by Paul Blake
He called for the bill, paid and left.
5
Alec exited the bar onto to Kurfürstenstraße. Opposite the bar was the Lukas Gemeinde Evangelical church, with its large wooden cross on the front of the building, next to the main door. He crossed over the road and made the sign of the cross over his heart for luck, I’ll need all the help I can get, he thought with a smile. He wasn’t religious. Raised Church of England, religion was drummed into him at school with prayers before meals, chapel every morning, trying not to get caught either revising for that day’s test or finishing the prep (homework) from the night before. During the sermon he and his friends played ‘dead leg screams’, where they would punch each other hard on the quadriceps muscle, which had always sounded to Alec as a child like a dinosaur with four arms, hoping to inflict enough pain to make the other scream out and get busted by Mr Crick, the housemaster for talking during chapel. Getting busted in chapel always meant a slippering: five strikes with the heavy, rubber-soled plimsoll during mid-morning break. You’d head back to your House after second lesson and join the line of boys standing to attention in the corridor, silently listening to the whack, whack, whack, whack… whack, coming from the closed door to the Housemaster’s office. There was always a pause before the last one as the pain from the first four takes a while to set in, the pause let it develop and make itself known before the fifth compounded the agony. Alec saw religion as a distraction, a waste of time.
He continued along Kurfürstenstraße for a minute and came to the junction with Karl-Heinrich-Ulrichs-Straße, he walked past the large SoVD (Sozialverband Deutschland) building on the corner and headed down to Nollendorfplatz. He passed the seven-storey CVJM Jugendgästehaus hostel with the array of shops at its base, each of them closed at this time. Looking at the shops, he checked his watch and saw that it was coming up to one thirty, better get a move on, if she’s there she’ll be gone soon. He reached Nollendorfplatz, a wide thoroughfare, with the Nollendorfplatz U-bahn station in the centre. There were a few girls around. He went over to the closest one: A slim, blonde, maybe in her early 20s, wearing a leather jacket, shocking pink skirt and the obligatory knee-high boots.
‘Entschuldigung,’ excuse me, ‘is Brigette working tonight?’
‘Why do you want Brigette? She is old. I am better.’ She said, her voice had a Romanian accent. To emphasise the point, she swayed her hips seductively.
‘She is a friend, not for business.’
The girl pouted and pointed over to the U-bahn station, ‘You come back when you’re finished with your friend, I make you very happy.’
Alec smiled and lied, ‘I may just do that, danke.’
‘Bis später.’ See you later, she said with a wink.
Alec crossed over to Nollendorfplatz station; the entrance was in what had the appearance of a bunker, a solid stone bricked construction with no windows, only an entrance, lit on either side by three-foot-high rectangular column lights. To the left of the entrance, the station platforms were raised and enclosed inside a glass-windowed structure, looking like two floors of an office block from the 1980s. The platform building was suspended over six lanes of road, which were broken up by supporting concrete columns. Above the station was a large, white powder coated, steel framed open dome, with a big ‘U’ in white text and blue background to indicate the purpose of the building.
The entrance was closed, it being a weekday, the U-bahn had shut for the night. Alec walked round to the right of the entrance; there was a poorly lit, paved area beside the station, where during the day commuters left their bikes. At night it became a place of drug dealers, and prostitutes. Fortunately for Alec on this cold December night, it looked as though the drug dealers had stayed at home, they usually weren’t much trouble, just persistent. There were a few women there still hoping to pick up a last-minute customer or two.
