Never Trust a Callboy

by Birgit Kluger

  I have parked the rental car close to the underground car park where Ron parkes his Mercedes. I would like to pay a visit to his office, I’m hoping, somehow, to get access to Ron's safe. Maybe he’s kept documents that will be able to provide me with more information. If I know Ron, he’s used the same number for this safe as he does at home. It shouldn’t be too hard.

  That is why I’m on a stake out at the entrance to the underground car park in the early hours of the morning. I need to know whether Ron is putting in a few hours at the weekend as usual. If I'm lucky, he has a normal Saturday planned, which would mean that he’ll work until lunch, then to go to the gym. As soon as he’s left the office, I will use the opportunity to snoop around.

  I never expected to be glad to see Ron's Mercedes ever again, but I’m relieved as his car disappears into the parking garage with a soft purr.

  If Ron hasn’t changed his habits, he will be in the office until about one o'clock.

  I have a long wait ahead of me. The bad news is that I have no idea what to do with it. I could go to the main shopping street nearby to go window shopping, but for some reason I have no desire to. I want to answer all the questions that are on my mind. Right now. Since this is not possible, I opt for the second alternative, and stop for a bite to eat at the café Laumer.

  A faint murmur reaches my ears as I enter the venerable café. The Laumer has quite an old time feel. Lush cakes are displayed in the pastry counter making it impossible to resist the temptation. Dark brown mountains of chocolates glimmer in the glass display case right next to it. The refined atmosphere is accompanied by classical music.

  My mouth waters as I look at the display. The Sachertorte looks good. As I take the first bite the chocolate melts in a bitter-sweet explosion in my mouth. That’s so good! I don't know when I last had a Sachertorte, it must have been at some point in my childhood, as an adult I’ve always been much too busy paying attention to my figure.

  Idly I flick through a newspaper. But the news does not interest me. One depressing bad news article after the other: euro crisis, Greece on the edge of bankruptcy, rising inflation. Then my eyes fall on a specific news piece and I can’t pull my eyes away, once again I forget to breathe.

  "Missing Frankfurt banker victim of the euro crisis?" reads the headline. The following article explains the impact of the Greek plight. “Although the missing banker is not directly affected, suicide is suspected. The police... continued on page 3.”

  Quietly I scan the page until I find the rest of the article... That's him! The dead man. The corpse in my kitchen, who has now found his final resting place in our garden. It makes me dizzy, because words that promise no good are not far below the picture of the dead man. The dead man is Michael Barelli, and the Bank he worked for, was Ron’s bank.

  I put the newspaper down with trembling hands and take a deep breath. Although I already assumed that Ron was involved, the message has dealt me a blow. To read in black and white, that the dead man was an employee at Ron’s Bank, is completely different to merely having suspicions. The death is now much closer, much more personal.

  I take a big gulp of coffee. Actually something stronger would be better, but caffeine will have to suffice at the moment, because I need a clear head now more than ever.

  Luckily, I'm considerably more composed and collected by the time I enter Ron's Bank shortly after one o'clock. His Mercedes left the parking garage a few minutes ago.

  "Good afternoon, Miss. Hartwig," the doorman greets me with a friendly nod as I hurry past. That’s the first hurdle passed. The trouble is that the second comes in the form of Mrs. Gardner, Ron's secretary, who appears in front of me. Damn. I hadn’t expected her. What's she doing here on a Saturday? Particularly after Ron has already left?

  "I’d like to see Ron," I tell her.

  "Mr. Krämer left a few minutes ago. You’ll have to try again on Monday."

  I will definitely not be doing that. Instead I say loudly: "It doesn't matter. I just have to get something out of his office," and sweep past her. Faster than I would think her capable of she scurries around her table and stands in my way.

  "That’s not possible. Mr. Krämer has given me explicit instructions, you are no longer welcome."

  "Has he now?" With raised eyebrows, I look at her condescendingly. Even though inwardly I feel like a little girl who would rather hide behind her mother's coat-tails I manage to hold her gaze.

