Happy Birthday, Turk!

by Jakob Arjouni

  “Where’s the wardrobe?”

  “Oh, you bastard—”

  I slapped her again.

  “Time to sober up. Where’s the wardrobe?”

  She held her cheek with one hand, and pointed at a door across the hall with the other. The wardrobe stood in the other bedroom. I cleared out coats and suits until I saw a backpack in the far left-hand corner. I pulled it out and undid the buckles. The top layer consisted of all sorts of camping paraphernalia. I turned it upside down, and among the enamel pots, gas containers, tent hooks, and nylon ropes, a number of small plastic-wrapped packages tumbled on the floor. I picked one up, tore off a corner, licked the plastic. Sure enough. After I had stuffed it all back in, I saw the folded note: MURDERER FUTT, GET A MILLION AND A KILO READY; YOU’LL HEAR FROM US SOON! I pocketed the note and stepped back into the hall. Futt’s wife was huddled on the sofa, weeping.

  “… nothing, disgusting, I’m disgusting.”

  “Where’s the phone?”

  She looked up at me. Her black mascara was smeared all over her face.

  “… in the kitchen …”

  I consulted the phone book, found the number, dialled. Hanna Hecht’s number was busy. I had no time to lose.

  “You stay right here until I get back, all right? A colleague of mine will be here in a minute, and he’ll stay with you. It’s for your own protection. Wipe that dirt off your face and make him a cup of coffee. And don’t try any hanky-panky with him. See you later.”

  I ran downstairs and across the street. Löff was sitting in his car, listening to the radio. “Mr. Löff, things are heating up.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Mrs. Futt is up there, not feeling all that good. Go to her and stay with her until I get back. Watch her closely, she might do something crazy. If Futt happens to come by, hold him there. I don’t care how you do it.” I handed him my Parabellum. “Here, just in case. Don’t look at me like that. You may not believe it, but I have my reasons. Take a look at Futt’s wardrobe.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes, that’s all for now. All I need is an hour. If it takes longer, I’ll call. I need your car.”

  He handed me the keys, stuck the Parabellum in his pocket, and walked over to number thirty-seven.

  I started the Mercedes and drove off. I was doing sixty through the first red light.

  3

  To keep my hands free, I set the cassette recorder on the floor to the left of Hanna Hecht’s apartment door. I bent down to the keyhole and heard murmuring voices. I rang the bell. The murmuring stopped. I rang again. Silence. After the third ring, someone came to the other side of the door.

  “Who is it?”

  I recognized the voice.

  “Main Gas Company. Meter reading.”

  “Just a moment.”

  A few brief whispers. Then he came back. I flattened myself against the wall to the right of the door. A key was inserted into the lock and turned, slowly. Then the door opened and he stuck his head out.

  I struck him just below the belt with the edge of my right hand. That winded him for a moment, and I jumped him. Since I hadn’t hit him all that hard, he put up some resistance. My first impression had been correct: he was a hair-puller. When he tried to bite my belly I decided I was fed up and punched him in the chin. He went limp and fell back on the fluffy rug. I glanced at the door to the kitchen. Hanna Hecht was staring at me with wide eyes. Her face was bruised and swollen, and her nose was bleeding. Her blouse was smeared with blood and torn open to the waist. I unwound the length of wire that had been used to tie her hands. It left bloody tracks on her arms. Then I used the same wire to tie him up. I wound it tight, and the pain revived him.

  “Take it easy. It’s all over now.”

  I turned him on to his back and stared at his face. Defenseless now, he looked like a dachshund. I noticed, too late, that Hanna Hecht had gotten down on her knees next to me. She raked her fingernails across his face. I pushed her away, a little pointlessly, since five deep scratches had now laid the raw dermis of his cheeks open. He screamed and squirmed with pain. Hanna Hecht smiled. Only now I noticed that he had smashed all of her upper incisors.

  “Where is your friend from Heini’s Fried Chicken?”

