And let’s face it, why should anyone suspect anything dreadful to have happened right there in broad daylight rather than somewhere out in the outer suburbs, near some rubbish tip, under a bridge, places where traditionally such things are banished to and where, to be honest, you expect them to happen! Who, unless he’d experienced this sort of thing for himself, would imagine that it could occur right in front of one’s eyes rather than behind the closed windows of a neighbour’s house, behind the locked door of an adjoining room, among casual passers-by in the street, or anywhere at all for that matter! It is in the nature of horror to remain hidden and for no one to discover it. Anything outrageous is generally so private that everyone involved tries to hide the fact, and it is only fortuitously that it ever comes to light. Who can ever be aware of all the awful things that happen? Least of all the police.
He could be reported for careless driving across the Opera House junction, but that would be all, whereas to park here in this dark side street was perhaps the most reckless thing he’d done so far. Here, where without a doubt nothing happens from one year to the next, the police would patrol the neighbourhood most frequently. Surely no policeman would ever think of looking for crime in the open, in the glare of bright lights.
Sponer turned on the engine, drove out of the side street, and crossed Siebensterngasse and Mariahilfer Strasse.
The route he’d been driving with the dead man on board had now come full circle.
4
HE DROVE DOWN GETREIDEMARKT, past the fish market and, just before he came to Wiedner Hauptstrasse, stopped in a kind of a passageway between newly erected trading stalls and shops.
He got out and tried both the rear door handles.
They were firmly locked.
Then, leaning across the steering-wheel, he pushed shut the panels of the partition.
The car was all right here, in a sort of semi-darkness — not where it was pitch black, which could arouse suspicion.
He glanced at the car once more, went over to the corner of the street, turned, and found himself facing the brightly lit shops of Wiedner Hauptstrasse.
Right there on the left was a slot-machine bar.
He went in.
It was a large, circular, dome-shaped room with slot machines around the perimeter and tables in the middle at which people were eating and drinking.
A radio was blaring.
He walked past the machines and studied the labels.
Over one of the taps was the inscription “Sherry”.
He picked up a glass, held it under the tap, and inserted a coin in the slot.
The interior emitted a hollow gurgling and spluttering sound, and sherry — somewhat unappetisingly, he thought — gushed from the metal tap into the glass.
There are many people who don’t enjoy the luxury of having desert wines served up elegantly. Slot-machine bars are meant for the likes of them.
He picked up the glass, turned and leant his back against the railing of the machine. He took a gulp and looked around.
Next to him stood two girls seemingly perplexed in front of a fan-shaped, glass-covered carousel-type platter with sandwiches, so-called appetizers. Anything but, he thought. Did they want one?
Evidently. They were carrying on as if they didn’t know what to do. They giggled and looked across as though expecting that Sponer would help them.
One of them was slim with sharp features and brown wavy hair, neatly arranged under a hat.
The memory of someone who had been adjusting her hair under her hat welled up in him — a lady in a dark suit with a fox fur slung over her shoulders, one foot delicately poised on the running board of his car, looking at herself in her mirror. He couldn’t see her face, he only caught a glimpse of it in the mirror. Large grey eyes gazed at him from under a short veil.
When was that? Three days ago? He had a feeling it had been more like years.
He emptied the glass, put it down, mumbled something and stared at the floor.
The girls next to him laughed again.
“You couldn’t show us,” he suddenly heard one of them ask, “how you… how you work one of these machines… What you have to do?…” And the two laughed again, teasingly.
He raised his eyes. He hadn’t yet looked at the one who had just spoken. She was above average height, very pretty, with a strikingly pale complexion, slightly spoilt by too much make-up, and platinum-blonde hair. Overall she gave the impression of being too spick and span, which irritated him as might the perfectly groomed hands of a manicurist in a salon.
Too much of a good thing, he thought. A pretty doll.
They both looked at him.
“You don’t know what to do?” he asked.
“No,” the blonde said, but very casually, as though she couldn’t care less whether he believed her or not. He could see they weren’t streetwalkers. Probably some office girls who were just enjoying themselves.
He leant over and took the coin that the blonde was holding.
The touch of her hand sent a shock up his arm.
The turmoil of the last few hours had made him react much more strongly to everything. The light, too, dazzled him, the music was deafening, the behaviour of the girls affected him more than he cared to admit, and the blonde, whom he’d probably have disregarded otherwise, suddenly embarrassed him.
He threw her a glance and let the money drop in the machine. The tray turned and dispensed a sandwich.
“Thank you,” the blonde said, and took it from the machine.
The girls might have expected him to start up a conversation, but he said nothing. The blonde brought the sandwich to her mouth and took a bite. As she opened her lips, he saw her gleaming teeth.
“Are you going to stay?” the brunette asked at last.
“Here?”
“Yes. There’ll be dancing now.”
“Really?”
As they spoke, and while the radio continued to blare, a dance band consisting of four men stepped onto the stage. In the middle, between the tables, there was a free space, obviously the dance floor.
“Do you dance?” Sponer asked.
“Yes. And you?”
“Not very well,” he said.
“We must have a go,” she said. “Let’s sit down at a table.”
“I haven’t got time,” he mumbled.
“This won’t take long.”
He thought for a moment, then straightened up and said something like, “All right then.”
The brunette smiled, and she and the blonde, who kept on eating as she listened, headed for one of the tables, followed by Sponer. They sat down, and the girls placed their handbags and gloves on the table. Then, while the brunette was taking off her coat and Sponer got up to help her, a waiter approached to take their orders.
The brunette, hanging her coat over the back of her chair, ordered a devilled egg.
The radio fell silent and the band struck up.
The blonde put the rest of her sandwich in her mouth, wiped her hands on her handkerchief and also took off her coat. The waiter asked for her order.
“What was that you were drinking?” she asked Sponer.
“Sherry,” he said.
“I’ll have one, too,” she said to the waiter.
“And for you, sir?” the waiter asked.
“Same again,” Sponer said, and sat down.
Some couples had already begun to dance.
“Aren’t you going to take your coat off?” the brunette asked.
“No, the fact is,” he mumbled, “I can’t… I must be going soon.” He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to the girls. The brunette declined, but the blonde helped herself, and while he was giving her a light, a young man, obviously a clerk or the like, approached her and asked her for a dance. She put the cigarette down and got up.