Memoir of a Russian Punk

25

Eddie-baby returns to the usual meeting place, where the other guys are naturally already gathered. Cat and Lyova and Sanya and two others as well – Slavka Bokarev and "Hollywood." Cat and Lyova, each augmenting the other, are giving a detailed account of the capture of the ringleader of the soldiers, while Sanya is looking admiringly at the large gold watch on his wrist.

"How do you like the ticker?" he asks the just arrived Eddie-baby with a little smile.

"Where'd you get it?" Eddie-baby asks in amazement, although he is starting to remember something.

"The sergeant gave it to me," says Sanya. "'It's no use to me,' he said, 'I'll lose it, whereas it's just the thing for you, Red.'" Sanya guffaws complacently.

"Is it real gold?" Eddie asks.

"What else?" Sanya answers. "So, did you turn them over?" he asks Eddie-baby.

"Well, I took them to the precinct like you said, and then I cut out," Eddie answers, shrugging his shoulders.

"You did right," Sanya says encouragingly. "A ticker like this would cost twenty-five hundred in a store. That means I can sell it to the blackasses at the market for at least a thousand, and maybe even more. And what could the goddamn trashes give us, huh? A certificate to stick up our asses? Fuck them and their reward!"

"I didn't even see you take it," Eddie says with admiration.

"I took it when we were bringing him in. I immediately noticed he was wearing gold, but I didn't want us to be the only suspects. Now, if they suspect anybody, they'll suspect the Georgian too. Of course, after a fight and a scuffle like that, it's possible he could have lost it himself. Maybe it fell off his wrist," Sanya innocently intones, and then laughs again.

It's clear to Eddie-baby now why the guys turned down the triumphant return, the opportunity to ride into the militia station on a white horse. The money is more important, of course. Although if the choice had been Eddie's, he probably would have chosen the triumphant return. He would have passed up his share of the watch merely for the pleasure of actually seeing Major Aleshinsky shake his hand and express his gratitude. And Zilberman! To get the better of the Jew Zilberman-Maigret is something that Eddie-baby has long dreamed of. To walk into his office, sprawl on the chair by his desk, light a cigarette, and lazily remark, "Yesterday when I was talking to the major…" Or, "Major Aleshinsky and I…" Eddie grins. Zilberman would have gone out of his mind with amazement.

The watch, however, means money. Eddie-baby painfully remembers that he has to have 250 rubles by tomorrow night. If you divide a thousand by four, you get exactly 250 rubles. He won't really get that much, of course, since his part in acquiring the watch was an insignificant one. He'll do well if Sanya gives him a hundred. Maybe he should ask Sanya to lend him the rest?

"Sanya, hey, Sanya," Eddie says, "when are you going to sell the watch? Can you do it tomorrow?"

"Not tomorrow. The market will be closed tomorrow. It's a holiday, or did you forget?" Sanya says in surprise. "What's the matter, do you need cash or something? You had some. When did I give it to you last time? It was less than a week ago."

He's talking about the ring he and Sanya acquired together. Sanya, as if merely playing with the hand of a girl they met, had taken the ring off while Eddie distracted her. He played the part of Sanya's little brother. They were on a trolley. Not on their own No.24, but on No.3 – in the city, in other words, and not in their own neighborhood. The dumb girl was so pleased that the stylish Sanya (who called himself Richard) had made a date with her that she never suspected he'd repeated the same line dozens of times and had made dozens of such dates. Unfortunately the line doesn't always work, but Sanya uses it over and over again. His fingers are thick and pink but very nimble.

"I spent it," Eddie justifies himself. "I thought my mother and father would give me some money for the holiday, but they haven't given me a fucking thing!"

"You should have saved some cash for the holiday," Sanya says, shaking his head. "Any other time I'd give you something, but I haven't got anything now either. I'm squeezed dry. I gave everything I earned last week to my mother to buy a coat for Svetka. The little twat has grown, and now she needs a new coat."

Eddie-baby's heart sinks. Sanya was his last hope. The butcher often has money, although unlike the other butchers, Sanya doesn't hold on to it, he immediately squanders it. He dresses expensively and wears skull rings on his pink fingers, and all that costs money. "Where can I get some money?" Eddie wonders. "Where?"

"Why don't you ask Cat," Sanya says, seeing how crestfallen Eddie is, and without waiting for an answer, he asks Cat himself.

"Cat, hey, Cat, have you got any cash you can loan Eddie?"

"How much does he need?" Cat asks from the other side of the bench, and reaches into his pocket.

"How much?" Sanya asks Eddie.

"Two-fifty or three hundred…," Eddie says uncertainly.

"O-o-oh," Cat drawls, and takes his hand out of his pocket. "I don't have that kind of money on me right now. I thought you maybe wanted thirty or fifty rubles. For two-fifty you'll have to wait until I get paid."

"I need it by tomorrow," Eddie says in a hopeless voice.

"Eddie, you jerk, how many times have I told you, if you want money, go to the track," Slavka Bokarev observes pompously.

The kids all laugh.

Eddie-baby waves Bokarev away. "You go there every day, so where's your money?" he asks him in an irritated voice.

"I'm just now finishing going over the data, and pretty soon I'll have a system that will bring me in a million in no time," Bokarev answers with conviction.