A D V E N T U R E S - O F - A - P S Y C H O P A T H
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Nothing gained, so none of this matters.
“She gave shit blowjobs, but I loved her pitiful expression when she knelt with her mouth wide open while I jerked off onto her tongue.”
“I loved spreading her gaping pussy, just so I could stare at her embarrassment as she looked away with that awkward smile of hers.”
“Love them shy bitches! What about you, Bruce? What's your fetish hang-up?”
“Don't know what the fuck you guys are talking about.”
“What are you, vanilla?”
“Don't be a fagot!”
Glaring at the back of the heads of those tough guys, I knew that one day they'd find themselves at the short end of a matrimonial stick wishing for even sniff of that sweat vanilla sex. “Currently celibate.”
“Who you stalking this time?”
Watching rain-swept streets, I ignored the two Slovakians sitting in the front of that Audi SUV as we drove through the most eastern parts of Lichtenberg in the small hours. “You're right though.”
The two laughing thugs went quiet.
“Little things reinforce our sexual delusions,” I sneered. The lack of sleep and human interaction in the last month had left my disgust easily sparked. “She wanted me to tie her up and pretend to rape her. Pretend! Fuck your rape-fantasies! I tied her up with internet cable and duck-taped her fucking mouth shut. While she lay there naked on the bed, I found myself a pair of pruning shears. After cutting her rib-cage open down both sides of her sternum, I removed her chest-bone with minimal bleeding. It's the little fucking things isn't it. Not her expression or embarrassment, but how every terrified breath she took made that cavity above her heart spread wider and fucking wider. So I fucked that hole between her perfect fucking tits till I fucking collapsed both of her fucking lungs!”
Turning into a darkened parking lot, the driver asked, “What are pruning-shears?”
Jörg stood next to this black Bugatti Veyron. He had grown a scruffy brown beard since I had last since him. As always, he warmly shook my hand as I stepped out of the SUV, “How you doing, man?”
“Where's Caviezel?” I asked.
The young twenty-something-year-old tilted his head and looked away at the surrounding the apartment blocks. “Thing is, Mr. C., yeah, he can't work with you, man. You know, come on, to be honest, you're a scary guy. I've seen your work. The shit that you think up. Shit!”
Rubbing my forehead in exasperation, I glared at the ground, and clenched every muscle in my back trying to keep my voice balanced, “I'm just a normal guy. And he's a –”
“He's a business man.”
“And I'm bad for business.” I understood the implications: even criminals didn't want to be seen with me.
“Hey, do you want a lift somewhere?” Jörg called out, as I walked away from him and the two Slovakians. “What the fuck, man?”
I couldn't be sure exactly what part of town I was in, but I didn't care. There was nothing happening tomorrow, or this week or the next. Perhaps I could wander all the way to Poland, claim to be a refugee seeking asylum from a mental asylum. But knowing my luck, they too would tell to go fuck right off.
In the vast expanses of empty concrete between towering apartment blocks, I noticed a couple of teenagers in hoodies and loose jeans snarling at some other guy on ground getting the occasional kick. They seemed preoccupied, yet still acknowledged my foul gaze as I skulked on by. They were like jackals gnawing at the scrawny bones of a gazelle caught out in the open. However, they never bothered with me, not because I presented a threat to them, but because they sensed deep down inside that I wasn't even fucking there at all. I am the hallucination of the hateful.
The sound of a glass bottle smashing gradually drew my attention back to those predators as the WHACKS of fists against guts echoed across the frosty night. One guy was now crawling, clutching a bloodied face. The other was brawling with Jörg like a champion. Suddenly the drum-fire of running sneakers came charging around a corner as the wasted youth of East Germany rushed to the aid of their juvenile gang-mates. Then a random son of a bitch yelled in that typically drunken tone from somewhere above. Smiling like Jake Gyllenhaal, Jörg glanced in my direction, and then hooked his knuckles into the side of the kid's jaw, knocking him out for the fucking count! The new arrives came from behind Jörg as well as outflanked my position. We were out numbered by at least a dozen. The weak-mustached, hiphop-infused, hopeless kids looked like they had just won the lottery this deplorable fucking Friday night. As good at street-fighting as Jörg was, they had the numbers. Though, it was no surprise that he cracked up laughing as the gang closed in – until he pulled out his 9mm. Correcting my posture, I faced my shoulders directly toward that dark-haired maniac. If he shot me, I wanted it straight on. He couldn't miss from that distance. But to my nauseating disappointment, the kids all scattered and run the fuck out of there. Jörg didn't even raise this weapon.
“Just because Caviezel's an elitist asshole, doesn't mean we all are,” Jörg shrugged, tucking his gun away. “Come on, I'll buy you whore and we'll tag-team her ass.”
“Raped, tortured, and murdered, if not worse.”
“What the fuck could be worse?”
“Saw a girl with her arms and legs amputated so that she would fit perfectly inside a suitcase that a guy kept under his bed. He used her a fuck-puppet for twenty-years. Fucking Austrians.”
The two men in suits suddenly went silent once they noticed my entrance into that deserted bar.
“Fuck are you?!”
“What the fuck is this?” Jörg shouted, strutting in with his arms wide open. “The fuck are all the girls?”
“Not tonight, Jörg.”
“Not tonight? Not tonight?! I need it every-fucking-night!” Jörg's famous temper was only ever one ambiguous comment away from going ape-shit, and just as he grabbed a bar stool, the taller guy in a burgundy suit stepped closer.
“Friedrich's girl's gone missing!”
The stool was in mid-swing, when Jörg went into slow-motion, and stared curiously at the body of some unknown guy, lying face-down in a puddle of his own blood with his hands bound behind his back.
And then the phone on the bar began to ring.