Alec heard Brigette before he saw her, her strident voice booming out over the low-level conversation at the southern side of the station. Alec crossed under the train tracks overhead and headed towards her voice. He had always had a lot of time for Brigette when he was out in the field. She was very smart and knew how to obtain information, such as which diplomats had a predilection for streetwalkers in the Bülowstraße - Kurfürstenstraße area, who visited the strip clubs, brothels and sex cinemas in the area, even who were attracted to the young boys down Martin-Luther-Straße. Alec regularly gave her photos of foreign and British diplomats to study and would see her every few weeks for an update. Alec paid her well and had always enjoyed her company. Taking care not to cross the line into customer territory no matter how much he had wanted to, they had enjoyed time together, saw the occasional German-language film in the kinos, and had dinner in the numerous restaurants in the area. She was easy to speak to, a charming, flirtatious manner. Alec didn’t know if she ever wanted to take it further than that, he knew if he did it would be the end of his time in the service. An officer couldn’t have a prostitute as a girlfriend or wife; he would have been sent back to England. Brigette was German and had walked the streets since she was nineteen; Alec first met her when she was in her mid-twenties. She had a voluptuous figure, usually over-spilling the tight clothes she wore on the job. When she was with Alec, she usually dressed more conservatively. She had a classic German face, full jawed, prominent nose, fair skin, dark hair, sometimes with multi-coloured highlights or lowlights. In her case, it all pooled into a breath-taking combination that was very good for business. Alec had always maintained she should have been in movies, but she didn’t want to leave the life she knew so well.
He turned at the edge of the paved area and went towards the station’s southern entrance; opposite was the imposing Neues Schauspielhaus building, now home to the Goya gay nightclub, with its dancing nude figurines on the facade. Alec had visited the place regularly back in the 90s when it was a concert venue. He saw Brigette standing by the entrance, amongst a group of four other women, all younger than her, her voice raised and a slight slur to her words. She appeared to be telling them about the good old days before the influx of Eastern European “whores”, when the women could earn a decent wage without being undercut by the pimped-out crack addicts.
‘Hallo, Brigette,’ Alec called out as he closed the distance.
Brigette looked around for the owner of the voice and finally saw Alec approach. Her eyes narrowed, and she unleashed a torrent of abuse at him, she pushed one of the women out of her way and marched over to Alec, her volume increasing as she got closer, and as she got within arm’s reach, she started swinging. Alec was unprepared for the violence, and she got a couple of blows in before he could defend himself. He felt the impact of each one and painfully lifted his arms to block the strikes. He let Brigette expend her energy and calm the hell down so he could find out what her problem was. She stopped quicker than he thought she would and then heard a feminine voice behind him say: ‘Brigette, you want me to stick him?’
Alec span round and saw a much younger girl, barely eighteen, holding a vicious looking knife in her right hand and looking mean enough to use it.
‘What?’ said Brigette, her eyes widening as she saw the blade, ‘No Ingrid, don’t. It’s alright, I know him.’
‘You sure? He looks like a creep; you always said, “Never give the creeps the chance to get near”.’
‘Brigette, call your girl off, you know I’m not a threat.’ Alec said.
‘It’s ok Ingrid; he’s just a guy I used to know.’ Brigette said.
Ingrid put her knife back into the small handbag hanging from her shoulder.
‘Watch yourself Herr Creep,’ Ingrid said, ‘you hurt our Puffmutter we’ll hurt you.’
‘Ingrid, enough,’ Said Brigette. ‘Customers are coming. I’ll deal with him.’
Ingrid walked back to the other women, her posture changing as she walked from showing menace to offering a night of seduction and wickedness. Alec turned back to face Brigette; he could see the fury had left her eyes, he hope
d it could stay away.
‘She is sure feisty,’ Alec said. ‘Puffmutter? You’re now a madam?’
‘That’s what happens. You either marry Prince Charming or become a madam when the customers no longer fight for your affections.’ Brigette said, the sadness evident in her voice. ‘Why are you here Stefan? What do you want? Have you seen the error of your ways and are finally going to be my Prince Charming and whisk me away from all of this?’ She opened her arms wide to indicate the grubby station entrance.
‘I need your help, Brigette, I’m in trouble.’ Alec said.
‘You need my help?’ Brigette said. ‘You show up after all these years, looking for a favour? Where have you been? Why should I help you?’
‘Brigette,’ Alec said. ‘I am in serious trouble, and I know I’ve been no friend to you for a long time. I am so sorry for that, I have no excuse, I would never have come here, but I have no one else I can go to.’
