I: A New Career In A New Town

II: Dream Life

III: Paintings As Prayers

IV: Late Summer Evening


Rose Crowned Evenings

Moments Of Pure Ashtray

The Personalised Circus

Berlin Undressing

Blind Children On Western Streets

Lucifer Says He Won't See Me


Absentee Note


Christmas Curtains



Swans On The Surface

Girl Smoking On Balcony

Stained Glass Window

Terrible Vision

The Insurance Was WILD

The Sea's Smile

Van Gogh's Lights

The Disappointed Prince


Tectonic Plates

Turkish Pizza

Cuddle Parties

A Night At The Circus

The Catch

Chekhov In Kreuzberg

A Stolen Dress

Two Contract Killers Get Arrested

My Uncle Dick

Death In The Cafe

Performing To The Curtain

Getting Past The Curtain


La Traviata

Babylon Berlin

Living With Samuel Beckett:

An Anti Essay




A Journey Through The Berlin Music Underworld





L had been shown a photo of someone he had to find, which upon viewing, had then promptly been destroyed. They had thrown the photo into the flames and L watched the face burn beyond recognition. Then they all nodded and arrangements were made for his journey from London to Berlin.


S, Seymour and Terrence had outlined the plan to L.

L was to ‘find him, and if not, then at the very least, be him.’ As to what that meant, L wasn’t sure, but he agreed nevertheless, for his own various reasons of course.


Several disguises were discussed. Consider L’s age. Twenty, relatively young, still even a boy. In need of a disguise, however.

L could be an artist type, Seymour said.

A struggling artist type, Terrence added with a chuckle.

He shall find him and find us whatever gold is lurking in that depraved shithole of an underworld, S concluded, quite magnanimously.


Phrases were repeated in a smoke filled office, somewhere south of London.


The year is 2013. The conversations would be interrupted by S’s angry fits of coughing, the playful ringtones of Seymour and Terrence’s phones, the hesitant questions asked by L.


It’s a parachute mission boy, S said, on more than one occasion. Once you’ve crash-landed you can’t use that parachute to fly back. No ties to us until the finished line. Your country loves you and doesn’t know you anymore.

In truth L felt overwhelmed and intimidated by the ambiguity of what he was supposed to achieve, though on an instinctive level, there were actually no doubts in his mind as to whether he should actually do this mission: L believed this was something he was born to do, and he didn’t just think this because of what they had told him (for they had reiterated over and over again that L was simply perfect for the job – they had specifically used the word, perfect), he truly felt that he was destined to find this person and if not, then ultimately become him, and whatever happened afterwards, well, at least he’d have done something of purpose. At least he would have tested the very nature of destiny itself.

L was made to believe in destiny. Perhaps this was what it was and indeed still is all about.


And another thing:

I cannot stress enough how important it is that they never find out why you’re there, S had said in the final meeting. But you have to let the town know you’re there – that’s the only way you’ll find someone like him.


So indeed the mission was a paradox, for how could L keep a low profile whilst simultaneously attracting enough attention to find who he was looking for? And who was he looking for? No name or address was provided, just a capital city teaming with more than five million people. And what did this person look like?


You’ll know him when you see him. Have faith, and be smart. Take your drawing of the photograph with you wherever you go. Courage! Never forget. The people of Berlin can and will help you, if you look in the right places.

What are the right places?

An angry coughing fit, then a voice of reason:

It could be a nightclub, it could be a petrol station for all I know.


S’s concluding thoughts to L were the following:

While this mission may be paradoxical in nature, once the initial leap of faith is taken, once you successfully manage to walk it’s existential tightrope, all will become clear, so much so that the real mission itself will reveal itself to be something else entirely.

Thus, L left for Berlin, and from here can we trace his new career in a new town.






During L’s first weeks, he stayed in hostels, which meant that the nature of this time initially had a very stop-start element to it. Nevertheless, upon arrival, he began learning things about the city. He walked and walked for hours, marvelling at its industrial beauty, how it seemed be in a perpetual state of growth. He walked and walked, and felt that with each footstep, each new street explored, a new part of him was becoming part of the fabric of the city.


