So now I was in Hamburg and had just read the ad and couldn't make head or tail of it.
"Why is it a good thing that the boy's mother is nonexistent?" I asked. "Who's going to pay the reward if this woman really turns up and sings?"
"We pay," said Baby Blue.
She was wearing a minidress and a mink coat over it, although it was warm in the little office. Father Concon had on the white jacket he wore in the men's room.
"And how do you happen to have twenty thousand marks?" I asked.
"Donations," said old Concon.
"Donations from whom?"
"From everybody," said Baby Blue, with her Swabian accent. "The Intimate Bar, Lolita, Cockatoo, Eldorado, Lido, Show Ranch."
Max interrupted her and filled me in. His colleagues had asked him to come to Hamburg and help them in their darkest hour. Disaster had struck Sankt Pauli. Police from the
552
Davidswache, under the leadership of a certain Chief Sievers, were combing the entire amusement area night after night! mercilessly. They had appeared in Eros Center, Palais d'Amour', every strip joint, in boardinghouses and hotels that rented by the hour. They forced scared family men to show their ID cards and wrote down their names. The whores were just as scared as the pimps, the nightclub and boardinghouse owners, and the strippers. People were reluctant to come to Sankt Pauli. If things went on like this much longer, some of the night spots were going to have to close down.
"And they don't skip the porn movie houses either," said Max. "And they're the best thing going, from nine in the morning till midnight. They had a hit—a gal, horny as a bitch in heat—had to stop showing it. At every performance the lights went up at least twice and the fuzz marched through the place and asked for ID cards. In the end nobody wanted to see the horny bitch anymore and the place had to close."
"If things go on like this," said Father Concon, "we can all close." He was wearing a black band around one sleeve of his white jacket.
"They raided the Sex Shop, the Casino, the San Francisco Strip Center," said Baby Blue. "Who can put up with that sort of thing night after night? It's getting on everybody's nerves. Every night when I shove that dildo up my twat I'm afraid I'll hear: 'Stop! Lightsl Identification!'"
"We're losing a fortune," said Father Concon. "Our turnover's down sixty percent. A catastrophe, that's what it is!"
I thought of my meeting with the strange chief of homicide, and how he had said he thought that young Concon and the boy Karel had been murdered by one and the same person, and that he knew how he would find the man. So this was his plan: to bring chaos and panic to Sankt Pauli, so that all those working and making money there would get together and start hunting for the murderer out of sheer self-preservation. And Sievers's plan was beginning to work!
"This is a community project," explained Baby Blue, "because we're all in the same trouble. The murderer must be found. Karel's mother doesn't seem to exist, at least not in Germany. You say so, Herr Roland. But does the murderer know it? No."
"Maybe he does," said old Concon. "But that doesn't matter. The important thing is that he reads his ad today—"
"He can think Karel's mother really put it in or that it's a trap.
In any case, he must begin to worry that the woman who was in Neurode that time reads the ad, too, and falls flat on her face because of the fat reward!" said Baby Blue.
"And answers it," said Father Concon. "And he can't let it come to that!"
I nodded.
"So everybody was glad to donate—all the ones I just mentioned. A lot of others, too—Saint Tropez, In Sahara, Lobster Lobster, Steel Net, Ellis Elliot, the Sex Theater, even Schroeder's Wieners, the hot dog stand. Nobody wanted to be left out."
"And we already have results!" Father Concon cried triumphantly.
"An hour ago," said Baby Blue.
"What happened an hour ago?" I asked.
"She came to Baby Blue's apartment, shitting in her pants, and begged her to help."
"Who?"
"Tamara Skinner," said Father Concon.
"Who is Tamara Skinner?"
"A hooker, of course," said Max.
"But a very special hooker," said Father Concon.
"What's so special about her?"
"She's the woman we're looking for," said Max. "She was the woman at the wheel of the car in Neurode."
"Donnerwetterl"
"Yeah! You're surprised," said Max. "And she told Baby Blue everything."
"She doesn't know me all that well," said the sensation from Crazy Horse in Paris, "but she doesn't have any friends."
"What did she have to say, Max?"
