Berlin 2039: The Reign Of Anarchy by Karsten Krepinsky (smallest ebook reader .txt) 📗

has long stepped out of the shadow of his overpowering and tyrannical father, who did his best to made him feel like a loser. He greets me with a smile. “Hey, look at the maggot we’ve got here,” he says. “The Pusher, what a surprise,” he adds.

“Long time, no see,” I reply.

“How’d you get here?”

“Ask Cem,” I answer.

Selim laughs.

Cem gives me a shove from behind. “Show some respect, Pusher,” he admonishes me.

Selim motions to Cem to keep quiet. “I like this kuffar. Really. You can’t trust him, but his coke is still the best.”

I nod, walking up to the desk to open my briefcase. But Cem yanks it out of my hand. “You know the rules,” he hisses, lifting the lid himself. He takes out three pouches of coke and puts them on the desk.

“You gotta leave me one pack,” I protest.

Selim nods. “Put one back in the case,” he orders Cem.

Cem complies, shuts the case, and returns it to me.

“Why did you have me brought here?” I ask the Babo.

“You know the answer, Pooosher,” Selim drawls.

“Because of this... Templar guy?”

“This fucking Christian pig,” Selim confirms.

“How does it concern you?” I wonder aloud. “So far he’s left your people alone.”

“Oh, he did, didn’t he?” the Babo rages. “And what, may I ask you, will the Imam have to say if the Templar continues to spare us?”

“No idea. You tell me.”

“What do you think? That we’re behind the whole thing, right?”

“Now, aren’t you taking things a bit too far?”

“Do you really believe so?”

“I was in the ’Halal Arena’,” I reply. “The Imam was cursing the Christians and the Jews, not the Turks.”

Selim slams his fist on the table. “Bullshit!” he yells. “You know very well that asshole Bansuri spouts lies as soon as he opens his mouth. Do you really think he believes that the Potatoes did it?”

“Why shouldn’t he?”

“Bullshit!”

“And you really don’t have anything to do with it?” I enquire.

“Are you crazy?”

“Some dead Arabs and a Chechen stiff as treat. Isn’t this the stuff your wet dreams are made of?”

Selim shakes his head, smiling. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind some of Bansuri’s bastards being dead. And that Ramsan’s bought it doesn’t hurt either. The little rat was a real nuisance, ’cause he suspected me and Bakh...” Selim bites down on his lip. He casts an anxious glance at Cem, who relaxes in a chair, smokes a joint, and doesn’t seem to listen.

“What did he suspect?” I probe.

“None of your business, Pusher.” Selim evades my question. “It’s private.”

The door opens to admit a woman, who’s muttering curses under her breath. When she sees me, she quickly pulls her scarf over her head. After this concession to dress code she starts laying it on with a vengeance. “You’re ignoring me!” she accuses the Babo, wildly waving her hands about. “You’re treating me like I’m nothing to you. And at night you... you never touch me.”

“Piss off, Aisha. Dammit,” Selim hisses. “This is a business meeting.”

“I will leave you!” Aisha threatens. “I will go away.”

“Yeah?” the Babo replies. “You must have forgotten what happens to unfaithful wives.”

Aisha breaks out in tears. “I’ll go live with the Potatoes. Outside the Ghetto.”

“And what do you plan to use for money?” Selim sneers.

“I’ll clean houses or wipe the wrinkly asses of old Potatoes, I don’t care. Everything’s better than having to be with you.”

“Do you think it was my idea?” Selim hollers. “Do you honestly think I would have married a slut like you if I had a choice?”

“You… you…,” Aisha sobs. Cem steps up to her from behind, puts his arm around her shoulder, and leads her out of the room.

“It was my father’s wish! Go and complain to him!” Selim calls after her angrily.

“I’ll leave you,” Aisha threatens again. Cem closes the door behind her.

Selim’s shaking his head. “I don’t believe it.”

“Trouble?”

“Never mind.”

“I’m glad to hear so.”

“This won’t leave this room. Got it?” Selim warns me.

“Who should I tell it to?” I reply, feigning boredom.

“Promise?”

“Why did you send for me?” I ignore his question.

“First I need to know if this will stay between you and me,” he insists.

“What’s supposed to stay between you and me?” I pretend not to know what he’s talking about.

Selim smiles. “So we have an understanding.”

“Now, spit it out. What did you want to tell me?”

Selim jams the tip of a dart into the desktop as hard as he can. “If the Templar carries on with his plan, there’ll be a disaster,” he whispers.

“What plan?”

“I didn’t see a connection between the murders at first. There was no reason to. But today, at sunrise, someone left a photo on the doorstep of my club. Cem found it.”

“What was on the photo?”

“I now know who’ll be the next victim.”

He has my full attention. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Allah have mercy with us, if we fail to stop the Templar.” Selim produces a photo from the top drawer of his desk and studies it. “The choice of situations in which people agree to have their picture taken will always remain a mystery to me,” he pensively adds. “They don’t seem to waste a thought on the possibility that they might later be held accountable. That’s how proud they are of what they did. Bunch of idiots!” He passes me the photo. I have to force myself to stay calm, because I don’t want Selim to know how excited I am. Therefore, I try just to take a casual glance at the picture, as if I had more important things on my mind. It’s not easy, I can tell you. Quite difficult, actually. I almost lose control over my features. No wonder, considering what’s on the photo. I hold my breath. A group of fighters’s mugging for the camera with some kind of desert as a backdrop. Wide grins on their faces, they’re waving their Kalashnikovs in the air and seem to be having a great time. In the sand at their feet I can make out a number of