Pasha, hold up pouring me another shot, we gotta moot something up here. Alright, fine, one more shot for your son, you smelly devil, and then let’s f***ing talk business, mates.
Budem! *chugs a triple shot*
Ugh, what a crappy moonshine. To hell with it. Listen up now.
The country’s in deep sh**. The president’s a f***ing crook, other politicians are dumbasses. The army just sits there, feeds the generals and protects their
dacha’s [1]. The journalists are sluts, the police is corrupt,
bratva [2] and
shpana rule the place like they own us and our lives. Calm down, boys! Calm the f*** down, I’m still talking! Anyway, this sh**’s gotta stop. Nobody’s gotta help us fix our lives. The factory owners? These pigs owe us a year worth of salary. The bookmakers? After our heist the pit fights are off limits for me, and you know it. Now,
bratishki [3], the game rules gotta change, and change big. The Factory Boys gotta be a power on its own.
Zhmyh, shut up! What do you mean, “what do I suggest?” We’ve got the trucks, we’ve got the muscle, we’ve got some new barrels. See what I mean, bro? First of all, you, Zhmyh, take a couple of dozen mates from the foundry and a couple of trucks with… I dunno… a dozen barrels and some knives or hatchets… and start patrolling Drozhino at night. Know what I mean? Robbers and muggers and thugs think they are f***ing kings here. Rapists, too. The police? They don’t care. They just protect those who pay them. The officials, right. So, show the
shpana who really owns this town. Make sure the streets are safe to walk at night. Break some bones, maybe shoot some tw**s in their knees, y’know. Don’t be too brutal, but don’t be too soft either. Beat some info about local drug dealers from them, while you’re at it. You got this? And don’t mess with the police just yet. I mean, you know what I’m sayin’. Those wankers have too much of a backup.
Now, that’s not all, boys. Let’s get one more round of shots and talk over another biz. *chugs another triple shot* I heard some nutjobs are robbing truck drivers near Vybor and Lopatino. You heard it too, Nikitos? Yeah, some monarchist idiots. Anyway, the people are crazy nowadays. You, Nikitos, take some guys… I dunno, five or six young ones, with plenty of free time… yeah, with carbines and sh**… Take a little camping trip to the Kurgan hill. Just hang out there like tourists or hunters or something, and check if there’s any suspicious activity on the Pogorevka-Zelenogorsk road. Don’t intervene, you hear me? Just observe, like f***ing boyscouts. Get a cell phone with good connection, mate. Call me anytime if you see something, got it?
Alright, the last one. Vasilyich, you, come here. You’re the oldest one. You’ve been working at the foundry for thirty years, right? Every f***ing rat knows you there. Even the managers respect you. Try to sniff out if there’s anything valuable in the warehouse or the garage and how they’re guarded. Ideally, figure out where the boss keeps his money. I mean, the world’s a small town and is full of rumors, right? Thank you, old man.
That’s it, mates. Pasha, let’s get another round and call it a night.
[*1 – suburban house or villa;
*2 – lit. “confraternity,” or mafia;
*3 – little brothers]