Never Trust a Callboy

by Birgit Kluger

  "Haha. Very funny. You also look way too young to have a PhD."

  "How old do you think I am?”

  "Not a day older than twenty seven."

  "Now you've hurt me. I'm only twenty six."

  “Then what, you’re some kind of Brainiac?"

  "No, I'm not much smarter than the average person."

  “How smart?”

  Christian shrugs. "I graduated top of my class, but only because I needed to if I wanted to find a good PhD post." The way he says it implies he would rather drop the subject. But it’s so interesting.

  "So how did you become a callboy? A little prodigy like you could earn a lot of money!"

  Christian sighs. Apparently, he’s noticed that he’s not getting away that easily, and this time he is absolutely right.

  "Do you know how boring it is, doing nothing all your life but learning and working? I was tired of being perfect. I wanted to have fun, meet women, make friends, do only what I wanted to do. It became clear to me, what I really wanted. Do you understand that?"

  "It doesn’t sound like you had a lot of fun."

  "Precisely. And with women it was even worse. I couldn’t even start a relationship, because I had no time. First I focused on my high school diploma, then university, then work. When I did start a relationship, it never lasted long. The ladies all discovered that I would never have enough time for them."

  "Maybe that wasn’t the only reason."

  "Oh, really? What do you think it was?"

  "Have you ever thought it could be your behavior?" I smile at him. I couldn’t resist the small side-swipe.

  "How do you mean?"

  "Christian. We’re sitting side by side on the couch. And what are you doing? You're reading a boring journal! If you find that more interesting than me, I can’t help you."

  Crap. Damn it. I shouldn’t have said that. My hasty answer hasn’t escaped his notice. With a grin he puts the magazine away and leans over to me. For safety, I move away from him a little. He shouldn’t think that it was an invitation.

  But he’s not so easy to shake off.

  "Are you afraid of me?" His eyes twinkle as he watches me. Why do I always put myself in these situations?

  "Pff... Dream on," I say coolly and concentrate on Russell Crowe, who is at least at a safe distance.

  "Well then it won't bother you if I get somewhat closer."

  Pretending I’m deeply engrossed in the action on the screen I don't answer his question, and try to ignore his body touching mine.

  "Can you make a little space?" I say and try to move away. But I can’t, the armrest of the couch ensures that I have to stay where I am.

  "I thought you were bored. Didn’t you just say, I could do something better than read magazines?"

  "That was just an example. To make it clear to you, what could have disturbed your exes."

  "Does it bother you too?" His eyes hold my gaze, looking for an answer to an unspoken question. Slowly, very slowly, as though making sure that I have time to deliberate on whether I want to, his lips brush my hair and make their way to my neck, where they brush gently over my skin.

  "I can imagine quite a lot of things that I find much more interesting," he whispers and kisses me.

  The world around me ceases to exist. I embrace him, and let him lead me. All of a sudden I'm lying under him. Christian leans on his elbows while my body is pushing upwards towards him. I want to feel more of him.

  I will not release him, never again... Never again?

  The thought brings me back to reality with a jerk. I break off the kiss, push Christian away from me and sit up. I must be crazy. I swore to myself I wouldn’t do anything with him, that I wouldn’t fall for the wrong man again.

  "You're right, let's go upstairs, there’s not enough space here." Christian has not noticed that my mood has changed. He stands up and pulls me behind him, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. He kisses me while questions swirl around in my head, only to resolve themselves in a matter of seconds. I know exactly what I want, it is only a little adventure after all.

  Before I can think any more, I lie down on the bed. Christian above me. I yank his shirt out of his jeans, close my eyes and stroke his soft skin with my hands.

  The phone rings.

  "Ignore it," murmurs Christian.

  It’s the tune to Mission Impossible; his phone.

  "Damn it." Christian raises his head and looks with crinkled brow over to the device that lies on the bedside table.

  "Let it ring," I whisper and pull him back down to me.

  The Sabre Dance; a second phone; frustrated, I stare at the ceiling. It can't be true!