  “Yes. Please leave now, otherwise I’ll have to call the guards." She gives me a look like a feisty terrier. The woman is willing to do anything to protect Ron from me. He should consider himself lucky. With a sigh, I retreat. I had imagined it going differently, but I'm not ready to give up just yet, so I turn to the left as soon as I leave the building, and sneak down the narrow passageway that leads to the backyard. Maybe Ron has left his window open. Since his room is on the ground floor, I could get into his office that way. This idea makes me a little nervous, but on the other hand, it might be the only way to get my life back.

  There it is, Ron's office window, and it is open! "Thank you, God," I mumble, glad that Ron hates air-conditioning. Now I just have to climb through it. But that's not as easy as I had imagined. Despite the room being situated on the ground floor, the window sill is quite high. With a groan I pull myself up and manage to get a knee on the windowsill, I’m just pushing the window pane gently back so I can get in, as... Shit!

  Hastily, I make my retreat, scraping my knee as I land on the concrete with a thud. I don’t wait to find out if Mrs. Gardner saw me or not, but instead sprint back to my car. It’s time to cut my losses and run.

  Lost in thought, I meander through the maze of the Frankfurt’s Westend, responding automatically to the traffic, while I consider my next course of action. That was a bust. I hope she didn't see me! Just the thought of how I must have looked hanging on to the window ledge about to climb through makes me blush a vivid hot red. I would rather the ground swallowed me up than she saw that, and not just because the whole thing is embarrassing, but rather because Ron can’t know about any of this. It’s important to keep him guessing. As soon as he gets wind that I’m sniffing around his guard will go up.

  With a disaffected grimace I brake before a red light, waiting for green with about fifty other motorists. Since that plan has failed, I need to think of something else. I wasn’t sure if I would find anything in Ron's office, but it would have been better if I could at least find out whether my hunch had any merit.

  Given that I couldn’t find a satisfactory answer, I need to continue working through my list of ideas. It’s important to find out who his new girlfriend is. Since we’re selling our home and I'm no longer there, I expect Ron is also no longer spending his leisure time within our four walls. Ron is not a loner, and especially not a man who washes his own clothes or prepares his own food. No. If I know him, he is living with his girlfriend, or in a hotel, and I want to know which. What is he doing outside of his work hours?

  With a bit of luck I can catch him, as he meets with some shady character, I think to myself cynically, and perhaps catch an incriminating conversation. With a shrug, I shake off these thoughts. Talking to myself does not help me. It’s better if I concentrate on the facts I can find out, and therefore I need to make a date for tonight with Ron.

  31

  When is he going to show up? Not for the first time in my life I’m waiting for Ron, and just as usual it makes me angry. What is the idiot doing? If it wasn’t for the fact I want to find out where he is currently staying, I’d leave, but instead I sit and wait in the car for him to turn up for our meeting.

  I’m parked in a small hidden parking space in the restaurant parking lot. From here I’ll be able to watch Ron, who will leave his car there too, because it is the only place from which you can easily reach the small wine bar on foot.

  Then, after he's waited in vain on me in the restaurant and starts to make his way home, I’ll follow him. Except that as it stands at the moment, I am
the one who has waited here in vain.

  I start to get nervous. I want to put all of this far behind me and start my life again. But apparently it’s not going to be that easy. The parking lot is nearly empty, the shops have closed, only the bars and restaurants attract visitors still. Where is Ron?

  The minutes drag by. God, this is boring! I’ll give him five more minutes, then I'm calling the whole thing off and going back to the hotel. Four more minutes... Three... Two... A car drives into the parking lot, a black BMW. It glides almost silently over the asphalt, and passes closer to me than I would like. I slide down in my seat hoping they don't see me. My hope that Ron has nothing to do with these dark figures, and would therefore come alone, bursts like a soap bubble.

