cutbacks. The obsession with having democracy. It makes everything ruined.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
“You are in favor?”
“All my life.”
“So was I. So was family. Until they learned what will be the cost. Until wife won’t be having the dress. Until son won’t be having the cassette player.” He pauses and smiles in a way that indicates he’s about to make a clever point. “Until they see Viktor hawking the meat to make the ends meet.” His smile broadens. “Pun intended.”
“Very good, Viktor.”
He preens. “Now, they long for Communists.”
His English isn’t as good as mine, but it’s more than adequate. I’m not surprised. Most university graduates in our age group speak it. Those who were fortunate enough to be raised by educated parents and sent to elite schools, as I was, do so quite well. I’ve resumed my note-making when a familiar voice calls out, “Katkov?”
It’s Shevchenko. He stands outside the cell with a smug grin, enjoying the sight of me behind bars.
“You just here to gloat, or what?”
“No. Someone vouched for you. I can’t imagine why.” He nods to a guard, who unlocks the cell and leads me out.
“What about him?” I ask, gesturing to Viktor.
“Not a chance,” Shevchenko replies sharply, as the cell door clangs shut behind me and we start down the corridor. “He doesn’t have a knack for merely being underfoot like you. He’s a grifter and has to be taught a lesson.”
“You’re very big on lessons these days, aren’t you, Mr. Investigator?”
We pause at a security door. His eyes sweep over my bruised face and disheveled clothes. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”
“Makes two of us,” I retort sharply.
The door rumbles open, and he leads the way past a massive outprocessing area. A mesh fence contains the surly mob of prisoners, lawyers, friends, and relatives who are lined up at three windows where clerks work with listless detachment. It’s like shopping in a department store: one line to place your order, one to pay, and one to pick up the goods.
I recognize several medal dealers in the crowd. Unfortunately the long-haired one recognizes me and lunges at the fence like a wild man, his fingers clawing at the mesh, hair snapping around his face. “Informer! Fucking informer!” he shouts, making the obvious assumption when he sees me with Shevchenko. “We’re not finished with you yet, Katkov!”
I ignore him, hurrying after Shevchenko, who’s at the elevator, impatiently thumbing the call button. “How come that nutcase is getting out, and Viktor isn’t?”
“Because Viktor-the-grifter exploits food.”
“Come on, he’s not a grifter, he’s a speculator. Guys like him are what make free-market economies work.”
“I don’t think I’m up to this, Katkov.”
“You’d better be. You’re going to have to live with it for the rest of your life. The bottom line is—and by the way that’s a term you should become familiar with—instead of prosecuting Viktor, you should set up five more speculators in the meat business.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why?”
“Because more meat will be available, and competition will drive the price down. You know a lot about laws. This one is called supply and demand.”
Try as he might, Shevchenko can’t stop his brows from arching. “Very clever. But it has nothing to do with Vorontsov’s murder. That’s what’s keeping me here till midnight and getting me out of bed at five in the morning to bust medal dealers.”
“Your old lady still getting pissed off?”
“None of your business.”
“Business. Very good. Your free-market vocabulary is expanding.”
“The bottom line is,” he says pointedly, “this may not be a scandal, but it’s still a homicide. And I’ve got to solve it.”
“By locking up medal dealers? The poor bastards are only trying to earn a living.”
“So am I. It sends a signal. They know they’ll
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
“You are in favor?”
“All my life.”
“So was I. So was family. Until they learned what will be the cost. Until wife won’t be having the dress. Until son won’t be having the cassette player.” He pauses and smiles in a way that indicates he’s about to make a clever point. “Until they see Viktor hawking the meat to make the ends meet.” His smile broadens. “Pun intended.”
“Very good, Viktor.”
He preens. “Now, they long for Communists.”
His English isn’t as good as mine, but it’s more than adequate. I’m not surprised. Most university graduates in our age group speak it. Those who were fortunate enough to be raised by educated parents and sent to elite schools, as I was, do so quite well. I’ve resumed my note-making when a familiar voice calls out, “Katkov?”
It’s Shevchenko. He stands outside the cell with a smug grin, enjoying the sight of me behind bars.
“You just here to gloat, or what?”
“No. Someone vouched for you. I can’t imagine why.” He nods to a guard, who unlocks the cell and leads me out.
“What about him?” I ask, gesturing to Viktor.
“Not a chance,” Shevchenko replies sharply, as the cell door clangs shut behind me and we start down the corridor. “He doesn’t have a knack for merely being underfoot like you. He’s a grifter and has to be taught a lesson.”
“You’re very big on lessons these days, aren’t you, Mr. Investigator?”
We pause at a security door. His eyes sweep over my bruised face and disheveled clothes. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”
“Makes two of us,” I retort sharply.
The door rumbles open, and he leads the way past a massive outprocessing area. A mesh fence contains the surly mob of prisoners, lawyers, friends, and relatives who are lined up at three windows where clerks work with listless detachment. It’s like shopping in a department store: one line to place your order, one to pay, and one to pick up the goods.
I recognize several medal dealers in the crowd. Unfortunately the long-haired one recognizes me and lunges at the fence like a wild man, his fingers clawing at the mesh, hair snapping around his face. “Informer! Fucking informer!” he shouts, making the obvious assumption when he sees me with Shevchenko. “We’re not finished with you yet, Katkov!”
I ignore him, hurrying after Shevchenko, who’s at the elevator, impatiently thumbing the call button. “How come that nutcase is getting out, and Viktor isn’t?”
“Because Viktor-the-grifter exploits food.”
“Come on, he’s not a grifter, he’s a speculator. Guys like him are what make free-market economies work.”
“I don’t think I’m up to this, Katkov.”
“You’d better be. You’re going to have to live with it for the rest of your life. The bottom line is—and by the way that’s a term you should become familiar with—instead of prosecuting Viktor, you should set up five more speculators in the meat business.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why?”
“Because more meat will be available, and competition will drive the price down. You know a lot about laws. This one is called supply and demand.”
Try as he might, Shevchenko can’t stop his brows from arching. “Very clever. But it has nothing to do with Vorontsov’s murder. That’s what’s keeping me here till midnight and getting me out of bed at five in the morning to bust medal dealers.”
“Your old lady still getting pissed off?”
“None of your business.”
“Business. Very good. Your free-market vocabulary is expanding.”
“The bottom line is,” he says pointedly, “this may not be a scandal, but it’s still a homicide. And I’ve got to solve it.”
“By locking up medal dealers? The poor bastards are only trying to earn a living.”
“So am I. It sends a signal. They know they’ll
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