Post by kottur on Jun 1, 2013 19:13:35 GMT -8
“You’re sure you want to do this?”
It was hard to hear the short, blonde-haired man over the thumping music coming from beyond the entrance to the night club, but Malcolm was able to make it out. He straightened his tie a checked his hair in a nearby window’s reflection.
“I need to know what caused Aleksin, and you told me this guy could help. AND you said he could get me in. Has that changed, Robert?”
Robert shook his head, advancing in line with the other patrons. He took a few hasty drags of his cigarette as they got closer to the doors.
“No, it’s just...You heard the rumors about Federov. About how his family earned that fortune? You got a good gig going now, why ruin that by getting mixed up in this?”
“Nevermind that. Just introduce me.” He had heard the rumors; Pytor Federov’s family had made quite a bit of money in Russia, and drew a lot of questions over how they did it. Small articles would appear in gossip columns, trying to link the Federov’s to a number of criminal activities. If they were true, they hid it well; police investigations turned up nothing.
The bouncer seemed to recognize Robert, and let the two of them in after a quick look over. Their ears were assaulted the moment the doors opened, as loud thumping music vibrated every surface. Robert led him through the thick crowd, arriving at a roped off VIP section and a bouncer even larger than the one at the door, who grunted at them. “Name?”
“Robert Truesdale!” The answer didn’t come from Robert, but a rather large gentleman in a tacky white suit sitting in a booth behind the ropes. “They’re with me, let them in.”
The five scantily clad women and two large men in three piece suits got up to make room. Mal took a seat next to Robert. He had to lean in to hear what the man, whom he was assuming was Pytor Federov, was saying to him. “So, Robert tells me you want to work for me, yes?’
“Yes sir. I’m always looking for good career opportunities, and I feel I could fix those issues that keep popping up in the press.”
Federov chuckled, and his entourage chuckled with him, as if on cue.
“And this has nothing to do with your little trip to Aleksin, eh?” Mal must have had a look of surprise on his face, because the group laughed again. “You come here seeking information from me, and don’t expect me to know the goings on of my own backyard?”
“So you know who did it, then?”
“Ah, not quite.” Pytor took a large sip of his drink, setting it down with a large clang. “But, if I were persuaded to have my people look into it, I’m sure I’ll find out. And that’s why you’re offering to be this...PR man for me, yes?”
He figured it was best to be honest at this point. “Yes sir.”
“So, how would you help me? Tell me how you’d ‘fix my image.’”
Mal was on the spot. He looked down at the table for a moment, feeling a number of eyes and smug smirks burning into him. Finally, he looked up.
“Well, we’d could Pablo Escobar it.”
“Pabl-What?”
“Pablo Escobar. One of the main reasons he lasted so long was that he had the poor on his side. He built them homes, soccer fields, basically rescuing them from slums. It even got to the point where they elected him to Colombia’s government, postponing his extradition to the US.”
“Are you calling me a crime lord?”
“No, I’m calling you a businessman, and using the example of a less than legitimate businessman.” He met Federov’s eyes, refusing to blink until the man finally said something.
“So you’re saying I should be elected to government?”
“No, I’m saying it would be well worth your time to invest in the poor. The positive exposure alone would be worth it, but you’d also be gaining a large amount of loyal followers.” Federov just laughed.
“I seem to remember that didn’t work out too well for Pablo Escobar.” Mal spent enough time in PR to know when to flash the charming grin, and now was certainly that time.
“Well, I like to think you’re smarter than Pablo Escobar.”
Federov stared at him a long moment, before finally laughing and clapping his hands together.
“Oh, I like him! Sarah, go keep him company. Maria, be a dear and get us some drinks. I want to toast my new PR man!”
It was hard to hear the short, blonde-haired man over the thumping music coming from beyond the entrance to the night club, but Malcolm was able to make it out. He straightened his tie a checked his hair in a nearby window’s reflection.
“I need to know what caused Aleksin, and you told me this guy could help. AND you said he could get me in. Has that changed, Robert?”
Robert shook his head, advancing in line with the other patrons. He took a few hasty drags of his cigarette as they got closer to the doors.
“No, it’s just...You heard the rumors about Federov. About how his family earned that fortune? You got a good gig going now, why ruin that by getting mixed up in this?”
“Nevermind that. Just introduce me.” He had heard the rumors; Pytor Federov’s family had made quite a bit of money in Russia, and drew a lot of questions over how they did it. Small articles would appear in gossip columns, trying to link the Federov’s to a number of criminal activities. If they were true, they hid it well; police investigations turned up nothing.
The bouncer seemed to recognize Robert, and let the two of them in after a quick look over. Their ears were assaulted the moment the doors opened, as loud thumping music vibrated every surface. Robert led him through the thick crowd, arriving at a roped off VIP section and a bouncer even larger than the one at the door, who grunted at them. “Name?”
“Robert Truesdale!” The answer didn’t come from Robert, but a rather large gentleman in a tacky white suit sitting in a booth behind the ropes. “They’re with me, let them in.”
The five scantily clad women and two large men in three piece suits got up to make room. Mal took a seat next to Robert. He had to lean in to hear what the man, whom he was assuming was Pytor Federov, was saying to him. “So, Robert tells me you want to work for me, yes?’
“Yes sir. I’m always looking for good career opportunities, and I feel I could fix those issues that keep popping up in the press.”
Federov chuckled, and his entourage chuckled with him, as if on cue.
“And this has nothing to do with your little trip to Aleksin, eh?” Mal must have had a look of surprise on his face, because the group laughed again. “You come here seeking information from me, and don’t expect me to know the goings on of my own backyard?”
“So you know who did it, then?”
“Ah, not quite.” Pytor took a large sip of his drink, setting it down with a large clang. “But, if I were persuaded to have my people look into it, I’m sure I’ll find out. And that’s why you’re offering to be this...PR man for me, yes?”
He figured it was best to be honest at this point. “Yes sir.”
“So, how would you help me? Tell me how you’d ‘fix my image.’”
Mal was on the spot. He looked down at the table for a moment, feeling a number of eyes and smug smirks burning into him. Finally, he looked up.
“Well, we’d could Pablo Escobar it.”
“Pabl-What?”
“Pablo Escobar. One of the main reasons he lasted so long was that he had the poor on his side. He built them homes, soccer fields, basically rescuing them from slums. It even got to the point where they elected him to Colombia’s government, postponing his extradition to the US.”
“Are you calling me a crime lord?”
“No, I’m calling you a businessman, and using the example of a less than legitimate businessman.” He met Federov’s eyes, refusing to blink until the man finally said something.
“So you’re saying I should be elected to government?”
“No, I’m saying it would be well worth your time to invest in the poor. The positive exposure alone would be worth it, but you’d also be gaining a large amount of loyal followers.” Federov just laughed.
“I seem to remember that didn’t work out too well for Pablo Escobar.” Mal spent enough time in PR to know when to flash the charming grin, and now was certainly that time.
“Well, I like to think you’re smarter than Pablo Escobar.”
Federov stared at him a long moment, before finally laughing and clapping his hands together.
“Oh, I like him! Sarah, go keep him company. Maria, be a dear and get us some drinks. I want to toast my new PR man!”