"You should have asked that question before you took the money."
"That’s true, but I love the risk." To prove this he jumps up, does a handstand and begins to run on his hands. His t-shirt slips down and reminds me that I was in bed with him and have no memory of what happened.
"I need you to attach a GPS transmitter to Ron's car," I reply and pretend as if the view from his kitchen window is fascinating, although there’s little more than a small courtyard with a few trash cans.
"That's all?" Christian finishes his demonstration and sits back at the table. He takes a bread roll and methodically piles it high with butter, cheese, a pickle and several slices of tomato. When he’s finished, it looks quite healthy.
In protest, I bite into my own bread roll topped with marmalade. There must be a few vitamins somewhere in the sweet topping.
"I’ve never earned money so easily."
Instead of replying I inspect him. So far, I have the impression that his career is not particularly stressful, but maybe I’m wrong.
"Okay, okay, most of the time what I do is pretty cool,” he admits, "but a thousand euros, just to plant a transmitter. Great hourly wage."
"Who says that’s all?"
"Okay then, what else? Surprise me." Christian spreads his arms as if he wanted to embrace the whole world. I wish I had such a good mood in the morning.
"I want to stay with you, as long as it takes for the whole thing to get sorted out and the killer is caught."
"Hmmmm."
"What hmmmm?"
"If I remember correctly the body disappeared mysteriously. So, it may take a while until the police discover anything. Right now the dead man is only missing, and the prospects that he will be found soon are pretty bad I'd say. Don't you think?"
"I don't know, but I'm scared, I don’t want to be alone."
Christian is silent. He eats his bread roll while rocking in his chair, doing everything to give the impression that he’s only just outgrown kindergarten. “Okay. Why not? I never have home visits."
Right. Home visits. I had forgotten how he earns his money. No matter. Luckily the ladies never come here.
"So, what's your plan?" he asks after a few minutes silence passes between us.
"It's no big deal. You just need to go to the underground car park in which Ron parks his car every day, and then attach the transmitter to the car. He also works on Sundays," I add after I notice Christian's doubting look.
"And where do you get a GPS transmitter on a Sunday?"
Damn. I didn't think of that.
"I thought you could get something like that?"
"Me?"
“Yes. As a callboy you pretty much belong to the underworld of crime, right?"
Christian grins at me, and then he laughs. I don't know why that should be so funny.
"I've never seen it like that, but maybe you're right. Oddly I do know someone who can almost certainly lend us something for a few days."
I would rather not think about what kind of people have GPS transmitters lying around which they can happily lend out for a few days. Instead, I concentrate on the essentials.
"So, will you take the job?" I ask.
Christian takes a sip of coffee, grimaces and then stirs more sugar into it. He stands up to get the milk from the refrigerator. Once he has stirred the milk into his coffee he takes another sip, rotates the cup in his hands and extensively examines the drink. It’s almost as though he wants to read the coffee grounds. I watch him anxiously. You'd think he had all the time in the world. My eyes are stuck on his biceps. Scenes of the night in the Mainhatten pop into my head unbidden. I wish I could remember having sex with him.
"Are you in?" I ask in order to tear my attention away from his arm. He looks at me with an amused smile, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.
"Of course." His gaze wanders over my body. "Tell me what to do."
36
A few hours later I'm on my way to Bad Soden, the town in which I grew up. Christian has rented a car under his name for me. This time I chose an Audi TT. I always wanted to have a TT, but Ron was of the opinion that everything that is not a Mercedes or BMW was beneath his dignity... and thus below the dignity of his future wife.
Now I let the wind blow in my face, because it is a beautiful balmy summer night. Christian got me a convertible and so I can enjoy the weather to the fullest.
The GPS transmitter which is mounted on Ron's car, shows a road in Bad Soden in the vicinity of the Reitstalls as his last location. He was previously in a small hotel in Frankfurt's Westend. After a 20-Euro bill changed hands, the owner told me that he had rented a room there. I drive on deep in thought. I had not expected this development. I was pretty sure Ron would be living with his girlfriend, but what does he want here? Especially around this time of day? It is shortly after twelve o'clock at night, which excludes normal visits.
I exit at the next junction and take the road shortly thereafter to Bad Soden. It doesn't take long until I am turning into Kronberger Road, and driving up the hill towards the stables. On the left is the residential area, where many of the best villas are found. No wonder, because the views over the Rhine-Main region to Frankfurt are breathtaking.
Even though I would prefer to get this whole thing over with as soon as possible, I stick to the speed limit. I crawl along at 30 kilometers per hour through the residential area and slowly drive past the address which is listed as the last location of the GPS transmitter. At the end of the road I turn around, and drive by the house again. Nothing. No trace of Ron's Mercedes.
"Perhaps he parked his car in a garage," Christian comments.
It’s five o'clock in the morning as we flit through Frankfurt city center. Christian claimed that I had awoken him as I walked restlessly up and down in his living room after I came back from yesterday's journey of discovery and couldn't sleep. This new development has occupied my mind.
