The Austin Job Read Free

addressing Starr with a raised monobrow. The senator shrugged and nodded, consenting to have what his host was having. “ Другие ,” he finished the order.
    Starr noted the man’s efficiency. It struck him as a sort of personal discipline, a commitment to starkness. It wasn’t really Starr’s thing, but he could respect it.
    “I apologize Mr. Starr, but I might have mislead you on telephone. I do not wish to procure loan from Pride of Texas Bank.” Starr nodded, causing the man to break into a wide grin. “But I suspect you know as much already. This why I like you, James Starr. And please, call me Oleg. Oleg Rodchenko is given name.” Oleg leaned back in the booth while curling the tips of his mustache between his fingers. The gesture made the scar on Starr’s cheek itch, always a bad sign. “Several years ago given name was taken.” He pursed his lips. “Is time I take back.”
    “I’m not sure I follow, Professor Med—Rodchenko.” Starr corrected himself.
    “I grow up on small farm in Eastern Ukraine, four hectares. You know hectare?” Starr shook his head. “Is less than ten acres, while gentry own thousands of hectare in every direction. You and I know what is like to grow up coveting thy neighbor’s property.”
    He winked at his reference to the Bible and leaned back as a bowl full of hard-boiled eggs arrived from the kitchen. “ где чай ?” The young waiter, no older than 13, apologized before rushing off to return with a pot of tea, two chipped porcelain mugs and a plate of sweet rolls.
      This was a breakfast Starr didn’t mind sinking his teeth into. He’d survived two years on his meager wages from the government before his recent job at the bank provided a level of comfort he’d never known—not even during his most successful stints in the rodeo. But he hadn’t grown so rich he’d turn down a free breakfast from a strange Ukrainian.
    “Thanks,” he gave the boy a grin along with his best twinkle. Unfazed, the boy retreated to the kitchen. As he did so, Starr noticed the two students from before staring at him unapologetically. He scratched the scar on his cheek, left there by an encounter with a horn, before returning his attention to Oleg.
    “Please, eat.” Oleg said.
    Starr grabbed an egg and bit off half. Barely taking the time to chew, he swallowed. “I don’t mean to be rude, Professor Rodchenko, but where is all this going?”
    “This, Mr. Starr, is right question.” He nodded before continuing almost to himself, “this why I like you.” Having just met the man after talking on the phone for a few minutes, Starr had no idea why the professor had a need to like him, much less how he’d developed such an opinion. Still, a sweet roll was a sweet roll. He picked one up and buttered it, having already shoved the rest of the egg in his mouth. If the strange breakfast meeting ended abruptly, he didn’t want it to do so on an empty stomach.
    With roll still in his mouth he picked up his line of questioning, “It’s good to be liked and all, but—”
    “Of course. I am one being rude, Mr. Starr. Again, I apologize. We both know value of honest work. We both know value of hearty breakfast.” Starr raised his mug in salute. As he tipped back the unsweetened black tea, the direction of the conversation suddenly struck him. So obvious now that it embarrassed him to have missed it. “We both—”
    “This is about the strikes.” Starr put his mug down gently, glancing over his shoulder at the students. Seated without food, they did nothing but stare. “You support them.” Oleg nodded, waiting for Starr to continue. “And… you want to know if I do too.” Oleg took a bite of egg. The bells above the door jingled behind Starr’s back, the restaurant getting crowded.
    The senator slapped his forehead, wiping away beads of sweat with a cut triangle of napkin while Oleg fiddled with his mustache. “I’ve seen you before, at the riots.”
    “Protests,”