His hostel of choice, when rooms were available, was called East Of Eden, located in the eastern part of Kreuzberg, overlooking the canal near the Möckernbrücke. The building was fairly old, with a certain quaint and perhaps even gothic feel to it, maybe due to how it looked right out on to the dark water of the canal.

Upon arrival at the hostel, L was immediately warmly welcomed by Rick, the resident barkeeper and go-to guy of the hostel. He hugged L like an old returning friend, though they of course had never met. Rick had that camaraderie with all the guests, having the ability to make everyone feel that he, Rick the hostel barkeeper, was being that extra friendly for you only. Nevertheless some positivity made L feel more relaxed in his new surroundings. The other hostels he had stayed in had been devoid of personality, where customers of Europe slept in Berlin’s modern industrial looking buildings that called themselves hostels; rooms were shared, but people, young and old, kept to themselves or made light conversation about the wifi, the lockers, the cleaners. L would try to spend as little time as possible in the rooms, feeling more at home amongst the Friedrichshain roads and streets, gazing in and occasionally frequenting the bistro cafes, the crêperies, the punk bars, even the clubs (though L would immediately feel out of place and bored by the wordless music that anaesthetised everyone). East Of Eden felt immediately different: it was a welcoming refuge from the outside world’s flux and disconnected noise and chaos, and until L found his own place, he would try to make this his temporary home. And Rick was so very friendly, though L knew very little about him, save that he was Australian, that he flirted a lot with his Greek colleague Marta (L would find himself longingly entranced by her pretty Latin features and mildly entertained by their playfully camouflaged show of interest in one another, and in fact, L suspected that they were already involved with one another), that Rick also loved Weissbier, which he insisted L drink, no matter what time it was, and indeed L would sometimes protest (he needed breakfast first!), but more often than not gave in and with each sip hoped to impress his first new friend in Berlin.


At East Of Eden, L would meet a puzzling cast of characters of whom he knew he would never see again, and in years to come, he knew he would barely even remember anything about them – they would be as blurred as the vaguely painted faces of a Toulouse Latrec painting (L was toying with the idea of posing as a painter, and had already started doing his research, remembering S’s suggestion of having a disguise as a ‘struggling artist’). There was the middle aged Canadian woman who he shared a six person dorm with for a few nights, who was very friendly, with a distinctively warm and inviting husky voice. She asked him the usual questions, but in a mature way, a person well practiced in the simple class of having manners and also one of those people who give off a warm and controlled aura by their own inner peace, so immersed and excited are they by their travels, almost as if the act of travel was their very own invention, an aura that made L feel lonely, in all honesty. To her inquiries, L showed her his drawing of the photo of the person he was looking for, to which she said in a low voice, ‘you’re a very talented illustrator,’ and then as an after thought, and with a slight smirk, ‘you should meet my daughter.’ This Canadian lady had a habit of standing by the window and gazing thoughtfully at the city lights, the traffic, the trains scuttling above the canal, the stars shining luminously with the onset of warmer nights, the lady smiling so warmly L could almost feel it, wanting to reach out and let her know he could feel it. Then she would fully undress in front of the whole town, revealing bronzed skin and lightly wrinkled skin that L felt went well with the lampshade shadow, and then she would put her nightgown on and read her book, within seconds returning to be a picture of maternal elegance. L would try not to watch her too much and instead he’d pretend to be absorbed in his own book, or he’d stare at his self made photo, or consult his map of Berlin, and take notes thoughtfully, but perhaps also pointlessly, for it was dark and what was he really doing here, and when would he have his own place, and get on with his work, and life, and so on, and so on, and then he’d indulge in strange fantasies…of meeting a rich German girl whose family would pay his way in Berlin, where perhaps he could abandon his obviously impossible task and live well, and be loved, and understood, and try to understand the world around him…


Other guests who shared his dorm included an old man from Libya with tubes in his nose. This Libyan man walked around with a breathing apparatus machine and had to be led around by his son. L said hello and then his son insisted that his father needed rest. Once by the vending machine downstairs, L made small talk with the son, who spoke excellent English. L contemplated showing him the photo but thought better of it, it just didn’t seem right. Then feeling confused at his current situation, L would go out for a while and hurl himself at a dozen city streets in a bid to ‘make contacts’ (why not start work now? It could all help). Yet S had set him up with no one.

