Part 29 (2/2)
Tjan looked over at Perry. ”This is my daughter, Lyenitchka, who is about to be locked in the coal cellar until she learns to stop torturing her younger brother. Lyenitchka, this is Perry Gibbons, upon whom you have already made an irreparably bad first impression.” He shook her gently Perrywards.
”h.e.l.lo, Perry,” she said, giggling, holding out one hand. She had a faint accent, which made her sound like a tiny, skinny Bond villainess.
He shook gravely. ”Nice to meet you,” he said.
”You got your kids,” Perry said, once she was gone.
”For the school year. Me and the ex, we had a heart-to-heart about the Russian education system and ended up here: I get the kids from September to June, but not Christmases or Easter holidays. She gets them the rest of the time, and takes them to a family dacha in Ukraine, where she a.s.sures me there are hardly any mafiyeh kids to influence my darling daughter.”
”You must be loving this,” Perry said.
Tjan's face went serious. ”This is the best thing that's ever happened to me.”
”I'm really happy for you, buddy.”
They had burgers in the back-yard, cooking on an electric grill that was caked with the smoking grease of a summer's worth of outdoor meals. The plastic table-cloth was weighed down with painted rocks and the corners blew up in the freshening autumn winds. Lyenitchka's little brother appeared when the burgers began to spit and smoke on the grill, a seven-year-old in metallic mesh trousers and s.h.i.+rt wrought with the logo of a cartoon Cossack holding a laser-sword aloft.
”Sasha, meet Perry.” Sasha looked away, then went off to swing on a tire-swing hanging from the big tree.
”You've got good kids,” Perry said, handing Tjan a beer from the cooler under the picnic table.
”Yup,” Tjan said. He flipped the burgers and then looked at both of them. Lyenitchka was pus.h.i.+ng her brother on the swing, a little too hard. Tjan smiled and looked back down at his burgers.
Tjan cut the burgers in half and dressed them to his kids' exacting standards. They picked at them, pushed them onto each other's plates and got some into their mouths.
”I've read your briefing on the ride,” Tjan said, once his kids had finished and eaten half a package of Chutney Oreos for dessert. ”It's pretty weird stuff.”
Perry nodded and cracked another beer. The cool air was weirding him out, awakening some atavistic instinct to seek a cave. ”Yup, weird as h.e.l.l. But they love it. Not just the geeks, either, though they eat it up, you should see it. Obsessive doesn't begin to cover it. But the civilians come by the hundreds, too. You should hear them when they come out: 'Jee-zus, I'd forgotten about those dishwasher-stackers, they were wicked! Where can I get one of those these days you figger?'
The nostalgia's thick enough to cut with a knife.”
Tjan nodded. ”I've been going over your books, but I can't figure out if you're profitable.”
”Sorry, that's me. I'm pretty good at keeping track of numbers, but getting them ma.s.saged into a coherent picture --”
”Yeah, I know.” Tjan got a far-away look. ”How'd you make out on Kodacell, Perry? Finance-wise?”
”Enough to open the ride, buy a car. Didn't lose anything.”
”Ah.” Tjan fiddled with his beer. ”Listen, I got rich off of Westinghouse. Not f.u.c.k-the-service-here-I'm-buying-this-restaurant rich, but rich enough that I never have to work again. I can spend the rest of my life in this yard, flipping burgers, taking care of my kids, and looking at p.o.r.n.”
”Well, you were the suit. Getting rich is what suits do. I'm just a grunt.””
Tjan had the good grace to look slightly embarra.s.sed. ”Now here's the thing. I don't *have* to work, but, Perry, I have *no idea* what I'm going to do if I don't work. The kids are at school all day. Do you have any idea how much daytime TV sucks? Playing the stock market is completely nuts, it's all gone sideways and upside down. I got an education so I wouldn't *have* to flip burgers for the rest of my life.”
”What are you saying, Tjan?”
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