 Yuri Garlovic was a happy man. He had a good life, a simple life. He had a nice apartment, drove a powerful German-made car, wore designer-label clothes and ate in all the best restaurants. And most important of all, he always had money in his pocket. Of course, it wasn't his money, but Yuri had never been a stickler for such minor details.
He wasn't a handsome man, short and overfed, but he didn't care about that: who needs looks when you've got money? Not Yuri. Yuri was never short of female attention.
Today, however, Yuri was feeling a little anxious and frustrated. He had been waiting outside the Kyiv train station for over an hour now without spotting
a single instance of what it was he was looking for. This wasn't good. Normally it wouldn't bother him too much - what he wanted always showed up sooner or later - but he was seeing Lyudmila tonight and that put a certain urgency on things.
Lyudmila was a goddess. Lyudmila had the flexibility of a gymnast, and the stamina of an athlete, and her mind was somewhere slightly lower than the gutter. She made for the most wonderful of lovers, but she always made him pay for it first. Not, of course, by the handing over of cash - Lyudmila was no prostitute (although a question mark appeared at the end of that statement in Yuri's mind sometimes) - but by the presenting of expensive gifts and the payment of ridiculous tabs in the classiest of restaurants. Lyudmila wasn't good with a pizza and a beer or two. Oh no, Lyudmila expected the best - of everything.
Yuri wandered past the station entrance for what felt like the hundredth time. He glanced at his watch and sighed. Then a broad grin spread across his chubby visage.
"The idiot has landed," Yuri thought. He reckoned his quarry to be early twenties, average height and as thin as wire. Such details didn't matter: it was the lost look, the wary avoidance of taxi drivers touting their trade, and most of all it was the guide book in his right hand that put the word "target" over this boy's head. And the fact that he wore a rucksack that appeared bigger and heavier than himself was always a bonus; it made pursuit highly unlikely.
The boy opened his guidebook and looked at it long and hard then tentatively made his way through the cars and down the road. Yuri followed.
He let the boy walk down the street for about a hundred meters, and then made his approach. He ran up behind the boy, placed his hand on his shoulder and said in Russian: "I am going to take all your money."
The boy froze as if he'd been hit by a blast of liquid nitrogen, letting out a noise somewhere between a shriek and a whimper. Yuri only just managed to keep his face straight. He looked expectantly at the backpacker.
"I... I'm sorry... I... I don't speak Ukrainian."
"It was Russian, not Ukrainian, you idiot," Yuri thought. But instead, he simply smiled and said, "Oh, sorry," and ran on.
After a few meters he let the clear plastic envelope containing ten crisp one-hundred dollar bills fall to the ground, making sure it would appear as if it had fallen from the shoulder bag he was carrying.
One of two things could happen at this point. Either the boy would come after him and return the envelope, or he would pick it up and put it in his pocket. Either one was fine as far as Yuri was concerned, but he had no doubt which course of action the boy would take.
And he was right. A moment later he heard the boy shouting after him. Yuri kept running, appearing oblivious. He felt a hand grab for him. He stopped and turned. The boy stood there holding out the envelope, wearing the grin of a puppy that was getting praised for managing to sit for the first time without getting it's backside pushed to the floor. Yuri hated him for his ridiculous decency.
He hid the hatred, feigning shocked relief instead. He placed his hand over his heart. "Oh thank God. Thank you." He took the envelope from the boy who walked on, grinning from ear to ear. Yuri could almost hear his thoughts: Karma, that's me done my good deed - I'll be safe in this town now.
"How wrong you are," Yuri said under his breath. Inside he was grinning too, at the thought of how quickly he would remove the boys smile from his face. Right... About... Now...
Yuri adopted a panicked _expression. "Excuse me. Excuse me." The boy stopped and turned. "Where is the other one?"
The boy looked confused. "What?"
"The other envelope. Where is it?"
"There was only one."
"No, no," demanded Yuri. "Where is the other one please?"
"There was only one," the boy repeated, his bewilderment and confusion almost palpable. Yuri could see fear setting in. Textbook.