The four of us sat in a Lincoln Navigator SUV and sped away from Charlottenburg. The whole drive, Mr. America continued listening to his phone, occasionally grunting and nodding his head. Jörg sat in shotgun, while Mr. Burgundy drove.
“Should be coming up on the next left,” Mr. America stated.
Right then, a black BMW 7-series cut across our path in the middle of Prenzlauer Berg, and so we immediately followed it. Jörg glanced over his shoulder, staring back through his oily hair at me, and seemed to wait for some sign of acknowledgment. In that moment, his excited bulging eyes looked his age. I remembered being that young, adamant about how the world worked yet still anxious about my ability to handle the unknown. Turning my head, I scanned the empty streets, considering how little had changed in the last fifteen years. If I was truly fatalistic, then why did the uncontrollable still bother me? If it would all work out in the end, why couldn't I just fucking accept it?! I was saturated in the ennui of ineptitude.
The BMW pulled over and drove down into an underground parking lot. We accelerated and made it down before the gate closed. Then breaks screamed! The three men evacuated the SUV and sprinted across the private parking space at the shocked asshole exiting his car! Resting my forehead against the cold glass, I sat where I was and watched the two guys in suits throw their target into the concrete wall, before Jörg kneed him in the face! That's all it took for the guy to breakdown and beg for mercy.
Stepping over to the bleeding guy on the ground, I watched him cringe and begin muttering something in Deutsch. Mr. Burgundy held up a black Ralph Lauren handbag from the backseat of the BMW. Mr. America then pulled a set of keys and phone from the German's pocket before forcing him into the trunk of his own car.
“Know that guy?” Mr. Burgundy asked me, as we all stepped into the building's elevator and unlocked the penthouse level.
“Look at that face,” Jörg grinned at my reflection in the golden elevator. “Make anyone talk with that expression!”
Mr. America's phone then rang as we reached the top floor. Answering it without a word, he quickly waved his hand. “Fuck's sake! Wrong place! They're on the move!”
Jörg pressed his ear against one of the two doors in the black corridor, shook his head, and then gestured for the keys. The other two were already back in the lift, and just dropped the keys and phone on the glossy floor before the elevator doors slid shut. Unimpressed, Jörg stomped over, snatching up the keys. Standing up, he gave me a filth look, like I had just dumped the keys. “Man, what the fuck up with you tonight?! Seriously, spit it out! You want to fucking tell me something?!”
I paused as I was flooded with a thousand thoughts that I had temporarily managed to suppress, of how I was currently drowning in debt to the Finanzamt. But instantaneously, I knew such personal circumstances were as boring to others as relationship drama. “If I needed a shoulder to cry on, I'd ask your mother.”
Smirking, Jörg opened the penthouse door and walked straight into bass-heavy sound of Nostalghia, Homeostasis.
Slowly making my way into that massive apartment, I disregarded the cracks of fists and scuffling of heels on the polished floor. Instead, I headed directly toward the lifeless body of a teenage girl lying on a blackened dining table. Her face had been brutalized till it was little more but chunky borscht mixed with her gray matter. The pool of blood surrounding the body was slowly soaking into her tight white dress and long bleach-blonde hair. She had a fucking excellent body, and as I placed the back of my knuckles on her slender neck, I found that her flesh was still warm. I'd fuck that. But then the landline phone began to ring. Stepping into the dark, open-plan kitchen, I pulled on my leather gloves, and then watched Jörg choke some guy under his boot in the huge ebony living room. Picking up the humming phone, a casual German mumbled into my ear, as I opened a drawer and plucked a large Japanese steak knife. With a deranged frown, Jörg looked up from the gangster her was stomping on. as I held out both the phone and the knife. Licking his lips, the sweating lunatic chose the knife, “Thanks, man.”
Backing up, I made sure to step out of range of the arterial spray that was coming as Jörg slashed his prey's jugular from ear to fucking ear! Noticing the other two bludgeoned men nearby, I handed Jörg the phone as I stared at three blood-soaked meat-mallets strew upon another big glass table top.
As we drove off in the BMW, Jörg grabbed a curious black device that was sitting on the dashboard. Switching it on, we were then washed in the flashing blue light most commonly used buy the police. “We're unstoppable now!”
“Who the fuck is Friedrich?”
Jörg was about to laugh, when the trunk of the car flip open while we were racing through the city! “Fucking cunt!”
Swerving onto the pavement, we both jumped out just in time to see the owner of the vehicle crawling across the middle of the street fifty meters back.
“Get him!” Jörg yelled, slamming the trunk as I ran at that rabbiting motherfucker. This prick meant nothing to me, but he had seen my face. That was all the breakneck motivation that I needed.
He shot down a side street, his arms whipping at his sides as he charged into a small park. I could see the stairs to an Sbahn station, but the gates were shut. He darted across another traffic-island, before I realized that he wasn't trying to out run me, just lose the car. And then it occurred to me that I probably wouldn't be able to handle this guy on my own. Right there we ran into an open platz, and he turned, glaring straight back at me like a revved-up hot-rod. No longer the pitiful coward on his knees in the parking lot, he was enraged as he lunged at me! I only had inertia on myself and kept running – slamming into him, my legs drove that fuck back into the air and into a lamp post! Something hit me from below and above, and then he shoved me the fuck away! He didn't stick around, and ran straight toward a line-up of taxis. Twisting to my feet, I looked up just as the BMW drove through the open platz like a bowling ball and knocked that fuck out!
Shortly, the BMW eased into a quiet neighborhood in Pankow where Jörg nodded at a big mansion with only a few lights on inside. First thing first, he opened the trunk and used a tire-wrench to beat the living shit out of the unconscious owner of the vehicle.