  "How many phones do you have?"

  "Too many." Christian places a kiss on my forehead, and I know that our night is over. "I'm sorry, I have to take this."

  Before I can say anything, he's gone. Disappointed, I lie in bed and wonder why a callboy has a phone whose calls he has to answer. Only one answer to this question comes to mind, and I don't like it.

  42

  "You cannot be serious!" Christian looks at me dumbfounded. Given that he works in such a dodgy business I had expected a different reaction.

  "I have to do it. It’s time to find out more about Ron, and I'm sure he keeps all his important documents in his office safe. Even if he has nothing to do with the murder, something is wrong. Maybe he wants to get my money. Maybe I can find a clue as to whether he was involved in the murder of Barelli."

  "Do you think there’s a confession in his safe? Something along the lines of; I did it, I murdered Barelli?"

  "Save your sarcasm. Can you help me or not?"

  "There must be another way." With his arms crossed, he leans against the kitchen counter. You'd think I’d asked him to break into Ron's office. I just want him to act as lookout while I commit the burglary.

  "I'm all ears if you have a better suggestion." Silence; I thought so, he doesn’t. The silence lasts for a few seconds, but then a smile spreads across his face.

  "Of course I have a better idea," he says.

  I'm suddenly not so sure Christian's idea was really that good as I face Ron’s secretary dressed in a blazer over discreet gray pants. I've pinned up my newly extended hair and hope that hides its new length. Behind me on the chairs, which are reserved for waiting customers, Christian leafs through a magazine, acting like he hasn’t noticed me.

  He’s also wearing business attire, a gray suit, Italian handmade shoes and a pair of sunglasses. It was his idea to pose as a potential private customer to get an appointment and come here in broad daylight. While I distract Ron's secretary, he’ll sneak into the office and make copies of the documents which are hidden in Ron’s safe. I can only hope that I'm right with regard to the combination.

  "I'd like to see Ron," I say to Mrs. Gardner without beating around the bush, and try to suppress the burgeoning jealousy as a pretty twenty-something with swaying hips and a very short skirt struts past Christian. He almost sprains his neck turning to watch her walk away. Typical!

  "Mr. Krämer is not here," Mrs. Gardner has unknowingly given me the keywords. From the corner of my eye I can see Christian put down his magazine. I take a deep breath.

  "I want to see him, right now."

  "He’s not here, but you can try again in an hour." Unmoved, Mrs. Gardner carries on typing, acting as if I was invisible.

  "I don’t believe you. I know he is here! You should start doing your job properly, instead of getting on my nerves with your lies!"

  Finally I have her attention. She looks at me with a wrinkled brow, as Christian rises softly from his seat behind me. I take the flower vase which is on Mrs. Gardner's desk and empty the contents over her keyboard.

  "Have you lost your mind?" she cleans the keyboard frantically, but I'm not done yet. With a big sweeping motion, I knock everything off her desk; folders, letter trays, pens and all her documents land on the ground with a loud crash.

  The door to Ron's office closes.


  Mrs. Gardner is staring at me with eyes wide open.

  "Maybe Ron has time for me now?"

  Instead of an answer, she hastily starts to type on her phone. "Send two people from security to Mr. Krämer’s office. There’s a crazy woman here,” she shrieks into the handset. But before her assistance appears, the door opens and Ron enters. I had not expected that. He’s supposed to be at lunch. Our careful, elaborate plan was supposed to provide Christian with at least ten minutes so that he has enough time to take pictures of the documents in peace and quiet. When he’s finished, he’ll disappear through the window in Ron's office.

  "What are you doing here?" I snap at Ron, loud enough that Christian can hear me. "Why order me to be here for one o'clock, when you know that you won’t be here? I have better things to do, than chase around after you!"

  Both Ron and Mrs. Gardner stare at me in consternation. Which isn’t surprising given that Ron is standing right in front of me and not absent.

