I called the CEO of Grigori Bros. from the plane. Grigori Bros., it was the name given to the Manhattan venture capital firm led by Gregor Grigori and his brother Vladimir. Of course, the entire operation was much larger. Based in their home country, that great she-bear, Mother Russia, they controlled billions of dollars, euros, and yen invested into the global stock market by Russia's elite. a few of which had dirty, dirty hands. I had tried to get the boys at the Department to look into it. Now, I'm no number cruncher, well i wasn't then, but I knew their money had to be dirty. There was just too fuckin' much of it. But they weren't hearing any of it. I got to thinking, maybe they had some money tied up with these hornswagglin' ruskies as well. As per eujj, my hunch was correct. They kicked me off the force in a New York minute once they heard whispers of what I knew, and sent me a message loud and clear in the form of my fire-bombed house in south Jersey. Only problem was, I wasn't home. I decided right then and there that I was gonna take 'em for all they were worth, and then build myself a new house where the old one had stood. A house made of bales of cash. Then I would set it on fire. I never have been a man to think things through. I act on pure animal instinct.
Holy fuck, I though to myself. This phone's been ringing for a long time.
A man with a thick Russian accent answered the phone.
"Yes? How did you get this number? Who is this?" It was elder brother Gregor.
"Hello, Mr. Grigori. My real name isn't important right now. For now, you can call me the Motherfucking Time Zone. I won the Contest, bitch."
"You lie. you Americans always lie." I loved hearing the raw panic in his voice. Hundreds of millions were at stake.
"I'm sure you would have hung up if you truly thought I was lying. And I am sure you have deduced by now that I am fully aware of the squeeze you're trying to put on Bear Stearns today. You have to give them your answer by three o'clock PM today, or the deal is toast, and you appear to lose basically all your american capital. You're making them think they're in control, when in reality, you're relieving them of 450 million dollars."
"This. this is correct." Came the Russian's resigned answer. The man had fucked people over enough in his lifetime to know what was comin'.
"Well then, Mr. Grigori it is simple. As winner of the Contest, I am my own Motherfuckin' Time Zone, and soon as I touch down this plane, it's gonna be the exact time as it is right now where I was born fifty some odd years ago, in Mother motherfuckin' Russia, and your little deal is going to be ruined. It's all legal, I read the fine print, you best believe. Now i was born on little atoll in the South Pacific ocean where it is currently, ah let's see, five o'clock AM tomorrow. so we have ourselves a conundrum."
"It seems we do, Mr. Timezone."
Now came my favourite part. "One hundred million dollars, Gregor. And I'll fly right on by."
"Give me the codes. It will be done."
I hung up the phone after verifying that the transfer had gone through. Ah yes, retirement would be sweet.
"Brucie!" I screamed at the pilot, my dear friend of twenty years.. "Turn her around there bud let's get the fuck out of here you stupid fuck! Honestly you stupid piece of shit I'll fucking fly my fist right up your ass if I wasn't so sure you'd enjoy it."
The plane banked, and I was on my way to a new destination. Whatever time it would be there, it was my time now.