In the meantime, I'm now certain that Ron keeps all the important documents in his office safe. He’s very careful in these matters, and he wouldn’t take such documents to a hotel. Christian came downstairs, his hair tousled from sleep, before I could wear a trail in his carpet. He was the one who proposed we take advantage of the early hour and indulge in my new hobby. I have recently become the proud owner of a brand new set of Rollerblades.
Almost weightless, we whiz through the city that lies still asleep ahead of us. There are hardly any cars about so we can run on the road and rush along the Bockenheimer Landstraße at a crazy pace.
"So, what do you think?" Christian asks when I fail to comment on his previous remark. The image of a garage door is emerging in my mind's eye. A very large garage door. It’s a low building connected directly to the house, and it has at least two car spaces.
"You're right, the house had a double garage. Ron probably parked his Mercedes there."
"What do we do now? We don’t know much more than we did last night." An unspoken accusation resonates in his words. He’s angry because I drove to Bad Soden without him. It is his job to watch me, he said.
"At least we now know where 3 Linden Street is." With a grin, I look over at him.
"Great, we could have found that out through Google maps."
Satisfied I register that he is starting to sweat. This man has a tremendous level of fitness. I thought he wouldn't find it at all difficult, the effort is forcing me to slow down the pace, but I pretend to admire the old opera which lies ahead.
"Okay super brain. What do you suggest?"
"That's easy," he retorts and grins at me. "You pay me to go there and spy on Ron. Nobody knows me, so nobody would guess I’m watching him."
"I’m going to run out of money. You're pretty expensive."
"Don’t worry. There’s still enough in the thousand euros you paid me. I’ve not had so much fun in ages."
I’ve not had so much fun in ages. Christian's words run through my head as I stand before Nana's front door. I wish I could say the same th
ing, but I'm nervous about this evening. Today I'm going to meet Carlos. Nana's ‘youthful’ lover, as my mother would say.
The door is opened by Nana's housekeeper, as I enter a babble of voices and the sounds of a piano drift out into the hall. With a deep breath I walk over to the winter garden, where I will find Nana and her guests. I know, because it's not my first invitation to one of Nana's little dinner parties. 'Little' means twenty handpicked friends and acquaintances, while the words ‘Dinner Party’ are the reason I’m wearing a Lagerfeld creation and got my jewelry out of the bank safe. Now I feel like an expensive decorated Christmas tree.
No matter. It is important to get through this evening and to take a picture of Carlos... And then I'll talk to Nana.
"Darling. How nice to see you!" Nana hugs me and envelops me in a cloud of expensive perfume. Then she takes my hand. "Come on. I must introduce you to Carlos." Her face lights up as she says his name, and I make a decision. Nana is happy. If this man manages to conjure up such a glow in her face, he must be doing something right, and I would be the last person who would want to ruin Nana’s happiness.
While I’m having this inner monologue, Nana pulls me into a side room. There, immersed in a conversation, we find two men.
"Honey. I want you to meet someone,” Nana speaks to one of the two. A bit puzzled I notice the gray hairs, as the man Nana spoke to turns around. This can be not Carlos. This man is at least sixty years old, if not older.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, you must be Tamara. Nana has told me so much about you. My name is Carlos de Ballesteros.”
Fortunately, my upbringing takes over and I say the right words automatically, shake his hand and shortly thereafter withdraw to organize my thoughts. I have to laugh. Nana did it again: she made my mother crazy by letting her think that Carlos was younger than I am. I have to smile when I imagine my mother meeting the ‘young lover’ for the first time.
37
It's only just gone eight o'clock as I stand in the kitchen the next morning, a pot of coffee waiting for me. A full pack of cereal, a bowl and a large coffee cup stand on the table as well, so that I can make myself a drink and breakfast. The man knows how to pamper a woman, except maybe not the cereal.
Frustrated, I push the packs in the cupboard to the side as I read them. Each one looks healthier than the last. If only he had at least something with chocolate chips. But no it’s either fruit muesli or nut muesli. He has pretty much everything the heart of a health food junkie could desire. I close the cupboard then make a jam sandwich, even though I was hoping for something better.
Reasonably satisfied, I flip though yesterday’s Frankfurt General Newspaper. I open the section that contains the television program. Maybe there's a good movie I can watch tonight. Nothing!
As I’m not particularly interested in politics, I take a look at the local section. Bored, I skim read an article on a new art exhibition, there’s some modern artist who does great things with steel pipes. A few pages later come the articles about sporting events in the Rhine-Main area. How boring. And then... I stop!
Driver of a rental car commits a hit-and-run, is emblazoned in big letters. With a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, I read on. I feel even stranger as it becomes clear that the article is about me, about the night in which I wrapped the car around a traffic light pole to escape scar face. Apparently he also fled the scene, because they didn’t speak to him. The car rental company has now filed suit against the driver of the car, the police are investigating the hit-and-run.
"Your husband is a bore." My heart almost stops in fright when I hear Christian's voice behind me.
"Are you crazy? I almost had a heart attack," I reproach him.
"I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you." With an apologetic smile, he sits down and grabs the box of cereal.
"Why is Ron a bore?"
"Because he’s in the office. I’ve been sitting at the computer for at least two hours, waiting for a new signal from the GPS transmitter, and what happened you ask? Nothing! Except that he drove to Frankfurt, and went to the office. Does he actually do anything other than work?"