"Oh my God," said Yuri, keeping up his pretence of panic. He let his eyes run over the boy giving just a hint of mistrust. "But there were two." He opened his bag and rummaged through it. "Now there is only one. Please show me where it fell."
The boy walked back a few paces and pointed at the ground. "Right here."
Yuri scanned the pavement as if searching. "Please, if you took my money, give it back. I promise I won't be angry or involve the police."
As if on cue, a man appeared by their side. "Police," he said, flashing a wallet containing a card covered in Cyrillic text.
The boy glanced at the newcomer and continued to protest his innocence to Yuri.
"I never took anything. You dropped the envelope; I gave it back. There was only one. I swear."
"Yes, yes, I am sorry. You were very kind. I am frantic at the thought of the loss."
"What is going on here?" the policeman asked.
"I dropped some money. This man very kindly returned it to me. But the money was in two envelopes. Now there is only one. He says there was only one, but there were two."
The boy's expression had changed from one of bewilderment to one of abject terror. "I... I didn't take his money. I saw the envelope drop and I picked it up and gave him it back."
"Yes, he did," Yuri said. Always remain polite and honest, build the trust. "But there was one thousand dollars in the other envelope, now it has gone."
"Maybe you dropped it somewhere else," said the policeman.
"No, I had it only a few minutes ago. I checked."
"Well we can sort this out easily enough," the policeman said. He turned to the boy. "Please empty your pockets."
The fool was only too willing to oblige. He produced various odds and ends, and his wallet.
"Can I see inside your wallet please?" the policeman asked.
"Of course. I only have euros. No dollars." He opened his wallet and showed the euros inside.
A lot of euros.
Yuri put his fingers to the notes and flicked through them as if checking.
"And this is all the money you have?" the policeman asked.
The boy took his eyes from the wallet and looked at the policeman. "Yes, this is everything."
Yuri took advantage of the minor distraction, slipped the money from the boy's wallet and stuffed it in his pocket.
"Okay, thank you. I am very sorry," Yuri said and ran off down the street.
He could just hear the boy say to the policeman: "He's taken my money."
The policeman shouted, "Stop." and then to the boy, "You wait here. I'll get him."
Yuri kept running. He rounded the corner, slipped into the driver's seat of his car and started the engine. As soon as the policeman climbed in beside him Yuri sped off.
"How much?" the policeman, Yuri's accomplice Viktor, asked.
"Five hundred euros," Yuri replied.
That afternoon the duo moved to Khreshchatyk. And this time Yuri didn't have to wait long at all. He heard the man buying cigarettes. "Marlboro lights, pazhalusta." Definitely English speaking.
Yuri went into action. He ran up, told the man he was going to take all his money, and then ran on, dropping the envelope. A moment or two later the man was coming after him, offering to return it. This time, however, when Yuri got to the where-is-the-other-one part, there was no look of bewildered confusion. Instead there was a flash of instant understanding, quickly replaced by a face of fury.
"There was no other one," the man spat emphatically.
For the first time, Yuri noticed the man's size. He was about 190cm, broad-shouldered, with thick muscular arms. But Yuri was not to be put off. He continued insistently, even though the man showed no inclination to enter into debate on the subject. He kept walking, repeating, "get lost," every time Yuri tried to challenge him.
Viktor appeared. "Police," he said.
"No you're not," said the man, and kept walking.
They, rather pathetically, trotted along beside him, still going through the routine. Yuri explained to Viktor about the other envelope, Viktor played his part. But the man stubbornly refused to come to a halt, and his rebuttals were getting louder and laced with profanity.
Viktor called it off. It happened sometimes, not often, but now and then. Even though the real police were paid, and unlikely to get involved, it wasn't good to attract too much attention.
A little later, their next victim was not so astute. A smartly dressed American should have more brains, thought Yuri as he counted out the money. Eight-hundred-and-forty dollars.
