Ben Elton - Two Brothers

Silke had already found the dead man’s wallet, which contained more money than Frieda earned in three months.

‘We killed him in self-defence,’ Frieda said, ‘but if we rob him and you’re caught—’

‘If we’re caught, Mum, it won’t make any difference whether we’ve robbed him or not,’ Paulus said, heaving the heavy carpet over the body and beginning to roll it up. ‘But we won’t get caught . The only people who knew he was here tonight are us and him. He’s dead and we’re not telling. You can be bloody sure that when he made his complaint about Dad he did it anonymously. They always do.’

This last comment made Paulus pause. In all the horror of the situation he had forgotten about Wolfgang’s arrest. For a moment the fight and spirit seemed to drain out of him, but then drawing a deep breath he steeled himself once more.

‘Got to concentrate on the plan ,’ he said, speaking, it seemed, to himself. ‘If we can just get him out of the flat and dump him, I reckon we’re safe.’

By the time Paulus and Silke had the body rolled up and tied with parcel string, Otto had returned. Then he and Paulus wrestled the rolled-up carpet with the body in it into the lift and got it downstairs, with Silke scouting ahead to ensure the coast was clear. The three of them then carried the heavy roll outside and wrestled it on to the cart. They were very lucky that nobody else in the block came or went during the time it took to do this but they were also ready to brazen it out with a sob story about having to sell everything to buy food. Of course with a man of Karlsruhen’s bulk inside the rolled-up carpet it did look strange but once they had brought other rugs and cushions from the flat and loaded them on to the cart all around the concealed corpse, it gave a pretty good impression of an impoverished Jewish family forced to sell off all their meagre possessions.

‘It’s only nine o’clock, Pauly,’ Otto whispered as they arranged the cart. ‘The streets will still be pretty crowded. Don’t you think we should wait till later? Till the middle of the night?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Paulus replied, ‘it’s better this way. Crowds are good. I wish it was lunchtime.’

‘What?’ Otto hissed. ‘Are you crazy?’

‘Otto,’ Paulus replied, ‘the only way to get away with something like this is to brazen it out. If we go sneaking around at dead of night then we’ll be stopped for sure. This way we’re just one of a hundred carts. Now come on.’

As the boys began to push the cart away, Frieda appeared in the doorway of the building.

‘Funny,’ she said, her voice strange and leaden, ‘I rode on this cart once myself, you know. You boys did too in a way. Your father was taking me to hospital to… to…’ Frieda could not finish the sentence. She simply stood there gulping down her tears.

‘We know, Mum,’ Paulus said gently, ‘you’ve told us about it lots of times. Don’t worry, Dad’ll be back. Some people do come back, you know. Especially now this bloke’s not in a position any more to keep Dad out of the way.’

Frieda returned to the apartment and Paulus, Otto and Silke began to push the cart away.

‘Where are we going?’ Silke said. It was the first time she had spoken since the murder.

Otto, who had been growing in confidence with his brother’s surety, went suddenly white with alarm. ‘Christ, Paulus! I hadn’t thought! Where are we going?’

‘To the river obviously,’ Paulus replied, already beginning to push. ‘With such a heavy carpet tied around him he’ll sink like a stone. All we have to do is get it in without anyone seeing. Or at least anybody caring.’ Paulus turned once more to Silke. ‘Silks,’ he said, ‘you’ve been so incredible helping us like this, but really, you shouldn’t come now. There’s only two cart handles and there’s no point you risking your life too.’

‘I think you’ll do better with a girl along,’ she said quietly. ‘It’ll just look more innocent somehow. Two lads on their own are much more likely to attract trouble.’

Paulus just smiled and once more put his weight to the cart.

As they made their way along the streets, they attracted the odd glance but nothing more. For the previous twenty years Berlin’s cobbles had rung constantly to the sound of metal cartwheels as desperate people traded and bartered what little they had to survive. The boys’ main fear was that somebody might take it into their mind to try and rob them and for that reason Otto kept his hand on his knife.

Fortunately he had no occasion to use it and after an hour or so of heavy work they found themselves down amongst the wharfs where Paulus pointed the cart towards a lonely jetty.

‘We do it quick and we do it bold,’ Paulus said. ‘No creeping, no skulking. That’s the way to get away with stuff. In my experience if you front people up they tend to mind their own business.’

‘They’d fucking better,’ Otto said grimly.

‘Right. Let’s do it,’ Paulus said.

‘That drunk’s watching us,’ Silke whispered in panic.

‘It doesn’t matter. There’ll always be someone watching. What will they do? Call the cops? People down by the river at night don’t like cops. Now’s as good a time as it’s ever going to be.’

And so the three of them pushed the cart to the end of their chosen jetty and simply tipped its bloody burden into the river. Then, having put the other pillows and blankets back into the cart, they turned around and pushed it away.

‘Don’t look back,’ Paulus warned. ‘Walk steady. Don’t hesitate but don’t run either.’

Paulus was right in his cool analysis. Nobody bothered them. The tramp just shrugged and looked away. As did a drunken sailor smoking with a whore on the next jetty along.

Shadowy figures had been disposing of bodies in Berlin on a nightly basis since November 1918 and every morning the river disgorged its dead. It was not such an exceptional thing. If you knew what was good for you, you tended not to confront the people doing the dumping, no matter how young they looked.

ALL DAY AND all evening the quaint little spa town had resounded to the sound of raucous celebration. Bands played, beer flowed in rivers and vast quantities of food had either been consumed or thrown about in fun. Ernst Röhm and the senior leadership of the Nazi Sturmabteilung , along with a large supply of teenage storm troopers, were having a ‘conference’ and seldom had so little business been mixed with so much pleasure.

The only jarring notes in the general mood of excess and celebration came when conversation turned to how slowly the fruits of the National Socialist Revolution were being distributed amongst those who deserved them most. It had after all been the knuckle-dusters and steel-capped boots of the SA that had brought Hitler to power and now the Brown Army wanted its reward.

‘We are the police! We are the army!’ Röhm roared, pushing his face close to Helmut’s in order to make himself heard above the din. Beer foam around his mouth, pork grease on his chin. ‘Don’t talk to me about the Reichswehr , a hundred thousand snobbish little Junkers kissing that senile old fool Hindenburg’s arse. Let me assure you, my dear friend,’ Röhm went on, wiping the beer and spit from his mouth, ‘that if our fine Leader does not proceed sharply to place we SA at the very centre of the state, then there will be a second German revolution and at the end of it nobody will be in any doubt about who is running this country.’

‘Quite right too!’ Helmut replied, beckoning to a young trooper to come and squeeze in beside Röhm. ‘And, in the meantime, Ernst, you deserve a little relaxation!’