As she straightened her clothes she noticed a pack of tampons on the floor. Odd. She picked the pack up and checked it. Half empty. Maybe Brains brought his conquests here. She couldn’t imagine Muscle ever having any – not willing ones anyway.
After splashing her face she slurped a little water from the tap. Tasted disgusting but then so did her mouth. There was a tube of moisturiser on the shelf above the sink and she rubbed some into her face. Some poor cow had obviously been here before her. Could it have been Katti? Could she still be here?
Muscle thumped on the door and with reluctance Lauren slid back the latch. Her insides felt like they’d been liquidised. She debated turning right around and sitting on the loo again, but the goon grabbed her by the shoulder and flung her into the room on the right.
When she got her balance back, she sat down and glanced around, not sure what she was looking for. Another escape route? A rescuer? Some sign that this was all an elaborate joke?
The room was maybe sixteen foot square. As well as the table and benches there was a rocking chair and a couple of spindle-backed wooden armchairs with thin seat cushions. The cushions were covered in a patterned material, featuring gay but regimented stick figures in lederhosen and dirndl. A dresser displaying colourful china stood against one wall. Typical German holiday home. But this was no holiday.
Brains said something – a question Muscle answered in his slack-jawed manner. Brains spoke into his mobile, glancing at Lauren from time to time. Who was he calling? Who was he discussing her with? Her guts were up and down like a squeeze-box and a tremor juddered through her like the night train to Berlin.
His phone-call over, Brains rummaged in the box he’d brought in, pulling out a bottle of Schnapps and tossing a couple of packs of RothHandle cigarettes on the table. His eyes rested lazily on Lauren and he smiled. He didn’t seem worried about her being able to identify him. Neither of them did. She hoped this wasn’t a bad sign.
She responded to his smile and wink with a twist of her mouth, but her scorn didn’t appear to faze him. She guessed his age as late thirties. Long narrow face, hollow cheeks, dark brown hair. Lose the smirk and he could even be attractive – in a slimy sort of way. Could he be Greek? Or Turkish? Lots of Turkish Gastarbeitern in Germany. Guest workers. Foreign labour imported to do the menial work before the influx of poor Germans came from the East. Lighter skinned than a Turk though.
He lifted the bottle to his mouth, eyeing her all the while. He drank deep. Sliding his tongue around his lips, he toasted her with the Schnapps. God, she thought, he’d better not be getting any ideas – She refused to finish the thought but her heart plummeted to her guts. Jesus. She glared back at him. Whatever she felt inside, she wasn’t going to let these clowns have the satisfaction of seeing she was scared.
Getting out a pack of cards, Brains slung himself onto the bench by the table and began to deal.
‘Katti,’ he called,. ‘Kommen Sie hier. Come here and play.’ He pushed the bottle across to Muscle and beckoned her over with a grin.
‘I am not Katti,’ she said in German. ‘My name is Lauren.’ She debated telling him again that Katti had been kidnapped already but guessed he wouldn’t believe her. Still, she had to try. ‘Your people –’ she started. She had to assume they were part of the same gang. ‘They’ve already got Katti. They sent a ransom demand to her father.’
‘Ja ja.’ Brains smirked. ‘Come and play.’
‘It’s true. Surely one of your lot must know about it.’
Muscle put down the Schnapps and also crooked his finger at her, his thick lips set in a sneer. Lauren opened her mouth to protest again but the look on his face made her cringe. What was the point of trying to convince them? Presumably they’d find out soon enough. Legs trembling, she joined the men at the table.
‘Well, isn’t this cosy?’ she said, pulling up a chair. No way was she going to sit on the bench next to Muscle, and she didn’t want to encourage Brains either. He kept leering at her and pursing his lips into kisses. ‘What are we playing?’ she said. And what are the stakes we’re playing for?
It turned out to be poker. Predictable. But not a game she was good at. No money appeared, not that she had any with her. It was gone, lost along with her bag and ID – which could have proved her identity. Better not be bloody strip poker they’re planning, she thought.