We both wandered around to the back garden, inspecting the large modern windows until we spotted movement on the second floor. Ecstatic, Jörg unzipped his jacket and stretched his shoulders. While I was wearing at least five layers against the fucking cold, under his leather jacket, Jörg only had on a thin cotton shirt that was open down to his chest where a gold Russian orthodox crucifix swung on a thin chain. I had no fucking idea whose house that was, and Jörg clearly didn't need my encouragement. He opened a sliding door, as I glanced around the overgrown gardens wondering what the fuck we were doing there. However, after Jörg submerged into the darkness beyond the drapes, I dismally remembered that had nothing better to do. Go home to what?!
The contemporary lounge was full of expensive looking furniture and one of the biggest flat-screens on the market. Jörg had scurried up the stairs and soon the yelling of men was met with the impacts of humans pounding against the floorboards above my head. I didn't fancy being caught off guard again without a blunt instrument in hand, so I grabbed a tall post-modern candle-stand before scaling the stairs. To my surprise, it was Jörg who I found in a headlock from some Turkish-looking giant. Two others were sprawled dazed and confused on their asses. With the candle-stand at my side, I stood patiently in the doorway as Jörg squinted at me and gasped, “Little help.”
Quietly walking into that enormous bedroom, I smashed the first sitting guy right in the side of his dumbstruck skull! Taking my club in both hands, I battered the second casualty, before turning to the two wrestling men next to the window's out stretched pale curtains. The big guy backed up as I slowly approached and held my bloody weapon toward his face. His dilemma was a painful one. Release the scorpion in his grip and face two at once, or hold on and get his head bashed in. Suddenly he released Jörg, but before he could reach me, Jörg pulled out his gun and shot him pointblank in the back of the head!
My initial reaction was checking that I hadn't been hit by any of that cunt's bodily fluids.
Jörg knelt over the fallen man and poked him with his handgun. The guy was still alive, despite a hand-size flap of this face hanging wide open. His only remaining eye blinked though drenched in blood, while his arms numbly twitched. Jörg smiled, slapped the gunshot wound, and then stood up and left the room. “Thanks, man!”
“What the fuck are we doing here?!” I yelled, throwing the candle-stand into a wall mirror that exploded like a kick to the head!
Jörg immediately stuck his head back around the door-frame, pointing at a woman's dress on the unmade bed. “That, that right there. That's Galina's.”
“The fuck is Galina?!”
Perplexed, Jörg stepped fully back into the bright bedroom. “Look, I know I promised that we'd get some tonight, but there's only thirty minutes till she's fucking fucked! And we're on a fucking roll here! Burgundy fucked off on the wrong lead, man!”
“And why the fuck are we here?!”
Crouching next to one of the guys next to the bed, Jörg turned him over. “The phone call from the penthouse, Pavel was on the line. You know Pavel, don't you.”
Jörg looked at the body below. “Wait, you're not Pavel.”
Jörg grabbed the other guy and rolled him over. “Where the fuck is Pavel?!”
“Seems like he's not here.”
“But this is Pavel's fucking house!”
“And neither is this Galina.”
Utter silence filled the room. Jörg eventually nodded his head. Anger then snapped across his face and he shot the two injured men lying below him!
Looking around the messed up bed, it was obvious whoever owned the dress had had it torn off by a gang of rapists. You could still smell it in the air. Jörg started turning in frustrated circles, his gun still in hand. I was pretty sure he didn't give a fuck about this Galina chick, he only seemed to enjoy the game of chasing after something with a time-limit. But as cordially as he appeared to hold me in regarded, I didn't intend on experiencing life on his shit-list. “So she's not here. But had been. And her handbag's in the car. Did you check her what's in her bag?”
“It's still in the backseat.”
And that was when another an unfamiliar phone began to ring from Jörg's pocket. It was the phone from the guy rotting in the BMW's trunk. Jörg answered it with nothing but uh-huh. Looking up, he then awkwardly relayed the message. “We're meant to pick up the drop-off and bring it back to Wenham's place.”
“Let's go find out!”
With the blue Police light flashing, Jörg ripped through the city in record time, and I made damned sure that my seat-belt was fastened. The handbag sat on my lap the entire short journey into Mitte, but it wasn't until we parked on a street overlooking the Rudolf Virchow monument that I pulled out Galina's rose-gold iPhone. It was locked of course, and when I looked at the phone that had given us the instructions to come here, it too was pin-code secured. Unless someone called us with either of them, they were dead-ends. I fucking suck at riddles.
“There!” Jörg grinned.
A black Mercedes drove up in front of the small monument where someone stepped out, glanced around, and then placed something at the top of the pillars below the stone statue. Once the Mercedes cruised away, we drove up, and being the taller, I jump out and reached up, finding yet another fucking phone.
“Hey, exactly whose side are we on when we're in his car?” Jörg asked, as we both sat in BMW staring at the new phone between us, and right then it started ringing. Jörg answered with his vague affirmations – when suddenly someone slammed into the side of the car, tore open my door, and threw me against the statue! Another two men grabbed and punched me in the gut, sending me to the kiss the concrete where a boot clamped down on my face! On the hierarchy of hand-to-hand combat, there was Krav Maga experts at the top, then those trained in martial arts, then casual gym boxers, then those who could handle themselves in drunken pub scraps, then abusive but feeble loudmouths, and then there was me, just above complete sniveling weaklings. But after being pinned down for all of five seconds, I was released once Jörg screamed at them in his mother-tongue of Belarusian with his gun out stretched!
More hostile cars rushed to the scene, as we raced away, while I picked gravel from my cheek.
“They're fucking Friedrich's crew!” Jörg yelled, punching the steering wheel. “We fucked up taking this fucking car! They're going to think we're fucking responsible!”
