Zeitgeist Read Online Free PDF Page B

kiosk. So it’s not healthy for Viktor in Russia now either. So now my nephew and I are a team. We are international biznis consultants. Engaged in much romantic travel in exotic vacation spots.”
    They scuffed casually back toward the laboring tow truck, with Viktor trailing cheerfully and gnawing his greasy kebab.
    “I got a biznis pitch for you, ace,” said Starlitz. “It’s pretty heavy duty. You want to hear about this?”
    Khoklov scowled. “I’ve known you for a long time, Starlits! Ever since Azerbaijan. Also, that banking debacle in the Aland Islands … I don’t think I’ve ever profited by knowing you.” Khoklov sighed, his bony shoulders rising and falling in his cheap tourist shirt. “When I first met you, I was flying MiGs out of Kabul air base. Then I was a happy man. I was young then, I was a warrior for socialism. Those were the happiest days of my life! It’s all been downhill since those days.”
    Starlitz frowned. “Do you want to bitch about your lousy fate, or do you want to hear my proposal?”
    “Now I’m a lonely exile,” Khoklov continued, ignoring him. “The maphiya sons of bitches are eating the corpse of Russia. They shoot the mayors in the street. They poison the biznizmen. They ruined every one of the banks. Yeltsin is drunk and he’s dying. The Russian army eats dog food! Russian soldiers are starving to death in their barracks!”
    Starlitz reached into his jacket, produced a fat cash clip, and crisply removed five American hundred-dollar bills. “Here,” he suggested. “Shut up.”
    Khoklov peered at the bills. “So, these are the new American hundreds? The ones they can’t forge yet?”
    “Yep.”
    “Okay.” Khoklov pocketed the cash.
    “Give me some,” Viktor said, skipping alertly forward.
    “Later, kid.” The sound of the tow truck changed suddenly, from a grumble to a high-pitched whine. The truck’s crew broke out in excited Turkish. They gunned their engine, with big blue gusts of combustion.
    A lively crowd gathered at the waterline, carrying lanterns and longshoreman’s hooks.
    “This must be our bag,” Starlitz remarked.
    “Viktor,” Khoklov snapped, “wait. Watch out for these Turks, boy; Turks carry big sharp knives.”
    “It’s beautiful out here,” Viktor protested, eager to rush forward with the jostling crowd. “What a beautiful night! Look at all the stars.”
    “We’re among Moslems here, boy. Pay attention.”
    Viktor glanced at Starlitz, with an apologetic chemical grin. “My uncle is old-fashioned,” he explained. “He’s a patriot.”
    “I’m new at this myself,” Starlitz said. “How do we collect our merchandise in a setup like this?”
    “You’d be surprised how neatly they run these things,” shrugged Khoklov. “This is the submarine arm of the heroin network. These heroin people have bought their own bus lines now, they own their own truck lines.… There are huge new drug maphiyas in Azerbaijan, Tajikistan, Turkestan.… There’s nothing left to the old borders now. The heroin people are very efficient, very free market. They even have postal codes.”
    Men with long iron hawsers splashed into the surf. It had grown quite dark. Yo-ho-ho-ing in a concerted muscular effort, the Cypriot smugglers slowly rolled and tugged their giant water balloon onto the beach. In the patchy lantern lights the gleaming, deflated bladder resembled nothing so much as a giant used condom.
    Starlitz and his two companions crept up for a closer look as the smugglers broke into their shipment. Thegiant bladder had a waterproof interior sac of some kind, a big plastic cyst sewn into it. Armed men with automatic rifles appeared, to oversee the divvying up of the smuggled goods. The riflemen were escorting a video cameraman.
    “Hey!” Starlitz said, recoiling as if stung. “What’s with the videocam? I don’t like that.”
    “You don’t want to fuck with the heroin postmen,” Khoklov advised. “The camera’s good for biznis.