Realizing that he was still in the past, Ivanov began to think about how he could continue to live. He tried not to think about all sorts of lofty matters about how and why this happened. Well, his philosophizing. It happened, and well: young, healthy and, most importantly, alive.
He was at a stage in his life where he had nothing. In theory, there is half of the house in the village, but in order to fully buy the property from Olga, you need to have at least twenty thousand rubles on hand. More would be better, because, knowing his stepsister, he was sure that she would want to receive from him an amount higher than the house was actually worth.
So, first of all, we need money. But they don't grow on trees like leaves. They need to be earned somehow.
Ivan's gaze froze on the stack of periodicals. He picked up the newspaper with the ads and opened it to the car sales page.
It soon became clear that the newspaper was not the Internet. You can't leave a bookmark here. Besides, he doesn't have the usual smartphone to call the sellers right away. And it's also unclear what kind of a pig in a poke they're selling.
The advertisement in the newspaper is such a thing that it contains a short text. For example:
I will sell VAZ 2106 in 1987. White. The condition is good. The price is 15,000 rubles.
And how do you understand from this text whether it's a good car or a rusty bucket? And the price? Ivan has long since lost the habit of such prices and does not remember what they were thirty-five years ago. What should I focus on?
There is no hope for your savings. There's only a couple thousand and a dime. Ivanov left this amount at the nearest grocery store when he went to buy small things for tea. And here they sell a car for fifteen thousand.
Judging by the year of manufacture and the price, this is a rusty bucket, which belongs at the scrap metal reception point. But not everything is so clear. For example, he paid mere pennies for shawarma, tea and a press. When I was walking through the market, I saw bottled beer for six rubles in the window. So the prices at this time are definitely different and you should focus on them, and not on those that you are used to.
After going to the same newsstand, he bought a notebook and a fountain pen. While paying, he asked the saleswoman:
- Excuse me, Madam, if my question seems strange to you, where and how can I call?
- You can make a call from a payphone. Buy a payphone card from me and call me in as many minutes as you can.
"How's that?"
Vanya really couldn't remember how to use a payphone. It seems like a long time ago, he called a couple of times from street phones, but it was so many years ago that the process faded from my mind.
- How, how ... - the saleswoman muttered, measuring the customer with such a look, as if she was looking at a fool. - What are you, from the village or something?
"You guessed right, My Lady. I come from Badgers.
"From where?" - The lady stared.
- The village of Barsuki, Chelyabinsk region. Have you ever heard of such a thing?
- This is the first time I've heard of it... You put this card in the payphone, soldier, dial the number. Minutes will be deducted from your card. When you're done talking, take out the card.
- Thank you for the instructions, dear. Be kind enough to show me this wonderful miracle.
After paying for the payphone card, Ivan went to call the car salesmen. During his time as a dealer, he has accumulated a standard list of questions, a kind of template with which you can find out whether it is worth going to see a car at all.
After phoning seven ads, he settled on the last one, just the same shaggy-year-old six.
It was sold by her grandfather, who swore that he was the sole owner and took care of the swallow as if it were his child.
The only problem is that Ivanov did not have the funds to buy a Lada. But he settled this issue by sending stops to a branch of a bank that issues consumer loans at horse interest. He didn't even think about poking his nose into other banks: they would definitely turn him away.
As expected, the loan was given to him along with a bank card, to which the funds were credited. He immediately withdrew the money from an ATM. The interest rate was raised obscenely high - as much as eighty percent per annum! This is a natural robbery. So they also limited the amount to only twenty thousand rubles.
Ivanov caught a bomb and reached the seller almost at the agreed time. In an age before the widespread use of cellular communications, being forty minutes late is not particularly scary.
The meeting took place near garages near a high-rise building in a residential area.
When the old man opened the creaking gates and showed off his swallow, Ivan didn't even think to hide his emotions.
- Grandfather, - he looked at the seller with indignation, - what kind of yogurt did you pour water into my ears? What kind of shaitan arba is this?
- It's a Lada!
"It's a rusty bucket with rotten bolts!" And you hissed at me on the phone, like Voldemort to his beloved basilisk, that you weren't beaten, dyed, or groomed... If you also took care of your children, I sincerely feel sorry for them.
