Who I am?

I’m living in a great villa somewhere in the sunny south, far away from the big cities with high crime rates. A short time later, after Frank had shot himself, I flew back across the Atlantic to my home country. Before I’d even bothered with the plane ticket, I’d already received lucrative offers to take over my nightclub. Frank wasn’t wrong, there were competitors in the drug business, and I was a thorn in their side. It was quite likely that he would have blown my brains out if there was a big financial incentive. Who can resist the power of money? Some people can never get enough. I’ve learned from life and had enough. I felt it was high time to put an end to crooked deals and sell the bar.

I didn’t meet her by chance in a bar, I bumped into her on purpose when she was standing in front of the window of a jewelry store in the afternoon. The sparkle in her eyes outshone the glitter of the bling on the other side of the thick window. I talked to her. That same day, she was in my arms and spitting it all out. She didn’t have any great expectations in bed. She had great claims to her father’s inheritance, whose deceased wife had given birth to two girls.

Christine Steinmann inherited the entire fortune of her father, who died shortly before Christmas. Hans-Dieter Steinmann’s days were numbered when I lay in bed with his eldest daughter for the first time. Sis must die; she breathed into me that night, cold as ice. Greed for money was her motive, she just couldn’t get enough.

For the police, Frank was a former soldier who had a desire to kill. They also considered him to be a failed existence, a mentally ill person with no social contacts who wore a stupid hat in all weathers. In the end, the lone nut took his own life. But the police were not quite satisfied with that.

The day after the discovery of Frank’s body was announced, Fatzo handed the police an envelope that he had allegedly found in a litter bin while collecting bottles. The envelope had Frank’s fingerprints on it, and inside was a printed sheet of paper and a necklace. The paper was a blackmail letter, and the necklace belonged to the murder victim. The police now assumed that a blackmail operation had been planned but not carried out. In the end, they were satisfied with this, and the case was filed. After all, the cops have other things to do.

There was no blackmail, just an abduction. The Italian ex-boyfriend never existed. Everything was perfectly staged. The nameplate on the villa was replaced in good time. Shortly before Frank’s visit, the seriously ill father Steinmann was lightly sedated in his bed at midday.

The insolvent Fatzo still owed me something, so he had to pretend to be the landlord, Bernhard Bumerang. Christine Steinmann, my business partner, played other roles. She had a home game at the premiere as Bumerang’s daughter. Emilio, a Colombian drug courier, had long since made his appearance as a greedy Italian ex-boyfriend. People I hoped Frank wouldn’t have known.

My daring plan worked. This theatrical performance under my direction would probably have been blown away if he had done a little research on the Internet, but Frank didn’t think much of it and didn’t even own a cell phone. Frank’s opinion on this was clear: men stare at their fucking cell phones on the street instead of enjoying the wonderful women you get to see there. What idiots who miss out on that and instead waste every spare minute being fed fake news online! He never hesitated, so he had never had time to think about anything. And I was 100 percent sure that Frank would fulfill every order.

Christine Steinmann paid me well. Since I’ve been back in America, my policy has been: no more hiring contract killers, no more drug deals, no more nights with strange women. No, nothing like that at all. I’m now leading a decent life with a former employee who I’ve since married. Not in Las Vegas, but we tied the knot in some small chapel somewhere in the States.