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“Come on Freddie, this is not like you,” the voice of Anatoly Kustenky was quiet; a sign that always worried Freddie. “We have an agreement I think. I don't piss on your patch, you don't piss on mine.”
“Anatoly,” Freddie Clegg responded in similar tone. “Please be assured there is no pissing on your patch from my side. We have plenty to do here without trying to take on Mother Russia.”
“You say that Freddie but I know you. You see a chance, you take a chance. This has your finger prints on it Freddie, it's just your style.”
“I don't have a patent on any of this, Anatoly. I just make it up as I go along.”
“Listen, Freddie, this is just like you and it's right across the border from Kushtia. We agreed you could play there. We even thought you might come to us for some product to ship there. Now we find you're sourcing your own in our back garden. That's pissing on my patch, Freddie. Pissing on my patch.”
“Anatoly, I give you my word. This is not a Clegg operation. There are no Clegg Enterprises people in Russia. Hell, there aren't any Clegg Enterprises people in Kushtia right now. This is nothing to do with me.”
“So if it's not Clegg Enteprises picking up nice girls from Pestrovja, taking the bread out of my mouth, who is it?”
“I don't know but I'll talk to the Kushtian's and see what I can find out. All right? And if it's anything they are up to I'll see what I can do. If they are freelancing I'm not sure I can do anything about it. Sure they are supposed to take product from me but I can't stop them doing their own thing. I'll do what I can, Anatoly.”
“OK Freddie, just be sure you're not pissing on my patch.”
Clegg put down the phone, annoyed that Kustenky hadn't seem ready to believe him. It was, however, odd, he thought as he looked up the location of Pestrovja. The Kushtian's hadn't shown any signs of wanting to get into the business themselves but Pestrovja was just over the border. It was only a little later that he thought he had only been technically accurate when he said there weren't any Clegg Enterprises people in Kushtia right now. After all Henry didn't work for Clegg Enterprises. The only problem, Clegg thought, was Anatoly might think that was a bit too much of a technicality. Freddie looked at his watch. It would be early evening in Kolin. He tried to call Henry.
The line was terrible. It crackled. Henry's voice faded in and out.
“Hello... hello... yes, Fred? Fred?”
“Hi, Henry .. Henry? Yes. How's it going?”
“Good. Yes. Good. The bank's fine. Very friendly people, if you know what I mean.”
“Uh huh...” Freddie knew exactly. “Listen. Can you do me a favour?”
“Sure Fred, sure ... Fred?.. Fred? Yes, sure.”
“Can you find out if any of the bank's customers have an interest in Russia. Could be around the borders of Kushtia. Possibly in a place called Pestrovya.”
“Can do Freddie, I owe you one at least. Can do. This could be an easy one though. One of the customers I'm working with has a marriage broking scheme for Russian women. I think they've been doing something in Pestrovya. It's Kushnati Koresh. Well his wife really. And one of the wives of the Kalinin son. I'm sure you know them. Lauren and Victoria.”
Freddie's heart sank. He remembered Lauren and Victoria all right. Victoria had been one of Larry's first acquisitions and Lauren had nearly caused a lot of problems when the Kushtians had been trying to set up shop in the UK. He could quite believe that they might be involved in something. And “marriage broking”? Good grief!
“Henry, can you let me...? Henry? Henry? ... Are you there?” The line had finally given up. He cursed the inadequacies of Kushtian Telecoms. It was only when he picked up the phone to talk to Harry his operations manager, that he realised the phone line had been dug up outside their office.
It took them four hours to reconnect the line. Freddie, fuming, disappeared off to his club. In the interests of international harmony and avoiding the more excitable sort of responses that Anatoly could be capable of, Freddie called him back.
“So, Freddie,” Anatoly sounded abrupt. “You find something with these Kushtians or you want to tell me that you are pissing on my patch?”
“No pissing, Anatoly, I told you,” Freddie responded. “Here's what I've found. There are two clients of the People's Bank of Kushtia involved in some enterprise in Kushtia. Those clients have taken product from me in the past. It's possible there is some free-lancing going on.”
“Not nice, Freddie, when customers start doing that. Still as long as it's not your boys. I can clean things up without problem.”
Freddie was afraid that he was going to say that. It wasn't what he wanted. “Well, it might help if you'd hold off for a bit. I'd like to see if I can sort it out from the Kushtian side of the border.”
“Freddie, that's a big favour. Why shouldn't my boys go in and close this down?”
“No reason at all, Anatoly. If I were you I'd want to as well. But, it will be untidy. It will upset people. I think maybe I can sort things out more easily. Isn't that what friends are for?” Anatoly listens without responding. “Look, Anatoly, give me a couple of weeks. If any more girls go missing in Pestrovja, give me a call.”
“So two weeks? I can live with that. Nobody from Moscow wants to go to that backwater, anyway.”
No, thought Freddie, and no one from his London operation would want to go either but it was better that he sorted things out. If Anatoly's boys went storming in there would be blood on the carpets and plenty of other places as well.
© Freddie Clegg 2009
All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission.
All characters fictitious
E-mail: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com
Web Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/
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