Posts Tagged ‘drugs’

“A Kapitany, Chapter 29 with a WARNING.

January 14, 2013
Marais District, Paris

Marais District, Paris

I have had a lot of fun writing this book. I am very appreciative of the readers and their contacting me with all sorts of suggestions for the progress and plot of this book. That makes it a lot more fun for me. New eyes, fresh vision, etc.

I have also decided to leave in the sexual content of this chapter. You are all adults or you probably wouldn’t be reading this blog.

Lady Nyo

A Kapitany, Chapter 29

Paris never changes, thought Vadas. It was an old shoe, comfortable, familiar.

He maintained an apartment, more a loft on the Ile Saint Louis. It was expensive, but he was right in the middle of Paris. It was a place where he could disappear, think, gather himself. Not many knew of it and that was what he wanted. It was a place where he could bring a woman, to finalize plans, to relax. Rarely had he brought other men there, and certainly no clients.

While he told people he was going to Budapest, he went to Paris. It was a short flight. He hadn’t been here in a while and needed to think. He couldn’t do this around Elizabeth. She was too much a distraction. Plus she would whine if she knew why he was in Paris. He had a phone call one night. Miklos was seen in Paris. Whether he was still here or not, Vadas would find out. What he did next had to be planned very carefully.

He looked down at the woman between his knees. “Voici, Noele. Merci. It is useless, cheri.”

Noele lived on the Ile Saint Louis. He had known her for years. Sometimes she appeared like clockwork when Vadas was there. Other times, she didn’t, but if Vadas waited, Noele appeared. She was a prostitute but one Vadas found interesting. Or had. Now? He was too distracted to make good on what Noele was so energetically attempting to do. Vadas handed her double her usual charge and she left.

He looked around the loft. It was very modern, with just a large bed in the loft up the steel staircase. A small kitchen, most of the ground floor was furnished with a leather couch and some club chairs. It was comfortable, without frills, stripped down. industrial fans whirled overhead and pipes were exposed. He leased this loft a decade ago, had done nothing with it and always found it restful. Now he wondered whether he could keep it. He wouldn’t need this place if he was working the vines in Noszvaj. He probably wouldn’t be able to afford it. He shouldn’t bring Elizabeth here. She would ask too many questions, and he would have to lie too much.

Vadas thought of the years with Miklos. They had both grown rich with this work. Now that it had come to the end, Vadas knew he would have to scramble to make up the difference. The vineyard would have to prove itself each year. He would have to search out new clients for the wine. The restoration on the house would have to wait. He was a fool to think he could move Elizabeth in there after their wedding. Better continue to live in the lodge where at least there was electricity. He would remove the boar head from the dining room. The wolf head would stay where it was.

He knew why Miklos took his revenge on Elizabeth. It was meant for him. Elizabeth had just been handy. He leaving had upset the apple cart. For years they had a clear division of labor: Miklos acquired the merchandise, and Vadas moved it. The insurance concerns were those of the original owners. It had worked smoothly for twenty years. They picked up their fee when the insurance paid out. Now? With him pulling out, Miklos had no where to put these works. Miklos had been the brains on one end, and Vadas on the other. Miklos couldn’t be sure that these works would disappear and wouldn’t be traced. In over twenty years, Vadas had come to know the tastes and expectations of their clients. He would present these works to new owners who weren’t particular of legalities and provenance. Of course, they never dealt in well known artists or pieces: those were impossible to unload, except for a few collectors who would pay a lot of money to lock up a Picasso in a home vault. They were the eccentrics. They were also dangerous. They had enough wealth to roll over on anyone who appeared suspicious to the police.

No, their business was different. If an owner had need of money, a burglary could be done and later, an insurance claim made. Once the work was well hidden, the list of clients could be trolled and a new owner found. Again, this owner would not care about ownership, provenance or the attending legalities. He had previously obtained part of his collections this way. Of course, the work in question could not be seen for a matter of years, until interest and knowledge of the piece had died down. No, it could not be shown to knowledgeable guests at a dinner or cocktail party. But so many of these collectors would want something they had to lock up: to be seen by them only. It was a rush to them. They had deceived the police, investigators and the insurance men. That was thrilling to many and played heavily into the game. Sometimes, Vadas thought, the artwork was just a vehicle for this rush. No different than drugs.

