Sicilian Defense Read online

  “Okay, can we cut the crap?” I heard yet another unfamiliar voice ask. It belonged to a short—tiny, really—girl with a pale face, fragile body, and freckled nose.

  “I’m the one who’s supposed to say that,” I couldn’t help but note.

  She was pleasantly reminiscent of the dryads I’d saved, and she really was short and thin. Her hair was pulled back, her eyes were intelligent, and she was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of some kind of creature on it. She was wearing sneakers, her laces were different colors, and she was standing there looking back at me. Tiny.

  “Welcome to my life,” she announced. “Everyone’s always busy with their weird conversations about nothing at all, and they can’t actually be bothered to do anything. Boring.”

  “Agreed. Okay, I have two questions for you: what’s your name? And who is that?” I pointed at her t-shirt.

  “This?” she replied, stretching it out. “This is a Korean singer named Ming Nat—I’m a huge fan. And my name is Tasha. It’s Natalya Zvyagintseva, but just call me Tasha. I’m bored out of my mind, so could you give me something to do?”

  So it turned out they have their own pop scene in Korea, complete with hairy, wide-eyed singers pulled straight from comic books. I never would have thought that he was a singer. But for the time being, I had bigger problems: my odd band of rapscallions was turning into a regular Noah’s Ark. What did I do to deserve this?

  “Okay,” I said with a clap, “listen up, everyone—especially the new arrivals.”

  And with that, I briefly went over who was doing what, who answered to who, and who was responsible for what. I also included some notes on who would get what if they didn’t do their job right. Sergey listened with interest, making sure he had a good grasp of the situation, though the rest gave it half an ear at best. Marietta (I’m going to need to shorten that to Mary) did her best to look like she was hanging on my every word, and jotted notes down in a notebook as she did, though her eyes were glassed-over. Shelestova smiled to herself, shaking her head every once in a while, and Tasha did her best not to look bored—with only the occasional yawn giving her away.

  “That’s pretty much it,” I said ten minutes later.

  “So what are we supposed to do?” Tasha asked, arms spread wide.

  “I’m bored,” Shelestova said from behind Tasha, doing a perfect imitation of her.

  “It’s true,” Tasha agreed. “Seriously.”

  “Gennady,” I said, starting to give out orders. “You get the women’s battalion and Sergey—they’re all yours. Give them a quick overview of Fayroll history and where we’ve been so far, and then tell them about the news, where to get it, where to look for it, what it should be about, and why we need it. I want a selection on my desk tomorrow—I’ll go through it myself. Also, keep in mind that you’re grooming your own replacement. As soon as I see that they can handle it, I’m promoting you to articles. Oh, and figure out which one we should introduce to Di to get her material.”

  “Got it, boss,” Stroynikov replied, perking up—he was long-since tired of digging through the news. While he’d recently dumped the job on Yushkov after a heavy bout of drinking, the latter had bloodied his nose and restored the status quo. Stroynikov was also smart enough to realize that I was holding out an olive branch and a chance to rejoin society.

  “As far as you kids go,” I continued, casting a gaze over the four new people, “the news section is important, and we need it to be even bigger now that we’re expanding the publication. But three people will still be fine, so one of you will move up to writing articles as well—the one who does the best work. Your future is in your hands. Elena, don’t look at Sergey like that—I’m just talking about work. Obviously, I’ll be keeping tabs on you, but you’ll report directly to Vika. She’ll be watching you like a hawk, and you should know that her opinion carries a lot of weight with me.”

  The newcomers glanced at each other quickly. I could tell that the solidarity they’d walked in with, the agreement they’d probably come to about sticking together, had gone out the window. They’d been brothers in arms; now they were competitors. Welcome to real life.

  “A-ah,” Elena said, waving a hand. “I don’t have a shot, so I should probably just learn to live with the news.”

  “You could just quit. Actually, you don’t have to quit: you’re in the middle of your trial period, so you’re free as a bird,” Vika replied, her voice angelic. “Are you sure you want to deal with the news?”

