Jakob Arjouni - Kismet

He went on like this until I went over and kicked him in the head. He gurgled something else, and then we had peace and quiet again.

‘Right,’ I said, turning to Frau Schmidtbauer, ‘now tell me how we get out of here.’

But Frau Schmidtbauer didn’t want to tell me anything. She wanted to weep and wail and call me names in a stifled voice. ‘You murderer! You’ve killed him! You’re a murderer!’

‘Nonsense. He can take it. The question is how much you can take. I am now going to call the police and tell them the story of a crazed cokehead — if you’ll back me up. If not I’ll have to try the truth on them: how your hostel is pretty well under the command of a German-Croatian Mafia, and you and Gregor here are more or less running it for them.’

‘… you murderer!’

‘Oh, do stop that. He’ll be beating someone up again in three weeks’ time. At the latest. Unless you go on howling like that much longer, and then maybe there’s a chance he’ll bleed to death.’

‘You… you…’

‘If you’re going to say “murderer” again I’ll murder you.’

‘You… you’re brutal, cruel…’

‘OK, let’s tell them the truth.’

I went over to the phone, raised the receiver and dialled. Before it began to ring a thin arm shot past me and a small hand, with bitten nails painted pink, came down on the cradle. ‘No!’

I turned and looked into Leila’s tearful face.

‘Please!’ Her eyes, which had little burst veins in them, looked pleadingly at me.

‘You don’t want me to call the police?’

She shook her head.

‘Why not?’

Before she could open her mouth someone who had apparently just come into the secretarial office snapped, ‘Because her tart of a mother’s involved! That’s why, you great child-lover!’

I turned and looked at Frau Schmidtbauer, astonished. In spite of everything that had happened I could hardly believe the voice that had greeted me so merrily, barely half an hour ago, came from the same human being as the one that now sounded as if hatred was its principal register.

With a triumphant grin, she defiantly pushed her face, now visibly flushed in spite of the sun tan, towards me. ‘Didn’t think of that one, did you? Her mother’s the worst of the lot! And this little witch is just as depraved! See how she’s wrapped you round her little finger!’

Worst of the lot? Depraved little witch? Was she simply making up some kind of fantasy, just so long as she thought it sounded tough and might induce me to leave?

I shook my head slightly. ‘What is it you people here have about mothers? Are we in some kind of ghetto movie, or in Italy, or what?’

‘But I’m telling you the truth! Her mother’s a tart! I could tell you stuff to make your hair stand on end…’

Suddenly I guessed something. I’d only ever heard anyone crack up as furiously as this when there was jealousy involved, and the more furious Frau Schmidtbauer grew, the further she leaned towards me and the more garishly did the colours of the jungle-animal print of her blouse hit me in the eye. I thought of Gregor’s watch, and how there might be reasons other than a few marks of hush money why someone like Frau Schmidtbauer, who said things like, ‘I could tell you stuff to make your hair stand on end’, would let herself act as general dogsbody to a Mafia gang.

‘… a filthy creature, a…’

‘Tell me, how about Dr Ahrens — does he just have animal skins lying on his floor or does he fuck like an animal too?’

For the second time during our short acquaintance I managed to get her making that foolish face, lower jaw dropping and eyelids twitching.

‘What… what are you talking about? I don’t know what…’

I smiled magnanimously. ‘That’s OK. Why not? He’s a smart guy, is Ahrens — smart office, smart car… all the same, in your place I wouldn’t shoot my mouth off quite so loud about tarts and depravity.’

‘What on earth are you thinking of?’

‘Not a lot at this moment. I’m going out with Leila for a little while, and meanwhile you can see to the monster there. It’s probably in all our interests not to kick up a big fuss about this. Call Ahrens and ask him for a doctor who’ll take the bullets out without asking too many questions. I’m sure he knows one. And then I want a private conversation with you later. If you disappear, or summon reinforcements, or do anything else to stop us having that conversation you’ll be in jail this evening. The same applies if you bring Ahrens or Gregor into it against Leila. She was here today only by chance and she has nothing to do with it — whether her mother’s what you say she is or not.’

She briefly opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, nodded slightly, looked at the phone and picked up the receiver. When I closed the door behind Leila and myself I could hear her clearing her throat, and then fluting again, as if restored to her old self, ‘Oh, my dear, I’m glad to catch you. I have to speak to Dr Ahrens. It’s urgent…’

Apparently she took my threat seriously. I briefly imagined Hottges’s face if I’d actually thought of asking him to have a woman with absolutely nothing against her arrested. I’d have had to think up something special to persuade him. Perhaps a projection of the film featuring him on the facade of police headquarters, for instance. Or a Zeppelin circling above Frankfurt by night, with a huge monitor hanging from it showing details of his little rendezvous all the way to Offenbach.

‘Let’s go somewhere we can be alone and keep an eye on the square outside this building.’

‘Keep an eye there?’

‘Go somewhere we can see it.’

Leila pointed down the dark corridor. ‘Visitors’ room.’

If the place where we found ourselves a little later was really meant to be a visitors’ room, they seemed to think here that ‘visitors’ was just a synonym for a robber band. And one that must have mastered the trick of finding a market somewhere in the world for the sale of rusty metal chairs with their foam rubber upholstery spilling out, and tables that were obviously used mainly for stubbing out cigarettes, knife-throwing, and inscriptions in thick felt pen saying ‘Fuck the cunt’. All the furniture — which besides the tables and chairs consisted of a standard lamp without a bulb in it and an empty bookshelf — was screwed to the floor with strong angle-irons. There was nothing you could have moved in any way at all. When I tried opening a window to get rid of the stink of disinfectant, Leila waved my attempt aside.

‘No try.’

‘No try?’

‘Hostel manager say.’

‘No try what? Getting a breath of fresh air?’

Leila shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Steal windows?’

‘Steal windows,’ I repeated, and looked at the cracked, battered plastic frame, which was painted a bilious yellow.

‘Well, let’s keep this short.’ I looked at Leila. She was leaning against the wall a few metres away from me, her arms folded, and once again looking as unmoved as before the appearance of Gregor. Yet she seemed to know as little as I did what we were really doing here. I had got her out of the secretary’s office so that I could go back on my own and deal with Frau Schmidtbauer, and she had probably come with me only to make sure I wasn’t going to call the police after all. After Frau Schmidtbauer’s outburst I thought I knew enough about Leila’s part in the affair. A short conversation to persuade her to trust me, and then I hoped she’d finally disappear.

‘Your mother works for Ahrens and that’s why you don’t want me to call the police, right?’

She nodded.

‘And she doesn’t really want to work for Ahrens at all, but he blackmails her into it, the way he blackmails other people here in the hostel.’