Karsten Krepinsky - Berlin 2039 - The Reign of Anarchy

“He’ll tell you himself.”

Cem switches gears and makes a turn into Revaler Strasse. He’s about my age and I like him. He looks at things with the eyes of a businessman, just as I do. Without emotions, purely rational. A rare quality among the hot-blooded Lemons . They say he even went to university for a few years as a young man. Physics. But eventually he must have found out that there are easier and faster ways to make money. Cem was already working for Halim, the current Babo ’s father. He was recruited for his brains and also because he’s extremely loyal. “Are you still fooling around with your three steps of escalation?” he wants to know.

I smile instead of an answer.

“This is fucking baby stuff,” he chides me. “There are more important things in life.”

“What could be more important than having fun?”

Cem pulls down the corners of his mouth. “There will be a war,” he sagely predicts.

“So?” I ask, pretending to be bored. “That’s the way things are in the Ghetto, right?”

“Just wait and see,” he warns me. “I’m starting to get very worried here. If the Templar keeps on killing people, we’ll have a real problem.”

“The Templar?” I repeat, feigning ignorance. “You’re buying this bullshit, too?” I emit a groan. “Jesus. A stupid ace of clubs and everyone’s going crazy.”

“Allah have mercy on us.” After kissing his hand, Cem reverently touches a bobblehead figurine shaped like a whirling dervish.

“Why do you Lemons always think that everyone’s out to conspire against you?” I rib Cem. “Templars have died out a long time ago.”

“I know the system behind it, brother. I know what the Templar’s up to. The murders… he’s trying to sic us Muslims on each other.” Cem turns to face me and gives me a reproachful look as if the whole thing was my fault.

“Do you think that I…?”

Cem waves me off. “No sweat, Pusher. No sweat. I don’t bear a grudge against you, brother.” When he smiles at me, I breathe a sigh of relief. There won’t be a little detour to a back alley, where a firing squad’s lying in wait.

Cem drives me to Club Berghain , where Selim resides. The hall has been totally refurbished and they still play electronic music here, like they did over twenty years ago. Retro rules supreme, take my word for it. Cem leads me to the office behind the dance floor. Selim is at a desk in a room, filled with cigarette smoke. He angrily rubs his forehead. The ashtray is overflowing with butts and there is an open file folder in front of him. He must be doing his book keeping, if this is the right word to use in his line of business. Selim is only in his late twenties. Already at an early age he had to take over from his father, who’s been confined to a wheelchair since suffering a stroke. One alcoholic binge too many, rumor goes. Selim’s men are in awe him in spite of his baby face. Or maybe just because of it. A seemingly harmless non-threatening person who brutally knifes his opponents is bound to leave a much deeper impression than your typical stony-faced thug. Selim has long stepped out of the shadow of his overpowering and tyrannical father, who did his best to made him feel like a loser. He greets me with a smile. “Hey, look at the maggot we’ve got here,” he says. “The Pusher, what a surprise,” he adds.

“Long time, no see,” I reply.

“How’d you get here?”

“Ask Cem,” I answer.

Selim laughs.

Cem gives me a shove from behind. “Show some respect, Pusher,” he admonishes me.

Selim motions to Cem to keep quiet. “I like this kuffar. Really. You can’t trust him, but his coke is still the best.”

I nod, walking up to the desk to open my briefcase. But Cem yanks it out of my hand. “You know the rules,” he hisses, lifting the lid himself. He takes out three pouches of coke and puts them on the desk.

“You gotta leave me one pack,” I protest.

Selim nods. “Put one back in the case,” he orders Cem.

Cem complies, shuts the case, and returns it to me.

“Why did you have me brought here?” I ask the Babo .

“You know the answer, Pooosher, ” Selim drawls.

“Because of this… Templar guy?”

“This fucking Christian pig,” Selim confirms.

“How does it concern you?” I wonder aloud. “So far he’s left your people alone.”

“Oh, he did, didn’t he?” the Babo rages. “And what, may I ask you, will the Imam have to say if the Templar continues to spare us?”

“No idea. You tell me.”

“What do you think? That we’re behind the whole thing, right?”

“Now, aren’t you taking things a bit too far?”

“Do you really believe so?”

“I was in the ’Halal Arena’,” I reply. “The Imam was cursing the Christians and the Jews, not the Turks.”

Selim slams his fist on the table. “Bullshit!” he yells. “You know very well that asshole Bansuri spouts lies as soon as he opens his mouth. Do you really think he believes that the Potatoes did it?”

“Why shouldn’t he?”

“Bullshit!”

“And you really don’t have anything to do with it?” I enquire.

“Are you crazy?”

“Some dead Arabs and a Chechen stiff as treat. Isn’t this the stuff your wet dreams are made of?”

Selim shakes his head, smiling. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind some of Bansuri’s bastards being dead. And that Ramsan’s bought it doesn’t hurt either. The little rat was a real nuisance, ’cause he suspected me and Bakh…” Selim bites down on his lip. He casts an anxious glance at Cem, who relaxes in a chair, smokes a joint, and doesn’t seem to listen.

“What did he suspect?” I probe.

“None of your business, Pusher.” Selim evades my question. “It’s private.”

The door opens to admit a woman, who’s muttering curses under her breath. When she sees me, she quickly pulls her scarf over her head. After this concession to dress code she starts laying it on with a vengeance. “You’re ignoring me!” she accuses the Babo , wildly waving her hands about. “You’re treating me like I’m nothing to you. And at night you… you never touch me.”

“Piss off, Aisha. Dammit,” Selim hisses. “This is a business meeting.”

“I will leave you!” Aisha threatens. “I will go away.”

“Yeah?” the Babo replies. “You must have forgotten what happens to unfaithful wives.”

Aisha breaks out in tears. “I’ll go live with the Potatoes . Outside the Ghetto.”

“And what do you plan to use for money?” Selim sneers.

“I’ll clean houses or wipe the wrinkly asses of old Potatoes , I don’t care. Everything’s better than having to be with you.”

“Do you think it was my idea?” Selim hollers. “Do you honestly think I would have married a slut like you if I had a choice?”

“You… you…,” Aisha sobs. Cem steps up to her from behind, puts his arm around her shoulder, and leads her out of the room.

“It was my father’s wish! Go and complain to him!” Selim calls after her angrily.

“I’ll leave you,” Aisha threatens again. Cem closes the door behind her.

Selim’s shaking his head. “I don’t believe it.”

“Trouble?”

“Never mind.”

“I’m glad to hear so.”

“This won’t leave this room. Got it?” Selim warns me.

“Who should I tell it to?” I reply, feigning boredom.

“Promise?”

“Why did you send for me?” I ignore his question.

“First I need to know if this will stay between you and me,” he insists.

“What’s supposed to stay between you and me?” I pretend not to know what he’s talking about.