  "Have you gone crazy?" Ron is released first from the torpor. Behind him, the door opens and two men in uniform slide through.

  I guess now Christian's on his own.

  With a deep breath I lean against the tree, in whose shadow the Audi is parked. I'm waiting for Christian, I hope he got out of Ron’s office in time. I hope he heard me. Ron's office is on the ground floor, so it shouldn’t be a problem for Christian to escape through the window.

  Where is he? Restless I inspect passers-by. I slowly start to get itchy feet because I desperately want to leave. Ron has definitely informed his aides that I'm here. The small schoolyard where we parked the car is not so easy to find, but still I want to leave the area as quickly as possible. At some point they will show up here, I'm sure.

  A familiar figure approaches. At last!

  "Did you get the copies?"

  "Not now. Let's just get out of here." Without waiting for an answer, Christian climbs into the car and starts the engine.

  Frustrated, I stare at the endless columns of numbers scrolling up and down on the screen, depending on which direction I scroll with the mouse. Except that Ron's work must be pretty boring, it tells me nothing.

  "Do you understand what this is?"

  “Yes. Your Dear Ron has been laundering money, on a very large scale." Christian points to a name "And this guy here is pretty well known in the Russian underworld."

  I swallow hard. I don’t want to have anything to do with the Russian underworld.

  "Ron is also trying to siphon off some of the money for himself. And that is not healthy in the long term,“ adds Christian.

  "Really?"

  "It looks like the investments were very successful."

  "That's not so bad, then he can pay the money back."

  "I don't think he has it. Look at all the money transfers abroad. Ron is putting all his money in an account in the Cayman Islands."

  "Oh."

  "I guess in a few weeks, he will disappear from Germany."

  "Son of a bitch. He's getting out of here, while I have to deal with dead bodies and thugs.”

  "Think of it this way, you've given him more trouble in the last few days than he could ever have dreamed of."

  "Except he managed to make the last few days an absolute nightmare for me too!"

  "It’s still better than sitting behind bars."

  "You can talk. It's not your neck on the line." With a sigh I put down the laptop. It is still early afternoon, but at the same time, I'm exhausted.

  "At least you’ve got documents now which prove that Ron is dirty. You can make life hell for him with that. You should give this information to the police."

  "I would rather keep the police out of it. Ron's illegal activities don’t yet prove that he's also a murderer, and that means I’m still guaranteed to be the main suspect," I mumble darkly.

  "Don't worry." Christian puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in to him. The man is driving me crazy, can’t he send out clear signals? I hardly get to bed with him before he has to go make another woman happy. What’s he really thinking? Annoyed, I hoist myself from his arms and stand up.

  "You're driving me crazy, you know that?"

  "What’s wrong now?"

  "Nothing. Everything is great. I don't mind at all if you jump up and run to a different customer when we’re in bed together." I storm out of the room angrily. I crawl into bed in the guest room and pull the blanket over my head. Very adult behavior, but I don't care. I'm sick of it. Christian acts as if he cares about me, but his phone barely rings and he disappears. It is time to get away from here, to lead my own life. If he only had a little guts, he would come up to apologize, to insist that he had not gone to another woman.

  But he doesn’t come.

  43

  Restless, I wander up and down. Christian had to leave, and so I can unleash my nervousness. I have to get out of here. This apartment is driving me crazy. I feel like a prisoner. I also have the impression that we are exaggerating the problem. The Rhine-Main area is huge. It is unlikely I’ll be discovered by Ron or his thugs, even if I do leave Christian's apartment.

  I could go roller-blading, or shopping.

  Determined, I storm up the stairs to the guest room. I will treat myself to a shopping trip. I've earned it; and then I will go to the female gym in Bad Soden, men aren’t allowed in there. There is hardly a place where I could be more safe; at least I think so. Where are my bloody sweat pants? Annoyed I gather up the clothing I threw on the floor during my search. Living out of a suitcase is getting on my nerves. There under the bed. Yes, that must be them.