Now Miami was the international center to fence stolen art. With the wealth there and the drugs, these precious paintings were traded for guns, drugs or used for ransom. This was too dangerous for Vadas and probably for Miklos. However, this situation would give Miklos an outlet if he so desired. That’s if he lived long enough.

Miklos and Vadas had worked like clockwork. Both knew their roles and both excelled at them. Now with Vadas pulling out, the whole business would crash around Miklos’ feet. No wonder he was in a rage. He would have to train someone to take Vadas’ place. That would not be easy.

At one point, Vadas considered turning state’s evidence. Too many of his own men would fall with him. Even if Miklos fell harder, Vadas was thinking of the others. This was no way to repay the loyalty of a group of men who had, over the years, taken the big risks. Some had become friends.

The next day he met with a man on the Left Bank. This man had been paid to watch all the usual places that Miklos was seen when in Paris. Vadas couldn’t track him because Miklos or his men would immediately recognize him, but informants would work well here. So far, Miklos had been seen only once. He hadn’t checked into his usual hotel, and wasn’t seen in his usual haunts. But he was here for some purpose.

Vadas had another reason to come to Paris. His dead mother’s lawyers held property for him. He knew it would be wise to collect that property now before he dealt with Miklos. He needed to get as much of it back to Hungary where he could secure it. Who knew what the future would bring.

The morning of his appointment, he left the loft and strolled over the Pont Marie. He headed down to the Rue des Francs-Bourgeois in the Marais district. There were boutiques lining each side of this long street and a lot of pedestrians. It was a beautiful morning, with sunlight touching the buildings and giving them a soft gleam. There were old women, flower vendors, with bouquets in buckets near the park and at entrances of old buildings. Bookshops, restaurants, and the smell of coffee and flowers filled the air. Vadas stopped for a coffee and sat outside at a table. There was nothing more colorful, more interesting than watching Parisians walk about. The women were sleek, like greyhounds, and dressed with flare. Perhaps it was the same in Budapest, but here, in the Marais district, it was more exotic to his eyes. Parisian style was a world to itself.

Paris in this early summer was as Paris should be: the center of the world and as romantic a place as one could desire. He would bring Elizabeth to Paris, perhaps on a honeymoon. He was old fashioned enough to want one and to dazzle her with the surroundings. Perhaps they would spend a couple of weeks here just getting to know each other. Perhaps he could keep her in bed for a week and get to know every inch of her. Elizabeth had never been in France. This would be the place to start. The countryside could wait, but he knew she would want to experience that, too. He wanted to see her reaction to a city he deeply loved. He knew she would not be disappointed. He looked at his watch. It was almost time for his appointment.

Entering the 19th century building of the law firm, Vadas wondered about the property. He knew some land was involved, perhaps land heavily timbered. He knew his mother’s jewels were part of this wealth he had come to Paris to collect. Since Miklos had taken the bracelet he gave Elizabeth, he wanted to replace it with something. What, he had no idea as he had not seen the jewelry. It had been placed with these lawyers many years ago, when she died.

He was shown into the interior office of one of the firm’s lawyers. He remembered Monsieur Depardieu from his last visit. That had been at least ten years ago. Monsieur Depardieu was small and sleek, much like the women outside the window. He hadn’t changed much in the years. More grey hair on his head, but he looked much the same. Shaking hands, Vadas sat down across the large desk. An assistant appeared and returned with a locked wooden box. There was a folder of papers on the desk in front of Monsieur Depardieu.

“I have been looking over the deeds and titles, Monsieur. Of course, the main estate, that of the chateau, is held by your mother’s two sisters. Have you seen the dear ladies recently? I hope they are well?”

Vadas thought he had rather neglected the two old darlings, but said he was on his way to Budapest to visit them. He would remember Monsieur to them.

“Ah. Please give them our best regards. They must be very ancient, no?”