Slowly shaking my head, this wasn't how I'd hoped this evening would pan out. However, this immediate bullshit made my financial concerns seem less of a priority. Anything was a welcomed distraction from the constant stress that had been depriving me of sleep as of late.
“How we going to lose these shits?!” Jörg shouted, frantically looking around the desert streets of central Berlin.
“There's always a squad of cops stationed outside Hauptbahnhof.”
“So we want the fucking pigs after us as well?!”
“We're in a cop car, aren't we?”
“Are you fucking retarded!”
“The cops will try to help one of their own.”
Jörg didn't look convinced, but seemed to go fuck it. Thirty seconds later we skid into the entrance at the north-side of the looming glass train station. The officers in body-armor just stared cow-eyed back at Jörg who leaned out his window, yelling orders at them in Deutsch just as our three tails shrieked up behind us! The moment someone fired a gun, the cluster of thirty cops finally fucking reacted!
Jörg swerved the BMW around and sent the cops scattering as we accelerated between our pursuers. A blaze of blue lights, sirens, and gunfire then erupted in our rear-view mirrors.
“Okay, what are we doing?” Jörg asked, like he thought I knew what the fuck we were doing. “Where to?”
“Are you fucking kidding?” I frowned, switching off the blue light on the dashboard. “We picked up the so-called fucking drop-off, so we have to find this fucking Wenham, and then hopefully fucking the girl?!”
“But where the fuck am I going?! Come on, man! Where is he?!”
Again I exhaled hard through my nose, cracking my neck from side to side. “This car. The guy in the trunk. It was his phone. He must know where Wenham is. Right?”
“Is he still alive?”
Again Jörg shrugged.
After buying a chilled bottle of mineral water from some insignificant kiosk on a nondescript street in Gesundbrunnen, I emptied it over the twisted body in the trunk.
Jörg just crossed his arms.
Reaching into that bloody mess, I tried to find a pulse on his neck and then his wrist, before saying, “Hey, give me his phone.”
“New iPhones use fingerprint recognition.”
We drove off as I went through the contacts, and sure enough, Wenham was listed.
“Yeah, but what good it is having his number?”
“Text him in Deutsch and tell him you're lost and need his address.”
“That's suspicious as fuck!”
“Then fucking text a bunch of people that he recently wrote to! Ask if they know where he fucking lives! Jesus fuck! Do you have any better fucking suggestions?!”
In literally less than a minute, Red Scalp, Mantra Bufala, was playing on the stereo and we already had nine replies to the ten Whatsapp and MSM messages. So that's what it's like when you have people who answer their messages the same time they read them. Three of the replies had no idea what we were talking about. One responded with a Deutsch, “Fuck off!” and five pretty much described the exact same directions to Wenham's. Only within another couple of minutes we would be in Wittenau.
“So what if the girl's not there?” I asked.
“Then we'll politely ask where she's at.”
“Well, as long as we're polite about it,” I smiled, appreciating that I'd gotten lucky so far. Recently however, my health insurance had restricted my access to emergencies only, due to my refusal to pay them since simply trying to quit, at least I might get my money's worth tonight. German health insurance in legalized extortion, never let any American socialist dreamer tell you otherwise! But hopefully my luck would hold out and I'd get shot in the fucking face instead!
Pulling into the driveway next to several other cars, Jörg jumped out in front of an ugly 80's concrete block of a building. I opened the sheath at the back of my belt and joined him. However, the first two big guys welcomed us by pointing inside to a shitty glass entrance. The lift opened as we walked in, and out stepped an uptight little guy who snarled at us both. Jörg simply held up the phone from the drop-off, “Got it!”
Waving his hands madly, the small man glared at his wristwatch, ushering us into elevator before thumbing the button for us.
“What's this Friedrich to you, anyway?” I asked.
“Never met him.”
Incredulously, I turned my head to Jörg. “What the fuck are we doing here then?!”
Jörg took no time to answer out of left-field, “Man, you'll never be a successful businessman, but you'll never be bored doing nothing.”
“What's that supposed to fucking mean?!”
“You're a talented artist, man. You've always had that,” Jörg said looking out the glass elevator at the surrounding woods. “It's just, fuck, you're making shit no one wants to fucking see! So you'll never be anything more than just another fucking creep wasting your time on pointless shit.”
Suddenly the guy who had had my six this entire evening was taking a huge dump right on my fucking head with some hard-hitting facts of life.
“You think you're part of something bigger than yourself, but you're not.”
“But at least, you know what, you have your art,” Jörg said, crossing his arms. “What the fuck have I got but this.”
The elevator doors opened at the top floor and the sounds of people came from an open door down the corridor. Jörg strolled inside the gathering at Wenham's place, and as perplexed as I was by his rather accurate insight, I followed, scanning the youths who didn't give a fuck who we were. I wasn't sure what language anyone was speaking in that weed-stinking flat with graffiti all over the walls. A bunch of guys were playing X-Box on torn sofas in the lounge, and I somehow lost sight of Jörg in the bustle of the party. It was the shrieking of a female's voice that abruptly drew my attention, but my only eyes only seemed drawn. In the pigsty of a kitchen, a blond chick was screaming into the phone that Jörg had delivered, and then she was slammed against the fridge and some guy began smashing the cupboards with a baseball bat! The girl continued screeching but she wasn't anywhere near the bat. Another chap held the phone to his ear and muttered something before placing the phone under the path of the baseball bat!
The chick squealed again, this time euphoric. I spotted Jörg with an expression matching my own apprehension. The girl then made a meal out of another guy's face before they marched directly out of the flat. As the girl strut by, I stared at her white dress and long pale hair – I had seen her twin already this evening. That wasn't a fucking coincidence. This was Galina, and she sure as shit wasn't being held against her will!
