“Here,” said Vidrik, reaching his hand out. “Let me have a sip of your beer.”
“Yes, sir,” said Pilz, giving Vidrik his beer before getting out and slamming the door behind him.
Moody bastard.
When Pilz was back inside the store, Vidrik opened his glove box and got out his small bag of Rohypnol tablets. He took three out and crushed them one by one into the bottle of beer and stirred it around lightly with his thumb covering the opening, careful not to let too much pressure build up. Pilz eventually returned and they exchanged bottles. Vidrik drove off and Pilz took a large gulp of his beer.
“That’s the stuff,” said Pilz, burping in the process and looking out at the street briefly. “Crazy, huh?” he continued. “That Inselheim’s a wild son of a bitch.”
Vidrik said nothing. Pilz would start feeling the effects within a quarter of an hour. They drove on, and Pilz continued to sip on his beer while trying to make small talk before he eventually grew quiet. When he was sufficiently unconscious, Vidrik took the bottle out of his lap and tossed it out of the car. He was about to drive back to the facility to dissolve Pilz’s body in acid but found himself heading toward Charlottenburg instead. Pilz could wait.
Vidrik decided to ring ahead, dialling the VIP hotline for Madame Sandra’s brothel.
“Ja?” said the voice.
“It’s Vidrik. Is she there?”
“Hello, Matthias,” said Madame Sandra. “Franziska? Yes, wait, let me check.”
There was a pause, and Vidrik could hear light whispers in the background.
“I can have her ready for you in forty-five minutes,” said Madame Sandra.
“Good. I’ll be there soon.”
Vidrik dropped the phone on his lap and looked over at Pilz again, whose neck was bent to the side and whose mouth was slightly ajar. With the wheel balanced on his knee, Vidrik took a few sips of his Club-Matè then put the bottle aside before rubbing on his temple. He was in a grumpy mood. He should have been ecstatic. He had proven himself more than worthy of the promotion. The uncovering of Inselheim’s Neutralaser Project was a boon for The League. At the very least, watching Inselheim snivel and come apart should have satisfied Vidrik. He should have felt proud about the promotion, and he would have been, had it not come about the way it did. He never liked Felipe. He would have gladly slit the Spaniard’s throat himself. What agitated Vidrik was the way Abel had slithered his way into the organisation on the back of Vivar and Khartoum’s lives. He should have finished the kid off instantly. It should have been routine. Instead, Kalakia rewarded the boy.
The great man was slipping, Vidrik concluded while pulled up at the traffic lights. He spat onto the road. With Kalakia blind-sighted, Vidrik decided to take responsibility for the matter. He would keep a close eye on the kid when he came back to Berlin, and if Abel stepped out of line in the slightest, Vidrik would be the one to put his light out. It would not be a painless death for the young Estoni… Vidrik tensed up suddenly, his attention drawn toward an attractive young woman who had just marched out of her building, dragging a large travel bag behind her on wheels over the cobblestones. She had a tight body, flowing light brown hair and olive skin.
She waited by the footpath not far from Vidrik and watched the oncoming cars. Judging by the bag, she was heading to the airport. Vidrik recognised her instantly. It was Elias’ bitch, the one who started the whole mess. Elias had been foolish to mess with her, but Vidrik had to admit she had a hell of an ass. He watched her coolly for a few seconds. Then he snapped. The traffic light turned green. He bared his teeth and pulled over into a driveway. Without straightening the car, he turned off the engine and reached over the unconscious Pilz toward the glovebox for his pistol before stopping suddenly. “Fuck,” he mouthed, his fingers and legs trembling. Kalakia had minced no words when declaring that she was not to be touched.
Vidrik continued watching on while chewing his lip, half of his body on the seat, the other half ready to pounce. A taxi pulled up in front of her, and she made for the passenger door. Then she froze. She appeared to be thinking. After some time she reached into her bag and took out her wallet. She opened the car door and handed the taxi driver what looked to be money. When the taxi left without her, Vidrik raised his eyebrows. What was she up to? She remained in her place on the footpath. Vidrik leaned forward and squinted. She was smiling. Then she turned back to her building, opened the door and disappeared inside with her luggage. Vidrik let his body relax back onto the seat. Staying, are we? He continued watching the door before deciding he had seen enough. He took note of the number above the entrance and drove away. Killing her was forbidden, he thought, but Kalakia said nothing about talking. Once the situation had cooled down, Vidrik would pay her a visit. She could amuse him while Abel was in Zürich, he decided.
As Vidrik drove along, his mood grew flat again. It depressed him to have his hands tied like that. At least in the meantime he had Franziska’s glorious tits to cheer him up. He knew what else could lift his spirit. He reached toward the dash and switched on his stereo system. The car immediately filled up with the guitar riff from the song “Die For Metal” by Manowar, which he had playing on maximum volume earlier in the day. It helped, but he needed something more. He punched the accelerator just as he passed a group of teenagers on the sidewalk. The boys jumped and looked on as Vidrik raced off chuckling, enjoying the dopamine rush of not only
