The Malchek's bartenders and busboys chuckled amongst themselves upon seeing Sean's distressed appearance. He was in no mood to be the fool for anyone and lifted his torn jacket. The gun in his waistband erased their mocking grins and the staff returned to setting up for the night, as if they were being paid overtime.
After putting on Herbie Mann's MEMPHIS UNDERGROUND, Bertram came out of the DJ booth and said, "Looks like you had a wild night."
Sean ignored the comment and asked, "Is Jonny in?"
Bertram knew enough not to ask any more questions and said, "Yes, in the office."
"Thanks." Sean went to the office and the German looked up from counting the money for the evening's bar banks and frowned, saying, "Let me guess. You're taking off tonight."
"You guessed right. Have you seen Petra?" Sean gazed down at his laceless shoe and hoped Jonny had the answer to his question, but the bar manager shook his head and simply said, "No"
"Do you have any idea where she is?"
"No."
"You heard about the Eros Center?"
"Everyone connected to the Reeperbahn has heard about her. There's a price on her head, If she was smart, she got in her car and drove far away. Maybe you should do the same."
"I can't leave without her."
"Ah, Love. I remember it well. Go home, Sean. That is the best thing you can do. I'll tell Kurt you were sick." Jonny rubbed his face, thinking about how tired he would be at the end of this night, though the American would be worse off.
"You don't have to bother," replied Sean.
"Meaning Kurt had a heart attack in Geneva."
"Fatal?"
"Yes."
"Oh," Jonny answered, but before he could ask for details, the American had already left the office.
Outside on the sidewalk several pedestrians hurried by Sean, as if he were a madman. Getting to the Mercedes he saw he had once more forgotten to lock the doors. It was a testament to German honesty that no one had bothered to steal the metal case in the back, then again any object was worthless, unless you know its value.
Most men or woman would have gladly started all over again, especially with a million dollars in their pocket, but without Petra he was starting at ground zero and he had been there too many times to be there alone again.
Sulka, the police officer, and Jonny had all told him to go home. Sean wondered, if they meant the penthouse studio on Mittelweg or America. There were no flights leaving for the States tonight, so that only left him with one choice for tonight.
He drove like a drunken Indy driver to Milchstrasse and parked the car on the sidewalk before his building. Sean glared at the Schickerai in the cafe, daring them to make a comment. They all knew better and saved their comments until he entered the building.
Upstairs Sean searched the penthouse's three rooms.
He found f wet strands of rope on the bathroom floor and a closet empty of Petra's clothing.
Feeling like Adam exiled from Paradise without Eve, Sean went to the terrace. He surveyed the star-pitted sky, then howled out Petra's name. The warm wind in his face was the only reply. He remembered the madman in New York. No woman had answered his call and Sean regretted throwing the bag of water more than ever.
Returning inside, he smashed his fist into the wall. His knuckles cracked and he was about to throw another punch, when Cali appeared on the terrace.
Cali's skin was pale as a black man can get without being a ghost. He peered over the edge of the terrace, as if he was searching for the police, then turned to Sean and said, "Good parking job."
"I did my best." Sean tossed the keys to Cali. The black man fumbled the catch, but grabbed the keys before they hit the floor. His face contorted with pain, as he straightened up. "Where's Petra?"
"Not here," Cali spoke with the least amount of words possible, for each breath stretched the stitches to the breaking point. He shouldn't really be moving, but a million dollars in the hands of a stranger was a good reason to get out of bed.
"You wouldn't be here, if she was." Sean entered the penthouse and threw his jacket in the corner, feeling the dirt of a long day crusting like molting snakeskin. "I know. I've been to the Eroscenter."
"Bad?"
Cali stood at the doorway, his voice an imitation like Richard Roundtree in SHAFT.
"Bad isn't the word for it. All hell's breaking loose. You and your friends are on the out." Sean entered the bathroom and splashed water in his face.
"Only temporarily."
"Sure. Until you and your boys go down and beat the shit out of them like you did Petra?"
"I did not want that to happen."
"Tell that to someone who might believe you."
"I never touched her." Cali was hardly in the mood for a confession, but didn't have the energy to lie.
"I see the way people treat you here. Maybe you didn't touch her, but you okayed it. You had to teach her a lesson, so the whores would stay in place. That's just how the police in America or South Africa keep the niggers in line. Beat them over the head. And don't tell me your being black in Germany made you what you are today. You could have taken those beating and kids calling you nigger and turned out good. Hell, other people did." Sean seethed with the frustration of being unable to find Petra and the anger of being a pawn in Cali's game.
"You have no idea what being a ‘nigger’ here is like." Cali was taking these accusations like Ali on the ropes against Foreman.
"No, I don't, but you don't have to be that way now. I mean, what pleasure do you get from beating up women?"
"Yes, I never took from beating a woman like SS Tommy did Petra. Am I sorry for that? Of course I am." Cali was tired of the American being a preacher, as would any unreformed sinner being told of his wrongs, but it was difficult taking the moral high ground standing six feet deep in the mud, but when the shit gets a foot deep, you have to step a foot higher. "I can't pretend I've been a good man. Most of what I've done, I've done without looking back. With Petra I wish I could rewind time like a video, but I am not a God."
