The Senility of Vladimir P Read Online Free Page B

simple. Let’s build a road! Five years, twenty billion dollars – we’re finished.’
    â€˜Well, this doesn’t concern the president of the federation,’ said Vladimir. ‘It’s an issue for the mayor of Moscow.’
    â€˜Lebedev wants it.’
    Vladimir smiled slightly. ‘How much are you giving him?’
    â€˜Ten percent.’
    â€˜So? If he’s happy, you’ll do it.’
    â€˜I also want you to be happy, Vova.’
    Vladimir watched the other man. There were two reasons he liked Kolyakov. First, he was only a businessman. All he wanted to do was make money, and when he had made it, to make more. He had zero political interest or aspiration, unlike others who, as they got wealthier, thought their money gave them the right to some kind of say in how the country should be run, and whom Vladimir had had to deal with. And second, he understood the vertical of power, which Vladimir demanded should be respected. Even though this proposal was something that in principle would be decided at the level of the Moscow city administration, Kolyakov knew that in Russia all power started in the Kremlin, with one man, so he made sure to come to Vladimir as well, as he always did.
    Kolyakov cleared his throat. ‘Twenty percent for you, Vova. Tell me what company to put it through, and I’ll do it.’
    â€˜That’s generous.’
    Kolyakov shrugged. ‘Who gets rich from making other people poor? Share our fortune with the world, isn’t that what the priests say? And the people of Moscow will have a wonderful new road.’
    â€˜Which they desperately need.’
    The billionaire laughed. ‘The process will be official, Vladimir Vladimirovich. Lebedev’s people will write a public tender. It will be a very fastidious process, all above board.’
    Vladimir raised an eyebrow.
    Kolyakov laughed again.
    But Vladimir didn’t crack a smile. After a moment, the expression on Kolyakov’s heavy face became confused, as if he was wondering whether his offer to relieve the state of twenty billion dollars to build a road that would condemn Moscow to years of traffic misery, for twice the price it should have cost, had somehow missed the mark. Vladimir enjoyed the spectacle, seeing the panic he could sow with a mere twitch of his eyebrow.
    He let his gaze wander to the watch that was on the billionaire’s wrist. You didn’t see a Vacheron Tour de l’Ile every day, even on the wrists of the people who came to see him.
    Kolyakov realised where he was looking. He glanced up at Vladimir questioningly, then began to unfasten the watch.
    Vladimir waved a hand dismissively. ‘What are you doing, Dima? I was just admiring it. A Tour de l’Ile, right? I’ve got two myself.’
    The billionaire kept his fingers on the clasp, still unsure if he was serious.
    â€˜Dmitry Viktorovich, please! It’s your watch, not mine.’
    â€˜Everything I have is because of you, Vladimir Vladimirovich.’
    Vladimir laughed, not in such a way as to deny the remark, but in acknowledgement of it.
    â€˜Build your road,’ said Vladimir. ‘Talk to Monarov about the arrangements.’
    The billionaire smiled and nodded gratefully. Sometimes, thought Vladimir, the businessman’s obsequiousness was sickening, just like a dog. For an instant, he imagined him as a monstrous chimera with the body of a lapdog and a heavy-jowled Kolyakov-face looking up at him, desperately seeking a sign of affection.
    Vladimir wondered whether he should have taken the Tour de l’Ile, but in some ways, to show that you could take something but that you deigned not to, was even better. Besides, in the next day or two, Vladimir knew, a packet would arrive for him.
    Suddenly Vladimir was aware of a nauseating, fetid odour. He sniffed. ‘Do you smell anything?’
    Kolyakov sniffed as well.
    â€˜It’s the Chechen,’ said Vladimir. ‘The