“No. His job is his life." I pour some of the cereal into a bowl and add milk. "It tastes awful!" I declare after one spoonful.
"Rubbish! This is healthy, better than that sweet stuff that you normally fuel your body with."
"I need the sweet stuff in order to develop a positive attitude for the day, and the rabbit food you love is completely unsuitable." With these words, I pour the contents of my bowl into his.
"Do you have to?" His annoyed look does me good. Instead of an answer, I dig out a pack of children’s ham I found at the back of the fridge. Better I eat it than let it rot there.
"What do I do now? Not only is Ron after me, but I now have the police breathing down my neck." With these words, I slide the paper across to him.
"Do you always make such a mess out of your life?"
I don’t know how he managed to read the whole article in that short amount of time, it was at least a quarter page.
"No!" I snarl at him. "The question is, what do I do now?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing at all? The police are looking for me because of a hit and run, the car company filed charges against me, and you think I should do nothing?"
“No. At the moment, nobody knows where you are. And you rented the car under Ron's name, didn’t you?"
"That’s true, I registered it on Ron's Platinum card, but I was captured in the system as I picked up the car. I said I would bring it to Ron, because he didn’t have time."
"Precisely. Let Ron explain everything for a change. It won’t do him any harm to grapple with it for a while."
A smile creeps up on my face. This is by far the best idea Christian has had so far.
"I’ll stake out the house at 3 Linden Street today," proclaims Christian, while he eats the next spoonful of cereal. If his eating habits continue like this he’ll reach a hundred.
"Oh?" It’s actually a good idea, but for some reason I really want to contradict him.
“Yes, maybe we can find out exactly what dark machinations Ron is involved in."
"I’ll bet the house at 3 Linden Street is his new girlfriend’s place. I doubt that Ron is up to any illegal activities there." I give him this idea to consider.
"Possibly, but I’d like certainty."
"I’ll come with you."
"Oh, no." Christian looks up from his breakfast and shakes his head to underline his statement.
"Oh, yes!" I stare at him stubbornly.
"We agreed that it is too dangerous for you to be close to Ron. You can't risk being discovered."
"Then I’ll wear a disguise." He can’t believe that I’ll just sit around all day in his apartment and get bored.
"Arghh!" With a sigh, he gives up. "I'm curious to see your disguise now."
I feel like a new person! I examine my reflection with satisfaction. I am in Easy Cut, a hair salon in Bad Soden, and they have given me hair extension in just one hour. Now I look like Germany's blonde answer to Beyoncé.
I also have an extensive shopping trip behind me, which has resulted in me wearing a light summer dress with a plunging neckline and a lace bra peeking out from under it.
Of course I’ve only gone to this much effort so that no one will recognize me. With new hair, big dark sunglasses and a mini dress, Ron will never recognize me as his almost-wife.
“Wow. I almost didn't recognize you." Christian eyes me approvingly when I get into the car next to him. It's noon, and he’s been watching the house on Linden Street for several hours.
"This is my disguise," I explain and act as if I’m watching the house, when in reality every fiber in my body is prickling at his mere proximity.
"Not bad." Instead of watching the house, Christian’s gaze wanders to, and then lingers on, the neckline of my dress.
"Has anything happened while I’ve been gone?" I lean back in my seat relaxed. It won’t d
o Christian any harm to sweat a little. Especially after he abused me this morning with a healthy breakfast.
“No. Nothing at all. It’s been totally boring, the whole thing." Christian tears his eyes away from my neckline and instead stares with a wrinkled brow at the front of the building. He sinks deeper into his seat and looks over at me. "Long hair looks good on you."
"Yes?" Embarrassed I wrap one of the blonde strands around my finger. "I used to have it longer, but Ron didn't like it. He said that the wife of a banker should look respectable, and not like..."
I break off. Ron's exact words were "a sex-hungry man killer," but Christian doesn’t need to know that.
"I like it, it looks sexy." His voice is a soft murmur. A shiver trickles down my body. "Where did you park the Ferrari?"
His question pulls me out of my reverie, my thoughts were definitely not family friendly. How can he think about his car now?
"Uh. The Ferrari." In my brain, there is a momentary silence. Then it comes back to me. "Down at the stables."
"That’s alright then." Somehow Christian's response sounds too calm. Maybe I'm not the only one who is finding it pretty hot in here, and not because of the summer heat.
"Why did you want to marry him?" Christian resumes the conversation after a short break.
"Because I loved him, of course," I answer his question. "Why else would you get married?"
He shakes his head, grinning. "I could name many women who’ve married for many other reasons, for example, because he’s an influential man? Or because he has success and money?"
"I have money, Ron the success," I note. "Ron has always fascinated me because he managed to make a successful career in banking without money or connections."
"Has he now?" A thoughtful look greets me.
"Of course, Ron was already successful when we met."
"If you say so."
"What about you? You never wanted to get married? Or are you smarter than me and avoided the question altogether?" I counter. I look at him enquiringly. Why should I be the only one who answers tough questions?
Never Trust a Callboy Page 14