Part 25 (1/2)
Mistake.
”No, you'll give me your answer now. This is not a conversation about a job, but the offer of an enormous bribe. You must make your decision without consulting your friends, wife, lover, parents or whoever else there is. You have until, let's say, the end of our farewell espresso.”
Szacki nodded. The waiter brought the pasta and they got on with eating. They ordered another gla.s.s of water each; despite the air conditioning their s.h.i.+rts were sticking to their backs. The sky was black, and somewhere in the distance there was thunder and lightning, though still not a drop of rain had fallen.
”And if I don't?”
”I'll be sorry. Mainly because you're an excellent prosecutor and apparently a very likeable fellow, but you have accidentally touched upon a world you shouldn't touch. I think you'd find the money useful, it'd make life easier. In any case, let's look the truth in the eye - this case is going to end up on the shelf anyway.”
”In which case why don't you just wait it out in peace?”
”To put it mildly, my priority is my own peace and that of my comrades. We do not feel threatened, please don't flatter yourself. We're just afraid that if you unwittingly stir things up, it'll cost us more bother, more thousands, more deeds that - despite popular opinion - we have always regarded as a necessary evil.”
”So there is a threat. How shoddy.”
”I realize that better than you, please believe me. I respect you too greatly to tell you what we know about your family, friends, acquaintances, work colleagues, witnesses, suspects and so on. I just wouldn't want you to get any mistaken belief about our weakness. Because guided by this belief, you might do something that couldn't be called off, couldn't be talked over at a table in a nice restaurant.”
Teodor Szacki didn't answer; without a word he finished his course, and then asked: ”Aren't you afraid I'm recording this conversation?”
He almost spat a delicious piece of tortellini back onto his plate. He'd been expecting just about anything, but not such puppy-dog impertinence, like something from a spy film made by a group of primary-school amateurs. He felt embarra.s.sed by the need to answer.
”I know you're not recording it. That's obvious. The question is whether or not I am recording this conversation. Whether my colleague at the City Police Headquarters forensics lab won't edit it so perfectly that his other colleague who's going to a.n.a.lyse it on the instructions of the Regional Prosecutor won't recognize that it's a montage. And your colleagues on Krakowskie Przedmiecie will rack their brains wondering how you could have had the cheek to try and extort a half-million bribe.”
”That's a bluff.”
”In that case please inspect me.”
”Another bluff.”
He sighed and pushed away his empty plate. The sauce was so good he felt like wiping the plate with his fingers. Sheer poetry. He wondered if it wasn't time for a show of strength. The waiter came up, from whom he ordered two small black coffees and a helping of tiramisu. Szacki didn't want dessert. Another mistake; this way he showed he was afraid. In other words that they'd only have to squeeze him a bit more, and it'd all be over.
He looked around. Despite it being lunchtime, the restaurant was fairly empty; most of the customers were at tables outside, almost invisible from here. In their part of the room there were two businessmen in expensive but ugly suits, talking about something they could see on a laptop screen; a couple of thirty-year-olds having pizza, probably foreigners - when they raised their voices he recognized some English phrases; a chap on his own in a linen s.h.i.+rt, completely absorbed in reading the paper.
The waiter brought the coffee. He sprinkled two teaspoons of cane sugar into the little cup and stirred it thoroughly. The result was a syrupy drink the consistency of fudge that's been left in a car on a very hot day. He took a small sip.
”A bluff, you say. Please listen carefully. Right now I could take out the gun I have on me and shoot you. Just like that. There would be a bit of a fuss about it, it would cause a bit of confusion - something in the press, a well-publicized inquiry. They'd say it was the Mafia, settling scores, that you'd trodden on someone's corns. It'd turn out you weren't as squeaky clean as everybody thought. A strange recording would turn up. Finally, upstairs they'd come to the conclusion that it may be better not to dig around in all that. Of course I would never do anything like that - it would be extreme stupidity. But in theory I could.”
Szacki drank his coffee in one gulp, took the napkin off his knees and laid it on the edge of the table.
”That's the most idiotic bluff I've ever heard in my life,” he said wearily. ”I'm sorry you're round the f.u.c.king twist. If you like I'll be glad to help you find a specialist - I've been talking to some psychologists lately. In any case, I've got to fly. Thank you for lunch, I hope we never meet again.”
Teodor Szacki pushed back his chair.
