by G. H. Holmes
“Personally?” he said. “Does other personnel serve people personally?”
“Ugh, no. It’s a reputable place, a city sauna; the city owns it.”
Tom leaned back and sighed. “So, what exactly does she do?”
Glasses clinked in the cupboard. “She pours water on something—I guess they have a stove in there.”
“In the sauna? Saunas have a stove. You know, the steam...”
“Anyway; she checks those, and the solariums, and hands out towels, stuff like that. Says she sort of likes it—”
“Sort of likes it...” He shook his head.
“—for the time being. She needs the money.” More glasses clanked onto their shelves. “At first the guys wanted to flirt with her, telling jokes and stuff, but—”
“Hey, she’s not ugly.”
“—but since she didn’t respond in kind, they left her alone after a while.”
“I’m proud of her.”
“Says people are real open when she talks about Jesus. She’s sharing a lot with a colleague, an Italian.”
“Boy or girl?”
Romy thought for a moment. “A boy I think…”
“Great.” He suddenly got an idea. He stood. “Hey, let me help you with those dishes.”
Ralph didn’t have to ring the bell when he arrived at 11:12 PM. Tom opened the front door as soon as he saw the top of the carpenter’s van approach above the hedge outside. Now they stood in the den of Stark’s house, where the lights were doused and the doors closed despite the heat.
Stark held on to the booklet and the ream of e-mail print-outs his neighbor had handed him. His suspicions aroused, Ralph had searched for further incriminations and found them under a stack of sweaters in Gina’s closet.
“I got suspicious on Saturday,” Ralph said and wiped his forehead. “She got up and I saw that her lower back was all red. I asked if it was a rash and what caused it and she didn’t say anything. I realized, it was rug burn. She didn’t deny it.”
Tom wondered how Ralph could report this so evenly. The man was about as passionate as Romy. Phlegmatics…
Ralph cocked his head, his eyes gleaming. “You said there’s a way to win her back?”
“You still want her?”
Ralph nodded slowly, once.
“Okay.” Othello. “Like I said, there is a possibility.”
“Mind sharing it?”
“Sure; have a seat.”
They sat down on the stairs and Stark began to lay out what they ended up calling “Operation Restore Dignity.”
Privately Tom had another name for it: “Operation Desdemona.”
Müller was the evil Iago.
And he was Shakespeare.
“My love, my life, my everything! You don’t know—you will never know—how much you mean to me. You are my heart, my soul. I’m in you and you are in me—forever.”
Stark snorted. This was off to a good start.
But he kept reading.
“I’m downtown, sitting in my car, waiting for my daughter Gina-Marie. It is Wednesday and she has guitar lessons. I have only a few minutes, but I want to use them to fill this notebook with my innermost thoughts—blood from my heart—as quick as I can, so I can mail them to you, so you will read and know and see that I’m forever yours. Oh, Bert. I love you. Today he came home again, demanding what only belongs to you. I let it happen, wondering how it would make me feel. I felt nothing…”
Tom huffed in disgust and flipped a few pages.
“My feelings for you that I put down here are roses, plucked from the field of my soul for you to smell. Oh, Bert, dearest. In your presence alone I can be entirely myself. You are the only human being who knows who I really am. With you I can let my guard down. With you I feel at home, feel the savage love I never experienced before. You make me feel special, Bert my love, like no man has ever done. To liken you to a stallion, wild and free, stampeding with the power of the ocean in his wings, would not do you justice…”
Precious, Tom thought, struggling with what to make of Gina’s revelations. Obviously they weren’t to be taken at face value; they were romantic gibberish. But thinking of how Ralph had found all this material, it seemed as if she’d set herself up to be found out, as if she wanted Ralph to read this. She was provoking him, forcing him to take the initiative in ending their marriage. Or she was testing the water, how far she could go.
He read on.
“You kissed my ring the last time we met, and now, whenever I kiss it, it is as if I’d be kissing you. It is a magical object now.”
Tom winced.
“Last night I dreamed of myself in white. Suddenly you stood next to me in a black tuxedo. We were in church getting married and I was so happy. It was the most beautiful dream of my life, and then we... Too bad you didn’t have a condom with you yesterday. I would have loved to make you happy and—”
He snapped the booklet shut; it was enough.
She deserved what was coming.
She needed it.
At noon on Thursday the phone rang, just as lunch was over and Stark was walking back into his office, a cup of re-heated Arabica from breakfast in his hand.
It was Ralph. “She mentioned him today.”
“Favorably?”
“I’d say so. She stared out the window, daydreaming, when I asked her what she liked about him—”
“Wait, you mentioned him first?”
The carpenter inhaled. “…was in the air, sort of…”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“But then I—”
“What’d she say?”
“I asked her what she liked about him and she said, everything. I asked, what exactly. She said, the whole man—the whole human being. I told her that he’s shorter than her and that they look comical beside each other. Then she said I’m mean, and he never talks like that ‘bout me. I asked if they still saw one another and she didn’t answer—”
“I think that’s enough,” Tom said. “She’s asking for it. Let’s do it. When’s the best time for you? Has to be soon.”
