Who I am?

I’m living somewhere in a lost corner of Germany near a big city with a high crime rate—alone in a small apartment on the top floor of a rented house. I don’t want to live in this room forever. There are much nicer apartments and places where I would like to live. That’s my dream—together with a hot chick, of course. My parents gave me the name Frank 33 years ago. The people in my house know me as Mr. Müller; at least that’s what it says on my doorbell and letterbox. My neighbor, an old woman with a cheeky dog, calls me The Man with the Hat. I also wear my hat when the weather is nice, but I always take it off when the going gets tough. When practicing my trade, I go by the name Mr. Winter. I adopted this name about two years ago after I discovered that you can make a lot of money by shooting people with determination. Nobody in my line of work should have the idea of deducting a firearm from their taxes as a working tool.

Friday, September 9, 2011

It’s just after 10 p.m., and I enter the night bar. The owner of this boîte is called Will, a black man who grew up in the USA. We met when he moved to Germany with his parents. He was thirteen at the time, and his penchant for girls and grifting quickly became apparent. Will was occasionally arrested, but he always got off lightly. Will, or Wild Willy, as we used to call him, had never been in prison for long. I had never been behind bars, but I had spent twelve years in the military.

I had signed up at a young age to serve my country in this way. In the army, you learn to shoot; in the army, you learn to kill. I knew guys for whom the military was like a prison right from the start. For me, everything only became a cage at the end, from which I wanted to break out completely legally. Shortly before my 13th year of service, I resigned verbally.

You can rely on my word. The bureaucracy demanded something in writing. That drove me into a rage; I thought they weren’t taking me seriously. I shouted, »I quit! If you can rely on a word, then it’s from me!« Or it’s from God. But I don’t know if God even exists. But shit, there’s no doubt that I exist. The only question is, for how long?

I sit down at the bar, leave my hat on, order a double bourbon with ice, and ask for Will. Carmen, the waitress, with her manifold charms, picks up the phone. Five minutes later, I shake hands with my old buddy.

  »Hi Frank«, he greets me. He deliberately adds an American touch to my name. Apart from that, he now speaks better German than most bald Neo-Nazis. He bombards me with the news.

  »The pretty thing is in the headlines. Her body was found. The local TV reported it.«

  »Sorry Will, I only watch sports and action movies on TV.« And erotica on DVD when needed.

  »It was big in the paper!«

  »Newspaper? I don’t read them.«

  »And on the internet, Frank.«

»Internet? Sellers cash in; but don’t deliver the goods, they don’t fulfill the contract—unbelievable! This Internet is full of lies and deceit, a digital illusory world. I don’t spend another second on it. Disinformation, fake news, everywhere. I swear, I will never have an email account for all eternity. Someone could offer me millions to neutralize this damn network, but it would be impossible for me to do such a job. I turn down jobs I’m not up to. I only take on assignments that I—«

  Will interrupts me. »I know about your sense of duty. We’ve known each other for 20 years. You and your loyalty, Frank. Really commendable.«

  Commendable. On the Internet, you get a fist with a thumbs up for this. If this hand extends its index finger, it takes on a completely different meaning.

»Thanks Will. Save your words; I don’t even want to know the press wrote. In any case, the cops haven’t caught the murderer yet.«

  »Did you expect anything else from the cops? They weren’t allowed to reveal much, apart from a few key details about the victim. Claudia Steinmann, 25 years old and single. Black hair, white skin.«

  »Beautiful fairytale bride. Too bad I didn’t have time to get to know her better. A woman like that should be married on the spot.«

  »Go ahead and get married! That would be just right for you, Frank. Saves you the financial investment for erotic hours and the money for the pizza cab. Competence in the kitchen and in bed—that’s what matters to guys. Joking aside, back to the press. As I said, I can’t tell you anything big anyway, just the usual.«

»Isn´t it always the same? No further details for now. It’s being investigated in all directions—blah, blah, blah. What about the dough? 13,333 agreed, and I would like the money now.«

  Will pushes my fee over to me. It’s well protected from prying eyes.

