Фолькер Кучер - Goldstein

Stretching her arms towards the ceiling she yawned, still exhausted. She couldn’t have been asleep for long, the floor wasn’t exactly soft. She had to go back to Flat B one final time to pick up her sleeping bag and a few other things before finding a new place to stay. How, she wasn’t sure. Benny had always known where, but she had no idea where he picked up his information. Somehow, he had just always known. If it came down to it, there was always the factory. Despite having so many things to take care of, she couldn’t get up. Her body felt so stiff and heavy it was as if it were made of lead.

What a shitty day! What a shitty month! What a shitty time to be alive!

Something scraped over the floor and the door creaked on its hinges, pushing forward a mountain of junk. Suddenly wide awake, she fumbled for the switchblade in her pocket, feeling immediately more secure when she had it in her grasp. If it was Kralle, that stupid, puffed-up bastard, then he’d be in for a nasty surprise.

At the crack in the door appeared a dishevelled, dark-haired creature, her face crumpled with sleep. ‘Morning, Alex. Do you have a cig for me?’

Alex let go of the knife and sank back. ‘Vicky! You gave me a real fright creeping in here like that. I thought you were Kralle, or some other arsehole.’

‘I heard something and thought I’d take a look. I didn’t see you last night with the others.’ Vicky came towards her. She had a pretty face under her unkempt locks, and big eyes that made it seem as if she were permanently gawping at something, even when she was as sleepy as she was now.

‘I didn’t get here until the middle of the night,’ Alex said. ‘Who’s all here?’

‘Oh, Fanny, Kotze, Felix and a few others. Not many. Most of them are gone already. Where’s Benny?’

Alex was speechless. She had assumed the whole world must know about Benny’s death, at the very least her friends – if you could call the people in Roederstrasse friends. But, of course, Vicky didn’t know. How could she? Alex hadn’t told anyone and, since Benny’s death, hadn’t spoken to a soul except Kalli. It was perfectly natural that Vicky was asking after him. Alex had always appeared with him in tow, every goddamn day these last few months.

‘Didn’t you hear? The thing in KaDeWe? Benny’s dead.’

‘That was you?’ The news took all the strength from Vicky’s legs. Her knees gave way, and she slid down the wall beside Alex. ‘Fuck,’ she said. ‘Benny of all people. He was always so careful.’ She slammed her fist against the wall and then again a second time, and started to cry softly, hardly making a sound.

Alex took the quivering girl in her arms. How could she comfort her? By saying what she scarcely believed herself? That the cops had killed Benny as if he were a rat, a parasite, vermin. She could imagine there were any number of people, and not just cops, who would be only too glad to treat her and Benny and Vicky the same way. Just do away with the dirty little brats who were ruining Berlin’s streets with their begging and stealing, who shot off their mouths when a respectable citizen told them they should be at work instead of loitering around town.

If only they knew what real life was like. There were far too many people in this city, and far too few jobs. More than enough to eat, but far too little money to pay for it. People had to live somehow. The idea of going on the game, as Vicky and others she knew had sometimes done, repelled her. That someone like Kralle could do whatever he wanted with her body, for money, made her furious. The only thing a guy like him would see was her knife. You could earn your money that way too, Alex had discovered, thinking of the fatso at the Christmas market whose trousers she had pierced before robbing his purse. She hadn’t known then that the money would be her start-up capital for a life on the streets.

Vicky stopped sobbing, and wiped the tears away with her sleeve. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But Benny… I liked him, you know?’

‘Of course. I liked him too.’

‘It was you in KaDeWe!’ Vicky’s eyes grew even larger. ‘But then the cops are looking for you. You know that, right?’

‘They’re looking for a boy.’

‘You’re injured as well,’ Vicky said, pointing towards Alex’s bandaged wrist.

‘A memento, nothing serious. Benny bound it.’

Vicky didn’t ask any more questions. She seemed to recognise the rag from Benny’s shirt. ‘I could really use one now,’ she said.

‘One what?’

‘A cig. Do you have a cig?’

Alex fetched the Manoli tin from her jacket. There was only one left.

Vicky whistled through her teeth. ‘Nice,’ she said. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘Benny.’

‘Oh, I didn’t know!’ Vicky looked horrified. ‘I don’t want it.’

‘They need to be smoked. I don’t want to look at them anymore.’ Alex turned the tin on its head, and let the last Manoli drop out. ‘Come on, we’ll share it,’ she said. Share it like she always did with Benny. A fitting end for the last cigarette he had ever stolen.

Vicky produced a carton of matches and lit the cigarette for her. Alex took two drags and passed it on. The two girls smoked in silence. Gradually, Alex started feeling better, less alone. The desolation that had threatened to overwhelm her on waking had vanished.

‘When’s he being buried?’ Vicky asked.

Alex hadn’t thought about that. Benny was dead. His corpse was lying somewhere, most likely a police station, and at some point would need to be buried. ‘How should I know when he’s going to be buried? I can’t exactly stroll into the police station and ask. They probably don’t know his name. The paper didn’t even get his age right.’

‘Will they bury him with no name?’

Alex shrugged her shoulders. ‘They’ll get hold of it somehow. They’re cops.’

‘The cops I know are pretty fucking stupid. Besides, they don’t give a shit if they have to bury one of us without a name or a gravestone.’

‘You mean, Benny won’t even get a proper grave?’

‘What do I know, but wouldn’t it be better if they knew his name?’

‘Wouldn’t that be like… grassing?’

Vicky suddenly seemed very certain. ‘Someone has to tell the cops who he is. As a favour. It’s the last time we’ll be able to help him.’

‘I don’t know… I can’t…’

‘If you give me ten pfennigs for the telephone booth, I’ll do it. I’ll call the cops and tell them who Benny is. So that he at least gets a proper grave with his name on it.’

Alex felt tears welling in her eyes and had to pull herself together to continue. ‘I don’t even know his surname,’ she said.

Vicky comforted her. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll find out. I think he and Kotze were in the same home.’

It was impressive, the desk in the corridor, more imposing even than that of Police Commissioner Grzesinski. A real whopper. Rath had noticed it yesterday by the lifts on his way to Goldstein’s room. He spread his things across its spacious, intarsia-decorated top. Alongside his cigarette case – this time he had come prepared with a dozen Overstolz – lay two well-thumbed newspapers, a cup of coffee, a glass of water and a half-full ashtray.

After yesterday, he had changed tactics. Weiss, to whom he had reported that morning, wasn’t prepared to assign more men, despite what had happened. Thus, a new plan was required.

If it no longer mattered whether they were seen or not, there was no reason why they couldn’t station themselves outside their target’s door, and the desk made a perfect observation post. The service might not be quite as good as in the lobby – the ashtrays weren’t emptied every three minutes – but Rath had managed to order a coffee along with copies of Tageblatt and the Vossische Zeitung , and he felt perfectly content. Especially since he could take turns with Gräf, and no longer had to spend the whole day in the same place.