The Traitor Blitz

by Johannes Mario Simmel

  "Rather," I said. "If you're right, then East doesn't have a minute to lose. Michelsen was in Prague often. Surely they know in Prague where Michelsen lives and what sort of a customer he is. So they don't have to kidnap Irina to find Bilka."

  "Then you tell me what happened, wise guy."

  "It could be like this," I said. "Bilka has documents. Wants to sell them to the Germans or Americans. Negotiates price. Is stubborn. Isn't in a hurry. Feels safe with Michelsen. The West lets Concon, who has switched sides again, try to kidnap Irina. Her appearance suddenly endangers everything. When she finds out that Bilka has a girl friend, she'll raise hell." I stopped. "Stinks, too, doesn't it?"

  "Yep," said Bertie. "Why should Bilka feel safe with Michelsen when they know in the East where he lives? He'd have to count on their coming to get him any moment." 256

  "Right," I said. "But now Irina turns up, calls Michelsen, Bilka answers the phone—"

  "Bilka answers the phone?" Bertie blew his nose. "He's so sure of himself that he answers the phone? Man, that stinks more than my version."

  "Yes," I said perplexed. "That won't do, either. But there's definitely something terribly wrong with this fellow Bilka. Right after Irina gets hold of him, they try to kill Conny, who's on his way to Bilka, after which Bilka, fianc6e number two, and Michelsen disappear; and servant Notung says that no Bilka ever stayed with Michelsen. But the superintendent and the antiques dealer say he did. Plus a fianc6e. Where have they all disappeared to? And why? And why did Notung lie? Why did they almost succeed in killing Conny? Why did they try to kidnap Irina tonight? Twice! What was Concon really after in Neurode?"

  Bertie got up and looked at me. "You're thinking the same thing I am, aren't you?" Sure.

  "So off we go to King Kong," said Bertie.

  We got the things we needed and went down to the lobby. We gave Heintze our keys, and I told him that under no circumstances was he to let anyone into my suite.

  "Yes, of course, Herr Roland," said Heintze. "But if the police come, there's nothing I can do about it."

  "When do they send the registration cards over to the police?"

  "When I'm relieved," he said. "At seven."

  "I'll be back long before then," I said. "So nobody from the police will come. Not tonight. You've known me for twelve years, Heintze. Do you believe me?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And do you also believe that I couldn't commit a crime?"

  "I know you couldn't commit a crime, Herr Roland."

  "Very well, then. I can depend on you."

  "You certainly can, Herr Roland," he said, grinning as he

  pocketed the hundred-mark bill I had handed him.

  "If the young lady—"

  "Your wife," Heintze said tactfully.

  "If she calls and says she wants to go out, don't open the door, please. Tell her I took the key with me. She mustn't go out."

  "Yes, Herr Roland."

  "Has my car been taken to the garage?"

  "Yes, Herr Roland."

  "I need a smaller one. An Opel Rekord would be good."

  "I think we have four Rekords. Why don't you take the elevator down to the garage; meanwhile 111 call Herr Croft,

  "Who is he?"

  "The man who's on duty down there tonight. Hell fill out the forms and give you one of the Rekords."

  "What did you say his name was?" asked Bertie. He was si wearing his leather jacket and corduroy pants under his coat, two cameras were dangling from their straps.

  "Wim Croft."

  "English?" I asked.

  "No," said Heintze. "Dutch. New. Nice fellow. He's only beei working for us three weeks."

  "You said Dutch?"

  "Yes," said Heintze. "From The Hague."

  The Empress Catherine o£ Russia was lying on a red velvet cover, her legs spread. The red cover was draped over a wide bed. Various pieces of clothing were scattered around the bed— everything from an embroidered purple royal robe to underpants that could be laced below the knee. The bed stood on a small stage, and she was lying so that the audience could see between her legs, a spotlight on her. The Empress was about twenty-five, voluptuous, beautifully built, and pretending to be sensuous as hell. She squirmed, groaned (a hidden microphone amplified the sound), rubbed her taut breasts, and tossed her head wildly from side to side. The Empress Catherine was evidently a real blond. 258

  She was wearing a papier-mach6 crown with many glittering stones. A gilded papier-mache ball and scepter lay on the floor beside the bed. It was 4:15 a.m., but King Kong was still crowded—men, many whores with their clients, and a few couples. They were seated at small tables. Waiters were hurrying back and forth with champagne buckets and drinks. When we got there Bertie said, "There's the place. But where's the hotel? Didn't Concon say he was a hotelier?"