There was no ‘Berlin connection’, no clues, save ‘the underworld’ and no contact from now on with S, Seymour or Terrence. So L, despite still in need of properly settling in and securing a room, decided that work in some form, might as well be attempted. During these late night expeditions and evacuations from the hostel, L would wander the cobblestone streets of the surrounding neighbourhood, passing Greek Tavernas, Currywurst stands, lunatics shouting things by the train station entrance, expat musicians busking earnestly; he’d enter empty Arabic bars by mistake, or he’d reside anonymously in the corner of the one or two hiving bars filled with the artier young crowds, L himself feeling shy and devoid of things to say (besides the totally uninteresting fact that he’d just arrived in Berlin). Ultimately these trips proved demoralising and would result in L listlessly ordering late night food, listening to any conversation in his vicinity (out of faint hope for any leads regarding to his mission, but also, if L was honest with himself, out of loneliness and sheer boredom). At the very best, perhaps he would exchange a couple of pleasantries with American tourists similarly lost and looking for somewhere ‘cool’ to hang out. L would come back later and the sick man from Libya would be snoring impossibly loudly due to his illness, his son scrolling through his glowing smartphone screen, no doubt playing a game of some sort, sometimes even having quiet conversations with someone in the dark. The Canadian mother would be asleep, wrapped up in her duvet, and his mind would wander and twist and doubt it all and long for tomorrow’s new dawn that he could already see creeping across the city’s noticeably bereft skyline.

When feeling low, and if the bar was still open, for it was actually open till fairly late, L would sometimes walk downstairs and pass the time with Rick. He’d say things to the barman like, ‘I just want to get started out here,’ to which Rick would reply, ‘it will happen man, it always happens man! It’s Berlin,’ and then they’d drink a Weissbier together, and L would listen to Rick and Marta’s pleasant and humorously meaningless interactions with one another, a sort of late night light flirtatious comedy show. Marta would notice L sometimes staring out into the distance, and she would smile sweetly, stroke his cheek and tell him not to worry so much, that he was just young.




On L’s last morning at East Of Eden, L shared a final coffee with Rick at the bar. The hostel was in full swing, people checking in and out, but the bar itself was relatively quiet, save for a few guests quietly having brunch by the sofa. Before L too finally checked out, he decided to open up to Rick about why he was in Berlin. Why did he do this? Perhaps it was an impulsive last shot in the dark before he walked back out into a world of strangers.

He told Rick that he was looking for someone.

‘Aren’t we all mate?’ Rick said with a grin, and L laughed, and then, after adding one spoon of sugar to his coffee, he then looked at Rick seriously and said,

‘No, Rick, I mean I’m really looking for someone. There’s someone in this city that I’ve been sent to find.’

Rick returned L’s serious stare with one of his own. Was the Australian alarmed? Perhaps. He was most certainly perplexed, and even started frowning.

‘L, I feel for ya buddy. I wish I could help, but I’m just a barman working at a hostel. And I don’t know what you’re on about.’

Then he laughed quite mechanically and pressed the steamer button on the bar’s coffee machine, the hiss of boiling water pouring out into his cup immediately halting the conversation, drowning out any possible attempt by L to explain things further.

Whilst Rick messed around and made noises with the coffee machine, L somewhat cautiously took out his drawing of the photograph and carefully placed it on the bar counter.

‘This is who I’m looking for,’ L said, when all was quiet at the bar again.

Rick sort of chuckled and took a glance at the picture.

‘This is him,’ Rick said to L, as he stared intently and indeed impenetrably at the photo for a few moments. With the photo still in his hands, he then said, ‘And what’s this all about? Who is he?’

L found himself feeling slightly on edge having to finally confide in someone any further as to why he was out here, and didn’t really know where to begin. ‘Well, I was hoping you could tell me, Rick, ‘ he began, in a faux confident tone that then descended into one far more anxious and lost sounding. ‘You seem to know a lot of people in this town. Well at least you must have – met a lot of people, that is. I don’t know who he is, but I have a feeling people in this town may know of him, or that, well, perhaps certain people know of him. Maybe he’s a singer, an actor, I don’t know, maybe even an artist.’ By this point, minute pools of perspiration had started to break out on L’s forehead and he felt himself colouring in confusion, or perhaps even fear, for a certain uneasiness hung about the place as he started speaking about the picture; Rick stood there listening, half distractedly, half intensely, L wasn’t sure, only sure that Rick was watching L’s every word with his eyes and seemingly familiar with it all…or perhaps L was just paranoid and damn tired and needed to finally move into that place of his own, which he would, as of today – that poor sick man coughing last night, I mean, how could one ever get any sleep with all that noise? He longed for a bed of his own. He longed for peaceful and progressive work, productivity, and normality, all of it.

