unpublished novel by Peter Nolan Smith
After the two waiters served the final dish of Cali’s 27-course birthday dinner, the orange sorbet melted untouched by the satiated guests. 26 hours into the marathon feast at an Alstersee restaurant none dared check their watches, because they weren’t going anywhere, until the birthday boy finished his dessert.
Their host fondled the naked Valkerie at the head of the table. He knew they were bored and didn’t care. Not one of his fellow ‘Zuhalterei‘ had graduated from high school, but wore expensive clothes, drove high-performance cars, and enjoyed the rich lifestyle accorded captains of industry. Their balding accountant was overwhelmed by the onslaught of cash and his associates couldn’t spent their wealth fast enough. Their success flowed from one source. Nigger Cali and every male present understood the extreme measures required to stay on top of the Reeperbahn.
SS Tommy, his right-hand man, savagely managed their share of Hamburg’s twelve hundred legally registered prostitutes through by broken arms and legs. The scarred Mack ‘Die Alte’ ensured the smaller pimps contributed their cut with a whispered threat. Anything to avoid a meeting with SS Tommy. The gang received a cut from the thousands of Hamburg’s streetwalkers, part-time call girls, gay rent-boys, and the less numerous underage ‘Strichmadchens‘. Sex was never free, even among lovers, yete despite violence being an occupational necessity, murder was reserved for the most stubborn rivals.
Complete obedience was easy, if you got paid enough for your pain or pleasure, however while Cali might share their language, there was no way the illegitimate son of a black US Army sergeant would ever be regarded as anything other than an ‘Schwarze’ by his partners.
His name was ‘Nigger Cali’. Only one person calledhim that to his face. Kurt Oster might looked like the product of an SS birth program, but he could see past Cali’s black-as-spades skin, because they came from the same brotherhood of bastards. No father and a mother who hated you almost as much as your step-father. Back then they had never had much. Only each other and now Kurt’s dope-pinned eyes said what everyone elsse was thinking.
The nightclub owner clinked his glass with a spoon and the guests straightened up for the first time in hours. “I think it will be safe to say that none of us will ever forget Cali’s 27th birthday. 27 courses over 27 hours with 27 friends,a lthough now most of you are fiends. I propose one last toast. To Cali my best friend.”
The other guests raised their glasses of flat champagne. Cali’s birthday plans had sounded like fun in theory. In practice it was hell. Cali was a non-drinker. He didn’t smoke either. Cali planned to live forever and had refused them the liberty of drugs.
Cali had ceased having fun about five hours ago. Pride had prevented his calling it a night. rising to his feet, Cali responded to Kurt’s toast. “In thirty seconds only twenty-seven minutes remain in the final hour. My gift for sharing this day with me is you can go home.”
His guests applauded this reprieve and pushed away from the table with thinly disguised relief. Cali’s right-hand man hugged his boss. Cali steeled himself for a knife in the back.
“Happy birthday.” SS Tommy’s embrace flaunted the strength achieved from long hours at a gym and his resemblance to a parody of a hundred-kilo bulldog might have been comical to anyone who had not witnessed his capacity for mayhem. Cali was not fooled. “Viele Danke.”
“It is me to thank you.” SS Tommy considered the title ‘King of the Reeperbahn’ rightfully his. One day he would take acer of Cali, however tonight the powerbuilder waved for a blonde girl to join them. “This is my birthday present. For today and forever.”
“Looks like I should be thanking you.” The gesture did not deceive the black pimp. Still the gift was beautiful.
SS Tommy gushed proudly, ”She’ll earn enough for you to buy a Ferrari by the end of the year.”
“I’ll test-drive her as soon as I get home.” Everyone laughed wearily and Cali left the restaurant with the girl in hand. Outside he asked, “How old are you?”
Any girl under 18 coerced into prostitution was evidence of ‘frauenhandelen‘ or white slavery. Thankfully a lasting penalty from the Nazi era was that the Stittenpolizei or Vice Squad respected human rights and the pimps thrived within cracks between good and evil
“18 and I have the papers to prove I’m legal.” She reached into her pocketbook.
“That’s not necessary.” He kissed her lips soft and unbruised by men.
A cough stopped him and he turned to see the Valkerie. She was dressed in a leather sheath. Cali could tell she wanted to go home. he had other plans.
“Time for you to go to the ErosCenter.”
“Cali, I’m tired.” The blonde veteran was dreaming about her bed.
“A little hard work will help work off that meal.” Cali showed no sympathy for the wicked or the weary. The twenty-two year-old from Kaiserlauten averaged ten customers a night and getting 200 Deutschmarks whenever a client ‘plucked her rose’. tonight her net gain was zero.
“Cali, Cali, let me take her home,” Kurt interceded on her behalf.