"I blew the dust off her!" - the old man was indignant. - I kept it in the garage, I only went to the country in the summer!
- It's obvious that he kept it in the garage...
Ivanov bent down and knocked on the leaky threshold. A piece of rust fell off.
- Your garage is bullshit! Raw. Look, the thresholds are all rotten.
He lay down on the ground and looked under the car, after which he continued:
- The bottom is rusty, it will fall off soon. I'm going to slow down like a Flintstone with my feet... And the body? Getting to his feet, he began poking at the numerous pockets of rust. "Is that what you call a whole body?" There's no living place on this trough! In short, I'll get rid of this junk for eight grand. This trough is no longer worth it.
"What eight thousand?" I won't sell for less than fifteen!
"That's what you think you're going to sell.".. Although, if you find a blind buyer... Let's start it.
Grandfather reluctantly let Vanya drive. He turned the key in the ignition, and in response he only heard the starter turning. The car refused to start.
- It started up this morning! - the grandfather swore, taken aback, looking at the buyer with honest eyes.
- It looks like you wanted to beat me up with yogurt on the lips! - Ivanov was indignant. - Grandpa, the engine is down here. I've been fixing cars all my life, it's obvious that there's no compression.
In fact, Vanya realized what the problem was. If this is really what he thought, then the repair is cheap. Although the engine could really lie down. But it doesn't matter either. The engine can be repaired on the knee, or rather, the rings can be changed. There's enough money for rings and tools, and it won't take long. And the fact that the engine doesn't last long after that is not his problem.
- Do you have something to measure the pressure in the cylinders?
- There is! The old man came to life and began rummaging through the shelves.
Soon he handed Vanya a candle key and a homemade compressometer. Ivan deftly unscrewed the candles and commanded:
- Turn it around.
The old man got behind the wheel and started turning the starter.
- The first cylinder is five points... Turn it around... Stop! Three points... Spin it! Stop! Five points... Good, get out, and it's clear that the engine is down.
The old man looked very sad.
"How so?" "What is it?" he asked in a frustrated tone. "I've only driven sixty thousand in it in thirteen years!" I've already taken it off the register. I changed the oil every ten thousand times.
"You shouldn't have done that," Ivanov shook his head. - Yogurt in my mouth! Grandpa, you're living like the first day! With our 'high-quality' oil, it needs to be changed after seven thousand. And they could have sold you a palenushka under the guise of a new one.
"How's that?" - the seller did not understand.
- It's simple. The waste is filtered, packed into new cans and steamed under the guise of new oil. And then people's engines come to the capital. Don't worry, I'm ready to help your grief. I'm not going back on my words - I'll take it for eight.
Then Ivanov's gaze fell on the rubber.
- Okay, I'll give you nine if you give me the winter tires as a gift.
The old man, who literally ten minutes ago was ready to kick himself in the chest and swore that he would not sell his swallow for less than fifteen thousand, beamed with happiness that he was being offered nine thousand.
- Take it! I'll give you the tires and spare parts. I have an old starter, alternator, and carburetor here. I changed them just in case.
While the client was being squeezed, an experienced reseller quickly concocted a purchase and sale agreement and gave the seller the money. Put the squeeze on the buyer. Together they pushed the Lada out of the garage. The interior and trunk were packed with rubber and spare parts, and an old metal trunk from the USSR remained on the roof. There was a tow bar at the back.
Looking at all this wealth, Vanin the hamster greedily rubbed his paws. We can assume that the purchase has already repulsed itself by a third, even if the engine is dead.
The old man locked the garage and hurried away before the buyer changed his mind. He didn't care what happened to the six next. He believed that Vanya was about to enter into an unnatural relationship with her, and he was not far from the truth.
Ivan first disassembled the carburetor and carefully examined the needle. The corners of his lips turned up.
- As I thought, the needle is a complete Conchita Wurst! The fuel tank overflows, a film forms on the cylinders, and the compression drops... You can't fool me-he doesn't look like a lily of the valley...
Being a parent of five children leaves its mark. During his time as a car mechanic, Ivan was a terrible swearer. It is impossible to repair domestic cars without this. But when he had children, he had to change his habits. The curses remained, but they changed into decent words.
