Umpteenth Nervous Shakedown
‘And it’s a heartbreak when you find out
That trouble is real
In a faraway city, with a faraway feel’
- Gram Parsons, ‘Hickory Wind’
There’s no chalk mark at the scene of the crime. Just a bankomat print-out registering the intersection where I was pulled over and shaken down for 400 Euro, one fine afternoon in August, by the Kaliningrad militsi.
To my shock and horror, I discover I have a documentation error. The temporary admission for my car is a couple of days out of date. Unknown to me, customs at the border had not followed their usual practice of validating the transit for the same period as my visa, car insurance and immigration card. I didn’t think to check the fine print this time. Militsi do.
So, it starts off with the usual piece of theatre. I’m sat in the police car. They confiscate all my documents. The goon takes out an incident report sheet - which he has no intention of filling out. Having ascertained that my name is John, he decides to call me George.
‘George. Money’.
Some militsi are happy with 500 roubles and even wish you a pleasant trip once you’ve paid up. This guy is the other, ugly kind. He writes down $250 dollars on a piece of paper and shows it to me.
It’s the start of the bargaining process and I go through the usual, ‘me no speaky, ne panimayu, ya tourist’ patter. I empty out my bag to show I don’t have anything like 250 dollars. Jesus, I’m running low on money anyway and this is the umpteenth nervous shakedown in Kaliningrad. But he’s playing hardball.
After about an hour, he decides he’s going to impound my car. I’ll have to get it back from the customs. Now I’m thinking that this is rather inconvenient - especially since I’m camping and my home is in the car too. Not to mention that the whole hassle could take longer than the time left on my visa. I offer $150 dollars. Well, that just puts him in a really bad mood. He slams out of the car and earwigs a colleague who is busy robbing other traffic.
Between them, they decide that I’ve been drinking. Now this is seriously, very bad news. Be advised: there are no breathalysers in Russia and there’s no legal limit. They take your car and your licence and you go to a doctor. You’ll then need a lawyer to get your stuff back. Even if you haven’t been drinking, you’ll probably have to pay off the doctor and militsi to say so. Otherwise, it’s prison.
The goon calls a doctor, gives me the crossed fingers prison sign and starts filling up a form. By this time, since he’s stopped talking money, my mouth is starting go dry. I’m worried about being stranded without my stuff. I’m worrying about residual alcohol from the previous evening. In fact, I’m not sure my blood isn’t fifty per cent Beaujolais at any old time.
What to do? I try calling an old girlfriend who speaks English and Russian. Actually, I messed this girl around in the past but, you know, desperate times, desperate measures. Thankfully, she agrees to come out to the intersection and to mediate.
Another hour passes and it’s her turn to sit in the police car while I jitter in the road. When she gets out, I learn that the deal is 400 Euro and they will escort - almost frog march - me to the bankomat. It really is ‘your money or your life’ in Kaliningrad, only Dick Turpin’s shooter is missing. Later, when I sort out the paperwork with the customs, the official straf is 50 Euro.
I drive off with old girlfriend to sink a nerve-deadening bottle of Beaujolais. Since we’re in the shopping centre, I say I’d like to buy her a small something for her help. Without hesitation, she picks out a bottle of Chanel for 4000 roubles. Hmmmm. Now I remember why I dumped this dyev. Talk about high maintenance.
Next time you might try the following: after reading the note with “$250″ written on it, give him a stern, silent stare (if you don’t have “the eyes of shrimp” you can always buy some black contact lenses for driving — built in sunglasses, by the way). Then, without speaking, carefully fold the paper and put it in your pocket.
Then, in fluent Russian, and with a complete confidence bordering on arrogance, ask: “You. What is your name?” Keep looking at him the whole time. Then, no matter how he responds, pull out your cell phone and pretend to make a call. Tersely describe the policeman and his corrupt ways. Add, unbelievingly, “Yes. Yes, I know…it was never thus in the old days.” Then pause to ask the policeman who his superior officer is, which station he is attached to, and so forth. Then wrap-up the phone call.
The policeman will ask: “Who were you talking to?” And you reply, “Soon you won’t have to worry about such things. Come, we go now to the police station.” Then get out of your car and hand him the keys.
I’d bet you anything that under such circumstances he does a complete 180.
Of course, if you don’t speak Russian properly…
A nice fantasy, Mark. But who are you going to call. Ghostbusters? The system is endemic and condoned from the top.
Russian drivers simply carry a contingency fund in their top pocket - and continue to drive blind drunk and without documents all day long.
Of course, the straf for Russians is a lot less than that for foreigners . . .
You’re right, of course, copydude. Still, even in a corrupt system predators must confine themselves to prey; those with connections to important people must be regarded as exempt unless one wishes to jeopardize one’s access to the gravy train by offending the Wrong People. By implication, your connections here would be important individuals from the Soviet days who are still influential in the current power structure.
There is also such a thing as predator psychology. This predator expects his prey to be fearful and compliant. Both his position and his experience dictate this. If the prey (a) seems to have important connections and (b) far from being fearful, is quite confident in being prepared to take the battle (of wills) to the Militsi’s own headquarters, would the average, low-level thug consider the possibility of bluff, or if so, would he consider the risk justified in calling it? After all, he is just trying to make a buck, and there are plenty more fish in the sea. In letting you go he would be risking nothing, whereas in pressing the issue not only does he (presumably) forgo his personal cut of the take, but may actually find himself on the receiving end of an unpleasant surprise.
It’s best in such instances not to make specific threats, but to stick with ambiguous but suggestive statements that allow his imagination full, morbid range. Not only does this help you avoid charges like threatening an officer, extortion, and so forth, but he knows what potential problems are realistic whereas you do not. The risks he might face could range from being transferred to an undesirable, non-lucrative post, to losing his job, to even worse things. He might even have enemies in the department who would jump at the chance to hang this around his neck. But let him be the one to conjure up concrete examples of trouble.
Of course, I am using various false premises (which I needn’t elucidate) for the purpose of advancing these entertaining suggestions, and that is what makes it fantasy…
[...] without passing control. Camping four days at the Baltika I was stopped six times. Potentially, police shakedowns can add 50 Euro a day to your budget. Nice touch: after they’ve robbed you at DLC, they go [...]