XXIII. Dave Offered Help from a Strange Source
Dave “the Dude” Devoran, free‑market ambassador, came to Budapest to make his fortune. So far, things haven’t been going the way he had envisioned. What follows is Episode XXIII.
By Berger Bronte
(© Tom Popper)
I watch him watching her. I want to scratch his eyes out. I want to cut her breasts off. I don’t know why he can’t look at anything else. And I don’t know why I care anyway. Even at his best, he’s a squirmy little piece of cheese who’s too stupid to know how transparent his own lies are. Now, after spending a night in jail without bathing, he’s truly repulsive. But I’ve learned to accept the fact that I care for him, and I’ve learned to accept that he doesn’t feel as strongly about me. I just wish I didn’t have to look at him looking at her.
Of course this woman, Amy, has to make her chest more noticable by jumping up and down while she screams: “David! This is Satan’s kitchen! You could start a war in here!”
David does nothing beyond sitting dumbly and staring at Amy. His mother — whom I met just a few hours before he saw her for the first time in 20 years — takes an AK‑47 out of one of the wooden crates. Absent‑mindedly, without even looking at her hands, she loads the magazine, cocks it back and ejects a shell. Then she dismantles the weapon and puffs once down the barrel.
And me, Erzsébet — the one who brought them all together by telling David’s mother he was in jail and that Amy was a lawyer — I sit in a chair in a corner, feeling like I’ve disappeared.
We’re all here after bailing David out from his arrest in connection with the stabbing of a politician in his apartment. He tells his lawyer, the beloved Amy, that gun runners are stashing their weapons in his house against his will. So we are trying to figure out what he should do.
If David reports the weapons smugglers to the police, his legal problems will get even worse, and the smugglers will probably kill him. If he says nothing, the smugglers will continue to use his house for their hellish business, and the police are sure to find out eventually.
So far, Amy hasn’t had any ideas. She doesn’t seem able to get past the shock. David’s mother just shakes her head and sometimes mutters things like: “Oh my poor stupid boy. ... Oh you are so naughty. ... We have to help you,” and, “I can’t believe I’m related to you. Did you leave your brains behind in my womb?”
Finally Amy collapses in a chair, puts here elbows on her knees and puts her face down inside of her hands. Her breasts are no longer visible and David shakes his head like someone coming out of a trance. His mother fumbles at her jacket pocket and realizes she has accidentally dropped a machine pistol in there.
I seize the moment of silence to offer a helpful suggestion: “I have a cousin in the Lithuanian mafia. They mostly deal in human trafficking, stolen tires and counterfeit tram tickets, but they might be able to assist in something like this.” The three of them look at me with faces of surprise and concern for my sanity, so I continue. “We could fix it so it looks like my cousin’s mob stole the weapons. The gun runners wouldn’t dare cross the Lithuanian mafia — not if they value their ears and elbows. I mean, anyone who’s ever seen a Vilnius human knot knows better than to mess with the Lithuanians.”
Amy’s eyes open wide in terror, David sits up straight and his mother smiles. I feel like I’ve suddenly reappeared.