The needle was removed from the carburetor that was added to the six and rearranged into a working carburetor. After dripping oil into the cylinder wells and screwing in the candles, Ivanov started the car with half a turn, after which he calmly drove away in it.
After buying a map of the city and asking the natives, Ivanov got his bearings. Soon he bought sandpaper, degreaser and mounting foam on the construction market. He bought cans of paint at an auto parts store. After washing, he drove the car into one of the courtyards and began to do what he would be ashamed of.
With the help of mounting foam, the thresholds became intact.
He was pulling advertising newspapers from the mailboxes of the nearest entrance. He used them to seal up the windows and headlights, then quickly ran sandpaper over the rust, patched up all the dents and painted the body in a circle of spray cans.
Vanya went to sleep right inside the car, without moving out.
Early in the morning, he drove the car to the car market. The entrance to the territory cost five hundred rubles, but there was already a queue.
Parking the six in a rather trump position, he laid out the spare parts, trunk, tow bar and rubber. Ivan drew the price on a cardboard box borrowed from the trash and waited.
Soon, buyers began to flock to the market. The tow bar, trunk and tires went away very quickly, completely beating off the cost of paying for entry to the market and bringing the body to a decent appearance.
Many people stopped by the car and looked at it. A couple of men, who looked like typical collective farmers, approached Ivanov for the third time. One of them, a slight man with short brown hair, began:
"Is it a good car?"
- Great! Vanya's voice was full of sincerity, and his smile and tone were endearing. - A cannon car! There were no flies on it! One owner, Grandpa. He only drove her to the country, took care of her as if she were his own blood. I changed the oil on time and stored it in the garage. Look at the mileage - only sixty thousand! And what is remarkable, my dear!
Ivanov began to demonstrate the interior to potential buyers.
- Look at the upholstery, it's made of quartz. And the steering wheel? And the pedals? And the handle of the box? Everything is as fresh as from the factory. It hasn't been erased anywhere.
- And here it is, a leak, - the pot-bellied companion of the thin collective farmer bent over the wing.
"It was Grandfather skol who buckled it so that the body wouldn't rust," Ivanov instantly found the answer.
- What are you selling, since the car is so good? The fat man continued.
- Grandfather has become very bad - he can't drive anymore. I don't need a car. As you can see, I'm just out of the army. I want to buy a motorcycle. Just listen to the engine," he got behind the wheel and started the engine. - Perfect! It whispers like new. It starts at half a stroke. The box is perfect. You won't find anything better for this money. I offered my grandfather not to sell for less than fifty, but he insisted. He says the year of graduation is big... As far as I'm concerned, it's all nonsense. For a used car, the most important thing is not the year of manufacture, but the condition. Am I right?
"That's right," the thin man nodded in agreement.
The fat man stepped aside and scrutinized the engine with the air of a connoisseur.
- Is the engine normal? Not broken?
"What are you talking about?" - Ivanov was indignant. - Of course, dear! Everything is native here, except the starter, alternator and carburetor. They're just new, recently changed. Mind you, I could easily swap them for the old ones and sell the car for the same amount, but honest people don't do that!
"Forty is expensive," the thin man sighed sadly.
"Yeah, it's expensive," his friend supported him.
- Dear friends, you seem to me to be good people. So be it, for a good person, it's not a pity to make a discount. Thirty-five, and this swallow is yours. Don't be shy, Mr. good. Sit in the driver's seat.
Vanya almost forced the thin man behind the wheel. The customer perked up. He was already gazing lovingly at the dashboard, gently stroking the steering wheel and listening to the sound of the engine.
"As good as new," Vanya continued. - Do you feel it? It smells like it just came from the factory. No one smoked inside, my grandfather strictly suppressed this business. You can go anywhere you want right now.
- And how to register? - the man from the Lada salon looked at Vanya anxiously. - It's necessary to go to your grandfather.
- No problem. Grandfather is in no condition to go anywhere. He signed the contract and took the car off the register, so we'll get it legally registered in a minute. You can immediately go by swallow to the traffic police and safely register. If anything, I can go with you.
"Thirty-five, right?" As if fearing that Vanya would change his mind, the thin man asked.
