He raises his finger in front of his face, just like my old-school principal.
“Hey! Shut up. Don’t open your big mouth and no sudden moves. You might spook them. Then we’ll load the tiger. And everyone can go their own way in peace. Got it?”
I nod. I can’t resist rolling my eyes, but Arnim doesn’t see it or just ignores it.
“And now pass me the gun from the glove compartment. But make sure to keep it down. They don’t have to see it.
We stand next to each other. More out of habit, or because I think it seems appropriate in this fucked-up situation. And it’s not because I’m freezing that I pull on my hoody and zip it to the top. So the collar goes over my mouth. The doors of the sedan open and three men climb out. Even from a mile away, you could sniff out that two of them are bodyguards. Both have roughly Axel’s build. Or that of the Klitschkos. Well-trimmed bull necks in XXL bulky sweatshirts that barely conceal the mounds of muscle beneath. Professionally inscrutable facial expressions. Two things are immediately noticeable. The first is the guns they’re holding very casually, as if they’re everyday objects, beneath folded hands. The second is their round-framed glasses, which make them look like genetically modified nerds. Those glasses seem so false and completely wrong on these faces. Like a pigsty in a mosque. Or typical neo-Nazi Thor Steinar jackets on left-wing politicians. I don’t know why, but the glasses make me even more nervous than the pistols. The other guy doesn’t look any less strange. Bushy eyebrows like fat caterpillars mark the hard contours of a Slavic face. His slurry-black beard and hair tied in a ponytail don’t fit him at all. As for his nationality, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. He wears an Adidas warm-up jacket and a pair of puffy, gray jogging pants. Matched with highly polished patent-leather shoes. The two mutant nerds position themselves on either side of him. Arnim yanks the envelope stuffed with cash out of his pocket and goes over to him. I can recognize the silhouette of his gun at his waistband beneath the muscle shirt. It’d almost be smarter if I had it. But, on the other hand… I know how to shoot. Done it a couple times. But just for fun and at stationary objects. So maybe it’s better after all that Arnim didn’t entrust me with the gun. I watch as his counterpart comes slightly toward him. They shake hands. They’re talking so quietly I don’t catch the least suggestion of what the conversation’s about. I can distinctly feel the glasses’ gazes on my skin and try not to seem all too interested or even nervous. But my legs are starting to itch, from the feet up, so I’d like to shake them. Arnim holds out the envelope. The guy looks at it for a moment. Why doesn’t he just take it? Arnim’s hand is frozen in the air. Any moment I expect the guy to pull out a pistol and suddenly shoot Arnim in his paunch. Then he finally reaches for the money. I want to cough from the intense coal stench, but I pull myself together. The ponytail guy opens the envelope. It takes a while. My feet are falling asleep. Then he nods and pats Arnim on his relatively toddler-sized arms. He yells something in a language I can’t identify, and suddenly the van’s motor revs. Apparently, someone else is sitting in there. The vehicle turns till it’s pointing its back end toward us. The animal dealer and Arnim shake hands one more time. Then he runs over. Even though it’s walking speed, Arnim throws up his bent arms and takes awkward strides. By his standards, it’s running.
“Heiko, back the wagon up,” he says.
I climb behind the wheel, start the van, and turn it around. While backing up, I watch through the lowered windows, paying attention that no one gets run over. Not that they’d ever think of mowing us down just because I ran over the boss. I hear the cargo doors open, get out, and walk around the car. The fence ignores me completely. For them I’m probably just a henchman. Just like the two steam hammers wearing glasses. The doors of the other vehicles are opened. The heavy, sweet zoo smell of the animal lying there in the back immediately washes over me. The dealer says something to his bodyguards, and they slip out of their Golem posture, put away their guns, and climb into the back. The driver joins us, and installs a ramp. The bodyguards remove the cargo. A reverent gasp escapes from Arnim’s mouth. I’m also at a loss for words. Zoo or no. This here is something very. Very! Different. In a huge crate, where you can see inside only through the bars, there’s a monstrous big cat, unconscious. I’d put it at around a good three meters. It’s lying there with its face on its front paws. Each one of them is as large as my face. It purrs slightly. Even if the purring is understated, and it sounds more like a highly tuned muscle car standing there with its motor running. Its ears flutter like an oversized species of butterfly, and the apparently painted stomach rises and falls calmly. Even the bodyguards seem not to be left cold by the critter, and touch the box only with extreme care. Their boss doesn’t seem to give a rat’s ass, ’cause twice he proudly pats the tiger box with his open hand after his henchmen have lugged it down the ramp. That makes my gonads retreat into the torso. But the tiger continues to doze undisturbed.
The dealer guy laughs and says in a heavy accent, “Sedated.”
“What?” Arnim asks.
“Tranquilized,” I say.
“Here.” The dealer reaches into the trunk and hands Arnim a gun and a small box of cartridges.
“In two hours,” he says and holds up two fingers, “is present.”
“Huh, he’ll be present?” Arnim asks skeptically as he accepts the gift.
“No. ’Present’ means gift,” I say.
The guy looks me up and down sinisterly. Probably doesn’t please him when an employee opens his mouth. The four of us—Arnim, the stiffs with the glasses, and I—heave the tiger box up the ramp and into our van, having first opened the van doors. Puffy pants doesn’t join in. He just looks at his sparkling Rolex and says, “Time. Now go.”
I lock the doors, and Arnim and he shake hands once again.
“Have fun,” he says, and the hair stands up on the back of my neck at the sight of his smile.
The others don’t wait for us to fuck off, just get in their vehicles and peel out. Clods of dirt are thrown into the air as they speed off. We get in and, first of all, an anvil-sized weight falls from my heart. I’m familiar with this from matches. You can set the clock by it. But only now, in that minute, do I notice how amped I am from adrenaline.
“Good job, my boy,” Arnim says, handing me the gun from his waistband, and turns the key. Careful not to touch the trigger, I return the pistol to the glove compartment.
We’ve been back over the border for less than an hour when we hear the scream of sirens from somewhere. I almost rip my arm out rolling down the window.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“Well, where are they? Where are the cops?” Arnim asks.
“No idea, man. I don’t know!” I bark at him and lean out the window.
I look around. The hoodie flies up against the back of my head. I can’t make out anything behind us. In front of us either, of course.
I fall back inside, saying, “Shit! Can’t see nothing. Or are we just paranoid?”
“Nah, my boy. Now listen for once.”
The van’s motor is so loud it’s hard to make out, much less locate another sound. It doesn’t absolutely sound close, but the sirens are definitely not imaginary. The motor roars because Arnim’s given it even more gas.
He prattles, “I’m not going back,” repeating it again and again, till he can’t say anything else.
“What are we gonna do now?” I ask, but don’t get an answer because Arnim is almost biting the steering wheel. “Ah, fuck it!”
I unbuckle and check briefly to see if there are any obstacles or low-hanging signs ahead. Then I hold tight to the window and climb outside, twisting so I’m holding only onto the window going at full speed, with my crotch at roof level so I can better scope around. To our right, the landscape descends into a broad valley full of fields and a couple of villages. There are wooded areas scattered all around. The misty morning light and patches of fog that keep on drifting over obscure the view. But then I see a police car with flashing lights below us on the plain, and even with the rush of air, which whistles coldly in my ears, I can hear the howling sirens. I jump back inside the cab and tell Arnim the cops are heading parallel to us in the valley, but I can’t tell whether they’re chasing us or just happen to be nearby.