Suddenly I was shoulder-barged into a wall! Spinning around, a hand grabbed me from another direction, however, this time Jörg shoved me away from the hostile cunt looking to pick a fight. Jörg then put on a coy act and laughed about a misunderstanding in Deutsch, patting my chest as he spoke. That was when the little douchebag from the elevator came running in, yelling in a shrill pitch! Jörg was abruptly snatched and thrown over the kitchen counter top! I too was swung around into anther wall! Bouncing off the blunt pain, I lunged back at that son of a bitch! In the moment my confidence wasn't dissuaded by my conscious lack of skill, for I still believed in brute force, and that was all the fucking faith I needed. We collided and claws clung on as we twisted in a wrestling match for about one second of chaos – until machine-gun fire woke the fucking neighbors! Instantly, I was released. Ducking in confusion like everyone was, I saw Jörg blasting an AK-47 from the the kitchen into everything in all directions! He changed the clip and walked into the lounge where he executed those assholes still sitting on their fat fucking asses! I lost all respect for the big guy who had shoulder-barged me as he now frantically scurried out the front door. The little guy, however, was still shouting as he went up to Jörg with nothing but a pointed finger and balls of steel. Typically, Jörg laughed at the human-chihuahua. Either he was out of ammo, or perhaps he just liked the idea of pummeling that squawking shithead with the stock of the gun. Stepping closer for a better view, a cruel smirk widened my lips, for what more glorious a spectacle was there than that of one man beating another to death.
And then Jörg suddenly looked up. “Wo ist sie?!”
Racing through the northern suburbs of Berlin, we nearly lost sight of the Toyota SUV Cruiser somewhere near Tegel Airport, until we reached one of those great lengths of perfectly straight road without any other traffic. While Jörg floored it, I had to remind myself that this was perhaps the only way to clear our names from any insinuated involvement. Then again, I wasn't entirely persuaded that we had actually incriminated ourselves. It felt like our so-called good deed came at the expense of anyone in our path. But ultimately, it was the violence that kept me in the passenger seat. Whatever reasons Jörg had for trusting me, it was a golden ticket to the first-hand display of murder and mayhem. You got to take your sadistic pleasures where you can before the misery of the world turns its spite on you.
We were then driving through Alt Tegel, right on the tail of the Cruiser. The big SUV took a left into a development of modern apartment buildings next to the inlet from the lake, so we drove on. Jumping out of the BMW, we hurried on foot back to the private driveway, and watched that couple enter one of the new weekend retreats. Their driver SUV continued into an underground parking lot. For a moment I considered suggesting that we call Friedrich and tell him where his girl was hiding and be done with it. But I had no intention of ending the evening's adventures of a psychopath anytime soon.
At the time neither Jörg nor I had assumed that those modern homes had been subdivided in two. So Jörg broke in through a dark window on a side of the three-story building where we thought we would go unnoticed, unfortunately, it turned out to be a completely different couple sleeping upstairs. They awoke as the lights came on and Jörg's walked in with 9mm aimed at their blinded bewilderment. They were in their fifties, and as soon the husband raised his voice, Jörg grabbed a pillow and shot him through it! WHAM! The woman inhaled as if to scream, till Jörg shoved the bloody pillow in her face and spent his last bullet! BAM!
Shaking his head, Jörg sat on the edge of the bed and hung his head low. I stepped closer to the burst skull of the husband while keeping my hands behind my back. The last pumps of blood oozed out of the entry wound in his temple as I focused on his dilated pupils.
“Christ,” Jörg whispered. “Look at this fucking place. All their fucking money, and yet here we are in the wrong fucking place, and now look at them. Where the fuck are we, man?”
He had that same tone of voice from the elevator. Maybe the late hour was getting the best of him, or maybe he just needed another line of cocaine.
“You know, man, most of my fucking time is spent in vast periods of isolation. Look at this shit, we live in this fucking city, but I can't fucking remember the last time I met a single person I give two fucks about. You know, I've begun telling myself that I'm actually living in the remote mountains. I see people everyday but other than the cunts serving me dinner, I speak to none of them. So all these people, they're not really there. Why fucking live here if I'm not interacting with anyone. Every-fucking-day I'm just killing time, waiting for fucking nothing to come! It's all a wonderful waste of fucking time!”
Crossing my arms, I pictured myself at his age. I was standing next to my huge bedroom window looking out over the inner city rooftops and hating everything. There was nothing to look forward to, and even the idea of moving to Germany was still years away. My career had been floundering and I was years between significant others. It's a fucking miracle I made it through that time in my life.
“I know exactly what built the fucking pyramids,” Jörg said, breaking the silence. “Idle fucking hands.”
He was absolutely correct. With so many years to myself, I had always been busy with my obsessions, stalking females, and personifying my disgust into my piles of artwork. If I had an army of fucking slaves, I'd have built empires of mountainous tombs where I would have mummified alive the targets of my infuriated objectification.
“I live here and yet none of these fucking people know me. And look at what I get up to. Fucking people like Caviezel judge can't fucking stand me. They know exactly what I've done, but they need me!” Jörg yelled, smashing a vase with his empty gun! “Fuck these assholes claiming shit like, the most dangerous villains are the one that play within the rules. Bitch, look at what I've just done!”
Pulling out his own phone this time, Jörg then made a called. For a moment I wondered if this was what Schilling used to clean up. If Jörg was my past, and Schilling was my future, it seemed as though there was meant to be some kind of profound lesson that was screaming at me from the vale of self-defeating introspection. Or perhaps I was just as incapable of learning from mistakes as I was unable to pity the lives I'd witnessed decimated tonight.
