Gemsicuted

Written by Julian Robov


Twenty Three


Troublov woke up with a vague idea of trapping Tito and Miko indirectly at an entertainment place they usually frequented. Then he wondered how on earth such a notion could have come to him. But he wanted to give it a go, in a different way, the nonviolent way. As he lay on his cot, face to the wall, his shoulders twitching, he envisioned, his only way would be to become a pseudo-gay, and roam the expensive restaurants in and around World Trade Center, till one of them fell into his trap. He knew one of them had a weakness, but didn’t know which one. The thought itself seemed revolting to him, as he buried his face in the pillow to mask the light. It took him several hours to reconcile the thought. When he got out of his bed, he had already made up his mind. His main worry was whether he could, with confidence, make himself attractive to hook the strange men out on the streets in the pursuit of grabbing the 37carat ruby and more. He rushed over to the mirror to glance at his own body. He looked a bit lean from his torturous workout, but his skin tone was good enough to hook them, as they got accustomed to his assets. His blonde hair, blue eyes, and the charming look seemed more than enough for a good jump off at least.

Troublov dressed hurriedly, and walked slowly out of his hotel to hire a cab to a gay saloon near the World Trade Center. He felt no nervousness at first, but as he looked at the passing men accosting him with their vulgar glances, his confidence index took a bungy dive. At first he thought of running back to his hotel. He felt the exhaustion. Then a tall well dressed man in his early sixties came close and whispered, “Let’s go over there; you see that restaurant?”
“All right,” replied Troublov.
The old man took Troublov’s arm, and led him to an American Restaurant. It wasn’t crowded and with ease they secured a table. He had a membership card. The man ordered the drinks. His throat felt dry, and he asked for four Miller beers. They looked at each other silently. Troublov saw the man’s eyes scanning his face and body. After much thought he said, “You are a greenhorn in the business, aren’t you?”
“How did you know that?” Troublov asked.
“I was observing you, as you passed by,” the old man replied smilingly.
“Is there anything wrong with me?” Troublov asked again.
“You look childish and stupid!” The old man answered promptly.
“Really? Why then do you want me? You have a Russian accent,” Troublov said.
“Dutch or Russian or whatever, I live here,” the old man continued. “You have good looks and a frightened face. It’s fun watching and meeting novices trying to desperately inspire a potential victim the wrong way. It’s real, painful, and at times rewarding. That’s my hobby. I can well afford to spend some time that way. You see!”
“Then, how do you make a living?” Troublov asked thoughtlessly.
“That’s none of your business. I’m not desperate, but you are. I can see that on your face and body. You don’t have that cool, casual and quick jump off style of the old timers. You are just like those rough gemstones. Do you see them right over there? That jewelry store? You aren’t different. You need a lot of painful and expert cut and polishing to make you look brilliant. How long have you been on the streets, son?”
“I started today,” Troublov answered.
“No one with you, alone? Just like that,” the old man asked curiously.
“Just like that,” Troublov said, expecting the next question.
“What’s the motivation?” The old man asked again.
“I can’t tell you, but I wanted to give it a go,” Troublov replied plainly.
“If you can’t tell me, you aren’t going anywhere, son. You can get killed in the streets by old timers if they think you are stealing their clients, understand? You’d like to live longer, wouldn’t you?” The old man reminded.
“Oh, sure,” Troublov said quickly.
“How old are you, if you don’t mind saying?” The old man asked.
“Thirtytwo!” Troublov replied punctually.
“But you don’t look like you come from a broken home. The language of your face and eyes tell me you are out on the streets for some definite reasons. I can help you a lot if you reveal your true identity,” the old man said.
“No comments, I can’t tell you. If you don’t want my services, then why are you wasting your time with me? You can always find someone else,” Troublov quipped.
“Listen son, there is nothing wrong in what you’re doing if you have the balls to do it, the right way. You don’t have it, okay,” the old man said quickly. Strange though, the man took out a hundred dollar bill and tossed it in front of Troublov.
“This is the cost of convenience. You’re trying to be an old boy, but you aren’t. I can well afford that. I’m seventy, and often enjoy meeting strangers like you in the streets. I love to meet mysterious people coming to this city, trying to look like somebody. And I always meet the one who doesn’t make it. Isn’t it strange? Good day, son!” He took his hand, gave a gentle rub, and then walked in the opposite direction.
Troublov sat agape not knowing what to say. He stood up to say something, but the gravity from within pulled him back to his seat.
“Any more drinks?” The waiter asked gently.
“No thanks.”
Troublov began to ponder whether it had been a wise decision working for Boris Luganow and Papov Kuchinsky. They had several business connections both, legal and illegal, in Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam. At times he loved the job because of money and entertainment. He was trained to kill people when ordered. He needed constant attention, but once focused he had no problem doing the job professionally. His patrons knew his strengths and weaknesses, but still decided to keep him because of his good looks and animal instincts. He had also a brief introductory training in gemstone identification, especially ruby, because of its rarity and value. There were several successful business tycoons in Russia who were pursuaded to vacation in Thailand, and that’s where Papov and Boris saw the opportunities. And Troublov became one of their best conduit to trick and plunder the innocents who knew nothing about rubies or gems in particular other than name and color. His patrons had locals who were acquainted with all the right politicians as fences. It was a lucrative operation, and all they had to do was to find the weak and disturbed rich, both local and foreign, and mop up their hidden wealth. And quite a lot of them hid their ill-gotten wealth in investment quality gemstones, especially rubies due to its portability and liquidity.

After paying the bill, Troublov walked out of the restaurant and hailed a taxi. “Lad Phrao!” he barked. He knew it wasn’t going to be that easy to get away from the clutches of Papov and Boris. They were just too strong and well organized, but he had one or two tricks up his sleeves if and when a situation arose for self-defense. He was getting sick and tired of his present job. He had seen more than enough blood and for some strange reasons, he began to think of an escape route once the job was over. But first, he had an assignment, to kidnap Rubyhall, Miko, Tito and Sanders, because of the amount of illicit rubies arriving at a discreet destination. His patrons wanted a share of that illicit wealth.