Šípoš says, “Your Excellency, I am just an ordinary romano chaneya, a gypsy man. I have nothing, just a wife and a bunch of children—chuprikane devlehureske. It’s him,” he points at Berki, “who is the bad gypsy.” He, Šípoš, is the good gypsy. There’s no need for two men in the boiler-room. When His Excellency lets him go, Berki will easily manage on his own.
“You baro kar, big dick!” Berki shouts and clenches his fists. “Haz yeg na mindzh, I’ll fucking knock you out!” He is about to throw himself at Šípoš.
“SHUT UP!” The stoker shouts. “Just tell me, if one of you can manage the work on his own. The other one can go. That way!” Rácz points to the noisy furnace. “Up the chimney you’ll go!” he adds, sticking his index finger up. The gypsies fall silent. They tremble with fear. “Nobody asked you to come here,” says Rácz. “You came by yourselves. You don’t like it here now? Haven’t you got everything? Are you cold? Hungry? Is the work too hard?”
“Gypsy swine find any work hard,” says Ďula, and shakes his fist at them. “Now stand by the wall, over there, and keep your mouths shut,” he orders. We haven’t come here to see you.” He looks at Rácz.
Rácz points to the distribution valves. “Turn off that one, third from the left,” he says.
Ďula snaps his fingers at the gypsies. “Did you hear?” he roars.
The intimidated cowardly gypsies run to the valves. Rags that once were precious leather jackets, Italian shirts and tailor-made fashionable trousers, flap on their shrivelled bodies.
“Turn off the third valve from the left!” Ďula orders.
The gypsies turn the valves as if it were a matter of life or death. When they’re closed, Ďula approaches and tightens the valve firmly with a wrench.
“They talked too much,” says Rácz about the gypsies. “They get no grub today.”
“Right, boss,” Ďula joyfully agrees. “That’ll teach them to keep their mouths shut. May I ask, boss,” says Ďula after they lock the metal door behind them and stride across the snow-covered yard, “may I ask what we were doing down there, actually?”
Dishwashers and cleaners look at them through the dishwashing room window. Ribana is there, too. The women shout at Rácz and Ďula.
“What do they want?” Rácz asks Ďula, as if he couldn’t understand them.
“They want us to pay them a visit,” says Ďula.
“Well then, let’s go,” says Rácz, who’s in a sentimental mood.
“Do you mean it, boss?” Ďula wonders.
“Let’s go,” says the stoker and heads for the back entrance to the kitchen.
The kitchen welcomes him with its familiar and private aroma of cooking, disinfectant, and humidity. The chef almost faints when he sees the stoker himself striding among the cauldrons together with Ďula. He drops his cigarette butt and stands to attention. But Rácz ignores him. He peers under the pot lids, checks the electric fryers and ovens.
“Well, what’ll we have?” he asks Ďula.
Ďula shrugs. Rácz picks up a serving fork and fishes out a big piece of boiled meat.
“A plate for the boss!” Ďula shouts.
Rácz decides to eat in the dishwashers’ changing room. Ribana enters with a bottle of wine sent in by the chef. Rácz looks at the label on the bottle and then at Ribana. The gypsy woman is ugly and skinny. Her breasts droop under her colourful apron. Her hands are bleached from washing dishes, but there is enough to get Rácz’s blood racing round with excitement.
“Are we going to do it?” the gypsy asks.
“What do you mean do it,” says Rácz, putting the bottle on the table.
“Do you feel like doing it?” Ribana repeats.
“You mean…” the stoker finally gets it.
The gypsy nods with her tongue between her teeth. Rácz takes a bite of meat and gets up. Ribana puts her elbows on the table and sticks her bottom out. Rácz, still chewing, approaches her and lifts her apron. Underneath he finds the gypsy’s bare bottom. He unbuttons his trousers. His member is sticking out and up. He weighs it in his hand and then enters the gypsy. They move wildly, but not for long. After a moment, Rácz stops chewing, his face freezes and a suppressed sigh escapes his mouth. He chokes. He has a coughing fit.
“Good, wasn’t it?” Ribana asks. “You can do it with me any time you fancy,” Ribana smiles, showing a mouth missing half its teeth. She knows that Rácz is a big boss now and has two women for every finger. But anyway, if need be, just ask for Ribana from the dishwashing room.
When they leave the kitchen and walk over crunchy snow in the yard, Ďula says, “Don’t be cross, boss, but could you tell me what we were actually doing down in the boiler-room?”
Rácz stops and gives Ďula a look. “We’ve just begun celebrating New Year, you fool!” Ďula does not understand, but says nothing. “What do you think?” Rácz asks. “Why did we have dinner in the kitchen and not in the restaurant?”
“No idea,” the driver admits.
“Well go and take a look,” says Rácz, “I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”
Ďula is back almost at once, with a grin from ear to ear. “Boss, they’ve got an arctic night in there! The restaurant is empty. Any guest who comes turns round and leaves. The waiters are keeping warm in the kitchen. Did we do that with the valve down there, boss?” Ďula is amazed.
Rácz does not answer. He sits in an armchair by the reception desk, relishing his feeling of victory.
“And what now, boss?” Ďula asks.
“Nothing yet,” says the stoker. “Now we wait for the restaurant manager to tell us that the lounge is available.”
* * *
Mozoň (alias Silent), Šolik (alias Livid), and Tupý (alias Bear) are living it up. They’ve bought a video player and a computer for the safe house and aren’t bored any more. They keep playing “Bomb Moscow” all day long. Mozoň does not need any more porno magazines; somebody always brings a new film on video. Their wives are happy. There’s plenty of money. If they need some more, Šolik and Tupý take a walk around the Hotel Ambassador or some other hotel, spot a young novice currency dealer and shove their warrant card IDs in his face. The money changes ownership. There’s always lots, though they’ll never again get such a fat catch as their very first one. Lately, they’ve been getting tired of sitting in the villa overlooking the city. They meet in the morning, watch videos for a while and play a video game. Then they get bored. Mozoň looks out of the window, Šolik sleeps with a newspaper over his head. Tupý is now tired of drawing up lists of people he will personally arrest when things change: he now just sits there, looking vacantly ahead. Whenever saliva appears on his lower lip, he automatically wipes it off with the back of his hand.
“Why don’t we go out for a coffee?” Mozoň suggests. His subordinates are startled. “Yes,” says Mozoň. “We’ll go out and have a coffee. Attention!” He gets up himself, as an example to the other two.
“And where to, chief?” asks Šolik.
“Where to?” Mozoň repeats ironically. “We’ll go where we might get some money: we’re going for a coffee, but we’ll be, so to speak, on duty. To the Ambassador!”
Mozoň, Šolik, and Tupý don’t have a car. They’re glad they managed to save just the villa. They take a trolley bus into town. They don’t need tickets. If an inspector gets on, they show him their police IDs.
The Ambassador lounge is not very busy. Mozoň, Šolik, and Tupý sit down and order coffee. They observe the room quietly and inconspicuously. The waiter moves noiselessly. In the corner sits a short, frowning man in an expensive, flashy leather jacket. Opposite him sits another very well dressed young man of Balkan origin, carefully counting out banknotes. Then he pushes them over to the frowning man. The latter just puts the banknotes into his pocket without counting them. The Balkan man says goodbye and quickly leaves the lounge. The frowning man stays for a while, then finishes his drink and moves towards to the exit, too.