The villains mask, p.1
The Villains Mask, page 1
The Villains Mask
A Prequel to Vanished From Budapest
D.J. Maughan
Hulyeseg Inc
Copyright © [2023] by [D.J. Maughan]
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Chapter 1
Andras
March 1999, Budapest
Standing in line at the teller station, I hear someone call out my name. As I look over the heads of the people standing behind me, I see who it is. He’s older, having lost most of his hair. He’s heavier too. He’s fat. Time hasn’t been kind to him.
“Dobo Andras.” He says as he circumvents the line approaching me. “I thought that was you.”
"Attila?"
A grin splits his face, and he extends his hand to me. As I grip it, he pulls me in for a hug. He’s always been a big man. He and I played handball together in college. We were team captains. He steps back and looks me up and down after slapping me on the shoulder. The smile still permeates his face. "Look at you. It's been, what, ten years? You still look the same. You still look like you could play."
That’s not exactly true, but I’ve aged better than he has. I’m starting to go gray at the temples, and he’s not the only one who’s put on weight. Although I’m feeling better about my own, now. I’m sure if I played, I’d make it about five minutes before they’d need to pull out the defibrillator.
"Nah, man. I'm afraid of what would happen if I did.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Those were the days, huh? Playing all the time. Remember the parties?" He leans closer, looks over my shoulder, and whispers, “Remember the chicks?” I nod, and he claps me on the shoulder again. "Didn't I hear you went and got married? Someone told me that, I can’t remember who. I couldn’t believe it. Dobo Andras? Married?” He's searching my face. I won't confirm it, but I also don't deny it. “It’s true? Really? Dude, you never dated a girl more than a couple times before. You were the biggest player out of all of us.”
I just smile and chuckle. He’s right, I was.
“Your wife must be smokin'."
“She is.”
He laughs and gets a faraway look in his eye. He’s probably trying to imagine her naked. Or maybe he’s thinking back to some of the girls we knew before. After a beat, his eyes refocus. “So, what are you doing now? I heard you have a restaurant?"
“Yeah, it’s up in the Buda hills. I opened it about a year ago.”
“Wow! That’s awesome. What’s it called?”
“Szép Ilona’s.”
He chuckles and starts pointing his index finger at me. “I remember Ilona. That blonde…”
Nobody knows, especially my wife, why I named the restaurant that. My wife asked me, and I told her it was my grandmother's name. The truth is, she’s the girl that got away. I dated her a few times in college. I still dream about her, mostly without her clothes.
“How’s the restaurant doing?”
“Good. Really good, actually.”
"I wouldn't think anything else. I knew you were going to be big-time. Is that why you came to the bank today? Depositing your millions? Or just checking up on them?”
"Both," I tell him, and we laugh. The people behind us are listening to our conversation but pretending not to. Except the old lady directly behind me. She looks at me scowling.
“Next in line, please.” The teller calls out.
That’s me, and I look past him and then turn back. “Hey, come into my restaurant sometime. Food and drinks on me.” I pat his belly. “I might end up regretting saying that.”
He pushes me toward the teller. “You got it, man. I’ll be there.”
I stand in front of the teller window. She’s a woman about my age. I smile and look in her eyes and I see a grin play at the corner of her mouth.
“Hi, I’m Dobo Andras. I came to meet with the bank manager.”
“Hi,” she says. “Let me see if he’s in.” She walks away and returns after a couple minutes. "You can go over to his office. He'll see you now." She points to the left, and I turn and look. A man stands at the doorframe of the office.
“Thank you.” I whisper and wink at her.
She giggles a little, as I leave the counter and walk towards him. He's a slight man. Probably 5'6" if he's lucky. He wears a white shirt, tie, and suspenders. He's older than me, maybe by ten years. His black-rimmed glasses are so thick it’s hard to see his eyes. They look like little pieces of dark sand.
“Mr. Dobo?” He asks as I approach. He extends his hand to me, and when I take it, I’m not surprised. It’s soft. Lacking any kind of force. It’s like holding on to a ziplock bag full of pudding.
“Yes, I’m Andras.”
He releases my hand and steps back, motioning for me to enter his office. I walk past him but stop after entering the room.
It can’t be described as anything but dull. There’s a large wooden desk, two chairs in front, and a credenza along the wall. The only picture I can see is of a guy hanging off a cliff. Under him it’s written, “The only people who survive are the ones who don’t give up.” I roll my eyes.
He follows me into the room and motions with his arm. “Have a seat.” He walks around the desk as I sit down on the opposite side. He leans back in the chair. “Thanks for coming down to see me. How’s the restaurant today?”
“Good. We had a pretty good rush for lunch today.”
He nods and places his hand flat on the desk. On the desk is a manilla file, and he looks at it, then leans over and opens it. Without looking back up at me, he begins to speak. "Well…I'm afraid I don't have good news for you. We've reviewed your financial statements, and unfortunately, we won’t be able to loan you the money you’re seeking.”
