Under Budapest (2 page)

“I bet you let him go on purpose.”

“Suck your daddy.”

“You girl! You couldn't even kick the gypsy dog.” Csaba's laughing, getting in my face.

Csaba never gets laid. That's why he's like this. When we go out to a club, the girls stick to me like honey. They love how I talk. They say, “You talk Hungarian like my grandpa,” and I say, “Dirty, dirty old man,” and they think that's funny. I guess in Toronto we talk old-fashioned Hungarian, which is maybe why I'm so eloquent. But the point is, Hungarian chicks love me, and sometimes I tell them how great Csaba is, and then maybe he gets lucky. But he's not so good-looking and he doesn't know how to talk to women.

“Let's just go to the Seventh District. There's always some­thing happening around there.”

“Obuda,” he says. “Way better party. I'll call Abel. Maybe he's driving.” He reaches into his pocket for his phone. “Fuck!”

I know it before he says it.

“Fuckin' gypsy took my phone. Fucker!”

He's mad, but he's kinda happy too. Makes everything make sense, you know. For a guy like Csaba.

“Gypsies stealing fucking everything from us and then our fucking government tries to shut
us
down. Tells us
we
're the problem. We're trying to
solve
the problem: ciganybunozes.”

“Fuckers,” I say. Just to be on his side.

I offer him the last wheeze. He butts it. Then we're walking; floating, I should say. My phone rings. It's Csaba's brother, Laci. Weird. Why's he calling
me
?

“Bro,” I say. I call him that sometimes.

“Hey. Csaba with you?”

I pass the phone to Csaba. Csaba says, “What,” listens, and passes it back to me, looking pissed off.

I give Csaba a shrug. “My man,” I say to Laci.

“You been smoking?”

“Nope. You offering?”

“How fast can you get to Blaha?” Meaning, Blaha Lujza Ter. Meaning, he's partying.

“Pretty fast.”

“Good. Meet me at the romkocsma on Akacfa. Don't bring Csaba.”

Csaba's looking at me like he knows something's up. He fucking hates Laci. Sibling rivalry.

“A favour, Jani. I'm counting on you.”

Awesome. Laci Bekes is counting on
me
. This night is definitely improving. Really, I'm not so surprised that Laci called me. I've been cultivating my relationship with him ever since Csaba told me what a big deal his brother is now. I mean, I know Csaba and Laci from way back. They live next to my grandma, so I knew him when I was a kid and visiting. But now, it's different. Laci's a businessman, and I'm an entrepreneur in a new situation. I have to network and cultivate business relationships. Fortunately, I'm good at that. I totally impressed Laci, except that I'm friends with Csaba, who he thinks is an idiot. I told Laci about my BuliZone idea. That was an awesome business venture: the movable party. The idea was, we supply the music and the vibe and maybe some good-looking girls, and we just find a new location every weekend and advertise it online as
BuliZone!
(all one word). And we charge admission and sell beer and make a shitload. And the sweet thing? The smartest thing? The location costs us exactly zero. We move into one of those old vacant apartment buildings. They're all over the city, just sitting there, totally empty. Government's going to tear them down one day, except there's no money to tear them down. Some of these places are even in the best parts, the really cool parts of town. Unbelievably great business venture, right? Except Laci told me, “It's been done.” No
way
. But it's true. Now that I been here for a couple months, I know at least five party houses. They're called romkocsma and they're totally cool.
Exactly
what I planned. So he didn't invest in my venture, but he did say, “You seem like a normal guy. Why're you hanging out with Csaba?” Can you believe a guy would talk that way about his brother?

We're walking, and Csaba's mad. I can tell. He's kicking frozen turds and his boots sound like he's marching in some army parade. It's all about that Magyar Garda. He says gyps and Jews and immigrants are fucking up Hungary, weakening it, destroying our traditions. Me, I figure if the Jews really have all the money, we should be friends with them. Maybe some Jews can invest in our company. We could have a company especially for Jews. Serious. We could have a company that trains Jews how to be TrueMagyar (all one word). Even though they never will be, really, because they're not Hungarian blood like me and Csaba, but they could learn to be
more
Hungarian. Because they have to adapt to their environment, right? Survival of the fittest. Cockroaches will be the only living thing left after nuclear war. I read that once. So here's a question: “Why would cockroaches survive nuclear war? I mean, wouldn't they burn up same as everyone else?” I ask Csaba.