Once we heard those two fucking in the adjacent apartment, I climbed around the balcony railing and found myself standing alone staring into the neighboring master bedroom at some old-school doggy-style on the king-size. However, Jörg hadn't followed. Watched the live porno, I became aware that I was invisible to them as I stood in the dark while they screwed with all the lights on. It was decent show. The average-looking drop-kick was going balls-deep, and the blond cunt was pushing back and moaning like a pro. And then I saw Jörg, already in the apartment, he approached them from the bedroom door. I was too fucking freezing for that pimping-tom bullshit, so wrenched open the glass door! The roar slider accompanied with a gust of arctic wind shattered the fuck-fest. The guy shoved the chick face down as he lurched backward. Jörg brutally slapped him about the head a few times before knocking his feet out from under him. The woman screamed in terror once she laid eyes on me, that alone was a much greater turn-on than previously watching her rut.
Using wire coat hangers from the dry-cleaning in the cupboard, I bound his and her wrists and ankles. The guy began arguing in Deutsch, until Jörg stuffed the dipshit's own underwear into his mouth. Except, once the blond spoke, Jörg and I both turned and stared silently at her. I couldn't understand everything, but enough to realize that her lover-man was Mr. Caviezel's little fucking brother! That blond cunt knew she had said the magic words as she watched the reevaluation run through our heads.
“What the fuck is this, the beginning of the second Trojan War?!” Jörg yelled, backing away. “For fuck's sake! Friedrich's on his fucking way here right fucking now!”
Galina shrieked her protest in Deutsch, while lashing out against her restraints.
“Friedrich's going to fucking kill you both.” Jörg shook his head. “This was supposed to be some awesome resolution shit right here! We were going to be the fucking heroes! Not anymore, Jesus fucking Christ!”
Jörg proceeded shouting in multiple languages while punching holes in the fucking walls! I was impressed he managed to keep his hands away from the proverbial Paris and Helen. It was the white dress crumpled upon the floor that reminded me of the faceless girl in the first penthouse. “What was your plan exactly?”
The SUV driver then came out of nowhere and tackled Jörg! The two men crashed into a dresser before hitting the ground where the failed bodyguard had his two eyes dug out in a flash! Jörg crushed the two orbs as his hands clenched into fists that took out all his frustrations on the lesser of those two bestial humans!
The naked lovers looked petrified at the relentless aggression pouring out of the Belarusian, while I calmly repeated my question, “How'd you think you'd get away with all of this?”
As the BMW returned through the center of the Alt Tegel township, a procession of at least five black cars raced toward the house we'd just evacuated.
“They're going to be so fucking pissed off,” Jörg said, shaking his head with a slight smile. The little brother, Paris, sat in his underwear in shotgun, while I was behind him next to the female-cause of all this conflict. Jörg then punched Paris in the shoulder, “If this doesn't work, I'll personally hold you down in front of Friedrich and watch my friend here skin you alive. And he's not very good at it. But he's persistent!”
“You take me back to Friedrich, and I'll tell him you both raped me! I'll say it was Paris who saved me!”
Jörg wasn't having any of that. The BMW skid into a dangerous sideways slide. He kicked open his door and dragged Paris behind him, sucker-punching him before shoved him into the trunk with the dead owner of the vehicle. Jörg ripped open the door next to Galina, grabbed her by the face and whispered into her manic resistance, “You speak one more time without being asked a direct fucking question, cunt, and my slap-head buddy next to you will fucking rape you with that coat-hanger wire in ways that will make you unable to bare children – ever!”
With the blue police light on, we shot across the city back to the penthouse where we'd first acquired this car.
Once all four of use stepped into that steely silent apartment with its gigantic windows, all that was left on the dining table was a smeared puddle of cold blood.
While Jörg kicked the shit out of Paris, I checked the rest of the place, making sure there wasn't anyone hiding, and looking to see if the dead girl had been dumped in the bathtub for easy dismemberment. What I did find, however, were the three meat-mallets sitting in the basin.
“Fuck this!” Jörg screamed, flipping the entire dining table! It BOOMED upon the polished floor! The two lovers took the opportunity and ran in their underwear! Stepping in front of the exit, I was slammed into by the couple despite their hands being bound behind their backs! Balance, however, was on my side, and with one hand each, I pushed them flat back on their asses. Jörg then yelled out, “Let's just dump these fucking shits on Caviezel's doorstep and let him sort out this bullshit!”
“He'll fucking kill you for knowing too much!” Galina stated aggressively. “I told you, I've been working on this plan for months! This is the only fucking way to get out of this clean!”
“What the fuck happened to the scapegoat-body then?” Jörg shouted murderously from the other room. “Why the fuck is this shit my fucking problem?!”
“Pavel's probably continuing with the fucking plan, you imbecile!”
“Why the fuck are we here then?!” Jörg screamed at the top of this enraged lungs.
With a mocking sneer, Galina yelled back, “You drive like a fucking pussy, that's why!”
Even a cop with his sirens on wouldn't have been excused for driving as recklessly as Jörg did from then on. Cutting across the pavement and scraping against parked cars, we lost both side mirrors within the first minute.
“Once we get there, give Pavel my handbag. That's why it's here in the first place. Identify the body. Then we'll call Friedrich one more time. Tell him that you two fuck-ups almost saved me and ruined the exchange that's why the plan changed. You'll be in the clear. I'll say that some unknown shit is going to kill me on the waterfront if Friedrich doesn't come personally with the cash. When he arrives, he will only find the scapegoat-body, and then we can all get on with our fucking lives!”
“And where the fuck are you two love-birds going to go?” Jörg asked. “I mean why the fuck didn't you take the first flight out of town before we showed up at your house?”