From the holster under his arm he took a small pistol with a built-in silencer, and put it to Szacki's heart.
”Sit down,” he whispered.
Szacki went pale, but apart from that he kept his cool. He slowly moved his chair towards the table.
”I don't know how mad you are,” he said calmly. ”But maybe not mad enough to rub me out in front of witnesses.”
”And what,” said the man, smiling gently, ”if there aren't any witnesses here? What if there's no one here but my people?”
As if to order, the foreign couple, the guy in the linen s.h.i.+rt and the two businessmen raised their heads and waved merrily at Szacki. The prosecutor looked round at the bar. The waiter was waving at him just like the rest.
He released the safety catch and pressed the gun hard into the prosecutor's chest. He knew it would leave a mark on his white s.h.i.+rt and a smell of grease. Good, let him remember.
”Do you have any other questions? Do you want to tell me I'm bluffing again? Or maybe stress how badly f.u.c.ked-up I am?”
”No,” replied Szacki.
”Excellent,” he said, put the pistol in its holster and stood up. ”I'm not expecting a declaration. I know that would be humiliating for you. But I believe this was our final conversation.”
He left, signalling to the man in the linen s.h.i.+rt to settle the bill. As he walked to the car, the wind began to blow hard and large drops fell on the dusty city, heralding a cloudburst. Lightning struck very near by.
IV.
He was wet with sweat and rain as he knelt down and vomited into the toilet at the Warsaw City Centre District Prosecutor's Office. He couldn't stop the convulsions. He'd already thrown up the coffee, cannelloni and grilled artichokes, his breakfast too; stinging bile was pouring from his throat, and he couldn't stop the convulsions. His head was spinning and he was seeing stars. Finally he managed to restrain his stomach. He took off his puke-stained tie and threw it in the waste bin next to the urinals. A few more deep breaths. He stood up on shaky legs, went back to his room and locked the door. He had to think.
He picked up the receiver to call Oleg, but replaced it without dialling the number. Firstly, he couldn't tell anyone about this. No one. The conversation in the Italian eatery had never taken place, there had never been an ”OdeSB”, no one had ever wiped the tip of a barrel against his s.h.i.+rt, on which he could still see a faint brown mark. He was still going to work out how to get those b.l.o.o.d.y b.a.s.t.a.r.ds in the a.r.s.e, he was still going to rip them to shreds, but not a word to anyone for now. Anyone who came in contact with him was now in danger. Whoever found out something might suffer an unfortunate accident. A word too much could mean his loved ones would be in danger every time they stepped into the road even when the pedestrian light was green. Weronika, Helka, Monika too. Indeed, Monika - he'd have to end this embarra.s.sing affair as soon as possible to take the blackmail tool out of their hands.
He called her. He said he'd like to meet briefly. He adopted his most official tone. She laughed, saying she felt about to be accused of genocide. He didn't pick up this lead. It turned out she wasn't in the city, but at home, writing an article, and she wasn't going anywhere until she'd finished.
”Maybe I'll drop in for coffee,” he suggested, not believing he'd do it. Of all possible ways to break off their relations.h.i.+p this one - dropping in for coffee - was undoubtedly the worst.
Of course she was delighted. How could it be otherwise? He asked for the address and couldn't help snorting with laughter when she told him the name of the street.
”What are you laughing at?”
”Andersen? Anyone can tell you're not from Warsaw instantly.”
”How?”
”Because you said you live in oliborz.”
”All right, if you like, it's in Bielany.”
”Bielany? Girl, Andersen Street is in the provinces, it's the Chomiczowka flat blocks.”
”Administratively it's the Bielany ward. And I have to tell you you're not being very nice.”
”What if I bring you a packet of coffee?”
”I might forgive you. I'll think about it.”
It was coming up to six. He was stuck in the traffic at Bankowy Square, listening to the radio. The wipers were on full, lightning was striking in the very centre of town, and it felt as if every second flash was. .h.i.tting the car's antenna. There was a small bag of cakes sitting on the pa.s.senger seat. He had recently vomited, and now he felt as if he could eat them all and put away a plate of pork knuckles too. Next to the cakes there was some mint-flavoured mouthwash he'd bought on his way to the car. He'd used it once at the car park, opened the door and spat it onto the wet tarmac. The people at the bus stop had given him a surprised look.