Babylon Berlin (23 page)

‘Don’t worry, the owner’s on holiday.’

Before he closed the door, he looked into the corridor. No-one had seen anything.

Then they fell into each other’s arms.

‘I want to see you tonight,’ she said.

‘Sadly that’s not going to happen. The meeting.’

‘I know. Work is work. You don’t have to tell that to an old Prussian.’

‘Exactly. And I’m afraid there’s no time for play today.’

‘Then I want to play a little now,’ she said and kissed him again.

Ultimately he had had to hobble back to his desk with an erection, glad not to encounter anyone. By the time he arrived he could, admittedly, walk normally again, but he was still in a state of confusion. He couldn’t get anything more done. Finally, Bruno allowed him to go home.

He’d have liked to have her beside him in
Plaza
too. Even if he knew, of course, that it wasn’t possible. No-one from the Castle knew he was here, and they certainly didn’t know why. Nor was anyone allowed to find out. And so he sat at the bar in the foyer of the variety theatre, sipping on his Americano.

The line-up had seemed even more boring than on Sunday, five days before. This time Rath stood up when the lonely cowboy appeared. His neighbours in the auditorium had been able to enjoy the strangled voice of the tenor as before, and had whispered to each other and laughed. This time it hadn’t been a recorder teacher sitting next to him, but a man with a monocle and a grey beard, who was accompanied by an elegant, young woman. Unmistakeably from the West. They’d soon be laughing on the other side of their faces, he thought, as he pushed past them towards the exit.

Barely five minutes later, they joined him at the bar. The monocle man sat on the barstool next to him, the woman one place further on. Rath ordered another Americano. After the disaster on Sunday he considered a new tactic, and the bar was the perfect starting point. Most of the people getting drunk in the foyer were from the West. Even though
Plaza
was an innocuous island in the middle of an area full of disreputable establishments, they couldn’t help gazing around every so often, as if they were expecting a knife fight, or at the very least fisticuffs or a police raid. However, there was nothing disreputable in the slightest about this particular people’s variety theatre. A disappointment. The young woman seemed to be entertaining similar thoughts.

‘It’s not very exciting here, sweetpea,’ she said to the monocle man.

Sweetpea sipped at his drink and stroked his grey beard.

‘You’re right, Angel. I’m used to something different. This here is a rather tame nightspot. Halbach should have warned us. Not even champagne, just cheap sparkling wine. We should drink up and go. I know a place where you won’t know what’s hit you!’

‘First of all I need to go and powder my nose,’ Angel said.

‘Then we should drink up quickly.’

Rath’s ears pricked up.
To
powder one’s nose
was one of the cues he had been waiting for.

‘Excuse me,’ he addressed the grey-bearded man. ‘I just happened to overhear your conversation. You said you knew a place nearby?’ The man examined him suspiciously. ‘You know,’ Rath continued. ‘There’s no
cocoa
on the menu here. I know my way around Tauentzien, but in this area…’

The man seemed to have understood. He looked more friendly now.

‘You must be from Charlottenburg?’

Rath nodded.

The man clapped him jovially on the shoulder.

‘My good man, nothing beats a wild night in Charlottenburg, but there’s a place here that we in the West can only dream about. If it was on our side, the peelers would have raided it long ago, but here the cops don’t dare. Our good fortune! In
Venuskeller
they have everything you need to be happy.’

They didn’t have to go far. Sweetpea led them into Posener Strasse. Once there, he steered them determinedly towards a dilapidated tenement house. The mouldings were already crumbling from the façade. No neon signs, no placards, nothing that in any way pointed to the presence of nightlife. Nothing apart from a few dark figures. Though scarcely visible, there were men loitering around the street corners and in the shadows of houses, as well as a lone figure standing in the entrance gate. He was very elegantly attired, dressed in a dinner jacket and bow tie under a light coat. As far as his stature was concerned, however, he was more reminiscent of a boxer than a gentleman; his eyes were indistinguishable under the shadow of the brim of his hat, unlike his enormous chin. Rath was ready for anything, from a clean blow to the pit of his stomach to a gun barrel pointed at his head. The only thing he wasn’t ready for was what came next: the man was exceptionally friendly.