"That on the day this happened at the camp, she'd had a John in the morning already—a funny guy, a comedian. All he'd wanted from her was that she drive a car. With young Concon. Tamara knew him, of course. She was to drive him to the camp. Offered her two thousand marks for the trip. Gave it to her, too, later. Just to drive Concon to the camp and wait for him and drive them back to Hamburg, him and the girl." Inna.
"Right. But things didn't go according to plan. She was glad to get away with Concon in one piece. Then, when they knocked him off, she was scared to death. Prayed day and night that they
should leave her alone and that she'd never see the guy again who got her into this. Never did see him again. And now she know what to do with herself, she's so scared. All she can think of is that he'll come back and knock her off. Because of the ad." Max was beaming. "We're doing all right, ain't we?"
"Yes," I said. "You certainly are."
"After this ad," said Baby Blue, "the murderer won't know a moment's peace. He's got to be afraid that Tamara will answer it or go to the police or a friend, which is what she did. And tell everything—that she was at the camp, what the man looked like who hired her, the man who drove the second car and shot the boy."
"Did she tell you the man's name?"
"No. She didn't know his name, but she described him."
"And what did he look like?"
"A big man. Well dressed. Spoke good German," said Baby Blue. "He was wearing a blue coat and a visor cap." Vaguely I remembered that the Ukranian servant from the Paris Hotel had described the man who had been looking for Karl Concon to Fraulein Louise in much the same way. "Long face, narrow lips, black hair, sideburns. Tamara said she would recognize him again anywhere."
"My God, MaxI"
"Ha!" he said proudly. "Now they'll begin to talk about Max's brain again, not just his dschonnil"
"We gave Tamara the twenty thousand marks already," said Father Concon. "We know how to do things!"
"And what happens next?" I asked. "The woman's really in danger."
"She sure is," said Baby Blue. "Lives near here, on Hans-Albers-Platz. Is afraid to go out."
"Of course we're keeping an eye on her," said Max. "Don't let her out of our sight. We and the police."
"You notified the police?"
"Sure," said old Concon. "The Davidswache. Chief Sievers. Tamara may get a fine because she didn't come forward sooner, but they won't be too hard on her, said the chief. They've got men from the Davidswache over there, and from headquarters, and then there are our people, all keeping an eye on Tamara and waiting for the guy to turn up... and he will! You can bet on it."
"What do you mean, *y° ur people'?"
"Oh, you name it, we've got it. A real international group."
"International group?"
'Two bartenders," said Baby Blue. "One's French, the other's an Ami, both left over from the war."
"Three bouncers. We need strong guys," said Concon. "A German, a Pole, and a Dutchman."
"And then there's Panas Myrnyi," said Baby Blue, "from the Paris Hotel. He's Ukrainian. An old man. But he insisted on being in on it. He's watching the entrance of Tamara's house."
"And who else? Oh, yes. A boss from one of the night spots. In person. Heavyweight guy. Used to wresde. Hell smash the guy to pulp. He's from here. Hamburg."
"A German?"
"Sure. What else? That was an intelligent question, Waltaft I"
"And then there's the young Russian," said Baby Blue. "A gas station attendant from around here. Tamara and he are crazy about each other. Have known each other for a while."
"Where's the Russian from?" I asked, unable to get FrSiulein Louise out of my mind.
"He's the son of a Soviet officer who collaborated with the Germans in the war. The father fled to West Germany with the boy in '45. Stayed. Died here. The boys' name is Sergei. He's in Tamara's apartment, guarding her."
"The others are stationed all over the place—on the roof, in the halls, on the stairs, on Hans-Albers-Platz."
"And then there's Jiri," said Baby Blue.
"Who is Jiri?"
"My sweetheart. He's been here for four months. Fled from Briinn. He lives with me. He's watching, too."
And Chief Sievers, I thought, who had started the whole ball rolling. A German. Eleven men watching over Tamara Skinner besides the police and Max. Eleven men, with the nationalities of Fraulein Louise's eleven friends—
17
"If I survive," whispered Tamara Skinner, "I'm going to buy the gas station with the money. For Sergei. An old man owns it. He
wants to retire. And I'll be able to live a decent life."
