Филип Керр - Metropolis

‘You don’t like her voice?’

‘I like it fine. The music, too. It’s been a useful reminder that I need to call a piano tuner.’

‘It’s supposed to sound like that.’

‘Is that why it’s called the threepenny opera?’

‘You are a detective, aren’t you?’

‘That’s what they tell me at the Alex.’

‘You should really come and see the show. It’s about cops and gangsters, beggars and pimps, a murderer called Macheath and a whore called Polly.’

‘I get plenty of the real thing at the office.’

Brigitte smiled. ‘I bet you do.’

‘On the other hand, if you’re asking me, then I’ll check my schedule.’

‘We’ll see, shall we?’ She looked at the cripple-cart I’d brought with me. ‘This is a curious-looking contraption.’

‘That’s a klutz wagon,’ I said. ‘But this one was made for a man who isn’t crippled at all. He’s a yokel catcher. A con man. He used to put his legs inside the thing, which made him look like he was a double amputee. Clever, eh?’

‘I don’t know. Seems a lot of trouble to go to for a few lousy coins.’

‘The main part of his work is selling coke and acting as a lookout for a burglar.’

‘So he wasn’t sitting in this all day.’

‘No.’

‘And you’re planning to be in this for how long?’

‘I hadn’t given that much thought.’

‘Then perhaps you should. I was at UFA studios before I came here and we made a movie featuring a character with one leg. A pirate. Only, he was played by an actor with two legs so he had to strap one up every day. He found it was very uncomfortable. After an hour or two his leg lost feeling and worse, he got cramps. So I recommend you get some liniment. And an alcohol rub. Better still, make friends with a good masseur. You’ll need one.’

‘Thanks for the tip.’

‘How do they propel themselves?’ she asked.

‘Most of them wear leather gloves and use their hands. But I’ve seen one or two use short crutches. I’m going to see how I get on with leather gloves.’

‘And are you just going to beg, or actually sell something? Like some genuine Swedish matches?’ She said the words genuine Swedish matches as if she’d been a beggar herself.

‘I’m just going to beg. I’m not actually interested in making money. I’m watching people, not pennies.’

‘Good point.’ She finished her cigarette and stubbed it out. ‘I see you also brought your old army uniform. Well, put it on and let’s see how you look, soldier. You can get changed behind that curtain.’

I picked up my uniform and eyed it uncomfortably.

‘Go ahead. I promise not to peek.’

‘That’s not why I’m hesitating. I haven’t worn this since 1919.’

‘Then let’s hope it still fits, for my sake, otherwise I’ll have to have it altered.’

I went behind the curtain and put the uniform on. It felt strange wearing it again. It gave me a bad feeling of the kind that felt a lot better with some strong drink in my hand.

‘What happened to this yokel catcher anyway?’ she asked.

‘He’s disappeared.’

I swept the curtain aside and stood to attention while Brigitte looked at me even more critically.

‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘Now all you need is a rifle and a sweetheart.’

‘Are you volunteering?’

‘I don’t have a rifle. And I don’t even have a sweet tooth. But I do recommend we shave your head. That way you’ll also avoid catching head lice. We can do that now if you like. Your skin is going to be harder to fix. You could chew a small piece of cordite but it will make you feel sick and you don’t want to deal with that every day. Better to use some white face paint. Like you were a Pierrot. I’ll show you how to apply it. I also recommend you wear dark glasses, as if your eyes had been damaged; yours are much too healthy-looking. But the Iron Cross is a nice touch. Did you win it, or is it a prop?’

‘No, they gave me that for cleaning out a trench.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Sure. There were some Tommies in it at the time, but you know how it is when you want to clean up a bit.’

‘So you’re a hero.’

‘No. Don’t say that. I used to know some real heroes. And I certainly don’t fit that description. Not like they did. Besides, I wouldn’t like you to get any ideas about me being brave or honourable.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t. Now let’s see what you look like in the wagon.’

I emptied my glass, knelt down in the contraption, winced and then stood up again.

‘Need a cushion?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

She picked one off the armchair and arranged it in the klutz wagon. I knelt in it once again and nodded to Brigitte.

‘Better?’ she asked.

‘Much.’

She nodded. ‘Not bad. Where are you going to beg? Any ideas about that?’

‘I was thinking just across the river at the Friedrichstrasse railway station. There are plenty of pitches over there. Lots of people. Lots of trains. The killer likes it noisy, you see. A train rolls in, a shot rings out. Only, no one hears it because of the train. That’s his cover.’

‘Maybe I’ll come and see you. Check you’re still alive. Toss a coin your way if you’re breathing. Call an ambulance if you’re not.’

‘I’d like that. But don’t speak to me. That would spoil everything. Just treat me like vermin.’

‘Ask me to do something more difficult than that, please.’

I thought for a moment. Of course I knew she’d made a joke because that was how we were talking, as if we didn’t care for each other’s company one little bit, but already I could see that this wasn’t how it really was between us. I amused her and she amused me and we were like two fencers trying each other out with foils because that’s how it is with men and women sometimes; it’s fun not saying what you mean and not meaning what you say. Only now it suddenly occurred to me that if I levelled with Brigitte, then perhaps I could count on her to do something that really was difficult.

‘Can I tell you something in confidence?’

‘I’d like to hear you try.’

‘I’m serious. Look, what you were saying about Winnetou. I certainly haven’t given up looking for that bastard. But before I say any more I’m going to need your promise that you won’t tell anyone what I’m going to tell you now, Brigitte.’

‘All right, soldier. I promise.’

‘I think the yokel catcher who was using this klutz wagon witnessed the most recent Winnetou murder: Eva Angerstein. I found this cripple-cart near where her body was found. I think the owner ran away and I think that her murderer is killing other disabled war vets in the hope that he’ll eventually eliminate someone who can identify him.’

‘You mean that Winnetou and Dr Gnadenschuss are one and the same?’

‘It’s just a theory, but yes, I think so.’

‘Hell of a difference killing a whore and killing a klutz , I’d have thought.’

‘You might think so, but a lot of people believe that they’re both bad for the moral climate of the city. That too many whores and too many beggars make Berlin look ugly and degenerate. That the city needs cleaning up.’

‘I’ve heard that opinion. And it’s true, perhaps something does need to be done. Maybe things have gone a little too far and a bit of order and decorum need to be restored. You wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve been solicited on my way home from this theatre. And once worse than just solicited. But some of these girls need help to get them off the streets — proper wages, for a start — maybe some of those poor men, too.’

‘That’s what I’ve been saying — that and that the killer seems to want to embarrass the Berlin police. From the letters the newspapers have published, he seems to be playing with us. Trying to cause us maximum embarrassment. Maybe he’s a Nazi, maybe he hates the fact that there’s a Jew in charge of the criminal police. Then again, maybe it’s just enough that he hates. There’s a lot of it around these days.’