"No, you're King of the Reeperbahn and around here that is as close to being a God as you can get in Hamburg. You had other choices. Everyone does." Sean wiped his face dry with a towel and looked at himself in the mirror. He was shot, but at least in better shape than Cali. "You could have fucking warned her. Told her to leave town. Anything, but watch. You watched, while SS Tommy and the other fucked her up."
"Yes."
"You fucking nigger motherfucker." Sean used the n-word like a KKK member, but then again anyone white would.
"I thought being a 'nigger' didn’t matter to you, but you're the same as all white people." Cali pointed to the pistol in Sean's waist. "Would killing me make it all better?"
"The deal was you get your money and I get Petra safe and sound."
"Deals change. Everything went to shit today."
"Hey, don't I know it. I went to Geneva to pick up money, bring it back here, pack my bags and leave. Simple, right? Instead I find a dead man in a car. The woman I love gets kidnapped, then escapes and goes berserk." Sean sidestepped by Cali and returned to the bedroom. Cali's eyes narrowed to cold glinty slits, "Where is the money?"
Sean motioned to the case on the table. "It's all there."
Cali opened the case and picked out two packets of ten-thousand Swiss Marks
<"You think money will make everything good?"
"We Germans have few friends and I lost my best friend today. Nothing will bring him back. Am I sorry? Yes, but he was the one who killed himself. Drugs, a history of heart problems, and another man’s wife all combined to kill him today. I had you drive to that garage, so we could bring Kurt to Paris to be buried. That's was his wish and I thank you for that." "
"How sentimental." Sean dressed quickly in jeans. "I'm glad everything worked out for you."
"Nothing worked out. Nothing." Cali threw the money to Sean. "Consider that your severance pay from the club or for taking care of Kurt."
"Go fuck yourself."
Sean had pushed the wrong button.
Cali grabbed the American, the adrenalin of his rage temporarily masking the agonizing spasm in his side. Sean brought up his arms and knocked away the pimp's hands away, then pushed him against the wall. The black man's excruciating pain precluded any defense, so he begged, "Let me go, please."
Hearing the pathetic plea, Sean released him.
"No one is willing me what to do."
"I can see that, but it's in your best interests to get out of town and stay out of town. Tonight."
"That's what everyone keeps telling me, but I'm not leaving, until I find Petra before SS Tommy does."
"It is already too late for SS Tommy. He's dead," Cali gasped, hugging himself and praying the agony would subside.
"How?" To Sean this was the best news he had heard all day.
"The less you know the better. Just be happy he didn't get to Petra."
"Happy, do I sound happy? You think someone else is to blame for everything that went wrong today, but it's your fault. All of it. I tell you this, Cali. You try and mess with Petra and I'll kill you. Believe me, I can do it. In cold-blood." Sean stuffed his clothing in a bag and grabbed a few books, his money, and car keys. He was leaving this apartment for good. When he reached the door, he heard a whisper. Sean wheeled around and asked, "You have something to say?"
"Try the Hotel Inter-Conti. That's Petra's second home."
"I'll do that."
"And tell her I'm sorry. For everything."
"Yeah, right."
The door shut and Cali was grateful the American had foregone punishing him for his sins, since SS Tommy had already performed a pro job this afternoon. He gathered his strength and tottered into the next door apartment. In the bathroom he lifted his shirt. The stitches in his chest had held, but only just. He sponged off the crimson drops weeping from his wound.
The American was right.
Earlier he blamed Lukas for his interference or SS Tommy for this carnival of chaos, but he was responsible for all the mistakes of today and the day of Petra's beating. He would miss his friend him more than words could express and he might have even cried, but Cali had not cried since he was four years old. He would have liked to have come up with another way of paying back Lukas, but killing him was the only one that came to mind.
Lukas, being born to the rich, deemed himself above any violence Cali could summon, however nothing today had gone as planned, either for Cali or Lukas. Still both of them were the remaining chief architects of this day, and as long as this day had been, it was not over yet.
Vanessa Von Hausen mumbled in the bed, then opened her eyes, unable to recognize the man standing by the window for several seconds, then she asked, "Where is Kurt?"
The expression on Cali's face told her he was not here.
"Where is Kurt?" Vanessa asked again.
"You should rest," Cali said, hobbling over to the blonde wraith. Her previous childish beauty would not reblossom for some time, but she did look like a princess rescued from a dungeon. He placed a tray of food next to the bed.
"Where is Kurt?" Vanessa pushed away the food. Her desire for Kurt was stronger than her hunger. "Do not tell me a lie, Cali."
Cali had been lying all his life. If not that, then keeping his mouth shut, when asked for the facts, because the best secret is the one you never tell anyone. The same goes for the truth.
"Please tell me," Vanessa pleaded.
He could not refuse and told her everything she wanted to hear.
None of it was the truth.
When he was through, Vanessa looked at him with disappointment and said, "Cali, Kurt told me you are his best friend. I am a big girl. I do not need any lies. I have been through too much for that. Where is Kurt?"
The tears in Cali's eyes told the truth better than any words he could say, but he told her everything, this time holding nothing back, either from her or himself.
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