ALMOST A DEAD MAN - CHAPTER 37

The curtains were off in the Hotel Intercontinental room. Petra lay bedecked in leather lay on the bed. Her one good eye watched the dappled reflections of car headlights playing an inarticulate shadow drama on the wall, while the glass orb in the other socket pulsed with a dull throb. She gripped the 9mm pistol with her right index finger curled around the trigger. Flecks of blood dotted her scarred skin and she wasn't washing it off until her revenge was complete.

Strangely she had not achieved the epiphany of pleasure she had anticipated from the savaging of the least guilty of her attackers. She blamed the lack of fervor on allowing a man to get close and tricking her into falling in love. Murder was the only game she would play with men from now on.

During the months after her beating Petra had intimately debated with herself how she should kill her attackers. Flaying them alive was too long a process. Breaking their bones with a crowbar too messy. Blowing them up in their car was too quick. Setting them on fire might not be fatal. She had read newspapers for unusually cruel forms of death, ruling them all out. She was not into torture, but death. To achieve that goal, a gun was her tool, as it had been for millions before her.

The brunette in leather had aimed the pistol countless times, until the action relied entirely on reflex and desire. Petra checked the gun and the contemplation of suicide skidding through her mind, since there are only so many things you can do alone with a gun in a hotel room.

She re-visualized SS Tommy driving up to the hotel and leaving his BMW with the valet. The pimp would give the maitre de a thousand marks to betray where she was, then take the stairs this floor. He would walk down the hallway and break down the door, expecting her to cower under his brutality, but she would shoot him dead.

If she killed SS Tommy, the court sentence was prison life was destined for prison. Not forever, because the court understood the circumstances and the state was going to be grateful to be rid of a criminal like SS Tommy. Of course there was the possibility that SS Tommy might be quicker with the trigger and kill her. Her mother would cry and so would her father in private. Some of the girls from the Reeperbahn would put flowers on her grave. Petra laughed harshly, then prayed for God to help her go through with this.

She was finding her religion a little too late, but better late than never.

ALMOST A DEAD MAN - CHAPTER 38

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.

ALMOST A DEAD MAN - CHAPTER 39

Twice footsteps approached room 341 In the Intercontinental Hotel. Petra sat in the corner with a 9mm in her hand. Footsteps neared the unlocked door. She raised the weapon . The people proceeded down the corridor. She had been wearing the dominatrix corset, vest, and girdle for hours. The leather cut into her flesh. She quickly stripped and put on a thick cotton robe, then asked herself, "Where is he?"

SS Tommy was not the kind of man to let her off for running amok up his world. At any second the cold-blooded kill might smash through the door. She ran through the drill one more time.

Point and shoot.

A hail of bullets.

SS Tommy dead on the floor.

More minutes in the quiet hotel room. She grew drowsy and shut her eyes for a second, telling herself, that she would not go to sleep.

"Schiesse."

Sleep was SS Tommy's ally.

She composed a list of men who deserved death.

Her father for raping her.

The neighborhood priest for his fiery sermons on Hell and boring platitudes of Heaven.

She spared the boys in Hochschule who glimpsed up her dress, her first clients as a Strichmadchen on Lange Reite and the old men smitten by the top girl of Hamburg, because she had known what she was doing and taken advantage of the situation as best she could, although no matter how much you tell yourself otherwise, the one being paid was never the one on top.

Her blood burned at the thought of SS Tommy whipping her and Cali for allowing the beating.

Kurt was guilty by association.

Lukas also deserved a bullet and lastly Sean Coll, who had weakened her resolve.

They all had excuses, but 'Sorry' would not give back her eye or remove away the scars. If to forgive was divine, then she was purely human. Every man was guilty of something and her capacity for mercy was on empty. The next man to walk through the door was a dead man, even if he were room service. One was as good as the other. They were all the same.

Her teeth clenched tightly and her jaw muscles locked place. She had no power to speech and stiffness spread through her body to sculpt a taut statue. Footsteps neared and stopped before her door. She sighted the gun head high and held her breath to steady her hands. This would take less than a second. A man opened the door. His silhouette outlined by the hallway light was the perfect target, until he asked, "Petra?"

Sean peered inside the unlit room and his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness.

A woman was in the corner.

He suffered a mal de déjà vu, dating back to discovering her in the old house on Kaiserringstrasse, then light glinted off the metal in her hands.

A gun.

He hated life repeating itself for higher stakes, but he had been on a losing streak too long and tonight that bad luck was going to end one way or the other.

"Petra. Don't."

"Go away." Her voice trembled with anger.

It never paid to argue with someone holding a gun, but Sean could not leave and stepped inside the room.

"No closer or I will shoot. Go away."

