was crammed with refugees from the Bolsheviks, most of whom had brought a lot of money with them. They were spending it as if there were no tomorrow, which there probably was not for many of them. In consequence the shops were busy and the streets full of carts like this one delivering goods. As everything was scarce in Russia, much of what was on sale had been smuggled in from China or, like Sid’s Scotch, stolen from the military.
Lev saw a woman with a little girl, and thought of Daisy. He missed her. She was walking and talking now, and investigating the world. She had a pout that melted everyone’s heart, even Josef Vyalov’s. Lev had not seen her for six months. She was two and a half now, and she must have changed in the time he had been away.
He also missed Marga. She was the one he dreamed about, her naked body wriggling against his in bed. It was because of her that he had got into trouble with his father-in-law and ended up in Siberia, but all the same he longed to see her again.
“Have you got a weakness, Sid?” said Lev. He felt he needed a closer friendship with the taciturn Sid: partners in crime required trust.
“Nah,” said Sid. “Only money.”
“Does your love of money lead you to take risks?”
“Nah, just thieving.”
“And does thieving ever get you into trouble?”
“Not really. Prison, once, but that was only for six months.”
“My weakness is women.”
“Is it?”
Lev was used to this British habit of asking the question after the answer had been given. “Yes,” he said. “I can’t resist them. I have to walk into a nightclub with a pretty girl on my arm.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. I can’t help myself.”
The cart entered a dockland neighborhood of dirt roads and sailors’ hostels, places that had neither names nor addresses. Sid looked nervous.
Lev said: “You’re armed, yeah?”
“Nah,” said Sid. “I just got this.” He pulled back his coat to reveal a huge pistol with a foot-long barrel stuck into his belt.
Lev had never seen a gun like it. “What the fuck is that?”
“Webley-Mars. Most powerful handgun in the world. Very rare.”
“No need to pull the trigger-just wave it about, it’ll scare people to death.”
In this area no one was paid to clear the streets of snow, and the cart followed the tracks of previous vehicles, or slid on the ice of little-used lanes. Being in Russia made Lev think of his brother. He had not forgotten his promise to send Grigori the fare to America. He was making good money selling stolen military supplies to the Cossacks. With today’s deal he would have enough for Grigori’s passage.
He had done a lot of wicked things in his short life, but if he could make amends to his brother he would feel better about himself.
They drove into an alley and turned behind a low building. Lev opened a cardboard box and took out one bottle of Scotch. “Stay here and guard the load,” he said to Sid. “Otherwise it will be gone when we come out.”
“Don’t worry,” said Sid, but he looked apprehensive.
Lev reached under his greatcoat to touch the holstered Colt.45 semiautomatic pistol on his belt, then he went in through the back door.
The place was what passed for a tavern in Siberia. There was a small room with a few chairs and a table. It had no bar, but an open door revealed a dirty kitchen with a shelf of bottles and a barrel. Three men sat near the log fire, dressed in ragged furs. Lev recognized the one in the middle, a man he knew as Sotnik. He wore baggy trousers tucked into riding boots. He had high cheekbones and slanted eyes, and he sported an elaborate mustache and side-whiskers. His skin was reddened and lined by the weather. He might have been any age between twenty- five and fifty-five.
Lev shook hands all round. He uncorked the bottle, and one of the men-presumably the bar owner-brought four nonmatching glasses. Lev poured generous measures, and they all drank.
“This is the best whisky in the world,” Lev said in Russian. “It comes from a cold country, like Siberia, where the water in the mountain streams is pure melted snow. What a pity it is so expensive.”
Sotnik’s face was expressionless. “How much?”
Lev was not going to let him reopen the bargaining. “The price you agreed to yesterday,” he said. “Payable in gold rubles, nothing else.”
“How many bottles?”
“One hundred and forty-four.”
“Where are they?”
“Nearby.”
“You should be careful. There are thieves in the neighborhood.”
This might have been a warning or a threat: Lev guessed the ambiguity was intentional. “I know about thieves,” he said. “I’m one of them.”
Sotnik looked at his two comrades, then, after a pause, he laughed. They laughed too.
Lev poured another round. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Your whisky is safe-behind the barrel of a gun.” That, too, was ambiguous. It might have been a reassurance or a warning.
“That’s good,” said Sotnik.
Lev drank his whisky, then looked at his watch. “A military police patrol is due in this neighborhood soon,” he lied. “I have to go.”
“One more drink,” said Sotnik.
Lev stood up. “Do you want the whisky?” He let his irritation show. “I can easily sell it to someone else.” This was true. You could always sell liquor.
“I’ll take it.”
“Money on the table.”
Sotnik picked up a saddlebag from the floor and began counting out five-ruble pieces. The agreed price was sixty rubles a dozen. Sotnik slowly put the coins in piles of twelve until he had twelve stacks. Lev guessed he could not actually count up to 144.
When Sotnik had finished he looked at Lev. Lev nodded. Sotnik put the coins back in the saddlebag.
They went outside, Sotnik carrying the bag. Night had fallen, but there was a moon, and they could see clearly. Lev said to Sid in English: “Stay on the cart. Be alert.” In an illegal transaction, this was always the dangerous moment-the buyer’s chance to grab the goods and keep the money. Lev was not taking any chances with Grigori’s ticket money.
Lev pulled the cover off the cart, then moved three boxes of cocoa aside to reveal the Scotch. He took a case from the cart and put it on the ground at Sotnik’s feet.
The other Cossack went to the cart and reached for another case.
“No,” said Lev. He looked at Sotnik. “The bag.”
There was a long pause.
On the driving seat, Sid pulled back his coat to reveal his weapon.
Sotnik gave Lev the bag.
Lev looked inside, but decided not to count the money again. He would have seen if Sotnik had slyly extracted a few coins. He handed the bag to Sid, then helped the others unload the cart.
He shook hands all round and was about to get up on the cart when Sotnik stopped him. “Look,” he said. He pointed at an opened box. “There’s a bottle missing.”
That bottle was on the table in the tavern, and Sotnik knew it. Why was he trying to pick a quarrel at this stage? This was dangerous.
He said to Sid in English: “Give me one gold piece.”
Sid opened the bag and handed him a coin.
Lev balanced it on his closed fist, then threw it in the air, spinning it. The coin flashed in the moonlight. As Sotnik reached out reflexively to catch it, Lev jumped onto the seat of the car.
Sid cracked the whip.