  “Thanks for the advice, good lady,” Elena said, bowing at the waist, “though I think I can decide for myself when, where, and how I’ll do things. And with whom, incidentally. I apologize, Miss Assistant, if that came out harsh.”

  “Okay, you two can hash that out later—your little circus is the last thing I need right now. But I’m telling you right now, Shelestova, I’ll show you the door if you take things too far. Anyone have any questions?” I asked.

  “I do,” Shelestova piped up immediately. “When’s our first work party? You don’t skimp out on those, do you?”

  “That type of thing usually happens when you’re paid for the first time, though you all can decide how you want to do that. All I ask is that you keep everything like that out of working hours, and not on Tuesdays or Wednesdays—we’re too busy getting ready for print then,” I replied.

  “But you’ll be there, right? What’s the point otherwise?”

  “Of course, I’ll be there. I don’t drink with employees, though I’m supposed to come. I didn’t think up the tradition, so it’s not mine to break,” I said with a nod. “Work parties are important—they tell you what kind of people you have around you. By the way, have any of you played Fayroll?”

  Tasha and Sergey raised their hands. I wanted to ask them when and what their names were, though my phone rang right then.

  “Hi, Maxim,” I said. Vika looked scarily at the group and held a finger to her lips, softly hissing Zimin to them. They all came to attention, with the exception of Shelestova. She pulled a file out of the miniature purse slung over her shoulder and started working on her nails.

  “Well, Kif, congratulations on wrapping up the first part of the quest,” Zimin said as complacently as ever. “Also, I want you to drop by. The Old Man isn’t in Moscow today, but I still want you to come over. First, I want to congratulate you in person, and second, there are a few things we need to talk about. Did the new kids show up?”

  “Yes, they’re here,” I replied, throwing an unblinking stare in the direction of the frozen group. “Nothing to report yet—I need to get a better look at how they work. Time will tell what they’re worth.”

  Marietta nodded reflexively as she watched me loyally, and Shelestova glanced over, shook her head, and sighed.

  “You already have your first impression, and that’s good,” Zimin noted.

  “Should I bring Vika with me?” I asked as though in passing, though I made sure everyone in the office heard me. “All right.”

  “Ah, lending her a bit of authority?” Zimin said knowingly and approvingly. “Good work. Just don’t take her upstairs with you, since there’s nothing for her to do up here. There’s a cafeteria downstairs, so she can grab a coffee and a few pastries there. Okay, I’m sending a car for you. And don’t even think about arguing—I have some cognac I want to drink with you.”

  “Vika, there’s a car on the way for us, so go ahead and make sure everyone knows what they need to be doing.”

  Vika glanced at Shelestova victoriously, though, while the latter scrunched up her nose, she certainly didn’t look beaten.

  I wonder which one is the mole.

  Chapter Two

  In which the hero goes up and comes right back down.

  As soon as we got into the car, Vika cuddled up to me and gave me a kiss on the nose.

  “Thanks, I appreciated everything.” My companion was clearly pleased.

  “Hey, why did you jump overboard?” I asked. The story had intrigued m
e: from what I could tell, the only reason girls ever jump overboard is when they’re unlucky in love. Guys are different, as they could have any number of reasons—from you don’t think I’ll do it? To of course I won’t drown. But girls?

  “It was an accident, an accident,” Vika replied with a frown. “You’re going to listen to her? I already called a friend of mine who works in our school’s administration, and she told me all about that Shelestova. She’s a whore and an animal, and that’s putting it lightly.”

  If Vika’s friend told her that right off the bat, there isn’t anything wrong with Shelestova.

  Girls who are just cute can’t stand the really beautiful ones. They just can’t. Beautiful women, to take another example, feel sorry for ugly girls. Plain girls aren’t big fans of their beautiful friends either, though they respect them. They can sidle up to them like those fish that stick close to sharks: from there, they can grab their chance at some party or other and snatch a drunk guy. If they’re lucky, they can even build a life with the guys they scavenge. Sure, anything can happen when the guy wakes up the next morning, but that’s a very different story. Cute girls, however, despise beautiful girls. I’ve never been quite sure why, though I think it has something to do with the fact that there are far more cute girls than actually beautiful ones. The cute girls are always on the losing end, too. And if the beautiful girl is smart as well, something that was clearly true of Shelestova, that just sealed the deal. That’s why cute girls call smart, beautiful girls…well, what Vika’s friend called Shelestova.

