Roseanne's Summer Vacation- Chapter 29
Murphy had finished eating his hamburger on a terrace in Puck.
“Goddamn…” he muttered to himself.
It was hard to believe, but this was his last day in the Land of Po, and hopefully, the last day of being played by the Russians.
All he ever wanted was a nice, green farm in Siberia, with no woke spewing around like vermin. One day in Austin, when he was doomscrolling through Facebook after beating up some hobo in a bar—he deserved it because he refused to leave—Murphy found out that Russia is offering the so-called Shared Values Visa, which is aimed at Americans and Europeans disappointed with the policies of their countries.
“Come over and let’s build a better future together.” The promo tagline invited.
Murphy was so stupid that he believed it. He sold everything he had in Texas and bought a piece of land in the Yana-Indigirka-Kołyma Lowland. But instead of his dream coming true, he encountered a heap of problems. First of all, a bank in Russia didn’t want to pay out his savings from the US. This was his entire livelihood—every single cent that was to be converted to rubles, but wasn’t. Second of all, he didn’t get a building permit. Third of all, no official was willing to help him because none of them spoke any English. Nobody informed him that he had to speak Russian if he wanted to live in Russia.
“Ty govorish’ po-russki?” they used to ask laughingly.
He would just shrug and respond, “Fuck off.”
The man was desperate and at wits’ end. He was living in a shack in the middle of nowhere that was cold all the time. There wasn’t even a bathroom. He had to defecate into a bucket.
Then two strangers came into the crippling accommodation and presented a solution to his problems. That is, he will get his money and the building permit on condition that he voluntarily joins the service of the Russian Armed Forces for one year.
“But you won’t send me to Ukraine, right?” He made sure before signing the contract.
The men shook their heads, and so he signed. The next day, he was already at the Ukrainian battlefront.
“Get me out of here! Get me out of here!” he kept screaming as bullets flew in all directions.
Maybe it was serendipity, but he got shot right in the ass. The Russians sent him to a hospital in Moscow, where he couldn’t sit for six months. He was lying on his stomach, counting down the days until the end of his dreadful contract, but some people from the Federal Security Service took him away and put on a plane to Pyongyang. After a short debriefing, he was dropped in Uelen for a quick training as a field agent and, before he managed to say “Let me go!”—he ended up in the Land of Po.
“I’ve had enough of this,” he said, leaving the marina in a jeep. Murphy headed for the outskirts of Puck, away from the tourist spots.
The yellow oracle of espionage called him out of the blue. He nearly had a heart attack because of that douchebag Tae-jun. He had to learn a ton of coded questions and answers back in Uelen, so the appropriate sentences barely surfaced through memory layers as they talked. If Murphy understood correctly, the Korean dude needed a helicopter extraction at night. That’s why he was talking about a wisdom tooth, which meant a helicopter. Their original departure plan was to simply go by boat. However, the code for a boat was to be a piece of paper left under a bus stop advertisement, stating he wishes to see a chiropractor.
Jeez! The man couldn’t believe how convoluted these codes were. The Russians definitely saw too many spy flicks.
What about the goods? It appears he has the complete package, but he mentioned something about anti-inflammatory drugs. Do they stand for trouble? Local heat? All will be revealed at the rendezvous site.
The man entered a secluded area behind the tree line. There was a small cabin that resembled an abandoned garage. He opened the front door. Inside, the darkness harboured a black green Bell UH-1 Iroquois helicopter. It was an American-made military aircraft famous for its role in the Vietnam War. North Koreans snatched plenty of these back in the 1980s.
It was positioned on a trailer, ready for transport. Murphy was always prepared. Not wanting to waste any more time, he placed a small bag of his belongings and beloved surfing board in the cockpit. A few minutes later, he hooked up the trailer to the jeep and drove in the direction of Władysławowo.
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