“Also,” says the second villain, impressed in spite of himself. “Then you are more hardened in crime than I and in accordance with our topsy-turvy morality I am forced to accord you a grudging respect.”
“I accept your tribute,” says the first villain. “Come, I will ‘buy’ you another coffee.” He takes out his trick coin and winks and the two of them snigger bad-naturedly. . .
The scoundrels! What can transpire from such a meeting of rogues? One thing is for sure, there is dirty work afoot. But I am keeping you in suspense to ensure a diligent perusal of the next installment. . .
Chapter 23
In the cafe the two renegades are still confabulating.
“To each thing its season,” says the first villain at length. “Enough braggadocio and one-upmanship for now. Let us proceed to business.”
“Agreed,” says the second. “Do you have the instructions from our dark spymasters?”
For these are not just ordinary criminals but spies!
“Yes,” says the first. He looks around to ensure they are unobserved and then places a briefcase on the table. “You are to take this and deliver it to a third spy belonging to our organization. I am not allowed to tell you his name.”
“You know,” says the second, “it strikes me that I do not even know your name.”
“That is for the best in our slinking and deceitful profession.”
“Nevertheless it would make for greater intimacy and team bonding.”
The first villain considers. “Then I will tell you my name on condition you also tell me your name.”
“I will do so.”
“My name is Heinrich.”
“Mine is Wilhelm.”
“Ha!” sneers the first villain. “I tricked you! My name is not really Heinrich. Now I know your name but you do not know mine. Admit I have bested you and am by far the most efficient spy!”
“By no means,” says the second villain, “for I lied too. My name is not really Wilhelm but Otto.”
“Ha! And now I know that your real name is Otto.”
“But I was lying again. My real name is not Otto either but something so far undisclosed.”
“I do not believe you, Otto.”
“Stop calling me Otto, for that is not my name.”
“Be that as it may, Otto, your instructions are to take this briefcase and deliver it to our contact. This must be done swiftly and efficiently and without witnesses to the transaction.”
“How will I locate him?”
“He will be on the corner of this very street five minutes from now.”
“And how will I know him?”
“He will be dressed in black clothing and dark glasses, as befits one of our skulking ilk.”
“Also,” says the second villain. “Then there seems little problem. I am unlikely to encounter two such people dressed like that. . .”
Little does he suspect the irony that lurks in this remark. . .
Why is it so? Some of you may have an inkling and the rest will shortly find out. You should note the information about the third spy wearing dark glasses and black clothing, as it will be vital soon. Mark this page for reference if your memory is poor, but be sure to use a bookmark rather than dog-earing, for others may wish to read this volume after you. This book may be read for thousands of years and you cannot tell what will befall. Whatever future civilizations may arise, it is certain that people will not like to find a book with dog-eared pages.
So. Now by my zeal for orderly method I have spoiled the carefully contrived dramatic climax of this chapter. Before ending I will reprise:
“He will be dressed in black clothing and dark glasses, as befits one of our skulking ilk.”
“Also. . .”
Also indeed!
Chapter 24
We now go back to the corner of the street where Roy and Jetta and I are still attempting to obtain a taxi.
You should bear in mind that, although I as the author am aware of the preceding scene with the two scoundrels, I in the story am not.
“Ach,” says Roy, “we may stand here all night.”
I say, “There is one thing we might try . . . ”
“I am not in the mood to hear it,” says Roy.
I am somewhat surprised by this reaction but think no more of it at the time.
Just then a man approaches us. He carries a briefcase and wears a trench coat with the collar turned up and a black hat pulled down low over his eyes and has what looks like a false beard, although I do not wish to cast aspersions and suppose he may merely be using the wrong brand of conditioner.
Although I in the story do not know this, this is the man who may be called Wilhelm, or Otto, or something as yet undisclosed.
“Good evening,” he says.
“Good evening,” Roy and I reply. Jetta merely stares rudely at his beard.
“It is a pleasant night,” says the man, “although I am informed it rained earlier.”
“It did,” I say.
The man strokes his false beard thoughtfully and eyes Roy’s dark glasses and trademark black clothing.
Then he glances at me and says to Roy, “Will you walk a few paces with me into those dark shadows over there?”
“For what purpose?” asks Roy.
“I wish to be alone with you.”
“Very well,” says Roy.
“Wait, Roy,” I say in alarm. “I do not wish to cast aspersions, but supposing this fellow has some nefarious purpose in mind?” I bow my apologies to the man, who scowls.
“Hmm,” says Roy, “it is true we have not established his bona fides. I will not walk into the shadows with you. There is nothing that can be accomplished alone in the shadows that cannot be as easily done before friends.”
“Very well,” says the man. “If that is how you wish to play it.”
And he hands Roy his briefcase. “Take very good care of this,” he says, and departs back down the street of ill fame.
Roy and I stand and stare after him while Jetta looks curiously at the briefcase.
“This is highly irregular,” says Roy.
How irregular we do not yet know . . .
What can transpire now? You must wait patiently until the next chapter to find out.