- Only to you and only now, because I'm in a good mood. Then there will be no discounts.
Taking a deep breath, as if before diving into an ice hole, the man said:
- I'll take it!
Immediately, Ivanov took out the handwritten forms of the purchase and sale agreement with the forged signature of the old man from the glove compartment. All that remained was to enter the buyer's details, price and date. A couple of minutes later, the collective farmers were leaving the market on their six, and Ivan was making a profit.
It turned out that he earned twenty-six thousand rubles on this resale. He managed to get acquainted with the current prices and salaries, which is about four good monthly salaries for a hard worker in the region. Almost a thousand dollars. Even for the future, a good income from the bucket business.
Still, he was ashamed. It was because of this that he once stopped reselling cars. It was unpleasant for him to deceive people, even though they themselves were ready to be deceived, believing in anything. For example, these guys were completely satisfied with the seller's praises. The body and engine numbers were not checked, the documents were not checked, the whole body was not meticulously examined, but there were enough leaks. And the freshness of the paint, the huge shagreen and the stuck dust should say a lot. Understanding people quickly passed by. And there were plenty of them.
Almost all sellers in the car market are overbought. Finding a normal car here at an adequate price is like a needle in a haystack. A normal person would not pay as much as five hundred rubles for a day standing on the market, despite the fact that the salary of a security guard is around two thousand. The seller would rather pay twenty rubles for an ad in the newspaper and wait for a call from the buyer than risk a large sum with the opportunity to fly.
A cursory glance is enough for Ivanov to understand who is in front of him. Almost all of the people who came to the market in cars were savvy merchants with the same techniques that he used himself.
But no matter how hard conscience tried to lift its head, Vanya wouldn't let it - he was nipping the viper in the bud. He needs somewhere and something to live on, and without money he won't have his own house.
Therefore, he did not stay too long, but grabbed a bag with the remaining spare parts and hurried to the nearest payphone and called the phone numbers from other ads he liked.
He arranged to meet with one person after lunch, and the second was ready to show the car only in the evening.
After picking up pies and coffee from the hawker, he went to wander around the market, lazily glancing at the goods on offer. Unlike the fenced-off area, it was possible to meet people here who came to try to sell their car. Not being overbought, they did not know that it was better to go to the market early in the morning and that they had to pay for it. Therefore, they parked nearby in the hope of selling their wheeled property. Of course, there were a lot of merchants here, too. They mainly pushed wheelbarrows, the sale of which is unlikely to take place quickly and will pay off the price of entry to the market.
A burly bald man with a huge belly called out to the guy:
- Hey, soldier, do you need a car? Look, what a clear nine!
Ivan lazily swept his gaze over the body. He used one technique to determine the repainting. To do this, you need to catch one point on the car, for example, the shadow of a tree, and walk around the wheelbarrow, watching the shadow. The eye immediately notices the slightest nuances, color transitions and surges. Surprisingly, the car was in its native paint.
"How much?" He froze and looked at the salesman.
"Thirty."
Judging by the ads, the price for a car with such a lively body is extremely low.
Vanya looked under the bottom - it was intact, which is rare for a nine. When he knocked on the doorsteps, he was surprised to find that they were alive. The hope arose that this is a really good car from the owner at an attractive price. The bolts on the doors wouldn't turn. But when he pulled the hood and looked under it, everything fell into place.
Noticing Ivanov's suddenly uninterested face, the salesman said:
"I'll give it for twenty-seven!" The money is urgently needed. The car is perfect, you can see for yourself. You won't find a nine with a whole body for this money.
- Sour cream on your face five times without stopping! - Vanya gave out expressively. - Maxim Shelkov is not on you!
"Who?"
- A well-known car expert and criminologist in narrow circles. Venerable sir," Vanya said ironically, "next time you swallow sour cream before offering decent people such a thing.
- A normal car!
- Well, yes... Sarcasm oozed out of Ivanov from all the cracks. - It's normal... That's probably why the license plate glass is overcooked and the engine number is broken. Moreover, it was so obscenely interrupted that even a blind traffic cop would notice the difference. If you're making a double out of a broken bucket and a stolen wheelbarrow, then weld at least a quarter and throw in another block. And you can scrap this fertilizer!