Ice crystals seemed to be forming a ridge up her spine. Reaching out her hands, she warmed them at the old two-bar heater Brains had flicked on. It wasn’t doing much of a job but maybe she could lob it at one of them if it came to it. She edged her chair nearer the frayed cord. She could smell the dust burning off the bars.
Brains thrust the Schnapps at her with a nod of encouragement. She hesitated. She had no intention of letting them get her drunk. On the other hand, she was cold, tired and scared. A hit of something fiery could be just what she needed. She took the bottle, wiping the mouth with her sleeve. Muscle wasn’t too happy about it so she took a quick slug before he intervened. The Schnapps burned her throat as it went down but she was glad of its warmth spreading through her gullet.
They played several hands, apparently just for the fun of it. Despite their tough exteriors, there was a naivety about the men she found disconcerting. Professionals would have been – well, more professional. The air was blue with smoke. With language too, probably, though she couldn’t tell. Lauren rolled her shoulders, stiff with the tension of staying alert. What the hell was going on?
Anxiety churned inside her, making her queasy and impatient. Damn it, it would almost be better if something happened. If she had to be mistaken for Katti and kidnapped, the least she expected was some action. Weren’t they going to tell her why they’d brought her here? Weren’t they going to interrogate her? Let her prove to them once and for all they had the wrong person?
What they would do when they did finally figure out she wasn’t Katti, wasn’t something she wanted to give much thought to though. She slumped back in her chair, limp with fear. Having to sit here playing poker with two goons who were steadily getting drunker was bad enough. If they decided she wasn’t worth hanging onto and threw her out into the night, matters could turn very serious. It was well below freezing out there. She could die out there on a night like this.
She caught her breath. What was she thinking? She could die in here on a night like this. Things were already serious. Here she was, at the mercy of two kidnappers who couldn’t get their heads around the idea she wasn’t their mark.
Her eyes flickered towards the chalet window. Muscle had tried to close the faded curtains and managed to yank them half off the curtain pole. The bare panes were opaque with frost. He noticed her looking at the window and when Brains got up to go to the loo, he leaned over the table breathing alcohol and tobacco fumes into her face.
‘Nein nein,’ he slurred, wagging a stubby finger at her. The smell of Apfelkorn and RothHandle combined did nothing for her fragile stomach and she pulled back. She needed another drink. Snatching the bottle from the table, she took a good slug, finishing off the last of the apple Schnapps.
Muscle turned purple. ‘Bushtër!’ he growled, grabbing her by the throat. Choking for breath, her nails riving at his hands, Lauren gagged and spluttered. As his thumbs dug into her windpipe, she stared up into the goon’s mean eyes. While Muscle steadily throttled her, Brains sauntered back into the room. Still clawing at the hands locked on her throat, Lauren was aware of him moving towards them, as though in slow motion. How long did it take to cross six feet?
Nineteen
Back at his apartment, Wolf stood staring at the television screen with the remote control in his hand. Perhaps there would be something on the news.
Clara came into the living room, wiping her eyes. ‘My poor Katti. And Lauren too. What is happening Wolfi? Why is this happening to me?’
Wolf shook his head. ‘I should have mentioned the ransom note when I told the police about Lauren. Then they would have taken me seriously.’
He sat down, still gazing at the television. There was nothing on the news. Why would there be? He flicked the remote, hoping wildly, stupidly, that an item about Katti or Lauren would appear on a different channel. When it didn’t, he slumped back dejected.
‘No. It’s better you didn’t tell them.’ Clara said. ‘He will kill Katti, this kidnapper.’ She flung herself onto the old settee next to Wolf and reached for her cigarettes. ‘Hartmann must pay. He will pay. He can afford it.’ She sprawled against Wolf, her head on his shoulder, the cigarette unlit between her fingers. ‘We must not play games with Katti’s life, Wolfi. They will kill her. And perhaps Lauren too.’
Putting his arm around his mother, Wolf flicked the TV off. ‘How would they know? Whoever these people are – how would they know we’d spoken to the police?’
