More Beer (17 page)

Behind me, some guy was slapping the table and shouting, “Hey, you guys, just think what it would be like to have a woman made out of beer. Just imagine! She’d be something! Just imagine!”

He sighed, and slumped against his neighbor’s shoulder.

Slibulsky and I limited our exchanges to remarks like “Not bad, this beer,” “Right, not bad at all.”

The youngsters next to us were now busy scanning the hall for something to, as they put it, “slide over.” A thin guy with bad teeth and short sweaty hair slapped my shoulder. “Look at that, buddy, that one over there! What a piece! Look at her boobs!”

The one right next to me roared, “Hey, Charlie, that’s a Turk you’re talking to! Turks only like women with huge asses. No head, no legs, just an ass, you know? This big …”

I told the thin guy to take his paws off me, and asked the other one to step outside. He was a sturdy type with a square jaw and blond curly hair. His gaudy shirt was unbuttoned down to his crotch. The other boys looked at him expectantly. He got up slowly, and when two others wanted to follow his example, he waved them off. “I’ll take care of this.”

I asked Slibulsky to take care of the check. We wouldn’t be coming back.

Once we were outside the door, the blond wasn’t quite sure what was supposed to happen next. I took advantage of that, and quickly punched him on that square jaw, hard enough to take care of things. He staggered, fell down, and didn’t get up. Slibulsky appeared soon after, and we marched to the car. I was tired. We drove off, and I started to snore after the first hundred meters.

A police siren woke me up as we were passing the main railroad station, and I asked Slibulsky to stop. I managed to get out of the car, reeled into the Traveler’s Shop, bought a bottle of Chivas, and reeled back. Slibulsky eyed the whisky morosely and opined, “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

I shook my head and went back to sleep.

Finally we stood in front of my building. Slibulsky leaned forward in the driver’s seat. His voice was low and hoarse. “You’re a pretty good guy, Kayankaya.”

“Un-hunh,” I agreed, and got out. He drove off. I tottered through the rain toward the front door, holding the Chivas with both hands. Suddenly a shadow detached itself from the wall.

“I’ve been looking for you all day. Two hours ago, Detective Superintendent Kessler himself called the editorial office to let us know that the four suspects are more or less innocent. The fifth man, someone named Kollek, had just been using the four to trick the police. Can you imagine?”

Carla Reedermann waved her hands excitedly, then looked at me with compassion. “I’m so sorry for you. You tried so hard. And the idea about the informer wasn’t so bad, but … Anyway, I came to tell you this so you wouldn’t have to read it in the papers. And Anastas wants to apologize. He admits that he was a little … grumpy yesterday.” She smiled winsomely.

First I grinned, then I laughed out loud, laughed like an idiot, unable to stop.

“I don’t understand …”

“Never mind, sweetie. You understand lots of other things.”

She looked confused, took a turn on the pavement, then said quietly, “The only thing I can’t figure out is, who attacked Anastas?”

I tried to light a cigarette, but the rain kept extinguishing it, so I stopped trying.

“Well, Kollek, for instance, maybe together with Kessler, or with the Mayor, or with me … or was it our Father in Heaven?”

Her hair and her overcoat were soaking wet. It was a pleasant sight, even when she got furious. “What is it you want? First you act as if you didn’t give a shit, then you act like a wild man who won’t give up on the case, and now you don’t give a shit again.”

I raised my arms.

“What do I want? I want some beer. More beer! Much more beer!”

Then I pushed past her and staggered down the sidewalk. Halfway to the door she caught up with me, said, “I’m sorry,” and asked me if she could come up to my place.

I thought it over for a moment.

“There’s a dead guy up there. Not a pretty sight. Maybe some other time … Not now, I don’t think.”

I left her standing in the rain.

Then I was in my apartment. I wrapped Schmidi in two old bedsheets and dragged him out onto the landing. I poured myself a glass of Chivas and leaned against the window. A cat screeched, and down in the street someone shouted, “Red Front!”

I stood there for a while and stared at the rain.

JANUARY 1987
REAGAN CALLS FOR FINAL SOLUTION OF PALESTINIAN QUESTION
Gaddhafi wore jeans!

Theo Sontag’s political commentary: Was this a trick?

LEAK IN BIBLIS NUCLEAR REACTOR

The Minister of the Interior says, “Radiation negligible, no cause for concern among local population” and warns against “unfounded panic mongering.”

U.S. DEFENSE SECRETARY ADDRESSES NATO

“We want a second-strike capability that renders a third strike impossible.”

“BUT OUR WOMEN ARE MORE HONEST”

The Federal Chancellor in Bangkok at the end of his Asian tour.

FORMER MAYOR OF FRANKFURT DECLARES HIMSELF WILLING TO RUN FOR PRESIDENT OF FEDERAL REPUBLIC
Verdict as expected in Böllig case

The four accused were sentenced to two years’ imprisonment without probation. Many questions on the role played by Herbert Kollek remain unanswered. In his summation, the Public Prosecutor again stressed “the basic attitude of hostility against the state” of the accused.

In the eighty-ninth minute of the game, the Stuttgart team scored a regrettable goal and caused Gladbach to lose 2–1.

I put the newspaper away and dropped two aspirins into the glass. It was Saturday, ten o’clock in the morning. Outside it was snowing like hell. Next to my cup of coffee lay two letters, one from the Public Prosecutor’s office, one from the Preungesheim Prison administration. I tore open the one from the prosecutor and read my third summons to be interviewed in the Schmidi case. Kessler kept on working hard to get me put away for murder. The one from the prison I held in my hand for a while. Then I opened it carefully. I was informed that Nina Scheigel, née Kaszmarek, had died in the night between the second and third of January. According to her wishes, I was being notified of the event.

I drank my aspirin, lit a cigarette, and sat there smoking until the phone rang. It was Slibulsky.

“Two o’clock, at Karate’s?”

Sure, I said, and hung up. Then I made some fresh coffee.

  MELVILLE INTERNATIONAL CRIME

Kismet

Jakob Arjouni

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Happy Birthday, Turk!

Jakob Arjouni

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More Beer

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One Man, One Murder

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The Craigslist Murders

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Death and the Penguin

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Penguin Lost

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The Case of the General’s Thumb

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Nairobi Heat

Mukoma Wa Ngugi

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He Died with His Eyes Open

Derek Raymond

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The Devil’s Home on Leave

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How the Dead Live

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I Was Dora Suarez

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Dead Man Upright

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Cut Throat Dog

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The Angst-Ridden Executive

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Murder in the Central Committee

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The Buenos Aires Quintet

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