just under five feet tall, slim, is in the main station, heading for the exit.” He knew how the police talk. “She’s armed, she’s carrying a bag of counterfeit money and a kilogram of cocaine. She’s stolen a blue, no, a red Maserati. It’s in parking garage number two,” he said and hung up.
He went back to the locker and reached into it. Behind the coin slot—invisible from the outside—a second key was taped. He used it to open the next-door locker and took out a bag. He looked into it for a moment. The money was still there. Then he went back into the main hall and took the escalator up to the suburban train platforms. Down at the lowest level he saw the woman lying on the ground, surrounded by eight policemen.
Atris took the first train to Charlottenburg. As it came in, he leaned back. He had the money. Tomorrow the big package from Amsterdam with the pills in it would reach his mother. Frank had even included a windmill in the package that lit up red and green. She loved things like that. The post office didn’t have drug-sniffing dogs yet, the Russian had said; they cost too much money.
The woman would be sentenced to four or five years. The cocaine was admittedly only sugar, but Frank and Atris had once fallen for the counterfeit money trick themselves. Aside from which, there was still possession of a weapon and the theft of a car.
Frank would be set free in a few days; nothing could be proved against him. The pills would find a ready market. When Frank got out, he’d give him a puppy, or definitely a smaller dog. They had saved 250,000 euros, and the woman’s arrest was the Russian’s problem: these were the rules. Frank would be able to buy himself the new four-door Maserati.
After he’d told me the whole story, Atris said, “You just can’t trust women.”
Lonely
Today she walked past the house again for the first time in a long time. It had all happened fifteen years ago.
She sat down in a café and called me. Did I remember her? she asked. She was a grown-up now, with a husband and two children. Both girls, ten and nine years old, pretty children. The younger one looked like her. She didn’t know who else to call.
“Do you still remember it all?” she asked.
Yes, I still remembered it all. Every detail.
Larissa was fourteen. She lived at home. The family’s only income was from welfare; her father had been out of work for twenty years, her mother had once been a cleaning lady, and both drank. Her parents often came home late. Sometimes they didn’t come home at all. Larissa had gotten used to this, and to the beatings, the way children get used to anything. Her brother had moved out when he was sixteen and never been heard from again. She was going to do the same.
It was a Monday. Her parents were in the corner liquor store. That’s where they were almost always to be found.Larissa was alone in the apartment, sitting on the bed, listening to music. When the bell rang she went to the door and peered through the peephole. It was her father’s friend Lackner, who lived next door. She was wearing nothing but a T-shirt and panties. He asked where her parents were, came into the apartment, and checked that she really was alone. Then he pulled the knife. He told her to get dressed and come with him or he’d slit her throat. Larissa obeyed; there was nothing else she could do. She went with Lackner, who wanted to be in his apartment where no one could disturb him.
Frau Halbert, the neighbor who lived in the apartment across the hall, was coming up the stairs towards them. Larissa tore herself free, screamed, and ran into her arms. Much later, when it was all over, the judge would ask Frau Halbert why she hadn’t protected Larissa. Why she had detached herself from Larissa’s embrace and had left her to Lackner. The judge would ask her why she had watched as the man took the girl away although she was begging and crying. And Frau Halbert would always answer in the same way. To
He went back to the locker and reached into it. Behind the coin slot—invisible from the outside—a second key was taped. He used it to open the next-door locker and took out a bag. He looked into it for a moment. The money was still there. Then he went back into the main hall and took the escalator up to the suburban train platforms. Down at the lowest level he saw the woman lying on the ground, surrounded by eight policemen.
Atris took the first train to Charlottenburg. As it came in, he leaned back. He had the money. Tomorrow the big package from Amsterdam with the pills in it would reach his mother. Frank had even included a windmill in the package that lit up red and green. She loved things like that. The post office didn’t have drug-sniffing dogs yet, the Russian had said; they cost too much money.
The woman would be sentenced to four or five years. The cocaine was admittedly only sugar, but Frank and Atris had once fallen for the counterfeit money trick themselves. Aside from which, there was still possession of a weapon and the theft of a car.
Frank would be set free in a few days; nothing could be proved against him. The pills would find a ready market. When Frank got out, he’d give him a puppy, or definitely a smaller dog. They had saved 250,000 euros, and the woman’s arrest was the Russian’s problem: these were the rules. Frank would be able to buy himself the new four-door Maserati.
After he’d told me the whole story, Atris said, “You just can’t trust women.”
Lonely
Today she walked past the house again for the first time in a long time. It had all happened fifteen years ago.
She sat down in a café and called me. Did I remember her? she asked. She was a grown-up now, with a husband and two children. Both girls, ten and nine years old, pretty children. The younger one looked like her. She didn’t know who else to call.
“Do you still remember it all?” she asked.
Yes, I still remembered it all. Every detail.
Larissa was fourteen. She lived at home. The family’s only income was from welfare; her father had been out of work for twenty years, her mother had once been a cleaning lady, and both drank. Her parents often came home late. Sometimes they didn’t come home at all. Larissa had gotten used to this, and to the beatings, the way children get used to anything. Her brother had moved out when he was sixteen and never been heard from again. She was going to do the same.
It was a Monday. Her parents were in the corner liquor store. That’s where they were almost always to be found.Larissa was alone in the apartment, sitting on the bed, listening to music. When the bell rang she went to the door and peered through the peephole. It was her father’s friend Lackner, who lived next door. She was wearing nothing but a T-shirt and panties. He asked where her parents were, came into the apartment, and checked that she really was alone. Then he pulled the knife. He told her to get dressed and come with him or he’d slit her throat. Larissa obeyed; there was nothing else she could do. She went with Lackner, who wanted to be in his apartment where no one could disturb him.
Frau Halbert, the neighbor who lived in the apartment across the hall, was coming up the stairs towards them. Larissa tore herself free, screamed, and ran into her arms. Much later, when it was all over, the judge would ask Frau Halbert why she hadn’t protected Larissa. Why she had detached herself from Larissa’s embrace and had left her to Lackner. The judge would ask her why she had watched as the man took the girl away although she was begging and crying. And Frau Halbert would always answer in the same way. To
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