18
Alex stood in Büschingstrasse, checking the lie of the land. She had left her pocket watch in Flat B with the rest of her things, but the smell of onions and cabbage and bratwurst told her it must be about half past twelve. Time for lunch. A few scruffy figures gathered outside the entrance to the male Salvation Army hostel, but otherwise Büschingstrasse was deserted. Hopefully the same was true of the courtyard leading to Flat B.
She had used the last of her money to buy Vicky a coffee at the Grossmarkt, before treating herself to a six-pack of Juno and taking the number 66 out to Büschingplatz. In by night, out at lunch was the best way of avoiding the caretaker and that old snitch Karsunke, especially if you didn’t want to field any stupid questions. Like the time he had asked her where she was going. She had given the answer Benny had drummed into her: to the Grünbergs in the rear building. They had the name from the mailboxes.
That wouldn’t work now the caretaker was keeping a close eye on her. So: in for a final time to collect her things, and that would be it for Flat B. The caretaker could turn the place inside out for all she cared. He wouldn’t find her.
From the opposite side of the road she peered through the entrance to the courtyard. It wasn’t just her sleeping bag up there, but also the personal items she kept in a little tin, as well as Benny’s pictures, which he had guarded like treasure. The yard seemed deserted, even the children who had been playing under the carpet hanger had vanished. Time was getting on. The queue outside the Salvation Army hostel had dwindled to three, reminding her that lunchtime didn’t last forever. She took a deep breath, wished the caretaker and his informant Karsunke bon appétit and crossed the road. She had just reached the archway when the door from the neighbouring house opened and a cop stepped out.
The blue uniform, and the face, seemed like a bad dream. What was he doing in Friedrichshain, damn it? KaDeWe was in the west.
Flat B was too risky now, that much was clear, but she wasn’t sure if the cop had recognised her. Thinking quickly, she switched directions, to make it seem as if she had come from the yard, then veered sharply, turning her back on him and making her way down the road as inconspicuously as possible. This wasn’t anywhere near his precinct.
‘Hey, wait!’
She turned only a little so that he couldn’t see her face. ‘Who, me?’
‘You’ve just come from the building, haven’t you? I’d like to ask you a few questions.’
Even if he had only seen her in boy’s clothing three days ago, he’d recognise her. ‘Sorry, I’m in a rush,’ she said. ‘My boss hates it when I’m late.’
‘Hang on a minute there, little Miss.’
As he drew nearer she accelerated without turning around, not daring simply to run off. His hand fell on her shoulder. Instinctively, her fingers clasped the switchblade in her coat pocket.
‘I just want some information,’ he said. ‘It’s about a boy from the neighbourhood. Two boys, actually.’
She kept her eyes fixed to the ground, as if she were a shy, country innocent, and turned towards him. ‘I don’t know any boys here,’ she said. ‘Mother doesn’t allow it.’
He grasped her chin and turned her face upwards. ‘Don’t I know you, little Miss?’
Now she saw his face, close as never before, and watched the penny begin to drop. ‘Oh, my shoe,’ she said, and bent down.
He’d recognised her, hadn’t he, or would at any moment, the arsehole, the murderer! She fiddled with her shoe with her left hand, using the right to spring open the knife in her coat pocket.
Show no mercy now, she thought, this is the bastard with Benny on his conscience!
Again she felt his hand on her shoulder and knew there was no going back. She had one chance. Shooting up from her squatting position, she slashed him once across the face, and broke loose. The cop cried out, more in surprise than pain, she thought, and for a fraction of a second she stood rooted to the spot as he passed both hands across his face, gazing in disbelief at his blood-smeared palms.
He’s let go of you, now run! But she couldn’t, she kept staring at him.
Blood ran down his right cheek, and the bridge of his nose. He looked at her with the same furious grimace she had seen at KaDeWe until, finally, she ran.
She didn’t know if she had any chance against him, but she ran, ran, ran as fast as she could.
‘Stop! Police!’
Fuck you, she thought, if you want to catch me, you’ll have to work for it, fatso!
He called after her, but the distance between them had grown. Had he stopped running? Then she understood what he was saying.
‘Police. Stop or I’ll shoot!’
She carried on running, ducking instinctively as a shot flew across the road. The sound of a ricochet roared through the air. The cop had only hit a lamppost – but he had fired, he had actually fired, in the middle of the city, in broad daylight.
There wasn’t a soul around.
No witnesses, not even anyone outside the Salvation Army. They were all eating inside.
Come to the windows, damn it, Alex thought, untie your napkins and come to the windows. Come outside, so that he can’t just spray bullets everywhere. But, no one came, and if anyone had still been outside, they’d have scarpered after the shot. The city had painful memories of gun-toting cops.
Alex darted from side to side, zigzagging towards the traffic on Landsberger Strasse. Crossing Barnimstrasse, she looked around. The cop had come to a halt, a hundred metres behind her perhaps, and was taking aim for a second time. She threw herself to the ground as a shot rang out. She thought she heard the bullet whistle past her, but it was probably just the wind. She rolled over and got straight back to her feet. Her injured left hand was aching. She must have landed awkwardly, but it didn’t matter now. He was trying to gun her down.
At last she reached Büschingplatz, and people. Jostling her way through the pedestrians, she hurried across Landsberger Strasse, dodging the cars as best she could. A man with an imperial beard, whom she almost knocked over, shook his head and made some stupid remark about road safety education.
She ran down Landsberger Strasse in the direction of Alexanderplatz, and heard her pursuer again, now shouting, ‘Stop that girl!’
She glanced back to see him in his blue uniform, with his bloodied face. He seemed to have his anger under control, and surely wouldn’t dare open fire here. People stared at him, but no one reacted. The man with the imperial beard made as if he hadn’t seen a girl all day, let alone one trying to flee, and gazed studiously in the opposite direction.
She kept running down the street, further and further. The cop was still on the other side of the traffic. You haven’t given him the slip yet, she told herself. Keep going!
Her strength started to leave her, but she ignored the stitch, turning as she fled, and catching sight of him as he crossed the road. He had put his weapon away again.
Damn it! How could she shake him off? After endless terrace fronts, she came on a sidestreet and darted to the left where he couldn’t see her. Where now? Breathless, looking around as she ran, she saw no courtyard, no open front door. Kleine Frankfurter Strasse, the sign said, and at the other end she saw the swathe of traffic on Frankfurter Strasse. Soon she reached the next street corner. There was still no sign of the cop. Now she darted to the right: Elisabethstrasse, but no hiding place in sight here either. No matter, the main thing was that the shitface cop was nowhere to be seen. ‘Slow down, girl,’ someone said. ‘You’ll make that bus.’