She was about thirty years old, blond, very pretty, with a rosy complexion. She chain-smoked. Her friend Sergei spoke German fluendy and softly as he tried to calm her down. Chief Sievers and I had been sitting in Tamara's living room since 7:00 p.m. Now it was almost midnight. The house in which Tamara lived was old and ugly and badly in need of repair. Poor people and a few prostitutes lived in it. The night was cold, yet a lot of girls were still loitering in house entrances around the square, and in nearby Gerhardstrasse in front of taverns and bars, trying to compete with Herbartstrasse, the street where brothels were legal. Tamara was brewing coffee for us for the third time.
The police and Tamara's private protectors were scattered all over the place, had been for hours. We spoke very little and softly because one could hear every word outside in the dank hall with its window at one end. Tamara's apartment was on the third floor. This whispering and walking on tiptoe for hours was getting on my nerves. Tamara never stopped trembling. Sergei and Chief Sievers were calm as Tamara filled our cups again. Sievers whispered to me, "You'll see. Ill be proved right. The man who comes has Concon and Karel on his conscience."
"How are you going to know that?"
"If Tamara recognizes him and Panas Myrnyi recognizes him, then he's the same man." Sievers nodded his thanks for the coffee and poured milk into it. "But the man didn't shoot the taxi driver, Vladimir Ivanov. IVe found that out in the meantime."
"Then who did?"
"Amis. Somebody from Niendorferstrasse 333. We have all sorts of proof. The Amis had to kill Ivanov because of the car that was run into the lake, after Ivanov said he was going to find the driver and report him. Very good coffee, Tamara. Gets better every time. Maybe we'll stay the night and come again."
Tamara tried to smile. Sergei whispered comforting words in his deep, throaty voice.
"So one murder may remain unpunished," said the chief, "but not these two. I've sworn to that."
"Sworn to it?" I recalled what Fraulein Louise had told me and was starded. "To whom?"
"To myself," he said softly, smiling a little as if he were having his own private bit of fun.
To sound him out, I said, "By the way, Fraulein Louise is much better."
"I know."
"How do you know?"
"I spoke to her."
[Ton did?"
"Well, now why does that excite you? I called the clinic and they let me speak to her yesterday." He added softly, "She'll soon be leaving the clinic."
At that moment Sergei gestured that we be silent. He had heard something. Now we could hear it, too. Somebody was tiptoeing up the stairs. They were wooden stairs; impossible to walk up them without a step creaking.
Tamara pressed both hands to her chest, her lips were trembling. The steps came nearer... nearer... the wood creaked. Chief Sievers whispered to Tamara to be absolutely quiet, then he gave me and Sergei a look. We slipped out of the living room into the small entrance hallway and stood behind the bathroom door. It was beside the entrance. Very narrow quarters; we had to stand close. Chief Sievers suddenly had a gun in his hand. I wished I had one, too, but the gentlemen from Blitz had taken the Colt from me weeks ago, together with so many other things.
The steps stopped in front of the door. It was an old door. A ray of light from under it could surely be seen in the passage outside. There was a knock. Sievers gestured to Tamara to open it. She walked uncertainly to the door and asked, "Who's there?"
"Come on, open up, sweetie," said the voice of a man. I knew that voice, but where—where had I heard it before?
Tamara took the chain off and opened the door a crack, then she stepped back. I was standing in the rear of the bathroom and therefore couldn't see the man who came in, but the man could see Sievers's gun because he was standing nearest the door. He turned immediately and we could hear him running down the hall. "It's him! It's him!" screamed Tamara.
The chief, Sergei, and I ran out into the hall. I could see the man vault onto the sill of the window at the end of the hall, which he had opened. Air flowed into the hall, ice cold. Then he jumped.
