate tickets and more of the general admission variety.”
“Do the best you can. It’s just an idea, not a requirement. If we can’t lay our hands on a sufficient number, we can always scalp them.”
But, tickets notwithstanding, he could not stop now. He must do what they asked and hoped they kept their word. He didn’t believe it but, as they had pointed out to him in painful detail, he had no options. Do as bid or end his days in a very cold place from which there would be no hope of escape. Greshenko nodded and pulled the handle of his bag up. “Very well, then, I will see you in a few days.” He rolled the bag out to his waiting taxi.
“Airport,” he said, and climbed in.
***
Sanderson saw Tlalelo and Modise to the door and shut it behind him. Could this internet thing be true? Surely the government would not permit it. She positioned herself behind her desk and stared at her computer screen. What to do. Did she need to know about this thing? Would her knowing be of help? She didn’t know. How could she?
She pulled up her internet browser. Computers were not something she completely understood. She thought of her daughter, Mpitle. She would know how to find this out but…that was the point, wasn’t it. She did not want that to happen. Mpitle, so young and in so much danger with the HIV/AIDs all about. She shook her head and thought a moment. What do I type in this Google box? Did she know any of those words? She did, but knowing was not something she wished to admit. Her computer screen, pale blue and nonjudgmental, seemed to wait for her to decide. Did she want to proceed or not? Finally she typed in two words and hit enter. A screen filled with sites appeared. She clicked on the first offering and stared, her mouth agape as images of women flooded the screen. They were naked, of course, but the things they were doing! It was true. She clicked back to the search results and read that there were over three thousand sites with this rubbish on them.
She quickly exited, erased her search history, and contemplated the now pristine screen. Why was this permitted? Who looked at those pictures? Why? And where were those girls’ mothers who allowed this to happen to their children?
Chapter Eighteen
Sometime in his early life, Patriarche had learned to use a stick. That happened before he became the leader of this increasingly threatened family group. A branch had apparently fallen from a tree and stuck vertically in the turf. Instead of knocking it over as he might have in the past, he grasped it with both hands and pulled it straight toward him. It unearthed a succulent root. A second scratch with the stick yielded the same results. He discovered the small end of a stick could push through the tangle and turn up an edible root more efficiently than grubbing in the dirt with his
Greshenko shrugged and shook his head.
“Okay, you do…whatever you would do if you needed something and didn’t have time to bargain or pay right away.”
“Ah, some little playing of the shell game?”
“Whatever you say. I want a block of tickets for the finals of the World Cup matches. It’s early yet and there has to be someone who can make that happen, maybe our shipper. Like, if you were to hint we might be putting our business out for bid, they might find a way to come up with some tickets. Anyway, see what you can do.”
“These tickets are for who? Or should I say what?”
“Premiums, Yuri. Part of the package. Customers who stay with us after or before, watch the games free and in comfort. Marketing.”
Greshenko didn’t say so, but he was sure his contacts, the men he had been bullied into meeting, would have no trouble finding as many tickets as Leo wanted. Whether he would pay their price was something else entirely.
“I will talk to some people. You know that most of the tickets to the boxes and lounges are consigned already or sold. I may have access to a small block of first rate tickets and more of the general admission variety.”
“Do the best you can. It’s just an idea, not a requirement. If we can’t lay our hands on a sufficient number, we can always scalp them.”
But, tickets notwithstanding, he could not stop now. He must do what they asked and hoped they kept their word. He didn’t believe it but, as they had pointed out to him in painful detail, he had no options. Do as bid or end his days in a very cold place from which there would be no hope of escape. Greshenko nodded and pulled the handle of his bag up. “Very well, then, I will see you in a few days.” He rolled the bag out to his waiting taxi.
“Airport,” he said, and climbed in.
***
Sanderson saw Tlalelo and Modise to the door and shut it behind him. Could this internet thing be true? Surely the government would not permit it. She positioned herself behind her desk and stared at her computer screen. What to do. Did she need to know about this thing? Would her knowing be of help? She didn’t know. How could she?
She pulled up her internet browser. Computers were not something she completely understood. She thought of her daughter, Mpitle. She would know how to find this out but…that was the point, wasn’t it. She did not want that to happen. Mpitle, so young and in so much danger with the HIV/AIDs all about. She shook her head and thought a moment. What do I type in this Google box? Did she know any of those words? She did, but knowing was not something she wished to admit. Her computer screen, pale blue and nonjudgmental, seemed to wait for her to decide. Did she want to proceed or not? Finally she typed in two words and hit enter. A screen filled with sites appeared. She clicked on the first offering and stared, her mouth agape as images of women flooded the screen. They were naked, of course, but the things they were doing! It was true. She clicked back to the search results and read that there were over three thousand sites with this rubbish on them.
She quickly exited, erased her search history, and contemplated the now pristine screen. Why was this permitted? Who looked at those pictures? Why? And where were those girls’ mothers who allowed this to happen to their children?
Chapter Eighteen
Sometime in his early life, Patriarche had learned to use a stick. That happened before he became the leader of this increasingly threatened family group. A branch had apparently fallen from a tree and stuck vertically in the turf. Instead of knocking it over as he might have in the past, he grasped it with both hands and pulled it straight toward him. It unearthed a succulent root. A second scratch with the stick yielded the same results. He discovered the small end of a stick could push through the tangle and turn up an edible root more efficiently than grubbing in the dirt with his
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