‘They have ways, Wolfi. I don’t know how. Maybe they watch us. Maybe they have spies in the police.’ She lit her cigarette with trembling hands. ‘We don’t know what they know. Or who they know.’
Wolf stared up at the ceiling. ‘The kidnapper could barely write.’ He closed his eyes, trying to decide what to do for the best. He should call Lauren’s family. Tell them what happened. But maybe he should leave it a while. Until tomorrow. Like the police said, maybe she would turn up again. No point in worrying her parents before he had to. If he told them, they might get onto the police and put Katti in danger. But then again they had a right to know–
He leapt up slapping his forehead. ‘Idiot. Idiot. I haven’t tried to call her.’
He grabbed his jacket from a chair and rummaged through the pockets. When he found his mobile he looked up Lauren’s number and rang it, his fingers too clumsy for the keys, his mind racing.
‘Come on, come on.’
The phone rang and rang but there was no answer. He pressed the call button again. Same result. He tried a third time and a fourth time, and a fifth.
~
By the kerb outside Clara’s flat, in a pile of frozen snow, a phone rang repeatedly, its cheerful ring-tone muffled by the bag that contained it. Again it rang, and again, and still it lay unanswered.
Twenty
Brains grabbed Muscle by the collar and hauled him off Lauren. The Muscle must, in some corner of his confused pea-brain, have been willing to be hauled off. Either that or the lanky Brains was stronger than he looked.
Lauren swallowed painfully, her throat raw, her eyes watering. The men spat words at each other, Muscle snarling, Brains sneering. Tears welled in her eyes: tears of delayed terror; tears of exhaustion; tears of outrage and anger and hatred.
‘Bastard,’ she croaked, her voice cracking like a schoolboy’s. ‘Fucking ugly fucking bastard.’
Muscle lunged at her again, understanding her tone if not her actual words. Lauren shrank back into her chair, hands protecting her throat, feet raised ready to double kick him in the chest.
Brains stepped between them, his expression bored. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and waved it at Muscle. What he said sounded to Lauren like a threat. A threat to call someone, maybe. To report Muscle’s bad behaviour. She was sure he said the name Victor. Was that why they were sitting here wasting time? Were they waiting for whoever he’d called earlier? Waiting for Mr Big?
Muscle backed off and sat down, fixing Lauren with a long smouldering look. He reached over and grabbed another bottle from the box, turning to glare at Brains as though challenging the skinnier man to stop him.
Brains kept an eye on Muscle for a minute, returning the challenge, before turning to Lauren.
‘You. Me,’ he said, jerking his thumb towards the door. ‘Sleep.’
Lauren froze. Someone was stitching a seam up her spine.
Brains nodded to the door again. ‘Sleeping room,’ he said. ‘You. Me.’
He put his palms together as though about to pray, and lay his cheek on them in a child’s gesture for bye-byes. From the corner of her eye, Lauren saw Muscle scowl. He seemed to be expanding outwards and upwards like a balloon being inflated. Rumbling like an active volcano, he heaved to his feet.
Jesus. Jesus no.
Brains must have seen something in her eyes. He turned and snarled a few words but Muscle kept on coming. He bashed the heel of his hand into Brains’ right shoulder once, twice, three times, until he toppled him backwards into the rocking-chair.
Shocked into movement, Lauren leapt up like she’d been cattle-prodded and shoved her chair in front of Muscle to block his path. He batted it aside like a wasp but instead of coming for her, launched himself on top of Brains who was pushing himself out of the rocking chair. The two men grappled as the wooden rockers creak-creak-creaked on the pine floor.
Lauren backed towards the door. She had to get out. Never mind the weather. She had to take her chances. A low table caught her behind the knees, tipping her over and sending whatever was on top of it skittering to the floor. She fell against the corner of the table and rolled over, winded, her ribs bruised. Muscle was intent on pounding his partner to jelly and paid no attention. He was an unexpected champion. But what had he saved her for? Himself?
Levering herself up, Lauren felt something slide along the floor, caught on her boot, and she looked down. Keys. Keys attached to a Mercedes keyring. With as little movement as she could manage, she scooped them up and tucked them in her jeans’ pocket.
