White Niggers
Chapter 20
Saturday, August 31st, 2019, 12:00
Pizzeria "Il Mercato", Vorgartenstraße 126, 2nd district of Vienna
Timur gets anxious when he walks to the pizzeria. Lisa won't dump me if I show up without a car, Timur thinks. But it's not mercy I seek from her.
I've been always thinking I'm an idiot in the shadow of my father, Timur thinks. This needs to get fixed. The best way to do it is to establish a track record of me achieving results. Results that matter.
The van was supposed to be the main attraction of the date, that major result, Timur thinks. I need to replace it with one or more things that, combined, may impress Lisa.
One of them is this lousy folder with the Ukraine files, Timur thinks. It's a joke. Lisa spends days and nights studying this stuff, do you think there is anything she doesn't know?
You should have fixed the exhaust system instead of wasting your time on these files, Timur thinks. Too late, I got to rescue what's possible.
When he enters his pizzeria, he sees Ali and the cook there. Ali sits at one of the tables and reads the "Kurier" newspaper. A little coffee mug stands on his table.
It's Saturday noon, and lots of his customers are shaking off their morning grogginess. The demand for pizza will pick up later in the day and peak in the evening.
Ali is slouched in his chair, the shoulders hanging down and eyes glued to the newspaper. Occasionally, he takes slow sips from the coffee mug. When he turns the pages, he does it slowly.
"Guys, you gotta help me out," Timur says.
"What happened?" Ali says and yawns.
Another pizza delivery courier enters the pizzeria.
"I need to impress a woman," Timur says.
Ali laughs.
"We're in the pizza business, we are not dating coaches," Ali says.
"I need to create a special pizza," Timur says.
"What kind of pizza?" The cook says.
"A borscht pizza," Timur says.
"What?" Ali says.
He looks up from the newspaper.
"She is Ukrainian. Borscht is a soup. The Ukrainians think they invented it," Timur says. "I guess it could impress her. You don't eat a borscht pizza every day."
"Indeed you don't," Ali says.
He continues to read the newspaper.
"Those folks from the 11th district can't get enough of our pizza," The delivery boy says. "Another delivery for over 150 Euros. Can you believe it?"
"I guess they are trying to give you the money I rejected," Timur says.
"What money?" Ali says.
He sets the newspaper aside.
"Several weeks ago I delivered a big order to them. I didn't know it was a brothel," Timur says. "They offered me all sorts of things. I rejected their money, just couldn't take it."
"You mean because of you I lost 200 Euros in revenue?" Ali says. "All because of your principles?"
"You didn't lose nothing. I paid it myself," Timur says. "And it's 230 Euros, thirty Euros is the tip. I put it into the cash register on the same day."
Ali is now looking at Timur.
"Did you win a lottery?" Ali says. "Did you inherit something?"
"No," Timur says. "Why?"
"You gave away 230 Euros for… what exactly?" Ali says.
"Principles," Timur says. "I wasn't comfortable taking money from–"
"From whom?" Ali says.
"Pimps," Timur says.
He wipes his mouth as if he just vomitted. Ali shakes his head.
"Look, it worked out," Timur says. "If they continue to order a lot of pizza from us, it means they are not offended."
"It's not this. I am surprised," Ali says. "230 Euros is a lot of money for… well, everybody."
230 Euros isn't such a high price for doing the right thing, Timur thinks. Lisa would appreciate it if she knew.
"So what about the borscht pizza?" Timur says. "Can we do it?"
Ali turns to the cook who is working on the order for the friends of Superstrizzi.
"Once you've finished that order, help out our Romeo with the borscht pizza," Ali says. "I reckon I should reward you for doing the right thing."
"Thank you," Timur says.
While the cook is working on the other order, Timur makes a phone call to a rent-a-car service.