Chapter 25
You will remember that a strange man had come up to Roy and handed him a briefcase.
“Here is a pretty kettle of fish,” says Roy. “Why should a fellow I do not know entrust his briefcase to me?”
I say, “Without wishing to flatter you, Roy, why should he not entrust it to you? You are eminently reliable. I, too, would entrust my belongings to you and feel them as safe and secure as if they were snugly stowed in the secret emergency cache under my own floorboards.”
“I will rephrase my question somewhat,” says Roy. “Why should a fellow entrust his briefcase to anyone?”
“I admit myself baffled. We can but theorize. Perhaps he is about to embark on sundry actions for which he requires both his hands free. Or perhaps he intends to enter the low coffee shop we passed and does not wish to take the risk of coffee being spilled upon his case by some wildly gesticulating flat-tax advocate. It may be he is about to spend some minutes browsing in some late-opening shop which sells briefcases, and does not wish to take his current briefcase in for fear he may be accused of shoplifting when he leaves. Perhaps, on the other hand, he is about to visit his grandmother, who on his last birthday misguidedly bought him a Hello Kitty duffel bag to keep his private effects in, and he does not wish to hurt her feelings by showing he prefers the briefcase for this purpose. Then again, it may well be that he has some business to transact in that street, but has just seen that an old school friend fallen on hard times has become an unlicensed sausage vendor there, and does not wish to flaunt his own material success before him in the shape of the case. Who can tell?”
“It is a mistake to theorize without enough facts,” says Roy. “Nevertheless your suggestions are plausible. I only wi
sh the fellow had asked me before entrusting me with this charge. Let us hope he returns soon, for the night wears on and we are overdue for our beds.”
We wait patiently for the fellow to return and claim his case.
Now we must go back to the man who gave Roy the briefcase, who, you may remember, is a spy.
He has not gone very far down the street when he bumps into someone and, regrettably, knocks him over.
“Pardon me,” he says, helping the other fellow to his feet. “I did not see you there, for this street is not very well lit and you are wearing black clothing and dark glasses. If you wish to avoid mishaps of this kind you should wear something more visible. I for my part often wear a bright yellow stripe when out at night, although it was not considered advisable on this occasion for reasons I do not wish to disclose.”
“Regrettably I am forced to wear black clothing for reasons I also do not wish to disclose,” says the other.
“Also?” says the second villain with polite interest. “You know, this is a remarkable coincidence. I have just come from meeting a man who wore black clothing and dark glasses just such as you are wearing!”
“Unglaublich!” says the man in black. “You know, I think perhaps we should write in to Guten Abend Düsseldorf’s ‘Spooky Occurrences’ segment, for you do not yet know the half of the coincidence. For the fact is, I for my part am on my way to meet a man, and have been told that the man I am to meet will be dressed in a trench coat and false beard such as you are wearing!”
“You are making a joke with me!” says the second villain. “If this is true it is spooky indeed and we are but the playthings of sinister forces beyond our ken.”
“It is certainly true!” says the man in black. “I am to meet him on the corner just there and he is to hand me a briefcase for reasons I am not allowed to discuss.”
“A briefcase?” says the second villain. “But this stretches the boundaries of probability. Greta Sonderbar of ‘Spooky Occurrences’ will faint when she reads our letter. For the fact is, I have just come from the corner where I have delivered a briefcase to the other man in black!”
Those chumps! Little do they suspect what has happened . . .
However, I will now tell you, the reader, in case you have not yet worked it out. The spy has given Roy the secret briefcase in mistake for this man!
“This is something to tell my grandchildren if I am ever blessed in that way, although regrettably at the moment I am single,” says the villain in black. “I swear to you that what I have said is true. I am going to the corner right now to meet a man dressed like you who will give me a briefcase. In fact I am already running late and must go now. I would ask you to accompany me so that you may meet this fellow and see all that I have said is true, but for reasons I prefer not to disclose, if you saw him I would then have to kill you.”
“I quite understand, for it is the same in my line of work. But what name should I say if I write to Greta Sonderbar? Testimony from two people will be more convincing than one.”
“You may refer to me as Lothar X, although that is not my real name,” says the other. “Now if you will excuse me I must go to the corner to meet the man who looks just like you and be given a briefcase. If you attempt to follow me a terrible fate awaits you. Good evening.”
“Good evening.”
But suddenly a terrible suspicion dawns on the villain in the trench coat.
“I do not wish to cast aspersions, but are you perchance a spy?” he asks the other man. “I have a reason for asking.”
“Why yes I am, since you ask, although I do not wish the fact widely known.”
“Uh-oh,” says the second villain. . .
Chapter 26
Roy and I, to say nothing of Jetta, are still waiting patiently for the man to return and claim his briefcase.
As if the fates wish to taunt us, now a succession of taxis appear and idle on the curb. Moreover it is threatening to rain again.
“Vexation,” says Roy. “The fellow has no business keeping us here taking care of his briefcase when it is near bedtime. I itch to be home with slippers and cocoa and Schlaf Gut, Düsseldorf.”