Alec truly did feel bad, looking at Brigette she had aged far more than ten years, her once carefree, beautiful face, now had hard lines around the eyes and mouth, Alec could see the nicotine staining of her teeth as she talked, the light in her eyes had dimmed as time and the streets had taken their toll.
‘What is in it for me?’
‘I am desperate; I’ll give you whatever I can.’ Alec took out his wallet and pulled out several Euros in high denominations.
Brigette looked at his wallet. ‘I want that.’ She said pointing at the black and white picture of a woman showing in the photo window of the black leather wallet.
Alec shook his head, ‘That’s all I have left of her. I cannot give that up.’
‘Who is she? The photo looks old.’
‘Her name was Stefanie. I got her killed many years ago.’
‘Stefan and Stefanie? How adorable,’ Brigette paused for a moment. ‘Ok, in exchange for my help, I want twenty thousand Euros. I know you cannot get me them now, so I will hold the picture of Stefanie as collateral. How does that sound?’
Alec frowned, ‘I’d rather not let it go… but I have no choice, I accept.’ He pulled the picture out of the wallet and held it out for her.
‘At least this way, you get to see me again; try not to leave it a decade though.’ Brigette opened her handbag and pulled out a large purse. She put the picture in the purse, ‘So what do you need me to do? Tell you what happened to the Russian ambassador last week?’ She asked.
‘Do you know where I can find Makary?’
‘Makary? Is that all? You’re willing to give me twenty thousand Euros for that?’ Brigette sounded incredulous.
‘It’s important to me,’ Alec said. ‘When it’s over I’ll come back, get my picture and tell you all about it, maybe over a coffee?’
‘I’d like that, I’ve missed you, you know,’ she thought for a moment. ‘Makary is usually found in the Golden Dolls on Potsdamer Straße.’
‘Sounds like a strip club,’ Alec said. ‘I don’t know that one.’
‘Really?’ She arched a tattooed eyebrow, ‘I remember going to quite a few with you once upon a time.’
Alec coughed uncomfortably, ‘I’m far too old nowadays for that kind of thing, definitely a case of “Herr Creep”,’ he said.
‘You’re only as old as the women you feel,’ Brigette said with a wicked smile. ‘It is where the Hollywood Club used to be.’
‘Used to be? When did that close down?’
‘Oh, around seven years ago or so. Didn’t I take you there once?’ She asked.
‘… Yes, once was more than enough, if ever a club was stuck in the 80s, it was that place.’ He laughed at the memory, more a school disco than a nightclub in a major city. Cheesy Europop, the occasional female Serbian singer to attract the crowds, bad dancing, and cheap drinks.
‘Stefan,’ Brigette said, her voice suddenly serious, ‘Why didn’t you come back to see me?’
Alec thought for a while, unsure how to answer. She deserves the truth. ‘I was promoted at work—’
‘—Oh, poor you.’
‘Let me finish… I was promoted at work, but the job was different. Made me different. I had to act a certain way, behave a certain way. I shouldn’t have accepted it; I loved what I did before, the work wore me out, dragged me down. Then my b-brother and his wife died in a car accident. I shut myself away, couldn’t face the world. I was like a zombie, hitting the bottle too hard and far too often. They should have fired me; it’s only because my friend is my boss, that I’m still there.’
‘Oh Stefan, I’m sorry,’ she reached out and pulled him close, her hand rubbing his back in comfort, ‘you could have come to me. I could have helped.’
‘I’ll remember that next time. Danke.’ He bent his head down and kissed her forehead. ‘Danke.’ He repeated.
Now it was Brigette’s turn to be embarrassed, she disengaged from Alec, ‘It’s getting late, Makary won’t stay there all night.’
‘You’re right, I’d better go.’ Alec looked straight into her eyes, ‘I will be back… I promise.’
‘I hope so.’
Alec thought her eyes looked brighter, her posture straighter than it was before, that might just be wishful thinking though, he thought.
‘Bis bald.’ See you soon, Alec said
Brigette blew him a kiss; turned and walked back to the group of women, who all excitedly started talking. When she got there, she looked back at Alec, smiled and shooed him away with a wave of her hand. Alec got the hint and left the station entrance the way he came.