  The house in which King Kong was situated was low and very old. The walls were grimy; the windows facing the street were heavily curtained. Beside the entrance there were photographs in lighted display boxes. In red letters I read about this program's sensation: "World Famous Star, Baby Blue from Crazy Horse!" A barker, at least two meters tall, wearing a gold-braided coat down to his feet, clutched my arm and began his spiel. "Come right in, gendemen! Here you can see something you've never seen anywhere else! Sappho and her playmates! The monk with the whip! Sex, live and original! Two men and one lady! We show everything! We hide nothing! Come right in, gendemen!" He had already given me a light push toward the entrance. Now he grabbed Bertie and said, "You're just in time for the high point! The famous artiste Baby Blue from the cabaret Crazy Horse in Paris, in her sensational act—Catherine the Great!"

  "Listen," I said, grabbing his arm now, "we're looking for Herr Concon. We have to speak to him. It's important."

  "Police?"

  "No. Is he here?"

  "No idea. You'll find out inside. Come right in, gentlemen! You've never seen anything like it! You've never dreamed anything like it! Baby Blue as Catherine the Great!"

  In the dimly lit checkroom, two more hands grabbed me and dragged me into the clubroom. Bertie bumped into me, somebody's hand was between my legs. I slapped it hard. "You don't have to get so mad right away, darling," said a woman's voice.

  "Man, what a professional! I mean ours," said Bertie a few minutes later when we were sitting, slightly breathless, in the booth somebody had moved us into. My eyes were growing accustomed to the light, or lack of it, and I could see Baby Blue on the stage and the silhouettes of her audience, facing her. "Somebody managed to unzip my pants. How did you make out?"

  "Not much better," I said.

  A voice in the loudspeaker, trying desperately to speak elegant German, "What a sad evening for Your Majesty! Not a donkey around, not a rutting stallion, not even a few grenadiers—" Baby Blue's gyrations became more and more agitated; she rolled her eyes, massaged her breasts—

  A grand piano stood beside the small stage. A young man in a tuxedo was looking far away into the dark, playing softly. The B-Minor Concerto, Tchaikovsky. My favorite composer. I recognized it at once. There wasn't any of Tchaikovsky's music I didn't recognize.

  "Your Majesty is alone and filled with so much desire," the voice in the loudspeaker went on. "If Your Majesty would take the scepter..."

  Naked Baby Blue picked up the papier-mSch6 scepter.

  "And if Your Majesty would open it..."

  Baby Blue opened the scepter, lengthwise, like a violin case. A big artificial penis was in it. Baby Blue squealed with delight, dropped the scepter, and kissed the dildo.

  "And now, Your Majesty, if you would stroke your most honorable love mound with this instrument of consolation..."

  Baby Blue did as she was told. The pianist played beautifully—

  "And now, if Your Royal Highness would please tickle your divine royal clitoris..."

  Baby Blue did so, and the microphone gave us her first low moaning and gasping. A waiter came up to our table. "Would you like to order?"

  "We want to
speak to Herr Concon," I said.

  "The young one or the old one?" asked the waiter, as Baby Blue's moans grew louder.

  "You mean there are two?" Bertie sounded astonished.

  "Why don't you shut up?" cried a fat older woman, sitting in the next booth with a fat older man—a married couple, I decided.

  "Father and son," said the waiter. "So, which one do you want?"

  "The owner," I whispered.

  "And now, if Your Royal Highness would let the tickler slide up and into your vagina..."

  Baby Blue tucked the dildo up into her vagina and let out a soft cry which the microphone amplified.

  "He isn't here," whispered the waiter. 260

  "What about the father?" I asked softly.

  "He's here."

  "Where?"

  "In the men's room."

  "When's he coming up?"