“You want to go with Kurt?” Cali wasn’t happy with his interference. Business is business.
“Always have.” The blonde glowed with anticipation of having a shot at the pimp’s handsome friend.
‘Is it free?” Kurt question with a laugh.
“Someone always has to pay for sex. Tonight it is me.” Cali’s hand pointed to Kurt. “You heard the man. Get in his car and i don’t want to hear anything about sleeping later.”
“No sleeping allowed.” The blonde obeyed his command and Cali motioned for the young girl to sit in the big Mercedes 500 before turning to Kurt. “Next time stay out of my business.”
“Cali, It’s your birthday. Why do you have to be so hard?”
“You of all people should know what it takes to stay in this business.”
“This may be the last summer you worry about that.” Kurt loaded Cali’s gifts into the Mercedes.
“One last summer here.” Beyond the trees the dawn was breaking over the lake and Cali said, “It is a beautiful city.”
“You realize we’ll have to leave once we get the money.” Kurt had lived in most of Europe’s capitols, while Cali had only left Germany three times. “You’re not scared of leaving Hamburg?”
“No, I’m not scared of leaving or anything else.” At first Cali couldn’t remember ever being frightened by man or beast, then joked, “Maybe that time my grandmother caught us stealing money from her pocketbook and you said you were looking for a cigarette.”
“She made me smoke all the cigarettes. You know I blame her for my smoking.” Kurt patted his cigarettes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Happy Birthday.”
“Mein freund, du hast etwas vergessen.” Cali reached into the trunk’s secret compartment and withdrew a small manila envelope. “Seed money for step one.”
“Which leads to Step Two. The Swiss banker.” Kurt hefted the package. One plus one was no longer two, but several million Deutschmarks. Still they needed a few more people to complete the equation. “Someone from Hamburg might discover out plans, so I’m enlisting an American to play the Sonderboch.”
“And what is to stop your American from wanting in? Is he stupid?” Having a sucker holding the bag was an unavoidable precaution.
“No, broken-hearted.”
“Ach.” Nothing blinded a man more completely than love.
Kurt added another missing ingredient. “Plus Petra will be the lure for the American.”
“Are you mad?”
“No one else in Hamburg can do the job and you know that.”
“But she is dangerous.”
“This is all dangerous.” Kurt had no delusions about what would happen, if something went wrong. “But then the greater the risk, the greater the gain.”
“Just once I would like someone to lie to me.” Cali was placing his life in his friend’s hands like he had innumerable times before. “That enough money?”
Kurt felt the thickness. “For now it is.”
“So you have a good time tonight?” Cali shut the trunk.
Few people could speak truthfully to Cali. Kurt was one of them. “You ever have another party like that and I will kill you.”
“I can promise it will be the last one to which you are invited.” Cali waited for Kurt to drive away before getting inside the Mercedes 500.
The blonde was snorting a line of cocaine. Cali threw the packet out the window. “Drugs and being a whore are a bad mix. You are here to make money. With drugs you will end up working the Fishmarket.”
“Tut mir leid.” The drug had frozen her lips.
“Yes, I know.” Cali patted her thigh and stepped on the gas.
The Mercedes Turbo 500i reached his lakeside house on the Aussenalster in less than two minutes. They immediately climbed the stairs to his bedroom. “Just a minute.”
Cali stripped off his clothes and showered in the bathroom.
When he emerged in a silk robe the blonde was already naked. He thought about asking her name, then decided the next three hours should remain on a strictly physical level.
He pressed a button on the video control next to the bed. Scorcese’s TAXI DRIVER, fast-forwarded to the movie’s first scene with Jodie Foster as a child prostitute. He caressed the blonde’s thighs and the teenager closed her eyes with mimicked pleasure. Cali pinched her belly and stripped off his robe. The girl’s stare locked on his groin. “Stay alert. Your customer could kill you and then I would have to kill him.”
She slithered across the satin sheets to lick at his belly. Cali was certain that SS Tommy had sold her a dream of fast money and there was no harm in her living the dream for tonight. Tomorrow she would be just another goldmine for the Eros Center.
He penetrated the blonde overcome by a melee of breasts, belly, legs, skin, and hair of the women he had broken for the organization. Only Petra Wessel arose from the legions of whores. Unfortunately after her beating no man in Hamburg could ever make love with her and he was to blame maybe more than most for this loss of talent.
The young blonde reached up to Cali and he slapped away her hands. She had to understand exactly what other men would want from her. No more. No less. If anyone could teach that, Cali could, because satisfaction was his product. Not for himself, but every man.
For a related articles click on this URL
https://www.mangozeen.com/angkor-arms-shihanoukville.htm” target=”_blank”>Text Display