6
Alec turned onto Bülowstraße to avoid the Romanian prostitute from earlier, thinking of Brigette. He felt ashamed of the way he had treated her, you treated her just like a whore, paying her for information and paying to leave with no strings attached or feelings involved. You can blame the people not liking the fact you had a prostitute as a friend all you like; you know its rubbish. Nothing would have happened if you'd continued seeing her. You were just scared of how close she was getting to you, how she was unlocking that dead heart of yours. You’ve been that way since Stefanie. You did the same to Claudia, luckily, she had the sense to get over you quickly and marry Roger. That was the best thing she ever could have done. You’re damaged goods, old man, damaged goods. You’re fifty-one now, you are going to be alone forever. He turned on to Potsdamer Straße, past the Commerzbank buildings on the left. Retracing his route from earlier. You are lucky she came around and gave you Makary’s location, many others wouldn’t have, and then you would have been screwed. What is Makary going to do? You dropped him, just like Brigette. All those times drinking together, the occasional helping him with his ‘business dealings’, he was your friend too. I wonder whether Arthur realises he is on borrowed time or not. Alec promised himself that he would make things right with Brigette, if I survive this of course.
He walked past the LSD sex shop and instead of turning left on to Kurfürstenstraße as earlier, he continued straight on, past the Woolworth store, he continued walking for another five minutes or so, past shops long closed for the night until he reached the Golden Dolls strip club, he heard the music before he saw the club, muffled heavy bass lines. When he saw the club, he was pleasantly surprised at how tasteful it looked. The exterior was brightly lit in orange lights, which contrasted elegantly against the smoked glass windows. A narrow red runner carpet led to the doorway, framed by a red rope barrier connected to a pair of chrome poles. Only the Geldautomat ATM lit up in yellow, right next to the entrance spoiled the look. That’s what these places are all about, he thought, when the money flows so does the dream. He checked his wallet before entering, satisfied he had enough money on him. It was something he had always done, carrying plenty of cash. You never know when you need it and not everywhere takes credit cards, especially not in this business, or the one I’m about to enter either, in our world cash is king. I can always get more from the machine if necessary. He nodded to the doorman, who checked him over, for in Berlin looking semi-casual or casual is
the correct way to dress. If anything, I’m probably a little overdressed, I am wearing a tie, and this isn’t the Berlin Philharmonic. The doorman unclipped the rope and stepped aside for Alec to enter. ‘Danke,’ Alec said as he went into the club.
There was an abundance of red, and black, throughout the entrance to the club. Padded leather on the walls, and the front of the bar, with its array of bottles standing up, looking for attention from the clients. A partially curtained cloakroom to his left, with an assortment of jackets and coats on hangers designed to get a person more comfortable, less likely to leave quickly, Probably have to wait around for a while, “have a drink while you’re waiting”, “they may be some time, would you like a private dance while you wait?” spoken by a beautiful young woman with an exotic accent, and little clothing, all the tricks of the trade designed to extract the most money in the least painful way from the client. A hostess came over to Alec, she was slim, brunette and very pretty, wearing black lingerie, she asked if he wanted to leave his coat, her accent was Romanian, her words German. Alec refused politely but took it off and hung it over his arm, I may have to leave quickly, he thought. She led him to a small table slightly set back from the main stage, the stage was around twenty metres long, with a floor to ceiling pole at the end, it was surrounded on three sides by open booths, black padded leather upholstery, most of the booths were occupied, gold voile curtains hung down the back of the stage. Alec was surprised by the opulence of the club; it wasn’t what he was expecting and a far cry from the gaudy Hollywood Club he had experienced all those years ago. He asked the hostess for a beer, and she went to get it. The music stopped, and a girl came on to the stage through the voile curtains. A spotlight shone on her, revealing an appealing, blonde woman, her hair down to her waist. She was wearing high platform heels, a sparkling silver bra and matching panties. She marched to the pole and indicated to the DJ to start the music, a heavy techno beat came thumping through the speakers around the club and she started to move. At this point, Alec’s attention was drawn to the DJ behind his stand: Makary Kalinowski.