‘An artiste even,’ Rick then said with a smile, and L smiled too, perhaps a little forcefully. Their corresponding smiles then started to strain, for just a fraction of a moment, and then L realised in an instant that Rick was just utterly confused and not really sure what L was on about, or who even L really was (indeed, who am I, when we stop to think about it?) and he breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Take it easy young lad, young L!’ Rick said playfully, and tapped him on the shoulder. L chuckled nervously and nodded.

‘I know, I just need some sleep.’

‘You need a Weissbier, that’s what you need,’ Rick said with a grin.

Rick handed him back his picture.

‘And why is it a drawing? Have you got a photo, or better yet, a name? I don’t get it. You’re working for someone right?’


A brief flicker of self-preservation returned to L, or perhaps a lighter dose of paranoia, something that he felt was in his interests to always keep with him. You see, Rick meant well, but why was he now asking all these questions? Was he working for anyone, Rick had even asked. What was L supposed to say that? Just give the whole game away? Yes, Rick meant well but didn’t need to know everything. Or rather, L didn’t need to be talking too much about these kind of details. He remembered S’s rallying cry of not letting anyone know why he was there, or where he had come from, or who had sent him, take your pick of which maze to head into, of what dense labyrinth to delve blindly down. What was the final destination? A contemporary abyss, or a road to the underground promised land? L fiddled with his coffee and spilt some of it on the bar. Then L simply shook his head, and opted for simplicity, and said quietly and somewhat sympathetically that he just needed to find this person, that it was important for him.

Rick nodded, then disinterestedly served a customer and L took his drawing back from the bar. He sat there on his stool uncomfortably and watched as Rick then selected some form of obnoxiously upbeat house music and lost himself in the rhythm of the triviality of his tasks behind the bar. In a fit of desperation, L then started saying, do you have any suggestions? Perhaps a place where people hang out? An underground type place I figured? Maybe he’s a criminal for all I know. I just…don’t know anyone. But does he not, he looks like someone, no?…of an artistic temperament, maybe a singer, an actor. Oh I don’t know. L’s voice wavered and quivered by the end and he suddenly felt rather hopeless. He was talking too much and it was obvious that it was starting to get on Rick’s nerves. Why couldn’t L just let poor old Rick get on with his job? After this coffee he’d be done with hostels for good and could begin his real persona, rather than this desperate boy bloodthirsty for information. He was actually ready to leave his coffee and evacuate the building, head bowed in his own imagined disgrace, when Rick said, almost as a challenge,

‘Why don’t you go down to Kotti? Maybe someone there knows about your ‘underground man’?’

‘Where’s Kotti?’

Rick was by now feigning to be very busy. ‘Kotti’s Kottbosser Tor. It’s in Kreuzberg. It’s probably the most fucked up area of Berlin. A heroin spot, police, hipsters, expats, gangs, criminals, junkies, you name it. I do love it though. Everyone loves Kotti. I’d go there mate. There you could at least experience some of the real Berlin, and who knows, maybe some crazy guy might con you into thinking he knows the guy in your picture! Haha I’m joking, give it a try. Everyone passes through Kotti at some point in their time out here in Berlin, that’s for sure. It all leads to Kotti – there you go, there’s the start of your book. You should write a book L, about a man…looking for a picture of a man…haha I’m just messing.’

L nodded and listened in awe. He then chuckled. ‘Yeah, sure. Hey, you said, ‘the real Berlin’. What’s that?’

‘Well real Berliners don’t hang out in hostels now do they? Just Aussies like me!’ Rick chuckled, and the warmth returned to his smile, and L felt sad to be leaving the hostel all of the sudden. Nevertheless he finished his coffee promptly and within minutes was on the street heading to Kotti, the awkward final encounter with Rick all but now a distant memory.