We tore over to the window. There was a flat roof about a meter and a half below. The man ran—all we could see was a shadow—to the edge of the roof where there was a fire escape ladder, and disappeared. "Goddamn it!" said Sievers. He blew his whistle three times, then he jumped down on the roof. Sergei
and I followed him. There was snow on the roof, and I slipped and almost fell over the edge. Sergei just managed to catch me. I had scraped my hand, and it bled. Panting, we followed Sievers to the ladder. The rungs were iced over. We stumbled down into an abandoned lot full of junk. There was a narrow alley, a light in front of it. We ran on, and at the end of the alley found ourselves on Hans-Albers-Platz.
Chief Sievers and I saw the shadow of the man at the same time, running into Gerhardstrasse, in the direction of Mary's Treff. Men came running out of house entrances, down ladders from rooftops, out of courtyards—the chiefs men and Tamara's guards. I saw Max and the old servant, Panas Myrnyi, who was screaming hoarsely, "That's the man! That's the man from the hotel!"
"So there you have it!" said Sievers, grinning, as his men chased the man over the thin snow, down Gerhardstrasse, past panic-stricken prostitutes, pedestrians, and pimps. Suddenly the man turned, there was a flash. A shot. The men who were pursuing him scattered against the walls of houses. "After him!" yelled Sievers, running on, with Max, Sergei, and I following him. I kept slipping on my leather soles.
Gerhardstrasse ran into Erichstrasse. The man stopped. His pursuers were apparently approaching now also from the left, because he shot again and turned right and disappeared behind the corner of Mary's Treff. The houses on Erichstrasse were old and dilapidated. When we reached it, we collided with three officers from the Davidswache, one in uniform, a gun in his hand. "Which way did he go, Liitjens?" yelled Sievers.
"Down the street, then left into Balduinstrasse," cried Liitjens.
We ran on—two dozen men at least, and one woman, because Tamara had come tearing after us. We ran into Balduinstrasse, past Bernhard-Nocht-Strasse, past the famous tavern, Onkel Max. Here the street ended in a staircase that led down to Sankt-Pauli-Hafenstrasse. I saw the shadow of the fleeing man again.
Now several officers were shooting, and the man was returning fire. He hit one officer in the thigh. The man collapsed. Another stayed behind to look after him; the rest of us ran on, slipping over the ice on the steps. I fell once, but got up again immediately. Down below there were piles of gravel covered with snow. This was the car strip. Girls scattered, screaming. Drivers stepped on the gas and drove off fast as we came running
up. I slipped again, t
his time on a condom. I knew Hamburg, I knew the car strip. In the morning following a lively night you could find anywhere from twenty to thirty condoms to the square meter here. I got up, cursing. Beside me I saw the River Kasematten, the elegant little harbor nightclub where famous stars entertained and famous people dined. "Over there!" yelled a man.
I could see the shadow, on the other side of the car strip now, running down some stone steps to the water, turning around all the time and firing. And reloading. You could hear him inserting the clips. At the bottom of the steps, in the water, there was a long cement dock on concrete pillars, a pontoon dock, with transverse floor planking below. It led to the fish market. Max was at my j side, breathing hard. "If we lose him there "
Yes. That would be hopeless. He could hide behind any of the l pillars. It was pitch dark down there, no thought of aiming a shot from the outside, but from the inside—yes, as I was to find out j seconds later when a bullet whizzed past my head. "Look out!" yelled Sievers.
He threw himself down on his stomach and shot four times, fast. There were a lot more shots after that, and the click of the man reloading. No one could tell if there had been a hit, but then, suddenly, all of us heard a scream, then a whimper, then silence.
Slowly, almost soundlessly, the men approached from all sides. Now Tamara and Myrnyi were talking beside me. The police and Officer Liitjens were carrying their guns at the ready—they weren't taking any risks.
"Come out!" cried Sievers.
No answer.
"Come out at once or were coming to get you!"
No answer.
"Well, in that case," said Sievers, feeling his way down the steps, pressed against the stair wall. He put his hand in his pocket. In the next moment a flashlight flared up. I had followed Sievers and could see, beyond the second pillar, a man lying face down on one of the floor planks, arms spread—our man.
Liitjens stopped the man who wanted to follow us down the steps. They stood still, panting, armed and unarmed—officers and civilians, Germans and foreigners. "Take it easy! Stay where you are!"
The Traitor Blitz Page 61