“They are in their early 90’s, Monsieur. But so far of good health and better spirit.”

“We understand there are congratulations to be offered?”

“Yes, I am to be married, but not immediately. I have the fall harvest taking my attention and then the wedding in Eger.”

After discussion about the deeds, which turned out mostly to be of hectares of timberland, Monsieur Depardieu opened the locked box and turned it to Vadas.
There were necklaces pinned on black velvet, bracelets and some pins. A few rings, but not what Vadas wanted for Elizabeth. He wanted a wedding ring, or something with a diamond. There were a few that had possibilities but none struck him as right. Some of them were just fussy, out of fashion. The necklaces were something to be worn on special occasions, not daily fare. Perhaps he would have to look for a ring either here or in Budapest.

He finished with Monsieur Depardieu and arranged for the box to be shipped to his Budapest bank. It would be safer for the lawyers to arrange their delivery from Paris to Budapest, than for him to make the effort. When he was in Budapest, perhaps he could look again at the pieces. Perhaps something would stand out for her wedding present. As for the deeds, they did expand his vineyards, and though he would have to chop down a lot of trees, he could sell the timber and then plant more vines when the land was cleared. It would take a lot of labor. The vineyard needed to be expanded if he was going to plant more varieties. And he needed to do this if he was going to make his living honestly. The money with Miklos was over. He would live a different life. It would be a shift in priorities.


That evening Vadas lit a cigar. He rarely had a chance to enjoy one as Elizabeth didn’t like the smell. She would learn to live with it after they married, he thought with a chuckle. He wondered whether he should call but decided not to. Soffia was there for a purpose and let her entertain Elizabeth. He wondered what Soffia was doing on that front. Probably they were spending his money in Eger. That was inevitable.

Vadas blew smoke towards the ceiling. He watched the slow moving fan above. Those two were as different as two women could be. Soffia took from life without a second thought. She would be a bad influence on Elizabeth if they ran around too long. Elizabeth was impressionable. Vadas laughed to himself. He told Soffia to obey “Rule Number One” in his absence. He knew before he was out the door she wouldn’t.

He slouched down in the chair. It had been a long day, and finally he was relaxing. He had done a lot of walking, more than he usually did. His feet were tired. Walking the streets of Paris were harder than climbing the hills of the vineyard.

What did it really matter if Soffia seduced Elizabeth? Again. What a lesbian did to another woman was nothing but girls playing around. Innocent enough. Let Soffia stick her nose in Elizabeth. It would not matter a mite when he got home. He knew his sexual power over Elizabeth would erase any such nonsense.

Ah, Elizabeth. There were endearing things about that girl. She would come from the bath and use some sweet smelling oil on her skin. She would shake powder over her, rub it in. He would act like he wasn’t watching, wasn’t interested in her toilette, but he was. He was interested in all she did in these things. He watched her shave her legs (with his razor), even caught her douching. She went from extreme modesty to tolerating his presence as she prepared herself for bed. One day he went over to where she had her bath supplies and picked up the powder. Baby powder. Ah, when she came to bed, he wanted to eat her up. She smelled so clean and fresh, just like a baby.

He loved to dig his face into her flesh and smell these enchanting female scents. He loved the softness of her, each fold revealing itself like a flower petal. He would push his tongue deep into her and bury his face, holding her tightly by the hips. He loved how she made these little mouse squeaks when aroused. She could scream her head off when coming. It always made him smile when she yelled. This was how a man possessed a woman. Satisfy her to her toes and she would show her devotion. She would wind herself around him like a cat.

Vadas’ thoughts did what Noele couldn’t. He was stiff with no woman around. Ah well, he would just have to finish up his business here, go to Budapest and see the old aunties. Then he would go home and plow Elizabeth. Perhaps Soffia would warm her up for him. He pulled a folded handkerchief from his pocket. It was sprinkled with baby powder. Vadas sniffed deeply.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2013

Lunacy Black Market ….Could have been on Dill Ave. SW..except for the usual opportunism.