  Incidentally, that doesn’t mean that cute girls don’t use their usual “she’s such an airhead!” when talking about their beautiful friends, too. What people don’t realize, however, is that really beautiful women don’t actually have it as easy as everyone thinks. Lots of guys give them a wide birth, figuring that so much as a smile at a dazzling beauty like that would be enough to have some creature made out of muscles, a wallet, and a pistol jump out of a big, dark car and bash their brains in. Either that or they figure she’s some kind of pricey call girl, and where are they going to find that kind of money? And so on, and so forth. It’s hard to believe, but there are women out there whose beauty gets in the way of their personal lives. I knew one such girl named Alla, and she was so lonely she went on some kind of TV program to see if she could find true love. The guys all stayed away from her and the criminal consort they assumed she had, while all she wanted was some domestic bliss with a man she could love.

  Guys are simpler in this area. We don’t really care who’s good-looking and who isn’t; we just want friends who aren’t jerks and who can make it past their third shot. Some people can’t drink to save their lives, and what’s the fun in that?

  “Vika, I couldn’t care less, really,” I replied, realizing that I needed to calm her down. Her chest was rising and falling faster than the sea in a storm, and she looked worried. “It’s not like I’m trying to have kids with her.”

  “Don’t you even try,” Vika said threateningly. “I’ll poison you!”

  “By the way, can you drive?” I asked, figuring it was the right time to change the subject.

  “I can, but I don’t have a license. My dad taught me. Why do you ask?”

  “You should get your license. Zimin and I are going to have some cognac, and you’d be able to drive us home if you had one. This way we’re going to have to take one of their cars home or call a taxi, and tomorrow we have to get to work without a car since it’ll still be there. I don’t mind, but you…”

  “Do you have to drink?” Vika asked, squinting up at me. “Why don’t you just skip it?”

  “That could work,” I agreed. “It’ll be simple: you go tell Zimin that I don’t drink anymore since you don’t like it.”

  Vika was silent for a moment before circling back to where we started.

  “We have a driving school close to our building, so I’ll go sign up tomorrow. What car will I drive? Our BMW?”

  “Probably,” I replied. “Get your license first and we’ll see.”

  The Raidion building was as modern and imposing as ever, and it was starting to really grow on me. I was practically a regular—the girls at reception all smiled as soon as they saw me.

  “Good afternoon, Harriton,” one of them said affably, the same one who’d taken me to see Zimin the first time I was there. “Are you here to see Maxim?”

  “Yes. The Big Boss actually wanted to see me, but he’s away, right?” I replied casually, deciding to boost my standing still further with the beauty wearing the company scarf while also showing off a little for Vika. Who doesn’t like a little attention? The only problem was that I didn’t know what the Big Boss’s name was, and I didn’t feel right calling him the Old Man. There wasn’t a single word about him on the company site.

  But the effect was more than I expected. The girls seemed to be struck dumb, and nobody said anything until the one I was talking to swallowed.

  “As far as I know, Valerian isn’t on any of his properties right now. I may not know something, however, so please forgive me for that.”

  She contritely and sincerely bowed her head, which astonished me. I even felt a bit embarrassed.

  “Oh, come on, if you don’t, you don’t. Zimin’s here, right?”

  “Maxim is in his office,” she replied without looking up. “Would you allow me to take you up there?”

  “You’d be doing me a favor,” I said, perplexed.

  “What about me?” Vika asked with a cocked eyebrow.

  “You go have some coffee,” I replied, though I continued when I saw the dissatisfied look in her eyes. “I told you, us guys are going to be drinking cognac. I mean, if you want to join us, then let’s go…”

  “You know I don’t like cognac.” Vika shook her head. “Fine, I’ll go have some coffee. Do they have pastries, too?”

