Фолькер Кучер - Goldstein

‘Hey, wait!’

She turned only a little so that he couldn’t see her face. ‘Who, me?’

‘You’ve just come from the building, haven’t you? I’d like to ask you a few questions.’

Even if he had only seen her in boy’s clothing three days ago, he’d recognise her. ‘Sorry, I’m in a rush,’ she said. ‘My boss hates it when I’m late.’

‘Hang on a minute there, little Miss.’

As he drew nearer she accelerated without turning around, not daring simply to run off. His hand fell on her shoulder. Instinctively, her fingers clasped the switchblade in her coat pocket.

‘I just want some information,’ he said. ‘It’s about a boy from the neighbourhood. Two boys, actually.’

She kept her eyes fixed to the ground, as if she were a shy, country innocent, and turned towards him. ‘I don’t know any boys here,’ she said. ‘Mother doesn’t allow it.’

He grasped her chin and turned her face upwards. ‘Don’t I know you, little Miss?’

Now she saw his face, close as never before, and watched the penny begin to drop. ‘Oh, my shoe,’ she said, and bent down.

He’d recognised her, hadn’t he, or would at any moment, the arsehole, the murderer! She fiddled with her shoe with her left hand, using the right to spring open the knife in her coat pocket.

Show no mercy now, she thought, this is the bastard with Benny on his conscience!

Again she felt his hand on her shoulder and knew there was no going back. She had one chance. Shooting up from her squatting position, she slashed him once across the face, and broke loose. The cop cried out, more in surprise than pain, she thought, and for a fraction of a second she stood rooted to the spot as he passed both hands across his face, gazing in disbelief at his blood-smeared palms.

He’s let go of you, now run! But she couldn’t, she kept staring at him.

Blood ran down his right cheek, and the bridge of his nose. He looked at her with the same furious grimace she had seen at KaDeWe until, finally, she ran.

She didn’t know if she had any chance against him, but she ran, ran, ran as fast as she could.

‘Stop! Police!’

Fuck you, she thought, if you want to catch me, you’ll have to work for it, fatso!

He called after her, but the distance between them had grown. Had he stopped running? Then she understood what he was saying.

‘Police. Stop or I’ll shoot!’

She carried on running, ducking instinctively as a shot flew across the road. The sound of a ricochet roared through the air. The cop had only hit a lamppost – but he had fired, he had actually fired, in the middle of the city, in broad daylight.

There wasn’t a soul around.

No witnesses, not even anyone outside the Salvation Army. They were all eating inside.

Come to the windows, damn it, Alex thought, untie your napkins and come to the windows. Come outside, so that he can’t just spray bullets everywhere. But, no one came, and if anyone had still been outside, they’d have scarpered after the shot. The city had painful memories of gun-toting cops.

Alex darted from side to side, zigzagging towards the traffic on Landsberger Strasse. Crossing Barnimstrasse, she looked around. The cop had come to a halt, a hundred metres behind her perhaps, and was taking aim for a second time. She threw herself to the ground as a shot rang out. She thought she heard the bullet whistle past her, but it was probably just the wind. She rolled over and got straight back to her feet. Her injured left hand was aching. She must have landed awkwardly, but it didn’t matter now. He was trying to gun her down.

At last she reached Büschingplatz, and people. Jostling her way through the pedestrians, she hurried across Landsberger Strasse, dodging the cars as best she could. A man with an imperial beard, whom she almost knocked over, shook his head and made some stupid remark about road safety education.

She ran down Landsberger Strasse in the direction of Alexanderplatz, and heard her pursuer again, now shouting, ‘Stop that girl!’

She glanced back to see him in his blue uniform, with his bloodied face. He seemed to have his anger under control, and surely wouldn’t dare open fire here. People stared at him, but no one reacted. The man with the imperial beard made as if he hadn’t seen a girl all day, let alone one trying to flee, and gazed studiously in the opposite direction.

She kept running down the street, further and further. The cop was still on the other side of the traffic. You haven’t given him the slip yet, she told herself. Keep going!

Her strength started to leave her, but she ignored the stitch, turning as she fled, and catching sight of him as he crossed the road. He had put his weapon away again.

Damn it! How could she shake him off? After endless terrace fronts, she came on a sidestreet and darted to the left where he couldn’t see her. Where now? Breathless, looking around as she ran, she saw no courtyard, no open front door. Kleine Frankfurter Strasse , the sign said, and at the other end she saw the swathe of traffic on Frankfurter Strasse. Soon she reached the next street corner. There was still no sign of the cop. Now she darted to the right: Elisabethstrasse , but no hiding place in sight here either. No matter, the main thing was that the shitface cop was nowhere to be seen. ‘Slow down, girl,’ someone said. ‘You’ll make that bus.’

On Frankfurter Strasse, on the other side of the road, she recognised the blue sign with the big, white ‘U’, shining like a promise. The U-Bahn!

First, though, she had to cross the carriageway. This time she did it nice and easy to avoid attracting attention. Her breathing started to settle down, but her stitch remained. She turned around discreetly, as if keeping an eye on the traffic – no sign of the cop. Had she shaken him off? When she reached the stairs leading down from the corner house, she cast a final glance over Frankfurter Strasse and saw him. Around a hundred metres to the east a blue uniform emerged from a side street.

She bent low and stumbled down the steps. The platforms were another floor down and, now she was here, there was no going back. Best to assume he had seen her. No time to make considered choices now, she had to take advantage of her head start. She rushed down the next set of stairs onto the platform. Schillingstrasse said the letters on the pink-tiled wall.

Any number of passengers stood here, but no one paid her any attention. She hesitated for a moment before continuing as calmly as possible along the platform to another set of steps and the second exit. This was where she had seen him, albeit above ground. If he took that route she’d run straight into his path. She strolled back along the platform, beginning to think she had walked into a trap.

There was a deep rumbling noise from the western tunnel. At the top of the platform she turned around. There was no one descending the eastern stairs, but a train roared out of the dark. The doors of a smoking carriage opened invitingly in front of her. A few people got off, a few got on, the door continued to stand open. With no police blue on the stairs she stepped into the nicotine haze of a car populated exclusively by men, at least half of whom had interpreted the Smoking sign as an order.

Waiting for the stationmaster to issue the all clear, she looked outside. The platform plotted a wide curve so that she could clearly make out the other end. The cop descended the stairs and stepped onto the platform in the same instant the stationmaster uttered his ‘Keep back’.

All Alex could think of was: come on, come on, but the train didn’t budge.

The cop sprinted forward, throwing himself into the car at the last moment; someone must have opened the doors for him. Shit, she still hadn’t shaken him off, but at least he was in the front car, which meant he couldn’t catch her on the train, only in a station. And that was where she would have to give him the slip, this stubborn cop, this killer, this pig, this fucking arsehole!