  »Here, Frank. I don’t want to owe you a penny.«

  I immediately notice that there are also some coins in this envelope to keep the bills company. I wonder whether the coins add up to 33 or 34 cents.

  »Would you like the envelope back immediately? Should I go to the toilet to empty it just to be on the safe side?«

  »No, Frank, I don’t want the envelope back this time. Last time, I was just a little short of office supplies.«

  The envelope finds a place inside my outerwear. I’ll take my time to count it at home, but so far, everything has always been right with Will.

»All right. Thanks, Will.«

  »Frank, check back next Friday. I have something in prospect. It’s about your thing; it’s about murder.«

  »Well, hopefully not someone who wants to get rid of Wild Willy«, I joke.

  My partner has to laugh.

  »Your humor is even blacker than my skin color, Frank.«

  »The stark contrast to that is the snow-white cocaine you’re peddling here. Now look here, old chap!« I grin at him.

  »Yes, when friends become enemies. Come on, Frank, what about a fresh drink? I’ll buy you one.«

  »I’d never say no to a free drink.«

  »A definite no to getting rid of me too? Keep your hands off! My old friend would shoot himself in the foot. Do you know the guy Fatzo?«

  I say no.

  »Someone made sure that his fixer could no longer say a peep. Orders stopped coming in. So Fatzo fell into debt and is now living on the street. Frank, seriously. You wouldn’t want to get rid of your best job broker, would you?«

I take off my hat and have an idea.

  »If Carmen comes out of it, why not?«

  »Carmen?! You’ll never get her. Over my dead body!«

  »That’s what we’re talking about right now.«

  »Frank, I’ll tell you something. You won’t be happy with Carmen. I know beasts like that. They want to bathe in wealth. And if you interfere, they’ll throw you out of the tub.«

  Will’s loud whistle makes the cute barmaid approach. I give Carmen a quick wink. A pussy like that at home and watching erotic videos would have been superfluous.

Friday, September 16, 2011

It’s just after 10 p.m., and I enter the night bar. The owner of this boîte is called Will, and he’s already been expecting me.

  »Franky, old boy. Nice to see you.«

  We sit down at a quiet table, and Carmen brings me my usual drink. Will leans over to me and gets started.

  »Listen. The guy’s called Bumerang. I don’t know, he’ll be around 60. Anyway, he must be at the top of a big company. Pays a five-figure sum.«

»I won’t kill anyone for less money. For peanuts, the most I’d do is shoot my neighbor’s dog; the barking of that mutt really gets on my nerves. Let’s get to the point. Who exactly should believe in it?«

  »Mr. Bumerang himself will tell you that. You have an audience with him tomorrow at three. He lives on the outskirts of the city. Listen, this time the payment won’t go through me. Be careful; please have some of it paid out directly in cash, and you’ll give me my share later. Tomorrow at three. It’s not too far from here, not at the end of the world. Is that all right?«

  I sip from my glass. It’s all right.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

The sunny day is approaching three o’clock in the afternoon. The feudal villa lies abandoned at the end of a narrow street. The large nameplate looks freshly polished and could just as easily be new. I press the bell button and wait in front of the front door, sweating slightly. I had to drive almost 30 miles and walk the last 500 yards, not wanting to park the car in the immediate vicinity. The door opens, and I look into the eyes of a pretty face. She must be a few years younger than me.

»Are you Mr. Winter?« she asks, and after my quick full-body scan, I am impressed by the chick in a miniskirt. Her face looks somehow familiar. Who is this hottie? Bumerang’s secretary? Bumerang’s cleaner? Bumerang’s wife? Or all in one? It’s well known that old geezers like to marry young things. Unbelievable, but true!