Upon arrival at Kotti, L was under no illusions that if anyone knew something about his photo, or drawing, it would be someone here, or at least someone who was somehow connected here. ‘Don’t rush it though’, L told myself. This would just be a scouting operation, for how foolish would it be if he were to blow his cover within weeks?


L, somewhat in a trance, explored the area around Oranienstr, which in itself was a mini metropolis of signs and cultures. Everywhere were signs for burgers, currywurst, Thai, Vietnamese, Fish, Doner, Fallafel, and there were strangely empty Internet cafes and sheesha bars where Turkish men proudly sat outside and observed the street. There were also many arty cafes of a hipster inclination amongst all this, where young freelancers and artists sat immaculately dressed in either in all-in-black minimalist attire, or downright provocative clothing more akin to costumes: at times, L wasn’t quite sure where to look, or where to stop.

Oranienstr was indeed a long road flooded with action and with surprisingly tall buildings and, back then, refugee camps that bordered the platz. The locals were drinking beer for breakfast and L saw several students and artists smoking things besides cigarettes in the morning. Then, amongst all the almost deafening noise of traffic, music and the very streets themselves, something happened to him: L stared up at the street and suddenly felt very positive about his mission; in fact, never would he feel so sure that he would find what he was looking for, then in that moment. L decided that he should take it easy, that this town was more or less a game, and there were simply rules (and showing Australian barmen drawings of someone you were looking for wasn’t one of them). L would have to work his way through the underground. He saw a sign for a solo performance that was taking place in Neukölln in a Hungarian bar that very night and felt compelled to go there. It was all connected. L wrote down the details frantically and with a manic sense of excitement. Cars tooted their horns and someone yelled at him to get out the way of the cycle lanes. Somehow it was all making sense, somehow, despite no real evidence, L felt that certain dots were connecting with each other.


L went deeper into the Kotti area. Proud little bicycles hogged the lanes – to L, everyone seemed to be acting like precocious kids. He saw all the closed punk bars and imagined everyone sitting out on the curbs in the summer drinking till sunrise, making plans, for the day after tomorrow. Then L saw a cameraman that seemed to simply be filming ‘Berlin’ or the street, and he expertly avoided his face being caught on camera, for despite his excitement, he also felt somewhat uneasy, or perhaps the adrenaline of the mission and the reality of it was catching up with him, after being somewhat bogged down in hostels. L then quickened his step as he walked through the Zentrum housing estate, which was quite remarkable in its garishly brutal design. Around were dozens of street types all puffing on cigarettes, both on the ground and staring out the window of their 10 story apartments, hundreds of balconies all with deranged TV ariels sticking out like knife traps.

He then discovered a tiny fish restaurant amongst all this and had his best meal of the trip so far, a fresh salmon soup with a loaf of bread for four euros, whist homeless people and drug addicts circled by like limping spiders, some even approaching him whilst he ate and thrusting out their hands for coins, at which L shook his head nervously.

After his meal, L crossed the street and felt that he’d seen enough. As he made his way through the square by the station, there were protests going on. All he could hear and make out were megaphones, Turks, Arabs and Germans complaining about the state of Berlin or society in general. He saw the word gentrification with a deathly skull attached to it on one huge banner. He then noticed the polizei cars parked nearby but felt no fear for their presence: clearly he had nothing to worry about from them with all this going on, and this was only eleven in the morning.  A couple of gruesome looking hobos nearly bumped into him, and he stared briefly at their rubber faces and dull leather jackets, and the brown bottles of beer they clutched resolutely. L was under no illusions that the place was rife with hard drugs and criminal activity and tried his best not stare at the gutters. He made his way past the fruit and veg markets, the dealers and gangsters cracking jokes and smoking their thin cigars, mumbling incoherent things to him as they did so, and he walked past all this noise and mayhem, and he made his way down Kottbosser Damm, attracted by what seemed to be a bridge in the distance, and it was here that he landed in Neukölln , and where his work truly began.






After dropping his bags at his new sublet apartment on Stuttgarter Str, (the ten minutes or so he spent there such a blur of relief and new beginnings that by the time he left his new place he couldn’t realy remember what it looked like), L immediately began exploring the streets of Neukölln  on foot for several hours.