Brains sprawled in the chair, rocking to and fro with the momentum of Muscle’s final kick. Great sobs racked his skinny body. Both his eyes were swollen closed. Sick with fear, Lauren stood, her back to the wall.
Muscle stretched his mouth into something resembling a smile and took a step towards her.
‘Me,’ he slurred. ‘Him, no. Me better.’ He pointed at Brains and shook his head.
Lauren edged around the wall. Chuckling, he followed, matching her step for step. It’s nothing but a game to him, she thought. She swept her arm over the dresser, strewing crockery in front of him. He grinned and stomped on a plate, the china cracking with loud snap.
‘You like,’ he said. He put two fingers over his mouth and jabbed his fat tongue through them. ‘You like very.’
Lauren thought she would hurl, but there was nothing inside her but bile. Bitterness burned in her throat. Edging towards the table, she remembered the electric fire. The cord squirmed across the floor to her left. Muscle unzipped his fly and waggled a miniature cock at her.
Behind him, Brains gave a great belch and threw up. Pale green puke pooled around the rocking chair and the stink of Apfelkorn and vomit filled the room. Muscle turned his head and guffawed, his loosened trousers slipping to his knees.
Lauren dropped to the floor, squatting, and grabbed the handle of the heater. As Muscle turned back, chuckling, she swiped it at him, catching him square in the privates. Screaming, he did a little dance, bending forward to protect himself.
She swiped again and got him on the flank of his hairy behind. The stink of singed flesh and hair made her gag but she was up and out of the room before the goon knew what hit him.
Twenty-one
Viktor Cicicu ran the barrel of the old Luger up his wife’s thigh and registered contentment. Her legs were long and creamy, solid but shapely. That’s what he called a woman. She was real, not one of these flimsy females who would snap if you held them too tight. He’d missed her. But her trip had been necessary. She’d had to pick up the old papers, documents, things to prove everything – if it came to that. He slid the nose of the pistol into the crevice of her groin and prodded her gently.
‘Are you listening, Baba?’ she said, pushing his hand away.
He liked her calling him Baba – Daddy – it gave him a feeling of power – like she was a little girl and he controlled her. A little girl housed in a woman’s body, though. He wasn’t like Kristo. No, nothing like that sick pervert with his flat-chested schoolgirls.
‘All I want is to bring that bastard down,’ she went on, her eyes gleaming in the firelight. ‘I’d prefer him to refuse to go alo
ng with it, you know. I really would. I’d like to see him squirm when the police get hold of him.’
‘Now now, Bebe.’ He’d got used to calling her Baby, too – though there were other names more appropriate for an all-woman package like her. ‘Remember the money. It will not serve us to bring him crashing down. We need to keep him where he is and simply... milk him. He will become our cash cow.’
‘I know. You’re right, Baba. As usual.’ She scratched idly at her right nipple. Viktor licked his lips as he watched the brown teat stiffen.
‘But I would love to know that he was being hurt and humiliated,’ she went on. ‘It’s what he deserves. I can’t let him get away with what he’s done to me.’
‘Oh I think he will smart with both pain and humiliation,’ Viktor said,. ‘once we’ve finished with him.’ He observed the way the firelight played across her skin, and traced the shadows with the gun barrel, chasing them into the hollows and contours of her body. Feeling a twitch in his groin, he slid the Luger across her abdomen, between her breasts, up her throat and towards her mouth. She pushed it away.
‘Not now, Baba. Not again. We have things to do.’
Bebe leapt up and he let his gaze run over her from her thighs to her breasts. He wasn’t ready for her again anyway, not yet. But he soon would be.
She patted him on his bald pate and gestured him up.
He put the pistol down and took her outstretched hand, letting her haul him to his feet. She tidied her hair, using the mirror above the fireplace, and he followed her gaze. He watched her face for a moment then let his eyes linger on her cool white body, mottled pink where the flames had warmed it; considered critically his own brown belly, the black hair on his chest. He sucked in his gut and patted the flabby abs. He flexed his pecs, his biceps, his gluteus maximus.
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