  She pointed at the kitchen.

  “Still alive?”

  “More or less.”

  “Can you get me a drink? We could all use one now.” She nodded and went to the kitchen. I took hold of his shoulders and raised him to a sitting position against the wall.

  “So, Mr. Eiler, we meet again.”

  I got the cassette recorder from the landing and wound the tape back.

  “I am going to ask you a couple of questions. You may answer; you may also refuse to answer. In the latter case, I’ll hand you over to Miss Hecht to deal with you as she pleases … all right?”

  “No! I’ll talk.”

  “In a way, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I pushed the recording button.

  “How did you manage to persuade Vasif Ergün, after his automobile accident, to deal heroin that you provided him with?”

  He gave me a frightened look. “But …”

  “Let’s hear it. The tape’s running.”

  He hemmed and hawed a while before he came clean.

  “Oh, what the hell, it’s all over, isn’t it … It was Futt’s idea. I didn’t have anything to do with that … I’m telling you the truth …”

  “I don’t care whose idea it was. I want you to tell me what happened.”

  “Well … We told him this had been a pretty bad accident, and he would have to go back to Turkey, or spend a long time in jail … something like that … and then we offered him a deal. We would make sure that nothing bad happened to him, we’d even give him the money to pay for the damage.”

  “Two thousand marks?”

  “Yeah, that’s how much it was … So we did that for him. In return, he would deal drugs for us. We offered him thirty percent of the profits, and he agreed.”

  “And after he’d been dealing for a while, you asked him if he knew somebody else who might be interested in dealing.”

  “Right.”

  “And that was Ahmed Hamul?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you kill Vasif Ergün?”

  “But—no—that was an accident … Surely you don’t believe …” His voice almost cracked.

  “Stop playacting. Futt has confessed, and I have a witness for the accident. It’ll be to your advantage to tell the truth.”

  He gave a visible start at the mention of Futt’s confession.

  “That—that stupid swine … It was him, he said we had to do that, he said our cover would be blown if we didn’t … That swine … I’m not a murderer, goddamn it—believe me.”

  He screamed and sobbed and beat his tied hands against his mutilated face; a steady tremor shook his slight body.

  “Pull yourself together. You’ve killed three people, and you have subjected three other people to bestial torture, myself included. You weren’t weeping then. You probably even enjoyed it. I’d like to tear you limb from limb, believe you me. Now you’ll answer my questions—or else!”

  “… he wanted to get out, he wanted to get into business on his own …”

  “And that was when you ran him off the road, into that concrete pillar?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you know that the farmer’s daughter saw what happened?”

  “I made the accident report. The people came out from the village … to see what had happened … And she came too, and she started running off at the mouth about it … but no one believed her …”

  “And you went back the next day and cracked her skull with your nightstick. Where is that nightstick now?”

  “… I tossed it …”

  “Where?”

  “… can’t remember …”

  I backhanded him on his torn cheek. He screamed.

  “… somewhere in the wood
s … in back of the village …”

  “The drugs were provided by Georg Hosch, after the monthly burnings?”

  “Yeah …”

  “And last night it was you and he who came to my office and tear-gassed me?”

  “Yeah …”

  “The drugs were kept at Futt’s house?”

  “Yeah, right. It was his idea, all of it. He blackmailed us, practically, he—”

  “I don’t care. Why did you have to kill Ahmed Hamul?”

  “I had nothing to do with that! I don’t know anything about it … You can’t pin everything on me … I didn’t do it … none of us did that … I would know. You can’t pin that on us!”

  I kept slapping his face, but he kept denying that they had had anything to do with Ahmed’s murder.

  “Well, we can find out what you were doing that night. Where is Hosch now?”

  “On duty.”

