Magic Hoffmann by Jakob Arjouni Page B

plans.’
    â€˜But for four whole years!’
    â€˜I didn’t ask for that number.’
    Annette didn’t let go of his arm. Fred knew all about that from social workers and small-time dealers. When they knew they couldn’t get any further, they would grab hold of you. Annette’s expression was becoming ever more sensitive. She’s probably wondering what she should wear this evening, thought Fred.
    â€˜And do you really mean that, about Canada?
    â€˜For sure.’
    And what are you going to do there?’
    â€˜We’ll see. To begin with I have money, and later… Maybe I’ll buy an orchard and make apple wine. I don’t think it’s particularly well known in Canada.’
    â€˜Apple wine?’ Annette stared at him open-mouthed, ‘You want to go to Canada to make apple wine?’
    â€˜Is there any law against it?’
    â€˜But Fred…apple wine! And especially now! I mean when there’s so much going on here?’
    â€˜Where is something going on?’ Fred pulled his arm away.
    â€˜But everything is new: the country, the people, the politics - everything is in flux. Don’t you want to experience any of that? Germany is the centre of the world!’
    She was off again.
    â€˜Who for?’ Asked Fred.
    â€˜Well, for…for many people - for us any way.’
    Fred did not reply. Annette gave a motherly smile. Then she shook her head. ‘Really: apple wine in Canada. That’s a mad idea! Half of Hessen makes apple wine. It’s a regional speciality. You might as well stay in Dieburg.’
    â€˜That’s precisely why I can’t. But you wouldn’t understand,’ Fred turned away, ‘well then…’
    On the way to the front door two Asians bearing huge pots and ladles pushed past them. From the rear of the apartment the rattle of dishes mingled with country music: Texas is my baby, and if you don’t like her I’ll shoot you - maybe… Annette remained in the doorway, while more Asians with cooking and cleaning equipment went by.
    â€˜Call me later when you’re at Nickel’s.’
    â€˜I will,’ said Fred.
    They bid each other goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, then Fred turned round abruptly and walked past the colourful nameplates and down the stairs. Two men dressed in golfing gear came towards him, their sunglasses pushed back on their foreheads. Their perfume stayed with him till the ground floor.
    Rain splattered the pavement in front of the main entrance. The juddering of the fridge motor still came from the bar with the dirty portholes, but the sound of an air raid siren now blended in. DANCE MACHINE hung in neon letters above a metal door.
    Fred looked up once more at the light in Annette’s window. He could feel tears coming. He stepped quickly out into the rain and hurried to the underground.

10
    Café Budapest was opposite Zoo station. It was a large room, divided into smaller sitting areas with sturdy wooden tables and green upholstered benches. Yellow lampshades hung above the tables. Techno hits boomed out of a juke box and mingled with clinking glasses, the murmur of conversation and the rattle of slot machines. People came and went. Street smells and the whiff of junk food followed them into the café. Through the rain-drenched windows, travellers could be seen rushing to the station by the light of neon advertisements and car headlights. At the tables there were many people with suitcases and rucksacks.
    It was shortly after nine, and Fred was sitting in front of his third beer. He was bent over his glass, ruminating and staring into the white foam.
    Â 
    Â 
    â€˜â€¦the robbery can only be described as fiendishly sadistic. Several innocent bystanders sustained severe hand injuries. Fragments of the bank counter had to be surgically removed in hospital. There is a reward of ten thousand D-Mark for information leading  to the arrest of the