Until the Debt Is Paid

by Alexander Hartung

  Jan had needed a week to process everything. The first few nights he had woken up soaked in sweat, in fear that police were going to storm his apartment. Paranoia had become his permanent companion.

  After he’d visited the hospital, he had confined himself to home, but memories were all around him. He only had to pass by Father Anberger’s apartment, one story below his, for the images to come rushing back, beating on his head like a hammer.

  Max had been the first to drag him out of it. Two days ago, he’d showed up at Jan’s door with four bags of burgers and milkshakes and had kept pounding until Jan finally opened. They had watched Premier League football and stuffed themselves with junk food.

  Jan didn’t even know what they had talked about, but it had nothing to do with murder or rape. After the young hacker left, Jan had slept without nightmares for the first time.

  The next morning he had informed Bergman that he wanted to start back at work again. He wouldn’t be needing any more time. Bergman wasn’t easy to convince, but eventually, he’d gotten the chief of detectives to at least consent to discussing his return.

  Most likely there would be a horde of attentive psychologists waiting in Bergman’s office to assess Jan, he realized. They’d want to weigh his each and every word like gold and make him interpret inkblots. But that wasn’t going to stop him.

  He took one last look at the front of the old building and headed for the front door.

  “Off to battle,” he said to himself. As he walked inside, the men at the entrance greeted him uneasily. Until very recently he had been the most wanted man in Berlin.

  He stopped by his old office. Everything was still in its place. Andreas was sitting opposite his desk. They had survived countless cases together and just as many parties. Andreas waved to him with a big grin. Jan waved back—and almost ran right into Patrick. His colleague drew back a step and forced a smile. An awkward silence arose. Jan didn’t know what to say, and Patrick just looked embarrassed.

  “Hi, Jan,” he said. “All healed up?”

  “Getting there. Doing without the painkillers now.”

  “All right,” Patrick said and drank a sip of coffee to mask his unease.

  “I’m on my way to Bergman. Want to speak to him about my coming back.”

  “That’s good. We have more than enough work.”

  “A new case?”

  “Nasty stuff.” Patrick waved away the thought. “We need all the help we can get.”

  “If Bergman will let me,” Jan said, shrugging, “I’m there.”

  “Then I’ll hope for the best.”

  Jan wrung his hands together, uneasy. “Guess I’ll get going.”

  Patrick, nodding, went to shuffle on by him. He patted Jan on the shoulder like a friend would. “Good luck.” Then he disappeared in his office.

  Jan watched him go. Their talk was trivial, like all conversations with Patrick, but this time it had felt different. It had sounded something like Welcome back.

  Instead of psychologists, Bergman and the chief of police were waiting for him. Berlin’s top brass had on the friendly-yet-opaque expression that Jan knew from so many photos. Jan wondered whether the chief being here was a good sign or not. He nodded politely to him as he sat next to Bergman at the desk, his hands relaxed flat over his stomach.

  “You sure caused us a ton of trouble,” Bergman began, getting right to it. True to form, his boss had no time for empty small talk. No “How you doing?” or “How’s it going, getting over having shot your girlfriend dead?” Nope. Always right between the eyes. After all Jan had been through, this one invariable constant was somehow comforting.

  “I’m sorry,” Jan said, to be on the safe side. For what, exactly, he wasn’t sure.

  “All charges will be dropped, and your suspension is cancelled.”

  Jan shrugged a little. This was probably the least of it.

  “There will still be an investigation into your exchanging fire with Bettina Esel, but I don’t expect problems. The crime-scene investigators have confirmed what you’ve stated.”

  Bergman glanced at the police chief. His facial expression had not changed.

  “Since you’re currently the hero of the Berlin Police, and the press thinks you’re so amazing, you’re going to get a commendation, one that we will market to the media—they’re going to love it, of course. We’ll see if we can get the mayor behind it too.”

  The last thing I need, Jan thought.

  “Anything else?” Bergman asked him.

  “I want my own team.”

  “Come again?”

  “My own team,” Jan told him. “People who only work with me on cases. Just my team.”

