Philipp Winkler - Hooligan

“Heiko, back the wagon up,” he says.

I climb behind the wheel, start the van, and turn it around. While backing up, I watch through the lowered windows, paying attention that no one gets run over. Not that they’d ever think of mowing us down just because I ran over the boss. I hear the cargo doors open, get out, and walk around the car. The fence ignores me completely. For them I’m probably just a henchman. Just like the two steam hammers wearing glasses. The doors of the other vehicles are opened. The heavy, sweet zoo smell of the animal lying there in the back immediately washes over me. The dealer says something to his bodyguards, and they slip out of their Golem posture, put away their guns, and climb into the back. The driver joins us, and installs a ramp. The bodyguards remove the cargo. A reverent gasp escapes from Arnim’s mouth. I’m also at a loss for words. Zoo or no. This here is something very. Very! Different. In a huge crate, where you can see inside only through the bars, there’s a monstrous big cat, unconscious. I’d put it at around a good three meters. It’s lying there with its face on its front paws. Each one of them is as large as my face. It purrs slightly. Even if the purring is understated, and it sounds more like a highly tuned muscle car standing there with its motor running. Its ears flutter like an oversized species of butterfly, and the apparently painted stomach rises and falls calmly. Even the bodyguards seem not to be left cold by the critter, and touch the box only with extreme care. Their boss doesn’t seem to give a rat’s ass, ’cause twice he proudly pats the tiger box with his open hand after his henchmen have lugged it down the ramp. That makes my gonads retreat into the torso. But the tiger continues to doze undisturbed.

The dealer guy laughs and says in a heavy accent, “Sedated.”

“What?” Arnim asks.

“Tranquilized,” I say.

“Here.” The dealer reaches into the trunk and hands Arnim a gun and a small box of cartridges.

“In two hours,” he says and holds up two fingers, “is present.”

“Huh, he’ll be present?” Arnim asks skeptically as he accepts the gift.

“No. ’Present’ means gift,” I say.

The guy looks me up and down sinisterly. Probably doesn’t please him when an employee opens his mouth. The four of us—Arnim, the stiffs with the glasses, and I—heave the tiger box up the ramp and into our van, having first opened the van doors. Puffy pants doesn’t join in. He just looks at his sparkling Rolex and says, “Time. Now go.”

I lock the doors, and Arnim and he shake hands once again.

“Have fun,” he says, and the hair stands up on the back of my neck at the sight of his smile.

The others don’t wait for us to fuck off, just get in their vehicles and peel out. Clods of dirt are thrown into the air as they speed off. We get in and, first of all, an anvil-sized weight falls from my heart. I’m familiar with this from matches. You can set the clock by it. But only now, in that minute, do I notice how amped I am from adrenaline.

“Good job, my boy,” Arnim says, handing me the gun from his waistband, and turns the key. Careful not to touch the trigger, I return the pistol to the glove compartment.

We’ve been back over the border for less than an hour when we hear the scream of sirens from somewhere. I almost rip my arm out rolling down the window.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Well, where are they? Where are the cops?” Arnim asks.

“No idea, man. I don’t know!” I bark at him and lean out the window.

I look around. The hoodie flies up against the back of my head. I can’t make out anything behind us. In front of us either, of course.

I fall back inside, saying, “Shit! Can’t see nothing. Or are we just paranoid?”

“Nah, my boy. Now listen for once.”

The van’s motor is so loud it’s hard to make out, much less locate another sound. It doesn’t absolutely sound close, but the sirens are definitely not imaginary. The motor roars because Arnim’s given it even more gas.

He prattles, “I’m not going back,” repeating it again and again, till he can’t say anything else.

“What are we gonna do now?” I ask, but don’t get an answer because Arnim is almost biting the steering wheel. “Ah, fuck it!”

I unbuckle and check briefly to see if there are any obstacles or low-hanging signs ahead. Then I hold tight to the window and climb outside, twisting so I’m holding only onto the window going at full speed, with my crotch at roof level so I can better scope around. To our right, the landscape descends into a broad valley full of fields and a couple of villages. There are wooded areas scattered all around. The misty morning light and patches of fog that keep on drifting over obscure the view. But then I see a police car with flashing lights below us on the plain, and even with the rush of air, which whistles coldly in my ears, I can hear the howling sirens. I jump back inside the cab and tell Arnim the cops are heading parallel to us in the valley, but I can’t tell whether they’re chasing us or just happen to be nearby.

“Holy shit, my boy. They’re gunning for us. I’m not going back in—”

“A deep rumble cuts off Arnim’s tirade, and we simultaneously look back. Then we look at each other, eyes wide.

“Fuck, what now?!” I blurt. “The fucking tiger’s awake! Arnim!”

“Shit, shit, shit. All right. Heiko. Now you take the gun and shoot a tranquilizer dart into his pelt. Don’t dilly-dally!”

“What?! Have you totally lost your mind?” I scream, and I can’t control my hands anymore, which are waving around my face in panic.

“Well, come on!” he bellows.

Somehow I manage to reach behind me with a wildly groping hand and retrieve the tranquilizer pistol. I tear open the box of the ammo, crack the barrel of the gun, and, shaking, slide a cartridge inside.

“And now?” I ask.

“Well, fire away, damn it!”

I turn and slide open the little window to the cargo bay. The animal stench fills my nostrils. I hastily begin to breathe through my mouth. Then I shove the gun barrel into the darkness where the menacing growl is coming from, amplified by the boxy cavern of the cargo bay. I try not to aim too high. Don’t want to shoot the critter in the face, after all.

“Shoot!” Arnim screams into my ear.

“Yeah, sure,” I stammer and pull the trigger. The tiger hisses and the rotten stench from its mouth wafts toward me.

“Well? And?” Arnim prods, and revs the motor again.

“What do I know? Can’t see anything. Listen for a sec.”

I stretch, pressing my ear up against the little window, and listen. It’s still growling, but the sound is definitely getting weaker. There’s silence again a short while later. I take a deep breath and ease back down. Arnim has the presence of mind to turn off the headlights. A narrow turn-off into the woods appears on the left ahead of us.

“In there!” I yell and point to the forest track.

Arnim yanks the wheel hard and for a millisecond I’m almost floating as the van’s right wheels lift off the ground and we crash into the woods. Twigs and branches slap at the hood and windshield. I hold tight to the dashboard and door handle, but then the tires smash back onto the ground and we come to a stop. Surrounded by trees.

“Fuck!” I spit out. “God damn ass-fucked son of a bitch! I think I’ve pissed myself.”

I touch my crotch. Everything dry. Wouldn’t have taken much more, though.

“My, oh my,” Arnim pants.

Then he drives us deeper into the woods. At this point, it doesn’t fucking matter if we get lost. We park the van a little off the track where the trees get thicker, and climb out. I feel the simultaneous need to barf and pee. I calm myself by lighting up and letting myself fall back onto the wet, brown leaves beneath me.