“Tomorrow, Friday. I’ll get home around midnight and we could start then.”
“Sounds good. Call me when you’re taking off with her—and don’t forget to leave me a key.”
“Hey, we’ll be in touch.”
Tom imagined his friend’s eyes to gleam.
“Let me give you my mobile-phone number,” Ralph said, “in case there’s something you need to tell me. I don’t want to mess this up.”
36
Saturday, 30 August 2003, After Midnight, 23°C
A soft sough murmured in the trees when Ralph pressed the pen’s tip onto the red dot next to the entrance. The lock hissed, the bolt snapped back, and he stood and pushed the door open with one hand, listening, checking for signs of activity. But the house lay dark and quiet. He stepped in. Still in the dark, he inserted his infrared key into a black box on the wall and began to punch a sequence of numbers. Then he took the pen back out and fumbled for his cell phone. The display lit up, his thumb moved across the keypad, and then he waited.
“Yes?”
“I’m home,” he whispered. “Operation Restore Dignity is go.”
“I’m glad you’re following through.” Stark’s voice had a late-night hoarseness to it.
“I’m sure nervous.”
“I don’t blame you, but if you want to keep her, that’s the way.”
“All right, what do I do?”
“Proceed as planned. Next time you call me, just say ‘Iago.’”
“What’s that?”
“Just a name. Then she doesn’t know what’s up.”
“I thought I was supposed to say, ‘We’re coming.’”
“Right.” Tom sighed. “You can say that too. Instead of Iago.”
“No, I—”
“Never mind; just say you’re coming.”
“Okay.”
Ralph flipped the phone shut, took off his shoes,
and walked up the stairs on soft paws. A breeze swept through the hallway, causing goose bumps on his damp skin, and he began to shiver.
All rooms were closed. He saw light under Raphael’s door but decided not to switch it off. The kid needed to stay out of the way. Ginny too, but she seemed to be sleeping peacefully; no light there.
He depressed the handle on his bedroom door and peeked in.
Gina stirred under her blanket.
He sneaked in and closed the door without a sound.
She got up on her elbows. “Did you come just now? I didn’t hear you coming.”
The light on his side of the bed came on, casting stark shadows. “Too bad you’re already in bed,” he said. “You need to get back up. We’re going somewhere.
“What? Why…?”
“I have a surprise for you.”
She turned under her sheet, drunken with sleep, and blinked at him.
He smiled.
“Now? You want me to get up now?”
“That’s right.” His shadow on the wall moved as he tossed her jeans onto the bed. “You don’t have to make yourself festive; I just want you to meet somebody.”
She pulled her blanket up to her chin and stared at him.
“C’mon, quick.” His Adam’s apple bounced.
“And who?”
“You’ll see.”
Gina made a skeptical face, but then she sat up and swung her legs out of bed.
He watched her dress in silence. When she slipped into her sandals, he said, “You don’t need no makeup. Let’s move.”
Her mouth hung open. “I can’t go out without—”
“Come.” He grabbed her hand.
“Ouch.” She huffed.
But he didn’t let go. He opened the door.
“Where are we going?”
“I promise you’ll like it.” He pulled her along down the hall.
By the stairwell she asked, “What about the kids?”
“Your mother’s right next door.”
They descended to the ground floor.
“How long are we going to be gone?”
“Depends,” he said. “Take a coat, it’s chilling off.”
Through a side door they arrived in the garage. He pointed the key at the sleek metallic-green A6 and the central lock clacked. He dragged her to the passenger’s side and opened. “Get in.”
She sat down with a frown and rubbed her wrist; the door closed with a thud.
The garage door rose smoothly, humming a high tone, and the car’s lights came on. Then white lights shone and Ralph backed out. They drove off toward Wilmersdorf, toward the back lanes and the forest.
Gina massaged her temple and wondered where this would lead. She was fairly sure that Tom was behind all this and that maybe he had a good reason for this weird act tonight. She’d heard of rituals in the moonlight and that they were powerful and released great forces, and sometimes she believed this was true. Wasn’t holy water especially holy when it was drawn and dedicated in the night before Easter? That’s what the church said. She was sure, Tom was up to something.
In her mind’s eye she saw him stand by some lakeshore, dressed in the garb of a mystical high priest, bedecked with silver signs of the zodiac. Romy sat on a log in the background, next to Ralph. She herself wore a white dress. Then Tom scooped her up in both arms and carried her down to the lake, where floating candles cast their glow, and Ralph stood there, and Romy too, and as Tom lowered her into the water, her golden hair fanned out like rays from the sun, and for some reason she didn’t sink but floated and drifted away…
Or she’d sink below the surface, to rise again glorified. Maybe that would somehow accomplish the deliverance she was yearning for and she’d be free.
Outside the window, the scenery rushed by, black in black.
But what if Ralph dumped her on one of those back roads in the forest?
Or worse, what if he became violent?
But he’d never been violent in his life.
What if he’d let Tom do the dirty work for him? Tom had killed before…
Suddenly Ralph’s mobile phone glowed. It was in his hand and he pressed redial. When somebody answered, he said, “Iago, we’re on our way.”