  “This isn’t fucking CSI Berlin,” Bergman fumed. “Where did you get such an idea?”

  “You asked me if there was anything else. So I’m telling you.”

  “It was just a rhetorical question. That’s when you go, ‘No thank you, Herr Bergman. I don’t need a thing.’ ”

  “If I’m to play performing seal for the media, I want some benefits. Like choosing the people who work with me.”

  Bergman was about to respond with an irate remark when the police chief leaned over to him and whispered something in his ear. Jan’s boss calmed down, reluctantly.

  “All right, fine,” he grumbled. “So which officers get to join your team?”

  “First off, Zoe Diek.”

  “The blonde from Forensics?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “She’s not even a cop.”

  “But she’s clever and learns quickly. I want her with me.”

  “Apparently those knockout drops destroyed some of your brain cells.”

  Jan sighed and looked at the clock. “I’d like to keep chatting, boss, but I’m all out of time. I have an interview to get to.”

  “What kind of interview?”

  “A large German daily wants to know what it’s like for a former murder suspect to return to his job. How his coworkers are treating him, whether things are like they used to be.”

  “Is that cleared with media relations?”

  “Unfortunately not,” Jan said. “When they called, I just had this . . . sudden inspiration.”

  Bergman shot up from his chair. “You trying to extort me?”

  Jan scratched at his chin, thinking it over. Playing it up. “Come to think of it, yes, I am.” He’d made up the story about the interview, but he’d clearly landed a direct hit. Even the police chief had winced at the mention of “a large German daily.” Bergman was on the verge of charging him like a starving hyena.

  “Very well. Take your forensics lady. Might there be anyone else?” Bergman asked, his voice irritated. “A pizza maker maybe?”

  “Interesting suggestion, but that would be more for the cafeteria.”

  It was obvious Bergman did not find the comment funny.

  “I would also like Chandu Bitangaro, as a paid informant. No one knows the Berlin underworld better than him.”

  “That bouncer and debt collector who aided you? You really have lost a few—”

  “And one Maximilien Kornecker as well, a promising computer-science student who could work marvels for us. A work-study contract would make it easier to clear any bureaucratic hurdles while allowing him access to the system.”

  “I’m supposed to hire a hacker? I think I’ve heard—”

  “Of course I’ll need a budget too, so I can pay for my informants and any expenses that arise.”

  “Your own budget? Say one more word and I’ll—”

  “Fifty thousand euros would do.” Jan calculated real quick. “For this year.”

  Bergman had no more responses left. His face had turned red. Inarticulate sounds came out of his mouth.

  “We can talk about a new team vehicle and the dedi
cated office another time.”

  Bergman took a deep breath. “If you don’t leave the room, and I mean now, I’ll take you down right here and declare it was an accident.”

  Jan stood. “That would be a shame, considering I still have to finish writing my memoir. I have a tentative contract with a publisher. The working title is From One Hell to the Next. For the subtitle I was thinking something like My Painful Return to Professional Life.”

  Bergman planted his fists on the table and towered over Jan, ready to pounce. Then the chief of police laughed. It was an eerie sound in such a tense situation. Bergman looked over, confused.

  The chief whispered something to him. Jan would have given his right hand to be able to hear it. Whatever his boss was hearing, it was not making him happy. They shared a few more whispered exchanges. Then the police chief stood up and gave Jan a terse nod as he left.

  Once the door closed behind him, Jan waited for Bergman to start cursing him out. He had not lost his threatening demeanor. Jan could almost see the murder fantasies running through his head.

  “All right,” said Bergman, finally breaking through the silence. Jan could tell that what he was about to say wasn’t coming easily. “The police chief likes your moronic idea, even though it’s something only a halfwit dipshit like you could think up.”

  Jan fought a laugh. He’d never imagined he’d get away with it.

  “You and your self-styled A-Team,” Bergman snarled, looking disgusted, “will be special investigators working within Homicide. You’ll receive your own cases, but once something goes wrong, I’m going to hang your ass out to dry in the front lobby.” He took a deep breath, as if he himself couldn’t even believe what he was saying.