“I, too, yearn for my virtuous couch of repose,” I admit. “To say nothing of Jetta. It is not good to keep her out so late, for it disrupts her routine and may lead her to turn feral. Shall I, then, claim a taxi?”
“Not yet,” says Roy. “The fellow is sure to return presently. We must discharge our obligation. If only there was some way to pass the time.”
“Perhaps I can think of an amusing game to play,” I say. “Hmm. There is one thing that springs to mind . . .”
Alas that thing is not to be revealed, for just then there comes the sound of footsteps and a man approaches, although from a different direction than the one in which the man who left the briefcase disappeared.
“Vexation of the highest order!” cries Roy. “Do you see who it is? It is that pestilent Rolling Stone reporter!”
It is so.
“Am I then to have no peace? He is not so much a man as a sleuth-hound. He will detain me here half the night seeking to know my views on wah-wah pedals and the Central European Bank. We must move with haste if we are to avoid him. Quick, pile into the nearest taxi before he reaches us.”
“But what of the briefcase?” I say.
“The man may advertise in the Düsseldorf Zeitung when he wishes it returned,” says Roy. “I did not offer to look after it and nor did he seek my permission.”
Quickly we bundle into a taxi. The Rolling Stone reporter calls out “Mr. Orbison! A word with you, please!” but rudely we feign not to hear him and instruct the driver to move off.
Meanwhile the spy in the trench coat has realized what has happened.
To the spy in black and dark glasses he says, “I must tell you now that we will not be able to write to Greta Sonderbar of ‘Spooky Occurrences’ after all, for there is a logical explanation for the coincidence. There usually is if one looks hard enough, as Greta takes great care to impress upon people so that they will not think we are at the mercy of forces beyond our ken. For the fact is, I am the spy in the trench coat and false beard you were scheduled to meet!”
“Also?” says the spy in black. “But this is most irregular, for we were ordered to meet on the corner rather than in the middle of the street.”
“Alas, that is not the only irregularity to occur,” says the other. “For due to an oversight I have given the secret briefcase to an entirely different man who was standing on the corner at the appointed time and who was himself wearing black clothes and dark glasses.”
“So?” says the spy in black. “Then perhaps we will be able to write to Greta Sonderbar after all, for that in itself is a remarkable coincidence.”
“Yes, there is that to be said for it. On the other hand, the giving of the briefcase to someone unconnected with our organization has jeopardized the success of our mission, and should the contents fall into the hands of the authorities our liberty, perhaps our very lives, will be at risk.”
“Yes, that is a minus. It was very remiss of you to give the secret briefcase to the wrong man and I believe the fact will be reflected in your next job performance evaluation.”
“With all due respect,” says the spy in the trench coat, “if you had not been late for the secret meeting the mix-up would not have occurred, or at least I would have had a 50 percent chance of picking the right man.”
“I concede my share in the error,” says the other fairly. “In my defense I kept walking into walls on the way here due to the poor lighting and the chromatic filtering tendencies of my dark glasses.”
“The proper procedure is to report this mistake to our immediate superior,” says the spy in the trench coat. “I have just left him in the cafe over there.” He refers to the other spy who gave him the briefcase.
“He scares me,” says the spy in black. “He is sure to yell at us, or at least employ tones of a silken menace.”
“He
scares me too,” admits the spy in the trench coat, “and yet in accordance with our topsy-turvy morality I am forced to feel a grudging respect.” He looks around and lowers his voice. “Did you know he crosses the street against the traffic light for the sheer evil thrill of it?”
“I had heard rumors to that effect but would not have credited them without your testimony.”
Reluctantly the two of them make their way to the low cafe and to the booth at the back where the other villain is sitting. He is still amusing himself by buying things with the trick coin attached to a piece of thread and now has yet another cup of coffee and several slices of cake in front of him, none of which he has paid for properly.
“Otto!” he calls loudly, just to embarrass the other spy, who glances around furtively and turns up the collar of his trench coat in case anyone has heard. “Did it go well?” he asks in a quieter voice.
“I have to report that it did not . . .”
“Ach,” says the first spy as they explain, “this is a catalog of errors. It would seem,” he adds in tones of silky menace, “that you have outlived your efficiency.”
The two other spies gulp nervously, for in their organization to be judged to have outlived your efficiency does not mean such ordinary things as your desk being moved to the back of the room or being pensioned off with a nice clock or being banished to a distant province: it means death, without even a written warning.
“We must move quickly and with relentless zeal,” says the head spy. “The briefcase must be recovered and those who have taken it must be chased and killed!”
“Could they not simply be locked in a dark cupboard for a time?” suggests the second spy. “They seemed to be harmless passersby.”
“No, they must be chased and killed, and all their belongings confiscated,” says the head spy. “I do not think they were harmless. Why do you think another man dressed in black clothing and dark glasses happened to be standing on the corner at that time?”
“Coincidence?” says the spy in the trench coat and false beard.
“Spooky occurrence?” says the spy in black clothing and dark glasses.
Ulrich Haarbürste's Novel of Roy Orbison in Clingfilm Page 10