He found his new surroundings fascinating and felt a mysterious sense of deja-vu. He was almost certain that the person he was looking for had also walked these exact same streets; how long ago he wasn’t sure. He could even have been walking them that very same day for all L knew.

It was by now late afternoon, and L headed into a bar in Weserstr, which on first glance, was ran by somewhat of an eccentric albeit endearing Mexican family. There was a slightly elderly lady, an old man who sat in the back nearly asleep, and then two sons, Tito and Pablo, who energetically moved around the organising things at the bar, squeezing lemon juice, preparing syrup for cocktails, and cleaning ashtrays. As the sky grew dark, the two elderly people, who L presumed to be Tito and Pablo’s parents, nodded at L fondly as a farewell and then spoke in thick Mexican to their sons, and then they kissed their sons and nodded once more at L again.

Tito seemed to be the man in charge. He was perhaps in his early thirties, fairly thick set, had a small pony tail and several tattoos all over his arms. People would walk by on the street and call out his name and say, ‘Hey Tito’, or ‘Hey Pablo’ and they would both say, ‘wassup!’ and then turn the hip hop music even louder, nodding their heads incessantly. Clearly they were local neighbourhood favourites and L was certain that they knew many people around this town, perhaps even the man in his photograph,

Soon Pablo left and the bar was empty save for L and Tito. L sat at the bar and attempted to make small talk, perhaps remarking on the weather. It did not matter; after opening his mouth, Tito became a huge fan of L and proceeded to become fast friends with him. He liked L’s London accent and insisted they drink a shot of Mezcal for London. Tito drummed his hands incessantly on the bar table and his eyes darted about in a frenzy of such restlessness that L figured may not have been natural. Yet Tito was friendly and constantly laughing. Then they also drank a shot because it was soon to be Friday night. L blurted out that he was looking for someone, though not timidly as he had done with Rick, this time actually even quite brazenly, and Tito didn’t flinch or change his smile, and seemed naturally interested.

‘Who that be then?”

‘This guy,’ L said and handed him over the picture.

Tito stared at it whilst bopping his head to the music and then, tapping on the bar counter said, ‘come back tomorrow. My bookkeeper comes back from his holiday and probably knows him.’

L couldn’t believe his luck. ‘Really!’ he almost yelled, unable to hide his excitement, and Tito winked and poured another Mezcal.






By the time L stumbled out of Tito’s bar, he felt full of energy. He had drank four shots of mescal and three beers within a space of an hour and half, and felt blind with confidence. He proceeded to make his way to the concert he had seen advertised at the Hungarian bar, back when he had been blindly wandering the streets of Kotti like a newly arrived refugee – it had been some hours ago but to L it felt like months already – blame it on the shots and beer, but now L felt like a citizen of Berlin, and not just a hostel guest. He even could feel his senses instinctively scouring the streets and all peoples before him, taking information efficiently and with the assurance that things were progressing. You could even say that he walked with a loose drunken happiness, convinced fate was propelling him to early success with his mission, a mission though that now would be somewhat tragic if completed so early, what with such fun out here to be had. Perhaps he’d drag it out a bit. L liked Berlin.


He bought himself a beer from the Späti. Indeed, that’s what everyone seemed to doing out here, no matter what the time, so L did the same and drank in the street with perhaps even a swagger in his stride, excitedly heading to Zone, the name of the Hungarian bar with the live concert he had seen advertised earlier in Kotti that day.

As he left the neon lit hub of Weserstr, the streets grew more dimly lit and empty, save for kids hustling around, setting off firecrackers. The roads now changed from hiving noisy avenues to dark lanes that seemed to all look the same. L found himself walking blindly along a continuous procession of gambling halls, casinos and Turkish bars and internet cafes, with men earnestly working inside, chatting loudly amongst themselves or playing cards. Beggars would walk by and confront L quite desperately for money, and they looked in terrible states but he felt wary of getting his money out around there and getting involved with these people, for L had the notion that everyone seemed to be watching or connected somehow, that the gangsters knew the junkies, and the store owners knew the gangsters, and so on, that least being his thinking. He felt like he was in the less ridiculous and quieter backstage of Kotti, but Neukölln’s darker edges, whilst not as garish, carried with them a lulling sense of foreboding decay just as precarious to any newcomes straying from the confines of their hostel.


