CHAPTER 25. TUESDAY, 1 SEPTEMBER 21:00.
"Heard you weren't too happy last night?" Maiorescu asked. His feet were up on his desk, his tie undone and he was tapping away on his laptop. An ashtray overflowed onto the desk. The room reeked of stale smoke and sweat.
"Could say that," replied Caramarin.
"So, what's the problem? Want more money?"
"No...,"
"Maybe want a slice of some pussy for yourself?"
"No," he shouted. "You and that bastard Litovchenko raped that young girl."
Maiorescu looked up.
"No we didn't. She was gaggin' for it. And we paid her good money, too."
"You mean an eighteen, nineteen year old girl wanted you two to shag her until she bled? C'mon!"
"Maybe Litovchenko got a little out of hand. But she wanted the money. Desperate for it," he leered. "In all senses."
He looked down and carried on typing.
"Bet she never mentioned the money? No, thought not. Anyway, what does it matter? She'll get over it."
Caramarin stood to go.
"Look, you're a good man to have around, Nicolae. Better than most of the thuds workin' for me." Maiorescu peeled off some paper and passed it over.
"But if you have a problem with working for me, I can always replace you. What do they say? Something like the graveyards are full of indispensable men? Capisce?"
Caramarin nodded. Left Maiorescu on the phone to some bank in Lichtenstein. Took the money and let himself out. Felt like he needed a long shower.
Caramarin couldn't get out of driving women over to Constanta. He was the only one, apart from Maiorescu himself, who spoke Romanian. Also, he held a genuine Romanian passport. Maiorescu paid him more and the next run went smoothly. Barely held up at customs and he picked up a nice bonus. This time, none of the women were crying or seemed knocked about. Yes, they were quiet and subdued, but they'd already had a long journey and faced another.
After that, it went quiet until Maiorescu called him in for another trip. Let himself into the warehouse to find a much larger group of eight or nine women standing about the minibus. As always, all were young and attractive but one girl, a tall statuesque strawberry blonde with incredible blue eyes stood out. She was one of the most beautiful young women he'd ever seen. And this was in Odessa, a city famed for its beautiful women. Yeah, she looked tired but nothing could hide her beauty.
Maiorescu drew him aside with a big grin plastered over his face.
"See that one? Last year's Miss Ukraine."
Caramarin remembered some scandal. Something to do with drugs and a government Minister's party in a museum? Didn't she have an abortion and was stripped of her title? Something like that.
"Drive carefully. Make sure she gets there in one piece."
"Not me you have to worry about, boss."
Caramarin loaded their bags. He smiled at ex-Miss Ukraine but she ignored him. Like he didn't exist. Just the driver as far as she was concerned.
Swung up behind the wheel. Maiorescu had paired him with VCR this time. No sense provoking him further by putting him with Placid or Oilfield.
The long night drive to Constanta went smoothly. Even the customs inspection at Izmail was briefer than usual. Caramarin suspected more money had changed hands. Arrived at the lock up on time and the well dressed woman and younger man took charge of the half asleep women and showed them inside.
"Easy money," said VCR. "A drive in the country and a nice bonus. Do that again."
"Yeah," grunted Caramarin. If you closed your mind to what was almost certainly going on.
Half way back to the border, Caramarin took a call on his cell. Maiorescu. And not in a good mood.
"Get 'em back. The wire transfer's not come through."
"How am I gonna do that, boss? Didn't take a shooter through the border, did I?"
"Well, do your best. Those bitches cost me a shit load of money – I'll sort you out a bonus, okay."
Caramarin sighed and swung the bus around. He shook VCR awake and explained.
It was past dawn by the time they returned to the lock up. In the cold light of early morning, the place looked even grimmer and more run down than it did by night. A few down and outs sprawled in door ways and stray dogs nosed through piles of garbage.
Caramarin swung down and knocked on the rusting metal door. No response. He hammered on the door, rattling it in its frame. Eventually, the young man opened it a fraction. That was all the opening he needed. Caramarin booted the door wide, hurling the young man back into the dark interior.
"Where's the girls?" shouted Caramarin.
"Gone. Half way to Austria by now. Why?"
"My boss says he hasn't been paid."
The young man dusted down his jeans. He spread his arms wide.
"Sorry, that's nothing to do with me, mate. I just send them onto the West."
"Well, get them back then."
"Sorry, I can't. They're all going separately. I don't have no numbers for them."
Caramarin looked into the young man's eyes. Felt sure he was lying. He raised his fist.
"Look, you piece of shit. My boss hasn't been paid. Money, now."
"I haven't got any. I think it's all done electronically anyway."
Caramarin shoved past the lad and looked through the back rooms of the lock up. A stinking squat toilet, a grubby kitchen with a kettle and some packets of dried food and a loaf, a small office with two scarred metal desks pushed together and a girly calendar on the wall.
Caramarin looked through the desk drawers. Most were empty, one contained bits of junk like cable ties and plastic bags. And that was it. Unless they had a hidden safe or something. The place was obviously just a pit stop on the girls' route.
He turned back to the young man who had followed him into the office.
"Give me your phone," he ordered. The young man handed his cell over. Caramarin scrolled through its index. All the data had been wiped. The young man shrugged.
"Sorry, had to do it."
Caramarin raised his fist. Then lowered it. Just felt too exhausted without snow racing through his bloodstream.
"Yeah, I suppose you did."
What would be gained by beating him up? Nothing as far as he could see. Maiorescu could take the hit, not the young man who was also a pawn in the game.
"Piece of advice. Get into another line of business. There's people out there who'd kill you without thinking about it.
"You're lucky I'm not one of them."
He pushed past the handsome young man and out into the bright sunshine. VCR was leaning against the minibus, lobbing cigarettes at the nearby vagrants to make them dance.
"Boss won't be happy," said VCR after Caramarin had explained.
"Not looking forward to calling him."
No, Maiorescu wasn't happy but called them back to Odessa. VCR mostly drove whilst Caramarin napped on the back seat.