Yuri was a happy man. His share of the day's takings was more than enough to ensure Lyudmila was at her best. And there would be enough to put some by, adding to a rapidly growing stack. At this rate it wouldn't be long before Yuri had enough to buy his long-dreamed of holiday home in Crimea. And maybe a speedboat to impress the ladies.
The next day, Yuri spotted his next target exiting the station. Another backpacker - short and thin. His backpack looked bigger than he did, making him look like an oddly upright turtle. Easy pickings.
Yuri ran up to him, put his hand on his shoulder and said: "I'm going to take all your money."
The backpacker stared back vacantly. Yuri muttered his apology and ran on. He dropped the envelope and kept moving, waiting expectantly for the, "excuse me," that would signal the start of the separation of the backpacker from his money. It never came.
That was okay. Viktor would handle it. He would intervene saying he'd seen the backpacker take the money; the scam worked either way. Yuri slowed his pace, waiting for Viktor's shout. Nothing happened for a moment, and Yuri started to become concerned. He didn't like being parted from his cash for long.
Then it came. Yuri turned sharply. "Police," Viktor informed him, flashing his wallet. "You dropped something. This man picked it up."
The backpacker's face showed no emotion. Unusual, thought Yuri, but then, everyone reacted differently. He made the pretense of looking through his bag.
"Oh my God. I've lost two envelopes full of money."
"Two?" he expected to hear from the backpacker, but he just stood there.
"Hand it over," said Viktor.
"No," said the backpacker.
"You're in a lot of trouble," Viktor said threateningly. "You should hand it over."
Only then did the backpacker show emotion. He smiled. "It's not me who's in trouble."
Yuri's mind raced. This had never happened before. He reached into his bag and grabbed hold of the handle of the knife he kept there. He'd never had to use it before, but he was ready and willing. He glanced around quickly. Only then did he notice a group of about seven men approaching, their attention focused directly on Yuri and Viktor. Seven against two, eight including the backpacker.
Bad odds. Yuri turned and ran, straight into a massive bulk. He looked up, straight into the eyes of the Marlboro smoker from Khreshchatyk.
The massive bulk smiled. "Dave from Manchester," it said. "Pleased to meet you." Yuri pulled the knife from his bag. He raised it towards the man's face.
His arm was grabbed and twisted with such force Yuri thought it was going to come off. He turned to see another smiling face. "Steve from Melbourne," it said. "Pleased to meet you."
"And I'm Mark from Munich," said another voice. Yuri turned his head again, this time to see the boy they'd taken 350 euros from the day before.
"And we have another two Australians, a Kiwi, three lads from the States, and a big Scotsman, none of whom like people who take advantage of other people's decency. Now, I suggest we keep the envelope, and I take this." He removed Yuri's shoulder bag.
Yuri struggled. There was another envelope in there. It contained another thousand dollars. Yuri kept it just in case a real and honest policeman ever intervened during one of their scams. If that happened Yuri could produce the other envelope, saying he hadn't seen it and it had all been an innocent mistake. He would deny knowledge of Viktor suggesting he might be a scam artist.
He was held firm. And the massive bulk hadn't finished. He went through Yuri's pockets and removed his wallet. What was left of yesterday's takings were still in there. Yuri had come straight from the hotel where he'd spent the night with Lyudmila. He glanced at Viktor, hoping he might be able to help in someway, but Viktor was being relieved of his wallet as well.
'Okay then, we'll call it quits. No need for violence. A word of advice: You shouldn't try and rob people who are staying at the same place. They might well get together, and what do you think they'd talk about? The weather? Or the scam artists a couple of them had the misfortune of meeting? Let's go, lads."
The massive bulk turned to walk off, the others following. Then he stopped and turned again. He looked at Yuri for a moment. "Maybe, sometimes, there is a need for violence," he said.
The fist Yuri saw approaching his face with great velocity was the biggest fist Yuri had ever seen. It would break his nose and knock out his two front teeth. But it would be a couple of hours before Yuri found that out.
Neil Campbell, a relatively recent arrival from Scotland who has backpacked all over the world, describes himself as "a novelist, poet and essayist."
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