‘Gracing us with your presence again Herr Director General?’

Sweetpea was clearly proud that they knew him here. He grew at least two centimetres.

‘Needs must, my good man, needs must. Want to show my friends here where the real party is.’

Angel looked bored. Rath was now certain that she wasn’t a luxury whore but some spoilt, high-born daughter out for an adventure, whom the old man had picked up somewhere. She wasn’t his wife at any rate.

‘Of course, Herr Director General. Have fun.’

The man cleared the way, and they went into the inner courtyard. A red light was burning in the entrance to one of the cellars above an iron door. Herr Director General knocked. Twice long, three times short, a pause, three times short, once long and twice short.

The door opened without a sound, and all of a sudden the muffled clamour of voices and muted sound of wild jazz music penetrated through to the outside. They were examined by a man who made the gorilla out on the street look like a capuchin. Once he had looked them over thoroughly he stepped to one side. The music drew ever closer as they proceeded through a dark corridor. Red Chinese lanterns on the wall gave off a dim light. A cloakroom attendant took their coats, and a liveried valet pulled back a heavy leather curtain that reached to the floor.

From one moment to the next the background noise became louder. They had to raise their voices to talk to one another. The large room they entered didn’t seem like a cellar at all, but rather a throne room bathed in red light. Everywhere on the walls Cupids made of plaster were firing their shafts. A waiter led them to their table by the stage, which was the shape of a large mussel. On it a fake American Indian was currently disporting himself with a real Caucasian woman, who despite having her hands tied to a stake, was otherwise very amenable.
Venuskeller
seemed to have leaned heavily on
Plaza
in its choice of themes.

‘Well, did I promise too much?’ the Director General said, when they had sat down and he had sent the waiter off with a one hundred mark note. The performances on the stage didn’t appear to surprise him. Rath, on the other hand, was rendered speechless, even though he was used to seeing a thing or two working for Vice. Even Angel seemed to have gone a little red in the cheeks, but then perhaps it was just the light. Her eyes still looked bored.

The waiter returned with a bottle of champagne, three glasses and a small, silver sugar bowl. The Director General was obviously feeling generous. After they had toasted their health with champagne, he passed the sugar bowl first to Angel and then to Rath.

‘There’s cocoa on the menu here,’ he said, ‘and it’s very good too! Try a little, my good friend.’

Rath hesitated. He had never taken cocaine before, but he couldn’t back out now. He might as well show his badge or go home.

‘No false modesty!’ said the grey-bearded man. ‘Take it! We Charlottenburgers have to stick together in places like this.’

Rath took a small pinch from the bowl. He’d just have to see it through. Angel was already in the process of preparing herself a little line on her pocket mirror, beside which she had laid a small, silver tube.

He had reckoned with all sorts of possibilities: with seeing stars, a variety of colours, bright lights, but all he felt as he snorted the white powder was numbness. His whole nose was numb. He wouldn’t have noticed if someone cut it off, but then he felt the cocaine taking hold of his brain and all of a sudden he was wide awake. It was as if someone had turned the music up, and yet he could understand the numerous voices talking over one another considerably better than before. He felt himself positively oozing energy and lust for life.

The young woman was also transformed. Suddenly she could smile, which lent her a charm that he had never thought her capable of possessing. Only now did he realise just how young she was. Twenty at most. The Director General was fifty at the very least, if not sixty.

‘I want to dance, sweetpea,’ she said.

The Director General waved her away. ‘Not with me!’ How about you, my young friend?’

Angel was already pulling him from the table. The dance floor was at the other end of the room, directly in front of the gallery with the band. There were people dancing ecstatically, thrashing around alongside couples with their arms tightly around one another. She pulled him towards her straightaway and placed her arms around his neck.

‘You’re a real sweetie, do you know that?’

‘You’re not the first to have noticed.’

He tried to free himself from her arms.

‘Oh, what have you got there!’ The shoulder holster. She looked at him as if the weapon aroused her. ‘You can count yourself lucky the gorillas at the entrance didn’t frisk us! Are you a crook or a cop?’

‘In this neighbourhood you can’t be too careful…’

She shoved her tongue down his throat. It took a moment to free himself. She smiled.