I can feel my heart rate accelerate. Since applying for the loan, I’ve waivered on whether it would be approved. I knew I was asking for a lot. One hundred thousand forints is what I really need, but fifty thousand would at least keep the lights on.
"Hmm, that's not what I was hoping you'd say. What can you loan me if you can't do the full one hundred thousand?"
He looks up now. His beady little eyes are lost behind the magnifying glasses he calls spectacles. “None.” The word is cold and flat.
“What? Why?”
He holds up the file. “Can I give you some advice?”
I say nothing. Not because I’m ignoring him. I’m too shocked to reply. The implication of the word is running through my mind.
"I've reviewed your financial statements in detail; frankly, you shouldn’t be in business. Do yourself a favor and close the doors. Do something else. You might be a great cook, but you know nothing about business.
I feel the heat rise in my cheeks as my eyes narrow on him. “Why would you say that? The restaurant’s making money. Look at the Income Statement. Last month we made five thousand forints.
He shakes his head and looks back down. "No, you didn’t. Yes, the Income Statement might show a net positive. But what did you pay yourself? You’re working for free. How much longer can you keep that up? If I turn to your Balance Sheet, it gets worse. Your accounts payable is growing month to month. In three months from now, if you pay your suppliers, you’ll be out of cash. And…you know that. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you’re asking for a loan.”
I can feel my eyebrows lower as I look at him. I’m fighting to control the anger, not let it creep into my voice. “Look at where we were six months ago. Our total revenue has grown each month.”
"Yes, but your expenses also have. You have no collateral. You own nothing. If you default on the loan, we have no recourse. There’s too much risk for us. We are in the business to make money. Not give out gifts. Do yourself a favor and close the doors now before your debt grows and you have nothing left.”
I stare at the little man, and a loathing rises. I want to reach across the desk and slam his head into the solid wood surface. He’s jealous of someone like me. Someone who always got the girls and played all the sports. He’s going to regret this decision. Someday, I’m going to make him pay.
Chapter 2
Andras
I sit at my desk in the restaurant office. After meeting with the banker, I had to come back here for the dinner rush. I lean back on my chair, my feet on the desk. I need to create next week’s shift schedule but I can’t seem to bring myself to the task. What’s the point? Saving the restaurant seems hopeless. Maybe I should go lock the front doors right now and call it.
I take my feet off the desk, push the schedule to the side, and lean over a stack of bills. This is yet another task I didn’t anticipate as I opened the restaurant. I have to examine each produce bill for correctness. Every statement from day one has been wrong. At first, I thought they were mistakes. Simple clerical errors. Now I know they’re intentional. They’re always in the supplier’s favor. Never in mine.
Most of the inaccuracies are slight. An extra box of lettuce here, a box of peppers there. All of the errors would cost very little on their own. But that's how they get you. After a month of daily mistakes, it might be a couple thousand forint. That’s the difference between making and losing money on my Income Statement.
But, then again, according to the prick banker, I’m not making any money anyway. I despise that little man. All banks are the same. When you need them, they don’t want you. When you don’t need them, they’ll loan you all the money in the world. I pick
The phone on my desk begins buzzing and pulls me from my thoughts. Hesitantly, I pick up the receiver. “Szép Ilona’s Bisztro.”
The voice on the phone is a raspy metallic whisper, and I have to strain to hear. “Hello. Can I speak with Dobo Andras, please?”
“This is Andras.” A pause on the other end of the line. Silence. “Yes, this is Andras. How can I help you?”
“It’s not you that can help me. It’s I that can help you.”
“I beg your pardon?” Again, silence on the other end of the phone. “Who is this?” I ask.
"That's not important. What is important is saving your restaurant. I can help you.”
Who is this person, and how do they know I need help? Is this the banker? I pause for a beat before responding. “How can you help?”
“Are you familiar with Margit Island?”
I nod and then repeat, “Yes” into the phone.
“Good. I’ll be waiting under the bridge on the island. Be there at 9 pm and come alone.”
Chapter 3
Andras
I exit the streetcar in the middle of the Margit Bridge. My restaurant is on the Buda side of the city, and the bridge spans the Danube river connecting Buda to Pest. It's getting late, and the sun has long since retired. It's March, and although it was nice today, there’s a bite to the air as I walk. To my right stands the Parliament building. I've been to several other large European cities, and no other building resembles it. The architecture is iconic. Fashioned after a king’s crown, the building features several domes and many spires. I toured it as a youth and will never forget the long wooden benches and ornate woodwork throughout. It’s as beautiful on the inside, as the outside.
The stairs leading to the island are close. The voice on the phone said to meet under the bridge. This is the only spot it could be. I hesitate before descending. What am I doing? I get this random call from someone I don't know, and they want to meet here at night. Is this a trap? A setup? Why the secrecy? I consider turning around. Maybe this is a bad idea. No, I have no choice. This might be my only chance to save the restaurant. I take a breath and begin to descend the stairs.