“We're staying right fucking here!” Paris said defiantly. “This is my fucking home!”
“You're fucking kidding me!”
I'd never been to the Müggelsee before, and from the wooded west bank with the first clouds of Saturday morning lighting the horizon, it looked more like the sea than a lake. Paris had already made a call on the drive so that Pavel would wait for us, and we found him standing next to a Mercedes van with two other men on the edge of the water.
Jörg and I stepped out of the BMW only to find the three men aim handguns at us both.
“Chill the fuck out, would you. How'd you assholes forget this shit?” Jörg laughed, holding up the big black Ralph Lauren handbag. “You know, I'm supposed to be taking this legend to see some strippers, not fucking around in middle of fucking nowhere!”
Dumping the handbag on the gravel, Jörg and I stood still while we were frisked.
Complaining in a moan, Pavel continued to babble on about shit in Deutsch. The other two gangsters then opened the van and pulled out the scapegoat-body. Picking up the handbag, Pavel's groaning changed to confusion as he pulled out three meat-mallets. Yeah, there had been another last minute change of plan. Jörg then snatched up one of the tools as he ran at the two preoccupied thugs – and smashed in both of their skulls!
I grabbed another mallet away from the shocked Pavel who surrendered like he didn't give a shit about what was going on.
It wasn't until I opened the trunk of the BMW and glared at the lovers, that I realized only six years ago I was the one who found himself trapped like this by the same criminal organization.
“Please, it's too cold in here for her. Please!” Paris pleaded on Galina's behalf. He did seem genuine about his affections. The things we do for women. But for what in return?! Thinking of my painting from 2006, What Have I Learned?, I wondered how anyone ever imagined they would find enlightenment down the holes of whores.
After tossing his collection of three new handguns on the dashbaord, Jörg then took Pavel's phone and did in fact call Friedrich after all.
Pavel sat on the passenger's side while I was in the back again, this time with the icy corpse of the bleached blond scapegoat-body lying on my lap. She was so pretty without a face.
“Man, why the fuck are you wasting your time with fucking criminals like us?” Jörg suddenly asked through the rear-view mirror. “You have a actual career, something away from all this shit.”
Glancing out the window, I stroked the dead body's belly as I recalled, “This evening, before I met you, I went to the kino with a friend. She told me that a guy we know moved back to Japan, and was just diagnosed with a brain tumor.”
“Ah, he's fucked then.”
“I'll hear more and more stories like this. Watching others drop off one by one. Yet I'll still be here.”
“Not if you keep hanging out with people like us.”
“You fucking stupid?”
“You know what my retirement policy is: suicide or prison.”
“Man, that's a weirdly optimistic pessimism,” Jörg roared with laughter. “Actually think you'll live that long, so why don't you have any faith in yourself?”
“Fucking coward!” Pavel interrupted.
The BMW came to a full stop. Jörg then yanked Pavel out into the middle of the street surrounded by ominous trees. Pavel had this tired expression of impatience – until Jörg shot him in the chest! The gun blasted out until Jörg's finger clicked dryly upon an empty magazine.
Leaving Pavel's carcass on the asphalt, we drove on. Jörg cleared his throat before speaking again, “You're like, the only guy I feel, really, that I'm honest with, man. You know, when was the last time you had a serious heart to heart with a fucking girl? They don't want hear about your fucking personal problems. You open about anything like that and they instantly see it as a fucking weakness! All conversations with chicks are about power. Which, you know, leaves all relationships fucking empty! Man, I fucking hate fags, but sometimes, you know, I think they might actually have more meaningful connections. Seriously, is it any fucking wonder that all the great philosophers were those man-boy-loving Greek fucks!”
There was am inconsolable despair to his voice, reminding me of a week earlier, when it was Mara upon my lap. She had confessed despondently how she believed I had abandoned her on her birthday, not joined her to the ballet at the Staatsoper, and refused to accompany her to Amsterdam. It was a desperation of truly mortifying loneliness. And in these utterly self-deprecating times of alienation, I found that I was in no position to offer any comforting reassurances. I could only be there in the shared experience with someone who needed you present in the moment as it happened.
Jörg had resumed my playlist and Lowdrive, The Last Stand, was as loud as the car was fast – until we were crashed into from the side! The fucking van from the lake had caught up with us! Guess Jörg hadn't quite beaten the shit out of the two gangsters. Putting his foot down, he nipped ahead of the van, only to spot headlights blaring toward us. The unknown on-comers swerved and stopped in the middle of the street where out stepped two guys with HK416 assault rifles and opened fire! The windscreen shattered and Jörg screamed, “Jesus fucking Christ!”
The BMW ran straight through one of the gunmen while the other blasted into the side! Clinging to the dead girl, I kept my head down, checking that I wasn't shot. “The fuck was that?!”
“Fucked if I know!”
Another unknown car roared out of a side street and punched into the BMW! The asshole in the van must have called for back up. Jörg struggled with the wheel and we were sent down a new street while being rammed into from behind! Yelling outraged, Jörg slammed on the breaks! The two cars behind crashed into us as Jörg twisted around in his seat and fired two hand guns through the rear window into the following driver! Glass fragments rained over my shoulders as I shielded the corpse below. Jörg then raced off leaving the second car maneuvering around the front vehicle. Laughing, Jörg was excited with the distance we made – until a Hummer drove into us and we wrecked upon an immovable lamppost!
Having already being lying low in the backseat, the abrupt impact wasn't as bad as when I was dragged from the car and thrown into an SUV with a black bag over my head and hands cuffed.