July 24, 2011

</strong>I wrote this piece a little more than a year ago. The usual crap has not happened, or it did, but the slum lords, served by the usual city politicians and their enforcers are still trying to put up a Rave or ‘youth’ nightclub in that location with the same outcome: chaos, violence and more chaos with out of work and hopeless youth.

Chef Luna has flown the coop, but I think he wasn’t really serious about the location, and in fact it seems he changes his plans/restaurants/ideas with the seasons. He wanted to whine to us, and he did (but the food was still delicious!) but he wouldn’t stand his ground, either.

So be it. A new idea has come about, probably much better and more in keeping with the desires of the new people here who have been working to clean up this dump of communities: A coffee house on Metropolitian and Dill..somewhere on this strip because it will be a collecting place for people to come in the mornings, bring their strollers and childern, have different pastries and coffee and just relax like any decent people who are fed up with having to go miles in all directions to sit and think over coffee/tea. A meeting ground for residents in the area to plan for more progress.

Very recently, one of the ‘mouths’ here told me that ‘black people weren’t shaped to clean up garbage around them.” Honestly. This from an apologist and a local historian who must have rocks in her head. I questioned her about this ‘shaped’ comment. Well, apparently because their parents threw diapers and trash in the street, and their grandparents did the same…they never learned NOT to do the same. What Bullshit. What expectations of people who live around you and what a fine set of excuses to let them off from the usual necessities of living in civilization. This person was white. but I heard the same damn thing from a black community politician who wanted the community to run a program to ‘teach’ black folk how to put garbage in a garbage can. This woman also wanted to contract to some company who made very pretty garbage cans at $500.00 a pop. I smell something corrupt here. LOL!

In case readers are wondering the race of these investors who want to put in this new coffee shop…well, they are black. And they are folk who haven’t had to have their hands directed by others to open the lid, put the garbage in, close the lid.

Of course, people who get offended are the first to yell “class warfare’ when taxpaying citizens get disgusted with conditions and with the ususal bullshit of the local councilpeople…and they, being black, also call these same people ‘racists’, but so what?

These same finger shakers have sat on any progressive progress for this area for decades. And they forget that class warfare comes with all colors.

Bring it on.

Lady Nyo, October 25, 2012

Tonight husband and I went to Chef Paul Luna’s new restaurant in downtown Atlanta…something very different, good and so intimate.

Lunacy is located at 231 Mitchell SW, down in an older part of downtown Atlanta.  First time we have been there, and we were pleasantly surprised.  It’s more a tapas restaurant, with high ceilings, wonderful antique kimonos high on the walls, local artwork, some impressive, with a lovely and unusual decor.  Nothing of this restaurant said ‘the usual..out of the box.’

We had sauted shrimp, curried garbanzo beans,  fried sweet potatoes,  balsamic and mint pork ribs, roasted mushrooms in a red sauce…and all for under $20.00.  Amazing for anything downtown.  Amazing food for any where in Atlanta.

Chef Paul is from the Domin. Repubic, but spent time in Japan, Spain and other places where he honed his culinary skills. Each dish came out individually, barely enough to share, but there is a method in this slow-madness.  Having each dish served with a wait time of about 15 minutes between orders means you REALLY get to taste the savory spices and the dish.  Nothing is served on a large plate, all jumbled together.  A new dining experience, and one that was very pleasurable.  With each plate we tried to guess the spices and the sauces: the garbanzo beans were a delight, and the closest we could get were garlic (though very light, nothing overwhelming) a mild curry and something of basil and tomato.  Delicate but very satisfying.  The shrimp was perfect, and the four pieces of thin bread was perfect for the buttered and a bit spicy sauce.

But the best thing of the night was Chef Paul.  After mutual introductions he sat down at our small table and talked turkey.  Back in January of this year, there was a large meeting in our SW Atlanta neighborhood where Chef Paul had proposed opening a restaurant/produce section, etc. in a large building on Dill Avenue.  Unfortunately certain slumlords who were in the plans were nothing but greedy opportunists, and this wonderful plan went out the door.