  The next minute I hear Ron's Mercedes. The soft purring is unmistakable. The black car drives up next to the BMW and stops. Ron gets out of the Mercedes, and the driver's door of the other car opens as well. A dark-haired man comes to the fore. Ron speaks to him then, when he’s finished, makes his way over to our meeting place.

  Bile rises up in my throat. A black BMW, exactly the same as in Ibiza. I hear the screech of the tires in the parking garage again in my mind, the voice of the old man. "These young people nowadays. They barely have their driving licenses, and already they think they’re Sebastian Vettel." Except the driver obviously didn’t think of himself as Sebastian Vettel, but was apparently there on Ron's behest.

  I take a deep breath, then take a big gulp of water from the bottle I have with me. I try to pull myself together, because I need to think. I can’t follow Ron now, not now that his accomplices are waiting for me. How do I get out of here, without them seeing me and following me in order to carry out their threat? What if they start to search the cars for me?

  Another deep breath. Do not panic. I have to get out of here, and quickly, because the dark-haired man is turning around, eying the few vehicles that are still in the parking lot. Soon he will look over to my parking bay.

  Ron's accomplice takes his time to look very closely at each vehicle. As he turns his back on me, I take my chance. I carefully open the car door, slip out, and, crouching down, gently lean on the car. I must make no sound now. Using the car to steady myself I creep along it towards the trunk. I'm very close to the tangle of narrow streets stretching away behind the parking lot and which I can easily get lost in.

  I venture a look back, which is a mistake, because now I see that he is standing next to his car, looking tensely in my direction. Get back in the car. Come on, get in! You haven’t seen anything, I try silently to transmit my thoughts.

  I need to get away from here. Quick. My legs don't respond, but instead remain rooted to the spot. He’s coming towards me. He’s getting closer, so close that I can see the scars on his face. Finally I pull myself up, turn around, and run.

  Only a few lamps brighten the dusk, which is gradually turning into night. My footsteps echo on the cobbled streets. I'm running as fast as I can, but I'm not in top form. A look over my shoulder shows him catching up. Must go faster. I have to be faster than him. My breath comes in short bursts, mingled with sobs because I know I can no longer maintain this pace. It is only a matter of minutes before he catches up to me.

  I can hear his steps close behind me. I look back, I need to know how much advantage I have,...

  “Oops, young lady.”

  The impact almost knocks me over, I stumble backwards gasping for air.

  I eventually manage to utter the words "I’m... sorry."

  "No harm done." The stranger pats me awkwardly on the shoulder.

  "Paul you always have the best luck, once again a woman is throwing herself at you." Laughter accompanies this comment. Now I realize that the stranger is not alone. He’s accompanied by three friends.

  "Is everything all right? Why is it that a beautiful woman is running through the old town like the devil were behind her?"

  "My ex-husband. He was following me. I..." My voice fails, my throat is tight and tears spring up in my eyes. If I start crying now I'll never stop. Trembling, I take a deep breath.

  "Just take it easy. Nice and slow," says one of the men. A large guy with blonde hair and one of those goatees I always found ridiculous. Right now I'm just glad he's here, with or without beard.

  Then a second voice; "There’s nobody following you now. It's all right." Four pairs of eyes look anxious and somewhat dubious. I turn around slowly. The alley is empty. The street lamps throw circles of light on to the cobblestones, behind them only darkness and shadows. In one of these shadows, he waits. When these men go, he will have me.

  "Could you...? Would you mind, accompanying me to my car?" I look at the men.

  "Of course. No problem," retorts the guy I ran into, Paul. "We always like to help a lady in distress. Right guys?" They raise a chorus of approval. "No question."

  "We’ll show your ex-husband."

  "Let him come."

  "Thank you, I appreciate that." I force a smile. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I'm sweating. Just the thought of the fact he almost caught up with me, almost caught me, causes a feeling of nausea to overwhelm me. Determined, I push back these thoughts. Instead I tell myself that everything is all right now.

  We reach my car quickly and I look around, trying to find the man who was hot on my heels. Where is he? I ask the darkness silently, but only silence answers.