  “Of course,” one of the girls replied quickly. “With custard, with almonds, and with pistachios, and we also have natural Bénédictine for your coffee if you want it. Can I show you the way?”

  “Kif, give me some money—I forgot my wallet in my desk,” Vika said to me, her hand outstretched.

  “You can put it on your tab, so don’t worry about paying,” the girl rattled off with a smile.

  Still, I handed Vika my wallet, since I wasn’t going to put bills in her hand, and headed off to see Zimin.

  The girl said nothing in the elevator, but I thought when she looked at me there was a hidden and powerful fear somewhere deep in her eyes. What kind of guy is the boss? All it took was one mention of him for her to start treating me like this? I just hoped my comment wouldn’t come back to bite me later.

  When we got to the right floor, she walked me to the familiar doors and immediately hurried back to jump into the same elevator we’d just left.

  Everything in the waiting room was how it always was. At the center sat the beautiful, well-groomed, and forbidding Eliza, her fingernails their usual blood-red color, her hair piled high on her head, and a look of oppressive implacability on her face.

  “Oh, Nikiforov,” she said, seeing me and even perking up a little. “Maxim was asking about you. Where have you been?”

  “It’s Moscow, the traffic is horrible,” I replied laconically.

  “Well, and how are things with you, young man?” Eliza turned her royal head in my direction for the first time that I could remember. “How are things at home? Everything good?”

  “Yes, everything’s great, thank you.” I couldn’t help wondering if everyone at Raidion had come to work that day thinking about what they could do to throw me for a loop.

  Eliza smiled sarcastically, though her reply was amiable.

  “It’s great when things are great. Life’s the way it should be.”

  “Eliza,” I said, deciding to capitalize on her good mood. “I was told you have some kind of packet for me, something for new employees. Medical insurance and a bunch of other stuff.”

  “Did Maxim
tell you that?” she asked.

  “No, I read about it on the site, and a few people mentioned it.” I wasn’t about to give Zimin up to the fury in front of me. From what I could tell, he was just as petrified of her as I was.

  “Yeah, a few people,” Eliza replied with a snort. “That old rogue hates to see other people win. Let me get your packet.”

  She dipped behind her desk, pulled a huge envelope out of somewhere, and held it out to me. The “packet” I’d heard so much about was exactly that. Inside the plump envelope I felt something plastic moving around. That had to be the goodies I was supposed to collect.

  I really wanted to pull it open and see what was inside, but Eliza was an experienced woman who nipped that in the bud.

  “Don’t even think about digging through that here. You’ll have time at home, or you can look through it in the car—pull it apart in that sinner’s office for all I care. In the meantime, sign here.”

  She spun a dog-eared notebook around on her desk, and I couldn’t help but notice how it contrasted with the luxurious decorations surrounding it in the office. A pen was thrust into my hand, and I filled in my signature in dark-purple ink next to the checkmark she’d left.

  “Good work.” Eliza closed the book with a fluid motion and slid it off into a safe behind her. “Go ahead in to see Zimin.”

  “Thanks,” I replied timidly as I stepped toward the door.

  “Oh, one more thing. Send your assistant over here at some point…what’s her name?” Eliza snapped her manicured fingers. “Travnikova. I have something for her, too—Zimin had me put it together.”

  “She’s already here,” I replied, pointing in the direction of the elevators. “Down in the cafeteria eating pastries and drinking coffee with Bénédictine. She’s a big fan of both of those.”

  “Well, us girls have to be careful about overdoing it with the pastries.” Eliza got up and laid a hand on her flawless waist. To be fair, everything about her was flawless, which was exactly why I looked away. “But once in a while it’s okay. She’s not allowed to come up to this floor, so I’ll head down to see her myself. Otherwise, I’ll have her envelope lying around here getting in the way. And I wouldn’t mind some coffee, either. Young girls like her are fun, what with how sensitive and naïve they are. Delightful!”