We're going down into the subway. Hey, no ticket guys at the gate. Sweet. Csaba gives me the fist bump I taught him. Maybe he's not mad anymore.

He says, “If there's a nuclear war, I'll come down here. Deep enough. No radiation could get me.”

“Then what? Then it's you and the cockroaches. Everything else is toast. Radiated toast.”

“Then I go to the country where I did my training. Start from scratch. Me and Ildiko.”

Ildiko's the girl he met at this training camp. He showed me a picture of her posing in uniform with her rifle. She's cute. But there was no picture of the two of them together, just Ildiko shooting, or eating a bowl of soup, or Ildiko with her arms around two other girl soldiers, like some kind of TrueMagyar
Charlie's Angels
. He says him and Ildiko were hot, but they couldn't get it on because of military rules.
As if.
(I just think that, though. I don't say it out loud because why shoot the guy down, right? I'm his friend.)

“What about a training camp for tourists. Same as the Garda, but expensive, for foreigners. I bet there's guys in London or Sweden who never held a gun in their lives, never learned hand-to-hand combat. What're they gonna do if it comes to protecting themselves? They gotta be prepared. We could call it MagyarWarrior, all one word.”

He's always saying we have to be prepared to protect the true Hungarians. From what, dude? Ciganybunozes, he says. Gypsy crime. I don't totally believe him, but maybe if you're Csaba and you don't get laid and you don't have a job and you live with your mom and dad and you don't even have your own bedroom because you sleep in the living room, you gotta blame someone.

The romkocsma on Akacfa is
hopping
. Wall-to-wall cool people. Super-hot babes on every floor, no joke. And there's three floors. And the DJ is spinning and some people are sitting and some dancing and some drinking, but everybody's cool and not the way people in Toronto are cool. I tried to explain this to Csaba once, the difference in cool. I don't think he got it. The thing is, Toronto babes laugh a lot, and they wear expensive, tight clothes, and their hair is shiny, and they say things like, “You're so cute,” but they're just fake, is what I'm saying. Hungarian babes are cool but real. They are real Magyar babes. They're totally different. And tonight, they're
all
partying here. Jesus. It's like someone put the invitation out to hotties only. And this romkocsma, man, it's unbelievable. Must have been a super-rich apartment building in the old days before communism, but now there's just us cool people hanging out on old sofas and grandma chairs. In a couple weeks, everyone will know about this place and then maybe the cops will close it down or maybe they won't.

“Awesome,” I shout over the music at Csaba.

He just gives me the sign: “Fuck, yeah.”

We find Laci on the second floor in a room that's totally red—everything painted, walls, ceiling, furniture, floor, like a vampire room or something. There are some girls talking to him. They're hot, but Laci seems like he doesn't even notice how hot they are. He's looking out for us is why. He's a man of opportunity too. That's why he likes me. We got that in common, see.

“Dude.” He does the fist bump. That's not usual, but to­night's different. Tonight, I'm in with Laci Bekes and we're tight. He talks English to me a little. “I told you not to bring the donkey.” Why he calls his brother
donkey
, I don't know. I'm a little impressed he knows the English word.

“He can be helpful,” I say. In English. Csaba doesn't under­stand. And I keep my eyes on Laci so Csaba doesn't know we're talking about him.

Laci gives me a look. He's the businessman, not me. That's what the look says. It also says, I have no time for this bullshit. “I got a serious proposition.”

I light up a smoke. “How much?” I mean, we both know I'm gonna do it, no question. But it's business, right? I'm not stupid.

Laci gives me that superior look. “One million.”

Get. The fuck. Out. I figured Laci would pay well, but this is un­believable. I mean, one million forints. Not dollars, but still.

“All
right
.”

“Yeah,” Csaba says. He gets the gist, I guess.

“Good.” Laci switches to Hungarian. “We don't have a lot of time, so I can't explain everything. You're just gonna have to trust me on this.”

“Sure, bro.” Fist bump. Yeah. More hot girls walk in. They give us the eye. The room's crowded. I'm feeling hot, but I don't want to show my hat head so I just take off my coat. It's an awesome coat, a Maple Leafs leather bomber. When I wear this coat here in Budapest, girls come up to me right away because they want to practise their English. Well, that's what they say. Really, they just want to talk to me. But no time for play tonight. I ignore them. We're businessmen here, talking business.