  Hastily, I thank my rescuers and go. I have to get away from here, I want to be back in the hotel, where I can crawl under the covers, and see and hear no more of the world.

  The tires respond with an indignant screech in protest as I press a little too hard upon the gas pedal. But I don't care. I should never have arranged a date with Ron here, because there are only two ways out. One leads to Bad Soden and the other goes on the Mainzer Landstrasse in Frankfurt. Two roads which can easily be monitored. I'm an idiot.

  After a short time considering my options I opt for the Mainzer Landstrasse. It has 4 lanes and several side streets which I can turn into if someone is following me, and then make my way back to the hotel with just a short detour.

  "Just take it easy, baby. We have time," says a voice behind me, just as I’m about to press the gas pedal to drive through a yellow light. I come to a screeching halt in fear. The driver behind me responds by angrily honking his horn. On my neck, I feel something cold and round.

  32

  I see the face of the dark-haired man in the rearview mirror. His eyes examine me amused. I would like to ask him what he wants from me, but my mouth is dry. I’m finding it hard to swallow, breathe or speak, and it’s getting harder by the second. Then I suddenly remember what it was like to glide weightlessly over the ice, to prepare for a difficult move, to concentrate, to focus exclusively on this one goal, and suddenly I feel sure. I feel invincible.

  "Just drive on. I’ll tell you where to go."

  Again, I look in the mirror, staring into brown eyes and a wicked smile. He can’t guess that I have just discovered the source of my power.

  After a few minutes, we are on the Mainzer Landstrasse. Right where I want to be, and where scar face will get a nasty surprise.

  Fortunately, there is not much traffic around this time. The street is clear before me, broken only by the light of several traffic lights that line the route to Central Frankfurt, and that’s exactly what I need. Traffic lights.

  I drive dutifully on, then wait at a red signal and pray that soon I’ll have what I need to put my plan in action: a relatively long stretch of road without interruption, on which I can step on the gas. Then, finally, I get lucky. I accelerate out of the crossing, leaving it far behind, going faster and faster until I'm nearly at the next one. As it turns to yellow I say "I can make it," and step on the gas pedal.

  "What are you doing, damn it? Don't be stupid, just..." Scar face doesn't get to say any more. I yank the steering wheel to the right and drive directly into the traffic light. My airbag inflates, trapping me behind the wheel. Scar face bangs agai
nst my headrest. I yank off my seat belt, then I run.

  Pictures race around my head as I lay trembling in bed. The BMW in the garage, the corpse, the dull thud as I dropped the dead body into the makeshift grave, scar face sitting behind me in the car with a gun pressed to my neck, Ron, Ron hugging me, the murdered... body... I'm trying to remember what it's like when I'm on the ice. If I have only one goal in mind, if I...

  It's not working. I hastily yank a paper bag out of my suitcase and breathe into it. Breathe... fill my lungs again. The dizziness that filled my head just now stops. I let myself sink into the pillows. Try to relax. Think of nothing.

  The image of the car wreck wanders through my head. My breath comes faster as I think about it. I remember how Ron talked to scar face in the parking lot. I must calm down. I need to speak to someone, otherwise I'm going to go crazy.

  I could call Anna. Just to hear her voice. To know that I am not alone and there are people out there to whom I mean something. Who aren’t trying to kill me.

  The phone. Where is the damn thing? My gaze wanders searchingly to the desk. Where’s my purse? Exhausted, I get up. I feel like I just ran a marathon.

  The device must be somewhere in the depths of my bag. With a sigh, I empty everything out onto the bed. I search through it, moving apart the smorgasbord of hankies, coins, make-up utensils and old receipts. There now, in the midst of the thousands of things that I drag around with me every day, I find it. With agitated hand movements I return everything to the bag. And then... that's weird.

  It takes a long time before I can move again. Released from the shock I go to the closet and search for the hair that I had fixed there. The hair that is meant to assure me that no one was in the room. No one except me.