‘You can shoot if I’m too dangerous for you!’

Already she had a hand on his crotch.

‘I see you have another weapon here,’ she breathed heavily into his ear, ‘we really ought to try it out!’

He obviously wasn’t cut out for the wild life. He tore himself away and left her standing. She didn’t seem to mind. He heard her laugh as he fought his way through the room. A good thing it was dark. By the time he reached the table his erection had disappeared again. In the meantime, on the stage a cowboy had caught the American Indian in his lasso. The woman, now freed from the stake, was thanking him accordingly. The Director General looked on with interest.

‘That was quick,’ he said, as he noticed Rath. ‘You must excuse me. Vivian can sometimes be a little demanding. I prefer to leave her to others but she’s amusing, isn’t she? Once she’s tired herself out, I’ll pick her up again. Then she’s just right for someone my age. I have to think of my heart, my doctor says.’

Rath sat down. ‘You know your way round.’

‘You have to study life, my good friend, and it works best in places such as these. Is it your first time in this neighbourhood?’

‘At this time of day at least.’ He removed the photo from his jacket pocket and placed it beside the sugar bowl. ‘Actually, I’m looking for this man. A Russian. Alexej Kardakov. He’s supposed to come here from time to time.’

The Director General sounded very understanding. ‘A good-looking guy!’ he laughed. ‘If Vivian only knew who she was trying to seduce!’ The grey-bearded man clapped him on the shoulder, shaking with laughter. ‘No hard feelings, young man, no hard feelings.’

Another person he had shown the picture who thought he was gay. No matter. Better than being taken for a cop in a place like this. The waiter came and brought a second bottle of champagne. He cleared away the used silver tubes and the sugar bowl. He shot the photo a glance that was conspicuously discreet and disappeared once more.

Meanwhile, the Director General had regained his composure.

‘Excuse me,’ he said and wiped away the tears from his eyes. ‘But that is simply too funny. I don’t think that’s ever happened to Vivian before. She’s taken up with women before, but with a homosexual man…’ He fetched a monocle from his waistcoat and examined the photo in detail. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally, ‘but I’m afraid I don’t know your friend. Does he come here regularly?’

Rath was about to reply, but he could see from the face of the grey-bearded man that someone must have been standing behind him. He turned and saw a man in an elegant, white dinner jacket. Above his sparkling eyes, a receding hairline gleamed in the red light. He smiled and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

‘I can see that you’re having a good time, Herr Oppenberg! I’m delighted!’ The man in the white dinner jacket gave a bow. ‘Sebald. I’m the manager of this establishment.’

‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘I’m afraid I must borrow your companion for a moment.’

‘I hope you’re not going to throw him out!’ Oppenberg laughed and lit a cigar. ‘We were having an amusing discussion, which I’d very much like to continue.’

‘This won’t take long, Herr Oppenberg.’ The manager turned to Rath. ‘Could I please ask you to follow me. There’s someone who’d like to speak with you.’

Rath put the picture away and followed Sebald to a door beside the dance floor. In the meantime, Angel Vivian was attracting even more attention than the three actors on the stage. She had pushed her dress down and was dancing bare-breasted on the gallery with the band. She had a well-rounded bosom, like fresh apples. The men’s eyes were beaming, the ladies’ less so. The manager smiled and shrugged as if to say: that’s just how it is in
Venuskeller
, you won’t experience this sort of thing anywhere else.

Instead he said, ‘This way, please.’

They entered an office that was furnished in a modern style. Rath had expected to see Marlow, but the leather chair behind the enormous desk was empty. They moved across the room, at the end of which Sebald opened a second door. A staircase led upwards. In the courtyard the gorilla from the main entrance was waiting with Rath’s hat and coat. He pressed the items into his arms and began to frisk him.

‘Where are we going?’ Rath asked.

The gorilla pulled Rath’s Mauser from his jacket, then his wallet, before passing both to Sebald with an apologetic shrug.

‘You’re slacking, Benno!’ the manager said coldly and removed the Prussian police ID badge from the wallet. ‘Rath, Gereon, Detective Inspector,’ he read. ‘First you let in someone with a shooter, then it turns out he’s a cop.’