  Lying on my stomach I pull out the piece of clothing from under the bed. It’s been a while since someone cleaned under there, if it was ever cleaned. In addition to my pants and several dust balls, I find a plastic card. It looks like a credit card. I glance at it and realize that he has lied to me. More than that, he has abused my trust. The lousy bastard!

  I'm still angry when I think about the fact I believed his story, that Christian was a callboy. I’m certain he laughed about my stupidity. I’m an idiot to believe that a smart overachiever like him would become a paid lover, and I even thought he cared about me.

  With a nudge, I push the thick envelope into the mail box, an anonymous letter to the police. I know it’s somewhat cowardly, but I have no intention of being tried for murder in court. For this reason, I have written that a corpse was buried in Ron Krämer’s garden. I have also included the photos of Ron with Madeleine.

  After my mission is complete, I will buy a train ticket. Normally, I avoid public transport, but since my life became a mess, they seem to have become a necessity.

  With a sigh, I struggle through the compartment doors and look for my seat. It will be a long ride, lots of time for me to think about my future. Of course, I know that the officials will want to question me too, but that won't be easy, because they’ll have to find me first, and after all I'm just the unsuspecting ex-girlfriend, no one knows who buried the body.

  44

  It takes forever until I finally arrive in Ibiza. The island is the only place where I want to be at the moment. Here, I can lose myself in the hustle and bustle of tourists, or explore the area with Anna. No one will suspect that I ran here for a second time.

  I let myself sink into the soft pillows and enjoy the views of the port of Ibiza town. At the same time, I notice how tired I am. A couple of minutes; I’ll close my eyes for a few minutes.

  When I wake up, it is late afternoon, I slept longer than planned. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I get dressed and go down the steps from the old town to the harbor, on the way my mobile phone rings.

  Christian.

  That's too bad.

  I click "Decline." He can wear his fingers to the bone. He can break his clever brain wondering what has become of me.

  It takes five minutes before the phone rings again, and again. I am considering throwing the damn thing in the water, but then decide to answer the call. Actua
lly, I wanted to let him wriggle slightly, well, no matter.

  "Have you lost your mind?" Christian roars in my ear, a millisecond after I answer the call. He is probably in a bad mood. I'd rather wait until he has calmed himself down again.

  Before I can turn off the phone, it rings again.

  "Can you talk normally with me now?"

  "You're crazy. Completely, totally crazy. You know that?"

  "No, I don't know that, but I can turn off my phone if you’d prefer."

  He pulls himself together with an audible effort and asks with a nearly normal voice: "So, was it fun? I hope it was fun emptying a whole can of spray paint?"

  "Frank, use your brain; you know exactly why I decorated your walls."

  Instead of an answer, I hear a loud sigh on the line. "Call me Christian. Please."

  "Why? We both know that your name is Frank, and we both know how you earn your money."

  "That's right. But my second name is Christian. My friends call me Christian."

  "You have friends?"

  He sighs again. "Not a lot, and until recently I've been counting you as one. So, how did you find out?"

  Before I answer, I sit down. I lean against the wall of a warm house and close my eyes. "Under the bed in the guest room, I found your membership card for the Federation of German Detectives."

  Christian sighs. "I wanted to tell you everything."

  "Yes, of course you did, and you wanted to give me the moon and the stars next. You're no better than Ron."

  "Where are you? I want to talk to you."

  "You’re talking to me now. And where I am is none of your business."

  "Tamara. Please."

  "You'll figure it out. You’re intelligent." I finish the conversation, tilt my head back and look up at the bright blue sky. A satisfied grin spreads across my face as I imagine him standing in his apartment, the word ‘Bastard’ in red paint staring at him from every wall.

  45

  The next day, I get up early and bring my breakfast into the bedroom. I have some work to do if I want to lead my life again as I imagine it. So I grab the laptop and connect it to the Internet. Then I write an email to Marc, my former coach, and ask him if his offer to train the youth still stands. Then I send another email to Nigel to ask him whether I can have my job at the gallery back in the autumn.