Her head snapped around. “What’s Iago?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why’d you say it then?”
“I don’t know who Iago is.”
She snorted and crossed her arms before her chest.
Now they drove through fields below fast-moving clouds. When they reentered the forest, the view changed into a blur of black and gray.
In time they reached a village and she tensed when she suddenly recognized a house—and then another. She said nothing. But with every turn the streets became more familiar, until they entered one whose surface was a mix of cobblestone and concrete, and Ralph pulled up to the curb by a drab apartment building and stopped.
“Let’s get out,” he said. He turned the key and the motor died.
Resolutely, she threw her door open and stepped from the car—and ran almost into an overflowing trashcan by a lantern pole. The wind had increased and some of the waste was now floating down the street, which was filthy to begin with.
“Don’t hurt yourself.” He locked the car.
Overhead, drawn-out clouds sped by; they seemed so close.
She began to walk toward the entrance. “A fine time you chose for a talk,” she said without looking back. “As if this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow.”
She heard him walking, one step behind.
“That you have to do this to him. You’ve seen him; you should be more understanding; the man needs his rest…” She yammered on, swinging through the heavy glass door—when she heard a motor revving.
Ralph was back in the car.
“Wait—!”
She raced across the sidewalk.
“What are you doing? Stop!”
But he didn’t hear her. When she came near, the central lock clicked, just as he pulled away from the curb.
She tore on the door handle. “No, no—!”
Without thinking she dived onto the hood, her fingers groping for something to hold on to, finding nothing. He braked gently—and in slow-motion she slid off onto the street, until she kneeled in front of the radiator. His window came down.
“You’re with him now!” Ralph said. “We’re through. I found your notebook. Have fun.”
Gears cracked and he backed up. But she stood, sprinting toward him, getting closer—and just as he stopped, she jumped and landed on the hood again, sliding up until her left cheek got stuck on the windshield. Her arms wide, she tried to hug it—
“Raaalph—!”
His head peeked out the window. “This is forever!” Then he eased the transmission into first gear and started to drive.
She hung on.
Gina’s throat was too thick to scream as they rattled over the cobblestone. One particularly wicked bounce boxed her chin. Her fingers found no hold on the hood’s slick surface and her hands wandered over the windshield, but Ralph didn’t stop. She was sure that her belt buckle was scratching scars into the lacquer. Did he want to destroy the car? He needed to stop!
The wind tousled her hair, obscuring her vision.
They hit a patch of concrete, when the Audi braked again. She saw Ralph spin the steering wheel; the car went in a wide circle and the powers of gravity sheared her off. Her nails scraped across the hood in a last, futile attempt to hold on, then she slid away…
…and staggered onto the road and rolled into the gutter.
She got up on her elbows and watched the tail lights of the A6 disappear around the corner. Sniffling, she stood and brushed herself off. She’d broken a nail and her hair was a tangled mess across her face; something was stuck in it and she couldn’t get it out.
She stomped her foot and began to sob.
The cobbles were cold on the sole of her left foot and she noticed that her sandal was
gone. She began to search the street but couldn’t find it, so she hobbled back to the trashcan under the streetlight, hoping to meet it there. The shoes were by Aigner, one alone worth 200 euros—but what good is one shoe? She couldn’t wear just one… And besides, she liked them, she—
Bertram—she’d have to wake Bertram. He’d have to drive her back; Ralph was crazy if he thought he could kick her out like that. He’d be hearing an earful.
But then she remembered that Bert couldn’t drive, not with his fractured kneecap.
Thank you, Mr. Stark; thank you so very much. Right then, she detested Tom. Life might be great if that guy weren’t such a stuffed shirt. And what he’d done to Bert—
She’d have to use Bert’s car; he’d accompany her and then Ralph and Bert would have to drive back in Bert’s car while she followed them in the A6 to take Ralph home with her after Bert was back in his apartment. That would work; and then—
Where was her shoe? She spun in a circle looking for it—to no avail.
But it had to be here.
Then fat drops began to fall. Her shoulders drooped and she groaned. The rain felt like a pelting with cold gravel and she got wet quickly. But she kept searching. She’d take a shower at Bert’s.
Her gaze intently on the ground, she turned around—and almost bumped into the figure sitting on a softly-purring motorcycle that just now stopped. She shrieked when her bare foot landed on his boot.
Ralph set the windshield wipers on low and mopped the grime off his forehead. He felt hot, though the climate control was set on 17 degrees Celsius, which should have chilled his body and sobered his mind, but did neither. His eyes were darting and he almost felled a yield sign as he screeched around a curve near the edge of the village.
There he pulled into a bus bay and stopped under its yellow sign, cell phone in hand. “Tom?”
“Affirmative. How’d it go?”
“Tom I think I hurt her; she fell off the hood when I drove off and I left her lying in the street; I think I should turn back, see if she’s all right; we can’t—”
“Hold it, buddy, just a minute.”
“But we can’t just—”
“Did you go fast when she fell off?”