- Hey, smartass, - the seller of the nine scowled, - get out of here!
"Well, I'll go," Ivan said calmly.
Tearing himself away from the contemplation of the under-hood space, he went further along the territory near the car market.
Suddenly, his gaze was glued to the forty-first Muscovite. At first glance, the car looked very depressing. The body is full of dents. There is not a single whole element, except for the roof. The bumpers are lapped. But the geometry of the body was not affected, which meant that it was possible that this car had not been in a serious traffic accident. One threshold is jammed, but both are without holes, although they have begun to corrode.
The car was being sold by a young guy no older than Ivan at the moment. The price was not indicated - a bell that says that it may be the owner, and not overbought. They almost always write the year of manufacture, the price and minimal information, for example, that the car has one owner, in order to make less effort.
"Good afternoon," Ivanov nodded to the guy. "What year?"
"Ninety-three," he said, perking up. I bought this Moskvich from the first owner a year ago, when I got my license: I was learning to drive. The car is in excellent condition.
- And how much do you want for it?
Taking a deep breath, as if he was going to dive under water, the guy replied:
"Forty thousand!"
- Yogurt on the lips! You're not being petty. I bought a six yesterday, ideally with a mileage of sixty thousand for nine grand. Can you see your car for yourself?
"They're just dents.
"Just that?" Ivanov grinned. - Do you know how much it costs to repaint each element? Wings and doors for replacement. Plus painting. The thresholds are crumpled - you need to change the pads. There are at least forty thousand body parts in a circle, and this is provided that you can find a cheap donor with whole body parts, but the engine and gearbox are dead. And I haven't looked under the hood or the bottom yet.
- Everything is in perfect order there. I changed the carburetor, replaced the chain with a tensioner, and put in a new starter, trambler, and clutch.
- In short, the wheelbarrow is falling down, Mom, don't worry. It means that the mileage is exhausted. You understand that a car with a mileage of seventy thousand does not need to change the chain and the parts you listed do not break. The starter on Muscovites is the most tenacious element.
- Yes, I burned the starter and clutch! - the owner of the forty-first exclaimed angrily. - And I changed the chain to calm my soul.
"Ten."
- what?
- I'm saying that I'm ready to pay ten thousand rubles for a car. He's not worth it anymore.
The guy was ready to be indignant, but Vanya did not let him get in the words, continuing to press.:
- To bring the car to the price tag you mentioned, you need to invest the same amount in it. As a result, it will cost eighty grand, and it will cost forty at best. I'm ready to buy it right now, but I'm not going to go into deep negative territory. For eighty you can get a tenner in excellent condition, which will not break and will not lose value for a long time. You're selling a dead Muscovite with a murky history to the circle. And although I want to believe in your honesty, practice shows that people cheat on every corner.
The guy, judging by the frown on his face, was ready to be indignant, but who would let him? Vanya did not stop talking:
- I repeat, no one changes the chain just like that, no matter what you tell me! She walks a hundred and fifty. Once you have the idea to change it, it means that something was already wrong with it. And the mileage of these buckets swings at the snap of your fingers. Even if you are sure that the mileage is native, this does not mean that you were not deceived by the previous owner.
The young man was taken aback by such unexpected pressure. He had doubts about his own vehicle. By the change in his face, it was noticeable that he, like many in his place, thought something like: 'Maybe the previous owner really did the run? And the body is actually all broken. And I've been standing here for a long time, and everyone is passing by. I guess the car isn't really worth the money I'm asking for it.'
- Listen, well... - He began hesitantly. - Well, a tenner is not enough. I bought this Muscovite for fifty kopecks. Let's at least get over twenty.
- Yogurt on the shoe! Ivanov pointedly rolled his eyes. - I don't even know how to put it mildly to you, but this is not a very profitable offer. I understand perfectly well that you don't want to lose a lot of money, but there's no other way with this car.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, as if he was thinking hard and empathizing with the seller, Vanya continued:
- Mm-hmm... Okay. I'll give you fifteen thousand.
After a bit of hesitation, the guy agreed. An agreement was immediately drawn up, and the Muscovite changed hands. And Vanya was shocked that he managed to drop more than half the price.