»Are you Mr. Winter?« I have to listen to the question a second time; because the bride captivates my imagination. Finally, I nod wordlessly and enter the house after a request. We traipse through a sumptuously decorated corridor to the terrace. A man in his mid-fifties is standing there. I begin the talk.

  »How are you doing, Mr. Bumerang? Winter is my name.«

  We shake hands.

»Bernhard Bumerang. Hello, Mr. Winter. You have been recommended to me as extremely reliable. And as someone who promptly gets the pers—, gets the job done. Let’s get straight to the point. My wife Kiki was murdered recently. Have you heard anything about it?«

  »My condolences.« Recently murdered? Is that a trap?

  I’m thinking about a question.

  »Did it happen around here? I wouldn’t be surprised.«

  »You could say that. The perpetrator hasn’t been caught yet.«

  »Well, there are regular murders and crime in a big city and its vicinity, so it’s easy to lose track—seems to be a kind of popular sport here. Kiki Bumerang? Wasn’t that right? No, I never heard of it.«

The lovely bride in the breathtaking outfit interrupts our chatter and asks me if I would like a drink. I gratefully decline. How silly of me; a drink would have suited me. I usually never say no. The girl makes a mess of me. She leaves us alone.

  »That was my daughter Christine, by the way.«

  The mare is Bumerang’s daughter—adorable! If that’s his daughter, then my fears are over.

Bernhard Bumerang begins to present his case.

  »My wife was murdered. I can guess who is behind it. You have been recommended to me, and I would like you to find and eliminate this person immediat—«

  »I see. That’s my job«, I interrupt and make him an offer.

  »Here’s my current price list. One troublemaker is 22,000, two troublemakers are 40,000, three troublemakers are 50,000.«

  »No, 18,000 euros for a service. I’m counting on you.«

  Eighteen are not bad, a third of which goes to Will. The last job of this little Italian with his hectic gestures brought 2,000 more, but you shouldn’t complain, because the competition from Eastern Europe is fierce.

»You can count on me, Mr. Bumerang. You can count on me, without question. Eighteen is fine, but then please, half right away. In cash!«

  My new business partner excuses himself briefly, only to hand me a wad of bills five minutes later. I counted them and came up with 18,000.

  »That’s the whole amount«, I say in astonishment.

  »Because I trust you. So, Mr. Winter, listen carefully. The subject of the contract is the elimination of my wife’s murderer.«

  »Okay«, I say.

  I don’t hesitate for long and we shake hands; the contract is sealed. One man, one word. I don’t do resignations. This deal is completely unbureaucratic—without any receipt, without any signed documents. I like it.

Bernhard Bumerang directs me into the living room.

  »I’ll show you a picture of my wife.«

  He takes a framed photo from the shelf and holds it in front of me.

  »This is your wife, Kiki?« I take off my hat and scratch my head. Why do such young things marry such old geezers? She could be his daughter.

  »Exactly, that’s Kiki. We tied the knot three weeks ago. My first wife died of cancer years ago.«

  »Kiki is a rare name«, I say.

  »Kiki was her pet name; only I called her that. We got married in Las Vegas. The change of civil status was not immediately communicated to the municipality.«

That explains a lot. I look at the picture of Claudia Steinmann as if I’ve never seen her before.

  »Black hair, white skin. Mmmh, who could have killed her?« I ask him hypocritically.

  »I assume her ex-boyfriend did it. He was still in a relationship with her two months ago.«

  »But you quickly married your Kiki.«

  »We’ve known each other for a while.«

  »I see. Who is this ex-boyfriend?«

  »A hot-blooded, morbidly jealous southern Italian.«

That’s right, it goes through my head. But he only kidnapped Claudia Kiki, and I shot her. With a pistol. In the forest. The little mafioso had probably not found the right opportunity to cast the fairytale bride in concrete in the hectic rush. He was probably terrified of murdering his former girlfriend. I don’t know who was involved in the kidnapping. In any case, someone from an environment of people who know how to solve such problems discreetly. That’s how I got this job. That’s how I became Kiki’s murderer. It was worth 20,000 to the Italian. It’s strange; that’s not pocket money. Did he have a sponsor? I shouldn’t care.

