Jakob Arjouni - Kismet

By now I could think reasonably clearly again. Clearly enough to realise why the racketeers extorting protection money had to look like a delegation of men from Mars. In addition, today’s attacks showed that the Army was not intended to be a temporary outfit, and after their day was over Ahrens and his partners did not plan to slip off with their pockets full. They were in the process of taking over the quarter much more brutally than their predecessors but after thinking it out better. Get people nervous first, wear them down, then strike hard and grab undisputed possession of the goldmine. And if they were really crafty, in the end they’d take off their make-up and wigs and make out they’d managed to rid the place not only of the old bosses, but also of the Army of Reason that had spread such fear and terror.

‘Where’s the meeting?’

And I understood one more thing: if I told him that, the last thing I saw in this world would be a potato field. All he wanted to do today was kill, and in a way I could understand him.

I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry about what happened this morning, but it’s not my fault. Either we go through with the thing together this evening, or Frankfurt will be no place for you.’

‘You want to threaten me now?’

The muzzle of the pistol was within a few centimetres of my nose.

‘No, I don’t want to threaten you, but I don’t want to hang around out here either. And you probably couldn’t drive my car. It has its own little ways.’

He looked me in the eye, his lips opened, his incisors together, and held the pistol without the faintest tremor.

‘How many men do you have left?’

His eyes widened, and briefly his glance was like a lunatic’s. Once again I thought, this is it. But then he took a deep breath, closed his mouth, stepped back and slowly lowered the pistol.

‘Any more shit and you won’t be the only one to get it, it’ll be your family too, all your friends, and whoever else is worth anything to you.’

I nodded. ‘I understand.’

‘I certainly hope so.’ He looked at the ground and sighed. ‘About ten men. But I have friends in Mannheim and Hanover. They can be here by this evening.’

‘Then let’s drive back into town. I’ll tell you where the Army’s banquet is taking place, and we’ll meet near it around six.’

‘Why would I meet you?’

‘Because I’m asking you for two things: first, to let me have a brief word with Ahrens, and second, that no harm will come to a woman who has nothing to do with any of this. She’s close to Ahrens at the moment because he’s been blackmailing her.’

‘Is she the reason for your interest in the Army?’

‘That’s how it’s turned out.’

‘Aha. So she would be the first to suffer for it if you’re planning anything clever.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Very well, come on…’ He gestured towards the car with his pistol, we got in and left the field behind. As we drove into Frankfurt and the familiar high-rise buildings slipped past us, I felt I was coming home from a long journey.

Late in the afternoon the first BMWs arrived. I was sitting with a pair of binoculars on the junk-dealer’s roof, where I had a good view of the yard of Ahrens’s office building and the conference hall on the first floor. The tables in the hall were arranged in a rectangle. White tablecloths, flowers, three different glasses for each table setting. A flag with horizontal stripes of red, white and blue hung on the wall. Looking down the open passage to the kitchen, I could see Zvonko’s uncle in a white apron busy with knives and pans. Two men wearing black and white waiter’s suits were sitting on a freezer near the passageway, drinking beer and watching Zvonko’s uncle at work. Now and then Ahrens came into the hall and seemed to be asking if everything was going all right. No sign of Leila’s mother yet.

Along with the BMWs, Ahrens’s hulking henchmen and the fat Hessian came into the yard. All three in blue trousers, red jackets, and some kind of silly garrison cap. They opened the car doors and escorted the guests to the conference hall. The waiters began going round with trays.

Twelve cars rolled up in all. As far as I could tell, there were no refugees among the guests. At least, none of them looked as if they would be happy in a visitors’ room with rubbishy old chairs screwed to the floor. One man seemed to be particularly important. A small, sturdy figure, and those standing around him always laughed heartily when he said something, but they almost always took half a step backwards too.

Just after six-thirty the Hessian drove the last car round behind the brick building. He came back, sat down on a bench near the entrance to the yard with the hulks, and all three lit cigarettes. As they were obviously the only guards, Ahrens must be feeling pretty sure of himself. And he had good reason, really: during the afternoon the TV and radio had kept reporting on the incident in the station district where buildings and clubs belonging to two of the most prominent businessmen in the area had been blown sky-high, and it could be assumed with great probability that both the businessmen themselves were among the many victims burnt beyond recognition. The third ‘important businessman’ of the locality, the Turk, had been found shot in his villa in Oberursel during the afternoon. And if the BMW with its real number plate hadn’t fallen into my hands and Slibulsky’s, I was sure no one would have been looking for the man behind these incidents in Dr Ahrens’s packet-soup factory today. Presumably the Hessian was responsible for changing the number plates. Perhaps he’d neglected to do it that evening. Perhaps he’d been in a hurry to get to the TV set.

And then I saw Leila’s mother. She was one of the few women in the conference hall, standing among a group of guests with her back to the window. Sometimes I thought I caught a brief glimpse of her profile, but most of the time she was facing whoever was talking to her and stood almost motionless. She had pinned up her hair, she was wearing a pale blouse and the pearl necklace I knew from the wedding video. While I turned the binoculars on the nape of her neck and hoped she’d turn round some time, the air began buzzing very quietly. As if a huge swarm of deep-voiced insects was approaching. I turned my binoculars to search the industrial yards, metal factory halls, containers, office buildings and the clear blue sky, but I couldn’t find anything to explain the noise. Only at second glance did I see the line of cars moving past the gap between a detergents company and a haulier’s firm as if in slow motion, bumper to bumper.

I cast another quick glance at the cigarette-smoking guards, who obviously hadn’t heard the buzzing sound, and then I climbed down from the roof and over the fence and went to the place where we’d arranged to meet.

Along the street outside a container depot about fifteen dark, high-class cars were parked, occupied by about fifty men. At the head, a small group stood round the Albanian, the rest were sitting there on the de luxe leather upholstery waiting, or stretching their legs with their feet in bright white trainers or gleaming black, hand-made Hungarian shoes. The car engines were turned off, and when no one said anything it was so quiet that you could hear the click of their Dunhill lighters.

‘We need a short fat man and two big toughs to replace the guards.’

The Albanian nodded to an older man beside him. The man turned, walked down the line of cars, and a little later brought us three men of the required stature.

‘Did you tell your men not to touch the black-haired woman?’

The Albanian nodded.

‘And that I must speak to Ahrens?’

‘How will we know him?’