Soon L found Zone, which had no sign or name written by the entrance, but it was obvious that this was the place L had been searching for. Upon entrance, Zone initially seemed to disappointedly be just a well lit bar, and L saw no sign of a concert about to take place. L was languidly greeted by a couple of Italian artsy looking guys all dressed in black, who said it was ten euros entrance. L paid the money somewhat confusedly, and they stamped his hand with a ticket with those superior grins and nods.

The bar seemed relatively empty and L walked around, almost alone in this small room that claimed to be a bar, and glanced back at the Italian boys for a confirmation of some sort. Then of course he realised that all the action and music was coming from what must have been a basement or cellar, which now when L concentrated, was clearly concealed through a misplaced cupboard trapdoor. One of the Italian guys grinned and said, ‘downstairs man.’ And L nodded, feeling a rush as he crept through the trap door and headed down the metallic dirty stairs, saying thank you to the Italians, smiling as he imagined himself suavely showing them his drawing later, and heading underground to conflicting sounds of noise and order.


He arrived in what seemed to be a narrow though long basement of different rooms and chambers. It was dimly lit save for neon signs that advertised rooms or places that turned out to be falsely labelled, such as ‘conference room’ or ‘staff only.’ In one room people were playing Ping-Pong, in another, a middle-aged man was singing in an American cowboy accent. He was surrounded by a dozen or so revellers. L listened, and quickly gathered that the man in the cowboy hat was singing a song about Berlin. With a heavy southern drawl, he’d croon, ‘First we take Manhattan, than we take Berlin’, the rest L couldn’t make out, though he presumed it was a cover, seeing as a couple of people were warmly singing a long or nodding with impressed familiarity.

Then L had to pass through another corridor that divided itself into two sections. First there was a dark room where L could distantly make out that people were openly caressing each other, one of two even going beyond that, whilst others that L passed were talking to each other in broken English accents with wide eyed animation, huddled together in secret. L then proceeded to a second and much larger room, and was confronted by what seemed to be a 70’s porn film, or at least a projector showing an old movie with a man and a woman listlessly and almost mechanically doing one another over and over again, and in this room, as the movie played, thirty or so more or less naked people were sitting and watching with what appeared to L to be bored petulance, rolling cigarettes and laughing occasionally. ‘Do you still believe in sex?’ Someone, his eyes wide eyed and almost rolling, blurted at L, and a couple of the onlookers laughed. Then he said, ‘Do you still believe in fucking?’ L ignored the man and walked on. He didn’t understand what was going on: everything ‘seemed’ to be something it wasn’t, almost on purpose. ‘Fucking is love,’ the man was saying with a slur, and by now some of the onlookers were trying to get him to be quiet. L then asked the nearest person where the Hungarian concert was taking place, and the person pointed to a door with a ‘fire escape’ sign on it but with ‘fire’ crossed out.

L walked through the ‘Escape’ door, and after walking down a lowly lit corridor for about a minute, soon found that it was as if he was now in a whole different place, even wilder in design and aesthetic than the basement labyrinth he had just navigated through.

Suddenly the ceilings grew to almost preposterous heights, and a band was playing on a stage in the distance. L studied his surroundings and could only liken it to an underground airport hanger, or some sort of abandoned military airbase, almost turned upside down and taken over by mayhem. The hall was filled with perhaps more than five hundred people, maybe a thousand, of varying ages, simultaneously watching the show, partying, posing, but most distinctly, at least as far as L was concerned, by simply being there, these people were all part of an even bigger show.






Somewhat bewildered, L headed to the bar to order a drink.

‘What’s the name of the band?’ L asked, to which the barmaid stared at him and then served someone else.

‘They’re called Escape From Berlin,’ the man next to L said, somewhat mischievously, and then burst out laughing.

L laughed too, confused.

‘But they’re from Brooklyn or some shit!’ he added, incredulously. ‘Maybe they’re telling us that we all need to escape from Berlin! Har har har!’

L laughed.

‘I’m Cagey’, the man said, and offered out his hand. ‘Don’t worry about her,’ he said, motioning with his eyes to the barmaid, ‘it’s a German thing…har har har!’