  "He isn't coming up. He works down there," the waiter whispered, impatient now. "So what do you want?" And I, with my persecution complex, afraid I might be served some lousy liquor, thought: Whiskey, of course. But they wouldn't have Chivas here. And if I ordered drinks, God only knew what they'd serve, and it could make me sick. So I said, "A botde of whiskey, Black Label. But unopened!"

  "That'll cost you a hundred," whispered the waiter, im-

  Bertie looked irritated. He hated my drinking and I knew what he was thinking: What a fuss!

  "And if it's lousy," I told the waiter, "you're in trouble. We're from the press."

  "Right away. Yes, sir. Right away," and he went off bowing.

  Baby Blue's heavy breathing in the microphone, then the loudspeaker again. "And now, if Your Majesty would please move the tickler in and out in your most magnificent cunt... and please do not forget from side to side..."

  Baby Blue spread her legs wider, toyed with her nipple, and pushed the dildo energetically in and out. She was going great guns now, rearing up, falling back, whimpering, groaning, trembling. The audience was growing restless.

  "What does he mean, 'the father'?" whispered Bertie. "Must be very old."

  "Probably," I whispered.

  The moaning in the microphone grew louder. A few soft cries.

  "The bastard! Lets his father work in the shithouse!" said Bertie, who had strong family feelings.

  "Ill go down to him," I said softly.

  "Not till the waiter's brought your whiskey," said Bertie. "Or we're in trouble. You pay first. We're behaving conspicuously enough. Concon, Jr., isn't here. You heard the waiter say so. We've got to watch it."

  Baby Blue was whimpering. "Oh, oh, I'm coming! Now! I'm dying!"

  The waiter came with the botde on a tray, two glasses, an ice bucket, and soda water. He stuck the bottle under my nose.

  "Black Label. Guaranteed unopened. Take a look at the seal, please."

  'That's all right," I said. "Thanks."

  "A hundred and fifteen marks," he said. "Fifteen percent service charge. Please pay now."

  The performance on die stage went on. Baby Blue's moans were ecstatic. She rolled her eyes; her whole body jerked rhythmically.

  "Just a minute," I said, opened the botde, poured some whiskey into one of the glasses and smelled it. Then I tasted it Perfectly all right. I was the only writer in the house who didn't have to account for his expenses, so I gave the waiter a hundred and fifty marks. "The rest is for you," I said, and he almost fell to his knees. "But now I've gotta go."

  "Not till the number's over." The piano concerto was reaching its high point

  "My bladder's about to burst," I said. "Where is it?"

  "Just a minute," he said, "and 111 show you."

  Baby Blue had reached her climax at last. Her moans had degenerated into a roar. The voice in the loudspeaker said, "Let it he on your heart, O Catherine, and consider once more the pardon of Count Kropotkin. Be generous!"

  Suddenly Baby Blue threw the dildo away and cried imperiously, "To hell with the tickler! I want a man, a real man! Then 111 consider pardoning the count. But not before!"

  At that moment three gigantic grenadiers stepped onto the stage out of the dark. They were in full uniform—helmet, sabre, boots. They stood at attention in front of Baby Blue. Only one thing was not in order in their magnificent uniforms. Three enormous, stiff penises protruded from their flies. They can't be real, I told myself. There are none that big! But they looked real enough.

  The pianist stopped playing. You could have heard a pin drop.

  Baby Blue grabbed the most magnificent and largest of the three grenadiers and pulled the man toward her. He fell on her. The lights went on.

  "Mint-flavored, gentlemen," the old man was saying just as I was walking down the stairs. "A novelty. Selling like hot cakes. They can't keep up with the demand."

  Two men were with the old man in the light, blue-tiled room that led to the toilets. There were washbowls and mirrors and a table with a drawer and an assortment of the kind of things one might need down here—paper towels, combs, nail scissors, hairbrushes, clothesbrushes, hair tonic, eau de cologne, and packages of Kleenex. Also a small plate with coins in it. The drawer was open, and I could see porno magazines and boxes of condoms. "If the gentlemen would like to smell..." He was holding an open three-pack up to their noses. The two were drunk. They sniffed obediently.

  "Donnerwetter!" said one of them. "It really does. What will they think of next? But why mint-flavored?"

  "For your breath, idiot," said the other one. "Am I right, old fellow?"

