“What, do you think I heave the crystal balls?”
Since I had been dealing with the Russian for quite some time, I automatically substituted the word “have” for the apparent word “heave” in his speech. But, for the life of me I had no idea what he was talking about. “You mean, like for telling the future, Sergei?” I asked, tentatively. I had found that it was always best to just keep him talking and hopefully glean the real meaning of his words.
“I am not fortune teller like gypsy with the Tarot. I mean my balls,” he said, gesturing toward his crotch for emphasis, “Do you think I am heaving the glass for balls?”
I still didn’t understand what he was trying to get at, but I knew well enough that whenever his testicles became a part of the conversation, he was at his most serious. Lucky for me, he continued without any further prompting.
“You bring me this deal, acting like American cowbuoy, like you think I heave the fragile, this side up, do not drop, balls. Well, the joke, it is on you. Sergei wears the brass balls in the pants of this family.”
“So, the deal isn’t to your liking?” I probed, knowing full and well that this was going to be the case. My employers had given me instruction to double the offer if necessary. Both Sergei and I knew about where the deal would be struck, but it was important to the ongoing relationship for there to be some negotiation before that point was reached. It was the Russian’s way and therefore it was the way this one was going to go, especially since he was the best at procuring the type of falsified identity documents that my employer sought. Even though we now stood at point A and pretty much both agreed where point B was going to end up, we still had to make the trip between them. This brought an image of Sergei and I on a cross-country road trip together and I had to stifle a laugh.
About Tim Giron