back which she had no intention of doing. She was not going to let any more men into her life – ever.
Nina could handle the business-plan job on her own – she had brains enough for that. She was worried about something else. She had made some inquiries about the bank that was her father’s creditor to find out that it was one of the many small, shady financial establishments that had sprung up out of nowhere during the last decade of the past century and had made money out of thin air. In recent years, some of those establishments had been trying to cleanse themselves and join legal business, but the problem was they were filled with people of the old cast, whose mentality stemmed from the turbulent nineties. Those who were going to read the business plan which Nina was laboring at in her evenings were probably incapable of understanding what it was about, and if they did understand it, it was likely that the five-year prospect meant nothing to them. As a hungry dog does not believe in anything but meat, so those people did not believe in anything but cash, and not any time but today.
Nina had a backup scheme: if their business plan was turned down by the company’s bank, they could take the plan to some other bank in the hope of finding more professional and reasonable creditors there. Once they estimated the prospects of the business, the reasonable creditors in the other bank would hopefully give the company a long-term loan so that it could pay off its short-term debt, but then the reasonable creditors would certainly try to take over the company or at least enter it as co-owners. Nina thought that her father should agree to this last alternative – on the condition, of course, that he retained the control of the company.
However, life showed again that it always had surprises in store capable of upsetting the plans and calculations of ordinary people.
One Saturday, as usual, Nina and her father were alone in the company – Yevgeniy Borisovich sitting in his office, and Nina, over her papers, in the reception room. Suddenly, the door opened, and three men came in. One was of medium height, lean, dressed in a good overcoat, while the other two were musclemen, each of the shape and size of a wardrobe, wearing leather jackets. The lean one cast a sliding glance at Nina, said something to the musclemen and walked on into the office of Yevgeniy Borisovich leaving his companions behind in the reception. Nina knew that her father was not expecting anyone. She sprung up from her table meaning to find out what the matter was, but one of the musclemen raised a shovel-like hand: “Sit.” Nina was thinking frantically – what was that, a robbery? Those two were clearly criminal characters. But her father did not keep any money in the office – what was there to steal?
Nina calmed down a little when she heard voices coming from her father’s office – it sounded like a normal conversation, not an assault. “All right, maybe they are some odd clients,” she thought. “I wish they placed an order that could make us some quick money. If they do, then let them be demons from hell.” She returned to her papers but could not concentrate on them – she kept pricking up her ears for the voices coming from behind the door, trying to make out what was going on. One of the two gorillas lowered onto a chair beside Nina, making it squeak pitifully. The man grinned at Nina and uttered, “Ghy-y-y…” Nina had clearly caught his eye. Dragging the massive chair with him, he moved up closer to her intending to start active flirtation. However, the other one – apparently, he was the senior of the two – dropped curtly, “Cut it out, you.” The romantically disposed thug dulled at once, moved aside, fished out a comic magazine from his pocket and got absorbed in it.
Afterwards, Nina made her father recount in every detail the conversation that he had had with his unexpected visitor.
It was rather a young man dressed in expensive, though ill-assorted clothes. There were no scars on his face, his hands were not covered in tattoos, and he smelled of French cologne rather than prison close-stool, but anyone who happened to be near him thought momentarily of something horrible and criminal, and had a chill running down their spine.
The gangster took a chair beside the desk of Nina’s father and then kept silent for a while. Looking around the office, he pulled a cigarette case from his pocket, extracted an unusual brown cigarette with a twisted tip, and lit it. A strange-smelling smoke floated about the room.
At last the gangster looked at Nina’s father. The man had foul eyes – sick and insane, they were jumping all the time, unable to focus on anything. However, he saw and noticed everything he meant to.
Unable to bear it any longer, Nina’s father rose from his chair.
“Be so kind as to tell me what…”
The other man waved the hand that held the cigarette.
“Sit. Don’t fuss.”
Nina’s father obeyed, as anyone would in his place. When actors play gangsters in movies, they shout or speak in unnaturally hoarse voices, use obscene language and make scary faces trying to be convincing. However, in real life, those who actually kill people as if it is ordinary work do not need shouting or cursing to make impression. The visitor of Yevgeniy Borisovich did not shout.
“Come on, sing,” he said quietly. A few words like ‘sing’ were the only slang he used – otherwise, he spoke an almost correct language.
“Wh-what do you mean?” uttered Nina’s father with difficulty.
“It’s you who was under Simonyan here, right?” asked the visitor.
Yevgeniy Borisovich assumed a dignified air. “I am the director of the company.”
“Yeah, that,” nodded the other.
The visitor drew on his cigarette and asked, “Do you know who I am?”
Nina’s father shook his head emphatically.
“You’ve been lucky,” said the gangster. “But your luck is over.”
“Wh-what do you mean?” Nina’s father asked again.
“Your buddy Simonyan owed money to some serious people. And he ditched it, rat.”
“But… He got killed,” mumbled Yevgeniy Borisovich.
“Yeah, that’s what I say – he ditched it. Some sly son of a bitch, he was. Come on, tell me about this racket of yours. Think how you’re going to pay.”
Nina’s father was paralyzed by fear. Afterwards, he asked himself why he had been so scared, and whether he could have behaved in a different way – and admitted to himself that if that conversation had happened again, he would have been just as crushed. Yevgeniy Borisovich Kisel faced a real, big predator in his office, himself being a sheep in comparison, and there was no changing that.
Nina’s father was about to say that he owned the company now, but bit his tongue. To the gangster, he was a Simonyan’s man, period. After some meaningless mumbling, Yevgeniy Borisovich outlined the situation. Simonyan had drained the company dry, there was no money left in it – worse still, they were up to their ears in debt to the bank and actually in for bankruptcy.
“You’re not lying to me, eh?” asked the gangster and looked into the eyes of Nina’s father which made the older man’s heart miss a few beats. “You’re not, I can see it. Damn Simonyan…”
The gangster crushed his cigarette discontentedly on the ash-tray.
“What bank is that?” he asked.
Yevgeniy Borisovich named the bank.
“Yeah, I know the joint,” said the man. “I’ll go have some face time with them so they get off your back. And you work, dude. Get stuck in, earn the cash. You’ll have to cough it up anyways, you dig?”
“I’ll send along an accountant,” he added. “But that’s just for looks. You’re not going to jump me like Simonyan, eh? … Simonyan told me you’re kind of a family man, right? It’s not for you to go jumping…”
The visitor rose and headed out, but paused in the doorway.
“The one in the reception – your daughter, eh? Looks like you.”
Nina’s father gulped, his fists clenched.
“All right, relax. Nobody’s going to touch her. You’re under me now, and