"So you can kill yourself. No, I'm staying," Sean spoke and recollected an old news story from Miami about some man getting shot in the head five time and complaining later to the doctors in the emergency that he had a bad headache. He had been shot with a 22. A 9mm was less forgiving.

He took one another step.

"Petra, I know you want to kill someone. Me?"

She said nothing and his hand snaked out to slap at the pistol. The gun went off before he touched it. A shot thundered in his eardrums. Her involuntary flinch had deflected the bullet's course. He snatched the pistol from Petra before she could pull off another round.

"You crazy fucking bitch. You could have killed me." Sean threw the weapon into the corner, then struggled to restrain Petra's fists, knees, and feet. Her screaming cut through the ringing in his ears, then she freed her right hand to strike him in the jaw.

A left landed and his head snapped back. Petra was not holding back. Sean grabbed her arms and twisted her body. They fell onto the floor. Her nails lacerated his face. If she had been on the top, he would not have stood a chance.

Sean seized her wrists and sat on her stomach. He almost hit her and Petra winced in expectation. He shook his head. The last thing he had on his mind was hurting her or letting anyone else touch her.

"Ist da ein problem hier?" someone asked, startling Sean.

A very respectable man in his pajamas stood at the door and Sean rolled off Petra. "There's no problem, mister. Just go to sleep. We will try and be quiet. Sorry to disturb you."

Sean shut the door and picked up the pistol from the corner. The barrel was warm to his touch and the smell of gunpowder was nauseating, especially since the bullet had whizzed by his ear.

Petra sat on the chair and her talon-sharp nails raked back her hair. She stared at him with unrefined hatred and announced dejectedly. "You are lucky to not be dead."

"You got that right."

He should be lying on the floor, his head surrounded by a halo of blood. He shuddered, sensing sensed the ebbing of life from that dead man. Almost a dead man alive for the next few seconds, then gone. Sean reckoned this was his third close call with death since coming to Hamburg. Surviving a fourth was out of the question.

"Why don't you go away?"

"Because that would be easy." Sean stuck the gun behind his back.

"You do not understand anything." The anger vented from deep within her and she screamed, "How can you tell what's good for me or even you? Who made you God?"

"I never said I was anything special."

"Special? You're no saint. You'll never change either. You'll end up dead on a slab like the rest of your kind. Dead, dead, dead with no one to shed a tear either."

Petra rocked from side to side, her knotted hair masking her face, repeating the word 'dead' like a record skipping its track, until she was down to just 'd'. Someone chanting his death mantra, even if it was under their breath, wasn’t good for your karma, but even worse for hers and Sean shouted, "Stop it, Petra."

"Why? To be a good girl? Is that what you want? This is as good as I get"

"That's a lie. Believe me, I know when someone is good or bad."

"What are you Santa Claus?"

"No, but I have been good and I have been bad."

"I guess you are not as big a bastard as you look." snarled Petra.

"You think you're the only one in the world to get the shit kicked out of you. I've been one foot in the grave before. Beaten to the ground outside a New York nightclub with bats. I was on the ground dying or as close to dead as you can get. To this day I have no idea why they stopped. I came to covered in blood with my ribs broken, but I was alive. I searched for the guys who did that with two friends and found them in a bar. We had guns. I could have killed them, but didn't."

"Why?"

Sean touched the scar underneath his eyebrow, reflecting back to the moment when they caught his attackers. The man dared Sean to shoot him, but he had walked away and it was time for Petra to join him.

"Because I'm not a murderer and neither are you."

"I will be."

"Who? SS Tommy? You're too late. He's already dead."

"I will believe that, when I see his body."

"His body in in the Elbe and Kurt is also dead. A heart attack in Geneva. not be possible," Sean said and sat on the bed.

"There is Cali and Lukas."

"Cali is lucky to be alive." Sean understood exactly how she was feeling, but also how she would feel later and said, "He isn't so easy to kill, but SS Tommy tried and failed. Lukas on the other hand. I don't know where he is, but I'm sure Cali will take care of him. They have issues to resolve and resolve only one way."

"But I want my revenge."

"Yes, and I wish I could buy it for you, but I can't and neither can I make you forget your beating, but that the pain will always be with you. Everything we do and is done to us always is. I'd like to say that I will not ever hurt you and hope that you will never hurt me, but that's a promise no one can keep. All I can say is that I love you. I'm leaving here for Paris. We have money. Are you coming or not?"

A second ticked in time.

"Paris."

"It's a good city to forget the past."

"With you?"

"With us?"

Petra stretched out a hand and Sean helped her to her feet. He put his coat over her shoulders and they walked from the room. This thing between them might not last forever, but it seemed like it could. Neither of them would talk about it though, since telling your wish after breaking a wishbone was bad luck and both of them wanted this wish to come true.