The main slumlord wanted $750,000.00 for a store that wasn’t worth $200,000.  There was just about no plumbing, the electrical had to be completely redone, the walls, the floor needed to be done over, the roof leaked for years and the renovations would have been easily another $300,000.00.  At least.  This local slumlord knew all of this, but just thought he could make a fast buck.  The bastard hasn’t paid taxes on this building and is in default here.  I won’t call his name, but hopefully people here will turn a deaf ear to this moron.  Everyone knows who he is, and hopefully people will get wise in the future. He hasn’t done anything for this neighborhood except buy up property and let it go to decay.

All this information I either knew from the past tenants or talking to other local residents in the know.  And living in this area for 40 years has given me an overview of the whole situation.  Being a contractors wife also helps with the apprasial and estimates of the restoration. 

After dinner, we went to visit a local homeowner on Dill who is very involved in restoring his lovely Arts and Craft home there, and he said that this same slumlord (we noticed the painted panels over the windows…) is going to put in a ‘rap scene’.  Great…just what this area needs..more very chancey venues.  We have found when these things are in place, they are havens for criminal elements to deal drugs and there are always shootings and mayhem.  Not something for a neighorhood who is trying to attract good businesses to the area.  The at-risk youth here need something else, not another mob venue.  This always happens because things really get out of control.

Citizens, taxpayers of this area need some tar and feathers…..for the various slumlords and their schemes.

This is the usual for this area:  The corruption of politics and the city of Atlanta, PLUS the opportunism of certain local politicians, has left this area  blighted for the last 30 years.  Nothing can get off the ground with the combined toxicity of the local bigmouths and the slumlords that sit on all the progressive plans thrown out by different citizen groups.  Personally, many of us think that this area is used in such a way by these politicians and the city because it is a dumping ground for welfare, drugs, whores, renters and all sorts of flyby night institutions.  Unlicensed personal care and some rehab facilities make this area on Dill a blight.  Keeping this area in a blighted condition suits the work of the usual entitlement politicians.  Perhaps this is hard to explain to folk who don’t have such social behavior, but it’s been a long descent here in this large and now-poor area. 

 (Years ago, when I first came here and bought the Ragsdale House, an 1880’s historical house, it was a quiet little burg, with stores, a theater, hair salons, meeting places and no drugs and whores.  How it’s changed.  There was no crime to speak of back then, just old ladies with blue hair and white poodles. It was a sweet neighborhood with decent people. Now? the riffraff have taken over…oops…that’s mostly slumlords and their tenants, the drug dealers and their families.  There are still decent people here, and new ‘urban pioneers’, paying taxes, trying to keep their houses, but there is  real blight.  Not helped by the local police, either.  They have a blind eye to the usual sores. They do little to help.)

This Dill Avenue would have had Chef Paul’s Lunacy Black Market IF it hadn’t been for the selfish and greedy behavior of particular slumlords (who don’t live in the ‘hood) and some local politicians looking to make their mark and getting something from this issue.

Bah!  It’s the same ol’ same ol’ here in SW Atlanta…and people have to go farther north or east of this area to find a decent restaurant.  That’s if you don’t want McDonalds/Wendys/Popeyes Chicken and the usual out of the box with no thought to anything except fast food.

So, though we thought Chef Paul’s Lunacy a great eating spot, unusual and enjoyable, it was with a bit of sadness because we could have had this establishment here on our turf. 

We are contacting those people who will be able to ‘think outside the box’ for Dill.  People should be outraged that we lost this wonderful deal…..and when people start to think what they really have lost here…perhaps they will get mad enough to do something next time.  We have too many people here with better expectations than what we have been served. 

We deserve better and damn it…we will get better.

Lunacy Black Market, Wednesday-Sunday: 11am to 10pm…Sunday I think has earlier brunch hours….231 Mitchell Street, SW, Atlanta, Phone: 404-736-6164.  Street parking and on weekends, free parking on street.  Yahoo!

Chef Paul is on Facebook.  Contact him for information and to give your opinion on what is needed in SW Atlanta.  An intelligent and energetic fellow…with great vision for Atlanta.

Lady Nyo

%d bloggers like this: