8. Bastian
Chapter 8
Bastian
I spent the night with Harper. All we did was make love and order room service and talk about our lives. I left out some details, but she shared all. She’s a psychologist in the States and loves what she does, but she’s looking for a new challenge. She credited me with finding out that she wanted that.
She also shared that she has a heart condition and that she takes multiple medications to keep any future issues away. Thankfully the meds were still in her backpack.
Everything seemed perfect, even if she’s imperfect. Not like I can talk.
But this morning the gray skies are reminding me that I have challenges ahead of me today. I need to find Dieter.
Maybe I should go to the police, but then they will take her passport and might not give it back as it’s evidence. And… will they believe me?
I don’t have his number. I vowed to myself when I left the business, I would stay gone. I deleted all their numbers and I tried to forget the past.
That never works.
I hit up the normal hot spots. East Side Gallery. The Holocaust Memorial. Brandenburg Gate. All the iconic monuments, galleries, and museums that bring in unsuspecting and trusting tourists.
Not everyone gets pickpocketed. Only a small percentage, one out of every hundred thousand visitors will have an issue. The risk is small, but it could be smaller.
I start thinking about ways to combat the basis for needing to commit the act. A social system that supports one another. Putting money into a place that they can come and get help. A place for counseling. For access to temporary funds. A plan.
It could work.
I round a corner from the Reichstag and boom! I’m face to face with the person I most want to see, and least want to deal with.
Dieter.
“I was looking for you.”
He throws down a half-smoked cigarette and snuffs it with the tip of his boot. “You found me.”
“I want that passport.” I hope the demand will be enough.
He huffs. “Okay, a thousand euro.”
“No, I want you to just give it to me.”
“And why would I do that?” His gaze never meets mine. He’s always on the lookout his next target.
“I will turn you into the police if you don’t.”
“You don’t have any evidence that I even have it.”
“There are cameras outside of the station, Dieter. You’re going to get caught.”
His gaze lands on someone across the street for longer than I’m comfortable with.
“Listen, Dieter, I can offer you four hundred euros for the passport.”
“Four hundred is fine. Give it…”
“Show me the passport first.”
He opens his coat and there’s not only this one, but four others.
“There’s no value in those.”
“I’ve altered them to accept another picture. I’m good. Better than you.”
I scoff. “Whatever.”
He’s probably right. But it’s a stupid thing to brag about.
“Fine. You’re better than me.”
“Let me see the money.”
I hold it out and we grab each other’s valuable item. “You really should stop, Dieter.”
“What do you care? Just because you could get out, doesn’t mean we all can.”
“You can. I want to help.”
“Just give me the fuckin’ money.”
“Fine. But this isn’t over.”
“Oh, I think it’s plenty over.”
He grabs the money and drops the passport to the ground. I pick it up and when I stand up, he’s gone and there are six police surrounding me.
Oh, fuck.
“Mr. Klein, will you please come with us…”
It was all a set up. To stop me from working with the police. And now they either think I stole the passport or was buying one.
The handcuffs come out and all I can think about is Harper and how much I will have let her down.
Dieter is good.