night, however, taxis were few and far between; expensive too. And Kaspar was acutely aware of the lack of cash his pocket; the last couple of Gin Slings he’d bought in the bar, in the hope of luring young Oscar what’s-his-name back to his new flat, had more or less wiped him out. With less than 10DM to his name, he now faced a long, lonely walk home.
Pulling up his collar, Kaspar dropped his gaze to his feet, cursing both the cold wind in his face and Oscar. As soon as the money ran out, and the gin stopped flowing, the young rent boy had shamelessly transferred his attentions to a middle-aged guy from Hamburg who was letting his hair down, what was left of it, at the end of a business trip.
‘Bitch.’ Kaspar hissed to no one in particular. Taking a long drag on his cigarette, he launched into a coughing fit. Slinging the stub into the road, he lent against a lamppost, trying to clear his head. ‘You would have thought after six Gin Slings the little shit would have at least been good for a half-decent blow job.’ The thought of Oscar on his knees in front of the businessman made his stomach churn and for a moment he thought he might puke. Vowing never to darken the door of the Sugar Lounge again, he took a couple of deep breaths, drawing the cold night air deeply into his lungs until he could feel the nausea begin to subside.
Lost in his self-pitying thoughts, he placed another cigarette between his lips. Fumbling for his lighter, he was only dimly aware of voices coming towards him along the street. Lighting up, Kaspar resumed his weary march, almost walking straight into a couple of men coming towards him. Taking up almost the whole of the sidewalk, they stood their ground, forcing him off the kerb and into the mucky gutter.
‘Hey.’ Kaspar groaned, letting the cigarette fall from his lips as he inspected the potential damage to his shoes. ‘Watch where you’re going, dammit.’
One of the men stepped into the gutter in front of Kaspar, pushing forward his neck until their faces were less than ten centimetres apart. ‘What did you say, pretty boy?’ His German was heavily accented but the mocking tone was still clear.
‘Well …’ suddenly feeling woozy, Kaspar felt himself sway slightly. He tried to take a step backwards, but found the second man had moved behind him, blocking his escape.
‘Got any money?’
‘No,’ Kaspar groaned. In the soft glow of the gas-powered street lights, he caught sight of something glinting in the hand of the man in front of him. A knife. Resisting the renewed urge to puke, he instinctively flat-handed the knifeman and began sprinting down the street.
‘You fag bastard,’ the men screamed in unison as they gave chase.
He barely made it five metres down the street before for they were on top of him, bouncing his head off the tarmac and covering his torso in a hail of blows. Trying to crawl into a foetal position, he tried to scream for help. However, all that came out of his mouth was a weak stream of reddish brown liquid. Kaspar watched it spread slowly across the tarmac, listening to the abuse of his attackers as they retreated down the street in search of richer pickings.
9
Why do I get all the shitty jobs? Not for the first time, Martina Sammer wished that she’d followed the advice of her father when he had tried to persuade her to become an accountant. Looking at the wretched creature in front of her, Martina shook her head. Papa had been right; numbers were infinitely preferable to people.
‘Follow me,’ she barked, setting off at a brisk pace in the hope that the movement would help dissipate the smell. Even then, it was difficult not to gag as she weaved her way through the Polizeipräsidium, breathing through her mouth as she tried to ignore the amused looks and off-colour comments of her colleagues.
Doing as he was told, Kaspar Wuffli bowed his head and followed a respectful distance behind his host. After three hours in the Emergency
Pulling up his collar, Kaspar dropped his gaze to his feet, cursing both the cold wind in his face and Oscar. As soon as the money ran out, and the gin stopped flowing, the young rent boy had shamelessly transferred his attentions to a middle-aged guy from Hamburg who was letting his hair down, what was left of it, at the end of a business trip.
‘Bitch.’ Kaspar hissed to no one in particular. Taking a long drag on his cigarette, he launched into a coughing fit. Slinging the stub into the road, he lent against a lamppost, trying to clear his head. ‘You would have thought after six Gin Slings the little shit would have at least been good for a half-decent blow job.’ The thought of Oscar on his knees in front of the businessman made his stomach churn and for a moment he thought he might puke. Vowing never to darken the door of the Sugar Lounge again, he took a couple of deep breaths, drawing the cold night air deeply into his lungs until he could feel the nausea begin to subside.
Lost in his self-pitying thoughts, he placed another cigarette between his lips. Fumbling for his lighter, he was only dimly aware of voices coming towards him along the street. Lighting up, Kaspar resumed his weary march, almost walking straight into a couple of men coming towards him. Taking up almost the whole of the sidewalk, they stood their ground, forcing him off the kerb and into the mucky gutter.
‘Hey.’ Kaspar groaned, letting the cigarette fall from his lips as he inspected the potential damage to his shoes. ‘Watch where you’re going, dammit.’
One of the men stepped into the gutter in front of Kaspar, pushing forward his neck until their faces were less than ten centimetres apart. ‘What did you say, pretty boy?’ His German was heavily accented but the mocking tone was still clear.
‘Well …’ suddenly feeling woozy, Kaspar felt himself sway slightly. He tried to take a step backwards, but found the second man had moved behind him, blocking his escape.
‘Got any money?’
‘No,’ Kaspar groaned. In the soft glow of the gas-powered street lights, he caught sight of something glinting in the hand of the man in front of him. A knife. Resisting the renewed urge to puke, he instinctively flat-handed the knifeman and began sprinting down the street.
‘You fag bastard,’ the men screamed in unison as they gave chase.
He barely made it five metres down the street before for they were on top of him, bouncing his head off the tarmac and covering his torso in a hail of blows. Trying to crawl into a foetal position, he tried to scream for help. However, all that came out of his mouth was a weak stream of reddish brown liquid. Kaspar watched it spread slowly across the tarmac, listening to the abuse of his attackers as they retreated down the street in search of richer pickings.
9
Why do I get all the shitty jobs? Not for the first time, Martina Sammer wished that she’d followed the advice of her father when he had tried to persuade her to become an accountant. Looking at the wretched creature in front of her, Martina shook her head. Papa had been right; numbers were infinitely preferable to people.
‘Follow me,’ she barked, setting off at a brisk pace in the hope that the movement would help dissipate the smell. Even then, it was difficult not to gag as she weaved her way through the Polizeipräsidium, breathing through her mouth as she tried to ignore the amused looks and off-colour comments of her colleagues.
Doing as he was told, Kaspar Wuffli bowed his head and followed a respectful distance behind his host. After three hours in the Emergency
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