Frank Schätzing - Limit

‘Were you friendly too?’

‘Let’s just say I had the opportunity to be.’

‘And?’

‘Well, come on, that’s confidential, man!’ Grand Cherokee was clearly making a great effort to look outraged. ‘I mean, of course we can discuss everything, but—’

‘No, it’s fine. If it’s confidential.’ Jericho turned away and left him standing there. A wise guy, just as he’d feared. One after another, he pulled open the drawers of the desk. Then he went over to the narrow wall cabinet next to the door and opened it. Jeans, a pullover, and a pair of trainers which had seen better days. Two cans of disposable clothing spray. Jericho shook it. Half full. Clearly Yoyo had packed the majority of her things in a great hurry and left the flat in a rush.

‘When was the last time you saw your flatmate?’

‘The last time?’ echoed Grand Cherokee.

‘The last time.’ Jericho looked at him. ‘That’s the time after which you didn’t see Yoyo any more, so when was that?’

‘Ah, yes, er—’ Grand Cherokee seemed as though he was just emerging from deep water. ‘On the evening of 23 May. We had a little party. Li went off to bed at some point, and Yoyo hung around with me for a while. We chatted and had some drinks, and then she went off to her room. A little later I heard her crashing around and opening drawers. Shortly after that the house door slammed in the lock.’

‘When exactly?’

‘Between two and three, I guess.’

‘You guess?’

‘It was before three for sure.’

Given that Grand Cherokee seemed to be making no effort to stop him from doing so, Jericho carried on searching through Yoyo’s room. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the student skulking around hesitantly. Jericho’s lack of interest in him seemed to be confusing him.

‘I could tell you more,’ he said after a while. ‘If you’re interested.’

‘Out with it.’

‘Tomorrow maybe.’

‘Why not now?’

‘Because I need to make a few calls to— I mean, I already know where Yoyo hangs out, but before that—’ He stretched out his arms and turned his palms to face upwards. ‘Let’s just say, everything has its price.’

That was clear enough.

Jericho finished his search and walked back into the hall.

‘As long as it’s worth its price,’ he said. ‘By the way, where’s your flatmate?’

‘Li? No idea. He doesn’t know anything anyway.’

‘Is it just my imagination, or do you not know anything either?’

‘Me? Yes, I do.’

‘But?’

‘No but. I just thought perhaps you might think of how someone might be able to release trapped knowledge?’ Grand Cherokee grinned up at him.

‘I see.’ Jericho smiled back. ‘You’d like to negotiate an advance.’

‘Let’s call it a contribution towards expenses.’

‘And for what, Grand Cherokee, or whatever you’re called? So that you can mess me about with your garbled imagination? You don’t know shit!’

He turned round to go. Grand Cherokee seemed filled with consternation. Obviously he had seen the conversation as going a little differently. He held Jericho back by the shoulder and shook his head.

‘I’m not trying to rip anyone off, man!’

‘Then don’t.’

‘Come on! The kind of course I’m on doesn’t pay for itself! I’ll find out whatever you want to know.’

‘Wrong! You have nothing to sell me.’

‘I—’ The student searched for words. ‘Okay, fine. If I tell you something, right here and now, that helps you to make some progress, will you trust me then? That would be my advance, you see?’

‘I’m listening.’

‘So, there’s a biker gang that she hangs out with a lot. She rides a motorcycle too. The City Demons – that’s what it says on their jackets at any rate.’

‘And where can I find them?’

‘That was my advance.’

‘Now you listen to me,’ said Jericho, jabbing a finger at his adversary. ‘Here and now I’m paying you nothing. Because you have nothing. Nothing at all. If you should happen to get hold of some real information, driven by the goodness of your heart – and I mean real information! – then we may be able to do business. Is that clear?’

‘Perfectly.’

‘So when shall I expect your call?’

‘Tomorrow afternoon.’ Grand Cherokee plucked at the tip of his chin. ‘No, earlier. Perhaps.’ He gave Jericho a penetrating look. ‘But then it’s payday, man!’

‘Then it’s payday.’ Jericho smacked him on the shoulder. ‘An appropriate amount. Did you want to say anything else?’

Grand Cherokee shook his head silently.

‘Then I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Then I’ll see you tomorrow—

He stood in the hallway as if he were rooted to the spot, even once the detective was already on his way downstairs. As he heard the lift door rattle lightly in the shaft, his thoughts came thick and fast.

Well, this was incredible!

Deep in thought, he went into the kitchen, fetched a beer from the fridge and raised the bottle to his lips. What was going on here? What had Yoyo done to make everyone so interested in her disappearance? First that smart guy and now the detective. And, even more importantly:

How could he profit from it?

It wouldn’t be easy, that’s for sure. Grand Cherokee was under no illusions: his knowledge of her whereabouts was nonexistent, and the next few hours would do little to change that. On the other hand it would be a real stroke of bad luck if he couldn’t come up with a few juicy lies by the next morning. The kind of lies that no one could prove, along the lines of: my information is first-hand, I don’t know either, clearly Yoyo got wind of something, it was right under our nose, and so on and so forth.

He would have to push the price right up. Play them off against one another! It was a good thing he hadn’t told the detective about Xin’s visit. People could say what they wanted about him, but certainly not that he was dumb.

I’m too on the ball for the two of you , he thought.

He was already counting the notes in his mind.

As if there hadn’t been dozens of pairs of boots marking the surface of the Moon with the imprint of mankind’s heroism since 2018, Eugene Cernan – the commander of Apollo 17 – was still regarded as the last man to have walked on its surface. The years between ’69 and ’72 were monumental in the landscape of American history: a short but magical epoch of manned missions which were strangely counteracted by Nixon bringing the space programme back down to earth with a bump. As a result, Cernan became the last one up there to turn off the light. He was, and remained, the last of his century. The eleventh Apollo astronaut on the Moon, he walked around the Mare Serenitatis and made hundreds of those small steps that Neil Armstrong had declared to be such a giant leap for mankind. His team collected the biggest sample of lunar rocks and completed more moon surface trips than any other before them. The commander himself even managed to cause the first ever automobile accident on a celestial body, smashing up the rear left wing of his Lunar Rover, before – with a talent for improvisation reminiscent of Robinson Crusoe – patching it back together again. Yet none of this was enough to re-enliven the public’s interest. It was the end of an era. Cernan, presented with the opportunity to immortalise himself in encyclopaedias and textbooks with a thunderous obituary, instead offered words of remarkable helplessness:

‘We spent most of the trip home,’ he said, ‘debating the colour of the Moon.’