“Let me explain. I’m exchanging. This is a service for buyers. I control the rate, I’m the bank, so I always make money and you always lose. Arkady, nobody buys rubles.” Rudy’s small eyes swelled with sympathy. “The only real Soviet money is vodka. Vodka is the only state monopoly that really works.”

“You have some of that, too.” Arkady glanced at the rear floor, which was littered with silvery bottles of Starka, Russkaya and Kuban vodka.

“It’s Stone Age barter. I take what people have. I help them. I’m surprised I don’t have stone beads and pieces of eight. Anyway, the rate is forty rubles to the dollar.”

Arkady tried the On button of the recorder. The miniature spools didn’t move. “The official rate is thirty rubles to the dollar.”

“Yes, and the universe revolves around Lenin’s asshole. No disrespect. It’s funny, I deal with men who would slit their mother’s throat and are embarrassed by the concept of profit.” Rudy became serious. “Arkady, if you can just imagine profit apart from crime, then you have business. What we’re doing right now is normal and legal in the rest of the world.”

“He’s normal?” Arkady looked in the direction of Kim. His eyes fixed on the car, the bodyguard had the flat face of a mask.

Rudy said, “Kim’s there for effect. I’m like Switzerland, neutral, everybody’s banker. Everybody needs me. Arkady, we’re the only part of the economy that works. Look around. Long Pond mafia, Baumanskaya mafia, local boys who know how to deliver goods. Lyubertsy mafia, a little tougher, a little dumber, just want to improve themselves.”

“Like your partner, Borya?” Arkady tried tightening the spools with a key.

“Borya’s a great success story. Any other country would be proud of him.”

“And the Chechens?”

“Granted, Chechens are different. If we were all rotting bones, they wouldn’t mind. But remember one thing, the biggest mafia is still the Party. Never forget that.”

Arkady opened the transmitter and slapped out the batteries. Through the window he noticed customers growing restless, though Rudy seemed in no hurry. If anything, after his initial nervousness, he was in a serene, valedictory mood.

The problem was that the transmitter was militia goods, never strong cause for confidence. Arkady twisted the connecting jacks. “You’re not scared?”

“I’m in your hands.”

“You’re only in my hands because we have enough to put you in a camp.”

“Circumstantial evidence of nonviolent crimes. Incidentally, another way to say ‘nonviolent crimes’ is ‘business.’ The difference between a criminal and a businessman is that the businessman has imagination.” Rudy glanced at the rear seat. “I have enough technology here for a space station. You know, that transmitter of yours is the only thing in this car that doesn’t work.”