Literary Competition 2012
Here we present the 2nd place of the Maxi Literature Competition 2012
Where is the guy only?
I wait on a bench in the Botanical Garden and stretch my face towards the sun. I can not shake off the handle of the baby carriage. Sunday park visitors walk by. Some babble, others are silent, heavy-footed tramp, children jump, now and then sand from the sidewalk is whirled up and dustily tingles my bare calves. What is inside the stroller is protected from prying eyes by a mosquito net.
A sleeping baby, what else?
But no!
There could be anything in it, except a living thing. At least that's what I was promised.
I look for a candy in my designer bag, adjust my crop top, rub with a bit of spit the bit of dirt from the shiny leather of my new stilettos. A shadow falls on me. I flinch. A woman, gray-haired and frog-faced, stares into the stroller. She has lifted the tulle fabric.
"There's a doll, " she says indignantly.
I jump up. "What comes to your mind?"
"You never once looked after your child! I've been watching you all the time. "
"So what? What is that any of your business?"
"And nothing bothered me in the stroller, " the old woman quacks. "Weird, is not it? I thought of sudden child death, and ... "
"You probably do not have all the cups in the cupboard!" I urge her away from the car.
But the frog-faced is not done with its mission yet. Before I can stop her, she rips off the quilt that reaches the doll's chin. My astonishment is no less than that of the woman. We both stare into the stroller.
The doll is disembodied.
Below the bald baby's head is instead of the trunk, arms and legs a black, bulging plastic bag. I hastily throw the blanket over it.
"What ...", the old woman starts again, but she is interrupted. Someone calls the codeword.
"Maxie! There is the Maximännchen! "A man rushes towards us. He casually puts his arm around my waist and looks beaming at the doll's head in the stroller. The frog face looks at us open-mouthed and then makes a clear gesture doubting our healthy state of mind.
"Darling, we have to go! Mäxchen's grandma is already waiting, "says the strange guy cheerfully, grabs the stroller and pulls him and me away energetically from the old woman.
"Unheard!", It quacks behind us.
Without a word we leave the park.
"Damn, what's in the bag?", I'd like to ask the guy - he's about forty and has remarkably well-trained arm muscles. But I refuse it.
Because this job is obscure.
I let myself be hired by Mimi Lorenz. Mimi, my fellow student, is Chaotin in the main job. She had to fly to Stockholm this morning urgently. For a "totally important" job I should step in, she implored me, I just have to remember the simple codeword "Mäxchen" and spend a bit of time. Well, I thought, 200 mice in one afternoon are not that easy to earn otherwise.
So I picked up the stroller from an empty garage earlier. There was an envelope with the deposit ready. The rest after order completion, stood on the envelope.
Now I groan beside the guy transpiring Old Town streets up. Only with difficulty can I keep up with him. My feet in sexy stilettos hurt like hell.
After half an eternity, we end up in a backyard. No sunbeam. But above us a bit of inky blue sky shines like the memory of a holiday on the Mediterranean.
"You wait here until I'm back, " determines the man.
He hastily pulls the plastic bag out from under the duvet and stuffs it under the T-shirt, over which he wears a scuffed leather vest. In no time, a stately beer belly bulges under the white cotton fabric. The guy tries to conceal his jacket with the vest.
It looks stupid.
"My money?" I ask.
"Equal. I'll be back soon. Understood? "He looks at me with peanut butter colored eyes.
I do not care about that. Disappear, my instinct tells me. I leave doll's head and baby carriage behind and sneak away.
As I turn around the next corner, I remple against the guy. He moans. His knees give way. Shit! A bullet hole in his back! He tilts to the side. Hallelujah! What now? Terrified, I bend down to him.
He is dead, I believe.
I stare at the wrong belly. With trembling hands I pull out the black bag under the T-shirt and let it disappear in my spacious leather bag.
Fits perfectly.
If it's drugs, I'll go to the police right away so I do not want to have anything to do with it, I swear.
With a racing heart I disappear underground.
There are only a few passengers on the road, who wants to spend their time underground under the wonderful weather? The guy has his own fault, I reassure my - let's be honest - rather weak conscience. I only strap on the stolen bag when the subway starts. A look inside and I can breathe again. No hash, no cocaine or such a ghastly stuff.
The content is very nice to me.
Two days I do not dare from my apartment. In regional news they brought something about the dead guy in the alley. Tobias B., 38, official, has been shot, it is said. From the culprit missing any trace. Tatmotiv unknown.
I'm not worried about this.
"Behave calmly. I'll be back soon ", Mimi advises me by telephone from the Swedish capital.
She has a good talk!
On the third day, I succumb to the temptation to spend a tiny bit of the money in the black bag. € 70, 000 in bills have, in my opinion, found a needy as well as worthy owner. As a reward for the stress of the last few days, I am ordering a deluxe shopping tour. As always, I get into an unrestrained spending spree, spend the money with my own delight, pull it out of the fancy leather wallet that I've done first, and flipping the notes casually on the sales staff on the counter.
In a noble boutique downtown I find great clothes. In the end, I put almost 4, 000 euros cash on the table. It's a mistake to let myself breathe another delicious Prosecco afterwards. When I finally want to leave, I shake a locked door.
"We called the police. They tried to underline us counterfeit money, "says one of the two just now very accommodating sales assistants and throws me a spiteful look.
And then I also get almost a heart Kasper.
"Shit, why are not you dead?" I sink onto a dainty stool.
The man with the peanut butter eyes laughs. The police want to pay me off, but the guy waves off first. He is the boss. A chief commissioner.
"Girl, you screwed up everything, " he says blandly. "Wait, I said! I had a bulletproof vest on. I was just a little bit dizzy, and you just go down with the Caster! "
The words Kripo, Undercover and drug ring rush through my ear canals like excrement, which are carried away by a toilet flush. And the guy looks at me as if I have to get it.
"Why do not the guys pay the right amount of money?" I want to know.
"Well, there are scammers in all industries, girls, " he sighs. "And some look pretty cute too!"
You want to read more about Klaudia Jeske? In 2011 her debut novel "Erben ist mensch" was published. Order here at amazon.de >>