  “In return, you are going to play the perfect upstanding police officer for the media. You will smile at every press conference, telling Tom, Dick, and Jane Journalist how great we are and how amazing it is to be back at work. I want the teenagers to be beating themselves up in front of the police academy just to be let in.”

  Bergman’s fingers drummed impatiently on the desk. “On Monday, at eight a.m., you will present to me your team of freaks. I’m only going to give you the really hard cases, and if the results of your investigations don’t make even Batman himself green with envy, I’m going to send you down to the basement to sort the mail.”

  Jan nodded.

  “Any of this gets leaked before Monday morning? I’ll come over and I will shoot you. Got no idea how I’m going to explain this new team to your fellow cops. Maybe I’ll put on some clown makeup and a red nose, you know, just to make it easier for them to laugh their asses off at me.”

  Jan saluted and stood up. “Till Monday.” He shut the door behind him, grinning, more than satisfied. He heard yet another object hitting the wall. But by then he was already two offices down.

  Epilogue

  Chandu’s favorite bar was hopping. The music blared too loud, drowning out all the regulars trying to talk. Up at the bar sat Chandu, Zoe, and Max. Both Jan’s big friend and the medical examiner had been released from the hospital earlier that day, which had not stopped them from hitting all the bars.

  The young hacker was in an equally good mood. His eyes were bright. He waved his green cocktail at Jan. As usual, Zoe ignored him as thoroughly as she did the bar’s smoking ban, while Chandu refilled her glass from a whiskey bottle. His crutch was leaning against the bar. His leg wound would take weeks to heal; after that, he’d be his old self again. Zoe had weathered her injuries well too. She looked a little pale, maybe. But soon the shootout would be only a memory.

  “You know, Zoe,” Chandu said, slurring it a little and lifting his glass, “if you weren’t such a bitch, I’d flat out ask you to marry me.”

  She toasted him back. “I’m a lesbian.”

  The disclosure made Chandu lose his train of thought. He furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of it.

  “No matter,” he said finally. “Sex isn’t everything.” He knocked back his whiskey in one gulp.

  “Is to me,” Zoe replied and drank hers down too.

  Jan settled himself on the stool next to her.

  “Janni,” Zoe said, turning to him. “We’ve been waiting for you.” She pushed a glass over and filled it from Chandu’s bottle. Then she refilled hers.

  She toasted Max, whose eyes were riveted on a buxom blonde, and kept her glass raised.

  “To our Janni and his newly won freedom.” And the three tipped back their whiskeys in one swig.

  “Thanks,” Jan said softly and drank as well.

  Max devoted himself to watching the blonde, while Zoe and Chandu started discussing the point of marriage in the twenty-first century. Jan set down his glass on the bar and opened up his wallet. He eyed, wistfully, the photo of Betty and him. Her laughter would always be so charming and real in his memories. He still believed that she had liked him. He wasn’t yet prepared for anything but that version of reality.

  Then he felt the big hand of his friend on his shoulder. Chandu poured Jan a refill, while Zoe delivered a toast to the Berlin police. At some point the place got so full that the four had to press up against the bar. All around them it was just happy people, and after the third glass it felt the way it used to be. Back then. When Betty was alive.

  About the Author

  Photo © 2014 Oliver Bendig

  Alexander Hartung was born in 1970. He started writing while studying political economy and discovered his love for thrillers and historical novels. Hartung’s first novel, the historical crime thriller Die Rache des Inquisitors (The Inquisitor’s Revenge), was published in 2010. Until the Debt is Paid is set in Berlin, the city Hartung called home for a time while working as a management consultant. Hartung currently lives with his wife and child and their dog in his hometown of Mannheim, Germany.

  About the Translator

  Photo © René Chambers

  Steve Anderson is a translator, a novelist, and the author of the nonfiction Kindle Singles Double-Edged Sword and Sitting Ducks. Anderson was a Fulbright Fellow in Munich, Germany. He lives in Portland, Oregon.