»It must have been this Italian«, says Mr. Bumerang, »who blackmailed me. As soon as we got back from the States, he kidnapped my newlywed wife, and I received a letter. He demanded a huge ransom. You know, no police and all that. I paid, but Kiki was still...«

  Now I know how the Italian was able to pay for my job. Cashes up; but doesn’t deliver the goods. He didn’t fulfill his contract—those are the right people for me!

»I see. And the police?«

  »I only informed the police about the matter when my wife didn’t turn up after I handed over the ransom. The investigators are desperately searching for this ex-boyfriend, so far without success.«

  »Did you expect anything else from the police? So I’ll take care of this Italian«, I say with relief, putting my hat back on and asking for the target’s personal details.

  »In a moment. Just a moment«, I’m told.

Bernie is making it really exciting. Hopefully, there won’t be any new surprises.

  »Mr. Winter, first find out if the Italian really did it. If he did it, kill him. If he claims that someone else is involved and has my wife on his conscience, then grab the Eye-tie by the balls and pull his noodle until he spits out the name of the murderer. You can then ditch him at will, but that’s not what I paid you for. You see, I didn’t pay you for this pleasure. I paid you to kill my wife’s murderer.«

»Okay«, I groan, take my hat off again, and summarize: »The subject of the contract is the elimination of Claudia Kiki Bumerang’s murderer. Right?«

  »You were paying attention. You see, we understand each other, Mr. Winter.«

  »So this Italian ex-boyfriend is still on the loose.«

  »That’s right, Mr. Winter. The police suspect he’s gone abroad. I’ve been playing detective on my own initiative, and I’m sure he’s gone into hiding in the Pastatown district. Unfortunately, I can’t provide a photo or any further information. Have a nice day, Mr. Winter. Christine will now accompany you to the front door.«

  A good day is good. He calls for his daughter. What a shame that I won’t have time to spend more time with her.

It’s just after 10 p.m., and I enter the night bar dejected. The owner of this boîte is called Will, and I owe everything to him. We sit at a table.

  »You don’t look well, Frank. Have you had any problems? How’s business? Did you take Bumerang’s order and fulfill it?«

  »Accepted yes. Not fulfilled yet, Will, but tonight.«

  »What did he offer you?«

  »Eighteen. He paid all the sum. But it’s still a shitjob, Will. It really is a fucking shitjob this time. I’m still going to have to do it.«

  »Respect Frank, you’ve never failed at a job as long as you and I work together. You can be counted on. People can count on your word. Who would know that better than me? Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.«

  Will whistles for the cute barmaid, who briskly brings over a double bourbon. But the free drink and Carmen’s hot body don’t exactly help to improve my mood.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

It’s approaching three o’clock in the morning—actually, time to go to bed. To go to bed with a hot chick. It would had been a pure waste of time tracking down the Italian to give him a thrashing. I wasn’t paid for that. He won’t be easy to catch anyway. I’d only seen him once at the handover of the kidnapped bride, and we were both wearing identical sunglasses. Instead, I’ve spent the last few hours in various clubs, enjoying the sight of beautiful women one last time.

Now I am driving alone to the spot where I killed the pretty Claudia with a determined shot. A dark parking lot is the end of my journey. I put my hat on the passenger seat, got out and walked deep into the forest. I am proud that I am taking this step. Soon, I will be no more. Will I encounter God? I don’t know. But in a few minutes, I’ll be lying dead on the ground. Certainly not because I no longer have any desire to live, no, but because I have decided to do my job.

Because you can rely on me. The gun I used to kill Bernhard Bumerang’s Kiki will send me to eternity too. Maybe a dog owner will find my body? Someone will find me one day, and someone else will dig a pit for me. Then I will no longer live upstairs, but somewhere downstairs, buried in some cemetery.