How much?
Wow!
Ten thousand!
Mr. Koreiko’s wages for twenty years of dedicated service.
A sight for the gods, as the most astute of the editorialists would have it.
But it looks like I interrupted something?
Weren’t you doing something on the floor here?
You were dividing up the money?
Please, please continue, I’ll watch.”
“I wanted it to be honest and fair,” said Balaganov, collecting the money from the bed.
“Everybody gets an equal share—twenty-five hundred.”
He put the money into four piles and modestly stepped aside, saying:
“You, me, him, and Kozlevich.”
“Very good,” said Ostap.
“Now let Panikovsky do it. Looks like he has a dissenting opinion on the subject.”
The author of the dissenting opinion dove into the task with gusto.
Leaning over the bed, Panikovsky moved his fat lips, wetted his fingers, and endlessly shuffled the bills, as if he was playing a game of solitaire.
All these complex maneuvers produced three piles on the blanket: a large one, composed of clean new bills, another large one, but with less pristine bills, and a third one, with small and dirty bills.
“You and I get four thousand each,” said Panikovsky to Bender, “and Balaganov gets two.
Even that’s too much for what he did.”
“And what about Kozlevich?” asked Balaganov, angrily closing his eyes.
“Why should Kozlevich get anything?” shrieked Panikovsky. “That’s highway robbery!
Who’s this Kozlevich and why should we share with him?
I don’t know any Kozlevich!”
“Are you finished?” asked the grand strategist.
“Yes, finished,” answered Panikovsky, his eyes fixed on the pile of clean bills. “How can you talk about Kozlevich at a moment like this?”
“And now it’s my turn,” said Ostap firmly.
He slowly put all the piles back together, placed the money in the metal box, and stuck the box in the pocket of his white pants.
“All this money,” he announced, “will immediately be returned to the victim, Citizen Koreiko.
How do you like that?”
“I don’t,” blurted out Panikovsky.
“Don’t joke around, Bender,” said Balaganov testily. “We have to split it fair and square.”
“Not going to happen,” said Ostap coldly. “I wouldn’t joke around at this late hour.”
Panikovsky clasped his purplish old-man’s hands.
He glanced at the grand strategist with horror in his eyes, stepped back into a corner, and said nothing.
Only his gold tooth gleamed occasionally in the dark.
Balaganov’s face turned shiny, as if it had been burned by the sun.
“So all this work was for nothing?” he asked, puffing. “That’s not right.
That’s . . . please explain.”
“To you, the Lieutenant’s favorite son,” said Ostap politely, “I can only repeat what I already told you in Arbatov.
I revere the Criminal Code.
I’m not a bandit, I’m a highly principled pursuer of monetary instruments.
Mugging is not on my list of four hundred honest methods of taking money, it just doesn’t fit.
On top of that, we didn’t come here for a mere ten thousand.
I myself need at least five hundred of those thousands.”
“Then why did you send us?” asked Balaganov, cooling off. “We tried really hard . . .”
“In other words, you mean to ask if the esteemed captain knows why he undertook this latest action?
The answer is: Yes, I do.
You see . . .”
At this moment, the gold tooth stopped gleaming in the corner.