Читать книгу Static Demagogue - Rhys Thomas - Страница 4

The year was 2010. Compared to East Germany, West German roads were rife with traffic. The autobahn network established by the Nazis was efficient and enabled fast driving (no speed limit). Du Brokker could maintain a healthy one hundred and twenty miles per hour as the BMW hared towards Munich. “Ich weiss Amory. Ich bin beamter. ” Du Brokker was broaching how to approach his mother. Be Teutonic and pragmatic. Be British and jovial, approachable.

“Keep our conversation in English, for goodness sake!!” Contraire was getting agitated by her subject’s refusal to simplify his problems!!!

Decisions! Decisions!

Ambitious driver bodyrolling his auto like a drunk skateboarder! The horn bellowed out irate pulses! Whilst the Stasi hitman negotiated Schwabing, to the north of Munich City Centre, his speed dropped to about forty miles per hour. Munich was rife with traffic. He rendezvoused with his dreaded mother, Gretel, in her drab flat not far from the Hauptbahnhof (main railway station). She lived near a hostel called Meininger, across from an Augustiner Hofbrau (micro-brewery). They drove out into the serene Bavarian countryside, wending a path towards the Alps. Along the Route was a service station accessed by a hill road not far from Neuschwanstein and the famous castle. This station had a viewing platform with a breathtaking vista across the prevailing valley.

Amory thought he looked distinctive with the puppy-fat face of typical fat people. His blood group was Type O and his hair colour was brown. Complexion was pasty, blotchy skin with rash sinews. He was working on a tan as the weather in Seattle had been hot so far that year.

His mother’s future employer and the head of the Stasi, Jung Silber, had sanctioned any activities to silence enemies of the state. His parents were obedient. They were both career civil servants. Gretel still had that crazy habit of snorting talcum powder. Her sinuses were so bad she could not tell when she was doing it!

Amory contemplated his life en-route…‘During the mid-1980s, a civilian network of informants known as the Inoffizielle Mitarbeiter (IMs, Unofficial Collaborators) began to grow within both parts of Germany, East and West.’

Too much recollection! Be specific.

Du Brokker’s personal hero. Gunter Guillaume who brought down the West German “Kanzler” (Chancellor) Willy Brandt. Active breed of Stasi agent. Personification of a hero! The tarmac dazed drowsy eyes, so he wiped his eyes. Amory snapped his fingers beside his left ear to keep alert!

Du Brokker smirked. He always knew the Velvet Mafia had a sense of humour! They judged on looks. Everything just so. The Velvet Mafia used a sinister gay terrorist organisation called the Ambigues. The Ambigues used vicious, callous tactics to demoralise their victims…………….Here was a portly fellow with a alcohol-soaked liver. He always wore cheap, beige slacks and monogrammed shirts. He had on his trademark sneakers. His face was drawn and haggard, as if he had AIDS or something. But that was just his demeanour. He always wore an enigmatic expression. As if trying to look normal. But he was not! ……………The Ambigues organisation was evil, preying on weak, fat women who could not defend themselves. Easy prey for cowards. Their tactics involved phone-off calls to their “victim”, stalking, bustling and threats of violence. Du Brokker smiled again. By the close of the weekend, the family would have fun. His appearance was excess. Casual clothes horse. He rubbed his hairy chest, imagined Petra doing it and tousled his thatch of hair (minus the prominent, hirsute “filings” around his mandible!). Even his nails were unkempt, being those of an assembler. Not that Du Brokker cared. Merely living.

Further images raided Du Brokker’s mind. Like drab Eastern European architecture. Or strange official museums like….. Stasi Museum Forschungs- und Gedenkstätte Normannenstr. Ruschestr. 103, Haus 1 10365 Berlin. The evening was closing in. It was 20-00 . Having parked up in the packed car park, Du Brokker scrambled out of his BMW and strolled across to the facade. People milled about. A child with a choc ice ran by, hands grimy with chocolate, hair dark, dungarees on and sneakers scraping grit. Her parents waltzed along, bedecked in a twee suit for him, a floral dress for her. Both parents had dark hair, slim, lithe physiques and broad smiles. She wore stilettoes, he had leather soled business shoes. He had his business jacket draped over his left shoulder. Amory milled around the Service Station, looking at magazine racks as if interested. Bodies voided space like meteorites. Pages were rustled. Bottles grabbed, Packets shaken. Shoes tapped. Crystal cases clanked onto cashiers desks. Amory was conscious about “subliminal selling”. She had finished her viewing around the shops and headed back to the BMW. Du Brokker had looked at the family photo. He had been deliberate about his clothes. They were drab. Utilitarian. Humble Scholl shoes. Grey t-shirt. Beige slacks. He had quickly changed out of the attire whilst in the rear of his hired BMW. Just the abdominal attire, you understand.