  "I guess you are," said Father Concon, who was wearing a clean white jacket. "I guess you are."

  I went into the next room and used one of the toilets because I didn't want to attract the two men's attention.

  "Ill take a pack," said the first man. "Let's see how it works."

  "HI take one, too," said the second man, throwing the towel he'd used into a wire basket. "A little surprise, he-he-he!"

  The two paid and stumbled up the stairs. The pianist was playing "Sunrise Sunset." I went into the washroom, washed my hands, walked over to Karl Concon's father, and said, "Good evening."

  "And a very good evening to you, sir," he said, blinking his eyes at me. A bent, pitiful old man. He was holding out a towel, working mechanically like a robot, a servile smile frozen on his lips. "Did you enjoy it, sir?" asked the old man.

  "Yes."

  "A once-in a-lif etime program," he babbled. I noticed that he

  263

  was senile, absentminded, and a little confused. He didn't even look up when Bertie came down the stairs; and that was a good thing, because Bertie had his small Nikon-F with him, ready to shoot.

  "Full every night," the old man •afciproudly. "Until morning.'*

  "Fantastic," I said, while Bertierobk pictures v "Herr Concon, right?"

  "How—how do you happen to know?"

  "Peter Enders," I said.

  "Police?"

  "No."

  "Who are you?"

  "A friend of your son's. I'd like to have spoken to him, but he isn't here, is he?"

  "No. I don't know where he is," said the old man. "A good son. The best in the world."

  "And he lets you work here?"

  "He doesn't let me. I want to. It's lonely at home. I'm all alone. My wife died twelve years ago. Here I have a little distraction. I like the work. Karl wants me to stop, but I tell him, let me have that little bit of pleasure, Karl. Are you really a friend of Karl's?"

  "Yes. Why?"

  "There have been three here already tonight," said the old man. "Two came together, one came alone."

  "What did they want?"

  "To speak to Karl. And all of them said it was important. What's going on?" The old man's Adam's apple rose and fell inside his collar, which was much too large for him.

  "I had a date with him for this evening," I lied. "I don't know what's the matter. Something must be wrong or he'd be here. What did the three men look like?"

  He shrugged helplessly. "I can't remember faces, or voices
. I'm perfectly healthy, but I'm not so young anymore. I forget faces. Right away. Dreadful. Three men. That's all I can tell you. The two who came together had hats and coats on. I remember that. The one who came alone was wearing a suit, no coat. All of them were about the same size as you. And that's really all I can tell you."

  "Did they speak with an accent?"

  "No. Perf ecdy normal German. And all three wanted to know where Karl was, and I told them I didn't know. But they kept asking as if they didn't believe me." Bertie was still taking pictures from the next room. 264

  "When were the three men here?"

  'The two who came together ... at about nine. And the one who came alone, I guess around ten, right after Karl called."

  "He called you?"

  "That's what I just said. Before the men came. I had to go upstairs, to the cloakroom, where the phone is. There's a second phone in Karl's office. When he had the hotel in Kastanienallee, I used to work in the office. I used to remember everything then, and I could type, too, you know "

  "How long is it since he gave up the hotel?"

  "Six years. It didn't pay. The taxes. And so much annoyance. It's better here. No comparison."

  "And what did your son say on the phone?"

  "What did he say? Look here, what business is it of yours?" He was getting upset.

  Tm looking for him. I'm his friend."

  "He never mentioned your name to me."

  "A business friend. Didn't want it to get around."

  "What sort of business?"

  "Well... this and that... you understand?"

  T understand." He seemed satisfied. "Well, he said he wouldn't be back tonight, maybe not tomorrow either. He had some important business to attend to. Didn't tell me what. Only said he'd call me tomorrow evening at the same time. And that he was nearby. And I wasn't to worry. Everything was fine. He's always afraid I'm going to worry. When he calls, I'll tell him you were here. Where can I reach you?"

  "I can't be reached, unfortunately," I said. "I'm going away. You really have no idea where he might be? It's very important."

  "That's what the other gendemen said, too. By the way, they didn't give me their names like you did. What could be the matter?"

  "Yes. I'm wondering, too. But if he called you, it can't be too bad," I said, and tossed a two-mark piece onto the plate.