  I switched off the tape and went to the kitchen. Hanna Hecht was leaning back in a chair; having just shot up, she looked relatively content. The waiter lay under the sink, groaning. He had been through a lot the last couple of days. I grabbed his shoulders to help him up, but he screamed like a stuck pig. Harry Eiler must have broken both his arms. I let him lie there, realizing that anything else might kill him outright. The kitchen looked like a battlefield. Broken furniture and dishes were spattered with blood, the garbage can had been emptied out on the floor, and all the posters had been torn off the wall and shredded. I got the vodka bottle out of the refrigerator and took a long pull. The waiter groaned out loud.

  “You want a hit?”

  With difficulty, he moved his eyelids up and down. I gave him a couple of spoonfuls. Most of it dribbled down his chin. Then I went back to Harry Eiler and the telephone.

  I dialled Medical Emergency and called for an ambulance. Then I turned to the heap of misery that was Eiler.

  “Now you will call Hosch and make a date with him. You tell him to come to Futt’s apartment in half an hour.”

  He shook his head. I slapped him. He nodded.

  “The number?”

  He gave it to me. I dialled and held the receiver for him. “Yes, George …? This is Harry … Yes, listen, we have to meet at Paul’s place in half an hour … Yes, it is important What? … I can’t explain on the phone, but it really is urgent … All right? See you then.”

  I hung up. Harry Eiler stared at his fettered hands with a pained expression.

  “And now the same thing with Futt.”

  “No! … All right, all right!”

  “You can’t back out now. He has to come there. Tell him something went wrong here. I don’t care.”

  “Paul? … Yes, it’s Harry … This is really urgent … things didn’t work out here … I have to see you, as soon as possible, at your place … yes … believe me, it’s important …”

  He gave me an imploring look. I shook my head.

  “Paul, please, it won’t take long … No, I’m not trying to mess with your head … it won’t take long … You’ll be there in half an hour? All right? OK, see you there.”

  I took the phone and dialled Futt’s home number.

  “Katrin Futt speaking.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Futt. Let me have a word with your guard there.”

  Löff came to the phone.

  “This is me, Kayankaya … no, I’ll be there very shortly … it’s all working out. But listen, I need someone from the Public Prosecutor’s office … right! Can you get him there in a hurry?”

  Harry Eiler started howling. I took the phone into the bedroom.

  “Who is that? You won’t believe this, but it’s Harry Eiler … I’ll explain. Can you do that, get a prosecuting attorney? I’m sure you have a good buddy in that line … I’m dead serious. I’ll make him a present of three heroin dealers, and one of them is a multiple murderer. How’s that for an offer? … Yes, I’ve got evidence. Your cassette machine was a great help … Fine, Mr. Löff, you may never speak to me again if this doesn’t pan out … I need that prosecutor! Right now! For one thing, I didn’t feel like telling the same story twice … All right, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  4

  Just as I was leaving the building with Harry Eiler, the emergency ambulance arrived, and two paramedics rushed out of it. One of them grabbed my arm.

  “First floor on the right. The girl is full of heroin, the guy is full of vodka.”

  He looked at me thunderstruck. Then he nodded and charged inside.

  I stuffed Harry Eiler into the passenger seat, got behind the wheel, and drove off.

  Ten minutes later, there were five us sitting in Futt’s living room: Katrin Futt, Theobald Löff, Harry Eiler, myself, and one Horst a.k.a. “Horstilein” Schramm. I told Katrin Futt’s back-door man to take a powder. “No, I’m staying. I can’t leave Katrin in the lurch like this.”

  “Mr. Schramm. Very shortly, things will be going on here that are none of your damn business.”

  “But I can’t leave Katrin alone! Who are you, anyway? You haven’t told me anything.”

  “I don’t have time to argue with you. Either you leave under your own steam, or I’ll kick you out! Just ask my buddy here, I’m not the squeamish type. So stop playing the gallant knight and hit the tiles!”

  He looked at Harry Eiler’s visage in disgust.

  “Yes, it certainly looks like you’re a real brute, doesn’t it? I don’t see how you can subject a lady to this sort of thing!”