On the front passenger seat in the BMW, Gretel looked in the rear-view mirror at her son changing his clothing, somewhat bemused. She wore a light, mocha-coloured dress. Her shoes were classic brogues and looked odd with the dress. The day was benign, dry but non-descript, with a lightly tapering wind and ash-smudged clouds overhead. Now Du Brokker discreetly looked about the station. His family photo told no lies, it was one he had obtained from his mother’s secret stash at home in Leipzig when he was a teenager. The three of them – Vater, Mutter und Sohn. But the Father had a scratched out face on the group shot. He had kept that until this moment. Proof his mother had a hand in his father’s death….. Now Du Brokker had to lure his prey….Du Brokker stared at the headscarve. It was a light blue. He was scheming to have it as a trophy of his victim! The target moved towards the service station. Amory could not abide that. … “OK. Wir gehen! Schnell! Dort Daruber!” Clambering out of the BMW, Amory clamped her left arm and gently urged her footfalls. Gretel stumbled along and snivelled about her dilemma.

“Ruhig, bitte!” Du Brokker and his quarry had reached the viewing platform behind the station. People milled about. Kids ran around aimlessly. Adults kissed and held hands. Teutonic vision scanned the platform.

“Listen. Relax. We are going to the vantage point to see a breathtaking vista. You will enjoy it!” Gretel tried to pull away – but not an option! The precipitous drop was coming into view…..Amory became playful, asking if Gretel wanted to make a call! That calmed Gretel, but only temporarily. Schadenfreude! Two kids, one boy and one girl, ran out from bushes near the drop. He wore dungarees and brogues (an odd combination!), while she had a frilled dress, plimsolls and a mischevious smile. They disappeared quickly as Gretel pleaded attendance with frightened eyes! “Komm! Ich habe keine Zeit!” Those male eyes were now stern and cold! “Go away!” Gretel whimpered, but her nemesis muffled it. Nobody heard anything. Du Brokker started to mutter…. “Dicke, scheisse Frauen!” He started to think about his youth. This woman. She was fat. How he hated her! She had treated him like a stranger. He felt alone.

Now, the Stasi man saw his chance. “Dickes, Schiesses Frau! Schwache Mutter. Geh Weg! Geh Weg!” With callous ambience, Du Brokker watched the body pitch and spin with a satisfied smirk! The phone trick had worked. That smirk broadened. A quick fan of the nearby vicinity – nobody about and just a choked scream from his quarry on the way to oblivion! She died afraid! Just for good measure – Amory had her handbag.

The teuton assassin stood for a moment at his scene of his latest crime. Douglas fir, scrub brush and manicured bushes sanitised the venue. In his sick mind, he dwelt on admired atrocity. The British had been suspected of the bayoneting catholic babies thing! That was impressive to the ex-Stasi man. They knew about Du Brokker. MI6 had a mole in the Stasi! Or was that admirer?

“Amory Du Brokker is in need of further counselling. He seems deluded. As if he has delusions of grandeur about his past. No need for further medication. Just a forum in which he can be confronted. Checked his medical history – no sign of any contracted diseases such as Meningitis (no dermatological symptoms such as red blotches or aversion to bright light) or head trauma which could explain his mental well-being. Possibility he may need revised proscription of Prozac to calm him down further. Anxious not to prescribe Valium as it may lead to addiction. Arrange for Nurse to take blood pressure, swab mouth for a DNA test to determine cultural lineage, take a urine sample. Any information would help! Possibly needs a blood test to check for low cell count, diabetes, Liver function or Septacaemia. Skin has green tinge/mild lesions suggesting possible blood infection or food poisoning(?). Suggested course of action – book into Hospital for further evaluation.”