Shortly, I was shoved to my knees and found myself in the private courtyard of a single-story mansion that was full of vehicles and Slovakian gangsters. A granite sky hung beyond the towering trees, and I understood that we were somewhere just out of town. A sixty-year-old guy with a face that commanded fear, slowly stepped out onto the front porch, inspecting his guests before approaching. Jörg knelt on my right, the faceless blond strewn on his right. To my left were the two lovers, shivering in their underwear and still with their hands bound.
“Look at these two!” the old man condemned, literally looking down his nose at Jörg and I. “Did Luca Signorelli foresee them when he painted the Deeds Of The AntiChrist! Though, who has the worse influence over the other?”
It didn't take much to work out that this chap was Friedrich in the flesh. Standing over his treacherous woman, I watched as they both trembled from their own emotional distress. Paris, on the other hand, scowled at me with conspiring eyes.
Turning, Friedrich barked at Jörg, “Prove yourself!”
“You can't kill him,” Jörg stated resolutely, yet still glaring down at the concrete. “He's Caviezel's brother. It'll start a war.”
Glancing at the two livid men next to me, I was rather surprised that Jörg would even care about preventing a greater conflict?
“I don't have a brother,” came a familiar voice from the house.
Turning my head toward Paris, I saw his cringe, and I immediately understood that we had been taken for a fucking ride. Mr. Burgundy stepped into the court along with Mr. Caviezel and they both looked furious.
““The artist who complacently represents what is reprehensible, vicious, criminal, approves of it, perhaps glorifies it, differs not in kind, but only in degree, from the criminal who actually comments it,”” Mr. Caviezel quoted Max Nordau into my ear, before dropping a heavy machete in front of me. “Make them suffer!”
Jörg didn't move, just hung his head where he knelt.
Fine. Picking up the tool, it was oblivious that this was what needed to be done in order to correct the predicament, so I walked over and hacked off the head of the would-be Paris within a matter of seconds! Galina vomited a shriek of epic volume and ranted upon gulps of hysteria at the gushing butchery. She was still kneeling when I turned my fixation upon her. With a shove from the sole of my dress shoe, I sent her flat on her back where I dug the long blade into her frigid belly! Her screams never seized. Discarding the machete and my coat, I rolled up my sleeves before driving my hand right into her gut and ripping out every inch of her bowels! Her voice went even more shrill once I stuffed the severed head of her Paris into her hollowed out cavity! Now she could permanently keep a part of him inside her! Stretching out a length of her slippery intestine, I wrapped it around her throat and proceeded to strangled that cunt with a hatred for all those things that I could never change! My jaw clenched as tight as the noose, until that female went limp, and finally the membrane of the ligature broke open, spraying her own shit across her dead eyes!
Stumbling back, I caught my breath above the slaughtered lovers. It took some time to realized that everyone except Jörg had retreated to their vehicles and slowly drove away.
Washing my hands in a freezing puddle, I saw Friedrich glaring at me from the house and then quietly close the curtains with a broken heart. His withdrawn face suddenly took me back to the island where I had grown up. Our next door neighbor was an old guy who had been alone since I was born till his death in my teens. Another neighbor down across the road also lived alone yet seemed cheerful till he too died of an isolated old age. Further up and over a hill there had been another old man with one arm. He had always lived in a state of disheveled decay. His house was falling apart and his entire property was full of piles of trash. As kids we had shunned him. My brother openly despised his lack of self-respect, and my parents told us never to bother him. But there was something about his condition that disturbed my timid childhood. It was the idea that perhaps it wasn't his lack of an arm that had brought him down to this sad situation. Our other neighbors had both limbs, and yet, I had witnessed how inevitably the great indifference of the universe had eaten them alive and they'd become merely the insect-shells of their former selves, hardened by years of habit and rejection.
“What do you want?” Jörg whispered from his knees, as I stood, extending an open hand. Silently looking down on this deeply troubled kid, I waited until he caught a hold of my palm and then he viciously sneered, “What the fuck are you waiting for, you sickfuck! We're not friends! You're a fucking freak! I don't need your fucking help!” Jörg lunged to his feet, grabbing my collar as he screamed with bloodshot eyes, “WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU STILL HERE?! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! SHOW A LITTLE FUCKING RECOGNITION, FOR FUCK'S SAKE?!”
“What's the devil's shadow to him?”
Jörg gasped exhausted and backed away. “What did you expect from this evening? What, huh? What?”
“Planned on asking Caviezel if he might have a part-time job for me.”
“Why... You're always working.”
“Only on, as you put it, my own worthless shit.”
“Should be fucking happy then.”
I bit my tongue.
“You're always making something new. It's fucking disgusting, you twisted fuck... What's your next thing?”
This time I backed away, turning to leave. “Putting some serious thought into giving up my worldly possessions, joining a seminary, and becoming a Presbyterian priest.”
Cracking into laughter, Jörg wiped his tears with his forearm, “Possessions are the best! Especially owning people! Why be a fucking saint when you can be rich as a fuck!”
That morning, after ignoring my bed, I met Mara for coffee before we visited a retrospective exhibition of Gianni Versace.
Over sushi in the evening, we romanticized about returning to Japan. It was just talk after all. Why discourage Mara's expensive holidays, extravagant ballet performances, and precious birthday plans. All friends really wanted were team-mates in the self-indulgent game of humoring their whimsical fancies. So I laughed and joked and played the part of good company. Jörg was right: there was nothing gained from telling others about your failings. He had a point, and also cocaine keeping him awake. I merely had cortisol produced by the shame that I'd soon be living in destitution. I knew, however, I'd gone hungry before, I could do it again. And a line from Nailbomb echoed through my head, “Don't need sympathy. Smile it's nothing but teeth. I'll keep my integrity. Even if I have to sleep on the street.”
© 2018 BRUCE STIRLING JOHN KNOX