It's dark and quiet when I reach the bottom. I'm the only one who got off at this stop among the few people riding the streetcar. On the bridge, cars sped by. Down here, under the bridge, I see nothing but shadows. The only noise is the soft, distant, splash of water bumping against the shore. If I strain, I can hear cars passing overhead. But even those sounds are infrequent at this time of night. Where am I supposed to go? How will I even know when I see him?
From the shadows, I hear a voice. The voice is odd, unnatural. Almost robotic. “You’re late.”
I turn in the direction of the voice, squinting my eyes. Peering into the shadows. “I’m sorry. I had to take care of a few things in the restaurant.” Why am I explaining myself to this person? I don’t even know who they are. I step closer to the voice.
“That’s far enough.” The voice is insistent.
I stop, still peering into the shadows. “Who are you?”
“That’s not important right now. I understand you need help.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have connections. How bad is it?”
I shake my head. This is crazy. I’m meeting under a bridge at night with someone I can’t see. This is a setup in a movie not my life.
"I shouldn't have come here," I tell the voice and turn away to head back up the stairs.
"I understand you're insolvent. That it's a matter of a few weeks, a couple months tops, before you have to close the doors.” I stop but don’t turn around, reaching the bottom stair. “I have a proposal for you.”
I turn but remain on the bottom step. “What proposal?”
“You’re a charismatic man. People like you. Especially…women.” I feel my eyebrows lower. What does that have to do with my restaurant? “You have several young women working in your restaurant. Many others come in frequently.” I have no idea where this is going.
“Yes, that’s true. So?”
“So, we’d like you to seduce them. Gain their trust. When the time is right, deliver them to us.”
I recoil. “What?” My breathing has become rapid.
“All we need are a couple a month. You don’t have to do anything else. Deliver them to us, and we’ll pay you ten thousand forints each.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I’ve got to get out of here. I nearly run up the steps.
“Sorry, buddy. You’ve got the wrong guy. Goodbye.”
I turn and begin climbing the stairs. When the voice calls out to me now, louder. "And we'll give you the one-hundred thousand you sought in loan money. But the money will be a gift to you. No repayment necessary.”
This surprises me enough that I stop and turn back around but don’t descend the stairs. I look back into the shadows. I wish I could see who I’m talking to. I can’t help but consider it. That’s so much money. My money problems would be over.
“What would happen to these girls?”
“That’s not your concern. All you need to do is deliver them.”
My breathing has become shallow, and I'm feeling lightheaded. “No. I can’t do that. You’ve got the wrong guy.”
I turn and head back up the stairs when he speaks again. This time I don't stop or turn around.
“I’ll call you again in a week. You can give me your final answer then.”
Chapter 4
Andras
“Andras? Is that you?”
After closing the door, I walk into the kitchen. Kata’s sitting at the kitchen table, a book in her hands. She looks at me and smiles. I don’t meet her gaze and stalk to the liquor cabinet. I get out a glass and pour myself a double. I turn back to look at her as I lean on the counter.
“Tough day?” She asks.
I shake my head and take a gulp. “How was your day?”
Kata’s a secretary in a factory. She's always disliked her job and complains about it incessantly.
“It was okay. Mr. Horvath is out on vacation. It’s always better when he’s gone.”
Mr. Horvath is her boss. She's worked for him for five years. He made sexual advances toward her when she started working for him, and she's never forgotten it. I've told her that's just how it is in the corporate world. But she doesn't want to hear it. I even implied she should be flattered. That didn’t go over well. She’d quit her job if she could. But we need her income to pay our bills.
“What happened today?” She asks me.
“Nothing unusual. Pretty busy in the restaurant actually.”
She smiles, and I take a drink. The whiskey’s strong, and I wince as I bring the cup away from my lips. Our eyes lock, and I look away.
Last night, when I came home later than usual, I could see the questions in her eyes. But she didn’t ask, and I didn’t tell. I’m sure she thought I was out with some of the boys. I wish I was. That would have been more fun. I still can’t figure out who that person was in the shadows. How he found me. How did he know about the restaurant?
She stands from the table and tells me she's going to bed.
“I’ll be right behind you. I’m just going to finish my drink.”
After she leaves, I stand staring at a picture on the wall. Kata’s done all the decorating in our apartment. Thankfully her style isn’t too girlie. This is probably the most feminine of all our pieces. It’s a picture of a pink flower. I’m not sure what kind. Flowers interest me as much as watching a corn stalk grow. I'm in a trance. My eyes are locked on the flower, but my mind is elsewhere. I can't stop replaying yesterday’s events in my head. That stupid, smug banker, and his "advice." My restaurant has the best food in Budapest. The man only looks at numbers. When the wall came down in Berlin a few years back, it brought an avalanche of change to our country. We all grew up during communism. Things could have been better. In fact, life sucked. There were no opportunities. You were told what you would do for work. I thought I’d be a factory worker, like my father. The prospect made me never want to grow up.