  “And you think you’re helping her by sitting on your ass and complaining!”

  “She needs me!”

  Katrin Futt had managed to sober up a few degrees:

  “Horst—I think it’ll be better if you leave now. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “But Katrin! You can’t do this to me!”

  I grabbed hold of his shoulder.

  “Sure she can. I’ll count to three. One …”

  He shook my hand off, cast a grim look around the room, and left the apartment.

  “When did you say the prosecutor will get here?”

  “As soon as he’s able.”

  We sat there in a silence only sporadically interrupted by Harry Eiler’s whimpering. He was disfigured for life, and why hadn’t I saved him from that witch … For about ten minutes, no one else said a word. Löff looked as if he were sure he’d regret having called the prosecutor. Katrin Futt had closed her eyes and was sleeping off the drink. After a while, Harry Eiler decided to restrict himself to staring at his wired wrists and suffering in silence. I occupied my mind with trying to piece together a certain Louis Armstrong tune. Then the doorbell rang.

  Everybody gave a start, as if they hadn’t expected anything to happen ever again. I slipped the safety off the Parabellum, told the others to stay put, and went to the door.

  After the second ring I threw the door open. Before Georg Hosch was able to get the picture, I stuck the black barrel of my gun in his chest, grabbed his lapels, and pulled him inside.

  “I told you we’d meet again.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Wait and see. Where’s your gas mask today? You looked good in it.”

  He pursed his lips contemptuously. “This will have serious consequences.”

  “You bet it will.”

  I pushed him into the living room.

  “Soon we’ll have a quorum.”

  Georg Hosch remained calm. Only his forehead turned pink.

  “Have a seat. We’ll have to wait a few more moments until Superintendent Futt and the prosecutor get here.”

  “The prosecutor …”

  “Things have a way of happening sooner than we expect, Mr. Hosch.”

  His only response was a disdainful stare.

  A little later the doorbell rang again. I went through the same routine, throwing the door open and pushing my cannon into a chest.

  This time it was the prosecutor. He looked just as flabbergasted as Hosch. I lowered the gun and apologized.
>
  “That’s all right. At least I seem to be in the right place. This is Mr. Futt’s apartment, isn’t it?”

  “So it is.”

  “And where is he?”

  “He hasn’t arrived yet. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I consider it an impertinence, to make me rush here in this heat and at this time of day! What’s wrong with bringing the criminals he’s apprehended to my office? Since when don’t the police have the means and the time to bring their prisoners to court? I’m making this exception only because I know Mr. Löff and hold him in great esteem …”

  “Mr. Futt will be here any minute.”

  “And who are you?”

  “Kemal Kayankaya, private investigator. I have made you rush through town at this hour, because I am not a policeman and don’t have the means to transport my prisoners to court. Mr. Futt will not appear here in his capacity as detective superintendent, but in his role as a heroin dealer. As soon as he gets here, I’ll lay it all out for you. And if you find my story convincing, as I am sure you will, you can then issue the arrest warrants.”

  “You’ve said a mouthful, young man.”

  “I’m afraid you won’t feel too good about it. All three persons concerned are members of our police force.”

  He ran his fingers through his short grey hair.

  “I see. Well. It won’t make things easier.”

  He scrutinized me closely.

  “So when do we start?”

  “We’re waiting for Mr. Futt.”

  “The others are present?”

  “Come and see.”

  The prosecutor’s arrival had upped the tension level in the room. George Hosch was beginning to lose his cool, looking daggers at Harry Eiler, who was awash in whimpering self-pity. Katrin Futt had slowly become conscious of the situation and fidgeted in her chair.

  Löff and the prosecutor exchanged greetings like people who are members of the same bowling club. Then they sat down quietly next to each other, crossed their arms over their chests, and cast the occasional impatient glance in my direction.

  “Mrs. Futt, may I offer the gentlemen something to drink?”

  “Yes, of course, the cabinet’s in the kitchen. And the glasses are there too.”