“I'm supposed to meet these two guys tonight. Here. Talk some business.”

“Right.”

“Right, so problem is I have to be somewhere else. I got this really important thing over at Csepel tonight. I can't reschedule. And I can't let these dudes think I'm too busy to talk to them. They're not the kinda guys you reschedule.”

“Right.”

“So I was thinking. How can I be two places at once?”

“Right. Impossible.”

“So then I figured, if
you
could be here…”

“Absolutely. I'm your man in Pest.”

“Great, bro. I knew I could count on you. But here's the thing. They have to think you're me.”

Huh?

“Don't worry. It's dark in here. They don't know me, really. I mean, they know me but not well.”

“You want
me
to be
you
?”

“That's what I'm saying.”

“Cool.”

“You have to give them a message. That's all.”

“But not a message
from
you because
I'm
you.”

He looks worried. He thinks I'm gonna fuck it up.

“All you say is, ‘Tell your boss, I'm not jerking him around. I just lost it and now I'll find it. No disrespect intended.”

“Honestly. I lost it. No disrespect. Wait. What'd you lose?”

“You don't need to know.”

“But if I'm you, I should know, right? It's my back story.” Actors always say that. Cool.

He thinks for, like, a second. “Okay, a letter. Say, I didn't mean to lose the letter. Try it again.”

“I can't find the letter. Honest. I mean you no disrespect.”

Laci's frowning, looking even more worried. “Good. Fine. Maybe remind them that you—that is that I—am a businessman. I know who my friends are, and I like to keep it that way.”

“I know who my friends are. Do I look like an idiot?”

“Okay, stop. Don't ad lib like that. I would never say, ‘Do I look like an idiot?' Just stick to the script.”

“Cool.” God, Laci's so nervous he's making me nervous. Maybe he's a micro-manager. I heard about people like that. Managers like that are no good because they waste time on small details that should be done by the smaller nobodies in the company. So I say to him, to make him feel better: “Trust me. I can handle the details.”

Csaba's just watching all this. He's pissed off, but he wants to be part of it. Laci always does this, treats him like he's retarded. And, I mean, Csaba's not always smart, but he's got his talents. Laci should recognize his talents now and then. Be a lot better for their sibling rivalry.

“I mean it, bro. This is serious business. Don't mess around. And take that stupid bank robber hat off your head. Here's my coat. Gimme yours.” We do the switch. He checks me out. “Jeans, okay. Sweater, whatever. Shoes, man.”

He takes off his black leather shoes, slides them over.

“My Nikes? Seriously?” He just looks at me. I take them off, put his on. “They don't fit.”

“Not like you're going anywhere. Just stay exactly here. Have a good time—on me. I'll be back in a while.”

“Right. When you're done your meeting.”

“And, Csaba, your job is to fuck right off.”

“Truly?” Csaba thunks himself down on the sofa, throws his boots onto the coffee table. Laci lets that slide for exactly a nanosecond. Then he hauls his little brother by the coat, shoves his head under his arm, and walks him out. Fuck. I feel bad. I feel like a bad friend. But I can't follow Csaba because this could be my chance, the big chance. I mean, Laci Bekes? I don't even know half of how Laci made his money, but he has it figured out. Luxury developments, real-estate trading, and now he's in on the construction of the M6—providing concrete or something. I don't know construction, but the way Laci does it, it ain't swinging hammers.

So here I am being Laci in a smokin' hot vampire party room. How cool is this? I light a smoke, lean back in Laci's rich-dude leather coat. When I finish the smoke, I stump it out on the table. Why not, right? Not my table. Probably some old neni's once upon a time, with little lace whatchicallits on it. Not anymore. I set my feet up. Laci's shoes. Pretty nice. What's Laci got in his pocket? Wallet? Fuck, he's gonna be mad when he figures that out. Keys to his SUV. What do you know? Right on. I am Laci Bekes. I got a SUV and a house in Rozsadomb, and a hot little wife and a girlfriend on the side, and I do business with
you
. That's right. I'm the business. I am
business
. Construction, right. But deeper. You want multi-million-American-dollar luxury condos—I'll build them. I'll do that. You invest in my company, I'll turn it around faster than a bitch, make you rich. Wait a second. How's he getting to Csepel without his car? Fuck. Do I go after him? But he said wait here. He said exactly here. Fuck.