He then glanced around mischievously again to see if anyone had heard and then murmured to L, ‘I don’t care, it’s the truth, Germans, you know, they’re like that…’

L nodded, trying to keep up. Cagey was dressed in a wild flowered sixties style shirt and had a punk leather jacket on that looked as if it had seen a few hard living winters. He had dyed black hair that was slightly receding which he combed back every now and then with his hands. L reckoned he must have been at least forty years old.

Then L glanced at the band, Escape From Berlin, which consisted of four people. They were made up of an immediately striking and beautiful female singer, and to her left, another woman wearing reading glasses, earnestly playing synths. To the singer’s right was a man with round sunglasses, covered in tattoos, working on a laptop, and behind her was an effeminate young man playing drums with an ironic smile, but it was the singer L concentrated on, almost staring in a trance, and temporarily even forgetting where he was.

She had short dyed red hair cut in what seemed to be a ‘retro’ style from the sixties, complete with an almost provocatively styled fringe, and she wore shiny silver trousers, with matching boots, and a leopard print shirt that swung loosely around her as she moved. As not much of a musical connoisseur, (L preferred films), he couldn’t understand much about her music, (her vocals and indeed all of the music being played was almost completely drenched in reverb) but it somehow reminded him aesthetically of Blade Runner, one of L’s favourites, so L decided that he loved it; that he loved her; and it was clear that the people in the club also loved her; and he loved them too; and they all floated in a trance to her voice that sounded almost as if they were coming from out of space.

L snapped out of his trance to find the Cagey character grinning at L knowingly.

‘She’s gotcha!’ He said, and L laughed.

‘What’s her name?’

Cagey puffed on his elaborately designed electronic cigarette.

‘She’s called Anita. Anita Haag.’

‘I’m L,’ L said.

‘Nice to meet ya, L. How do you spell that? Is it like the French pronoun, or is it just a letter?’

‘I believe it’s just a letter,’ L said innocently.

‘That’s cool,’ Cagey said, nodding and thoughtfully smoking his electronic cigarette.

‘What ya doing in town kid?’ He asked, stroking back his hair.

‘Oh you know,’ L said, swigging his beer and trying to blend in. ‘I just got here, from London.’

‘And ya picked a good time for it too. Man I love Berlin in the summer, Berlin in the spring…It’s a brilliant place when the sun’s out. I come from South Dakota, so we go back there every winter. Berlin winters…you don’t wanna know man, wait till you have your first.’

Cagey then gestured at Escape From Berlin and said, ‘I played bass on the original recording of this track. It’s like her hit, or ‘their hit’ should I say – don’t want to belittle the band now eh! Har har! Yeah Anita’s great. She used to do sweet folky stuff, real trippy stuff with French lyrics and shit. You should have seen her three or four years back. A real virginial princess, you know? You like princesses? (L laughed) Yeah..,and then she fell in love with Ricky – you met Ricky yet? No? Ricky Joyless. He’s probably here tonight (At least I saw some of his cronies, hangin’ out back). Yeah, now she’s a bit of a wreck. I mean, she looks great, she sings great, but… - and she’s a great…person , don’t get me wrong (seriously, one of the most warm hearted people you’ll ever meet). But yeah, I dunno, even the music. She’s a bit fucked up, you know? I mean so am I, we’re all a bit fucked up (Cagey ordered a drink in a strange German accent to the barmaid that made L chuckle to himself), but there’s like a death…thing about her now. Big into drugs, (hey, I dabble, but Anita’s with the wrong people, that’s for sure). Mainly Ricky’s fault, (but keep that between us – even though everyone know’s it). He’s trouble if I ever saw it.’

‘Oh yeah? How so?’

Cagey’s face suddenly changed and he looked around and then said, in a dramatic, conspiratorial tone: ‘There’s something going on.’

‘What’s going on?’

Cagey looked around again, disagreed with himself a few times, and then said, ‘okay,’ and began talking in an excited tone.

‘It’s hard to make sense of it, to understand it. And it’s weird how musicians now are getting caught up in this kind of… all right let me start again, har har har! Excuse me. So there’s people going missing, and guys walking around asking about people. Ricky’s made friends with the wrong people and owes them big. Like I’m talking big fucking money. Something about favours. And a lost guy, boy (artist or some sort), who disappeared, and yeah, whoever finds him, there’s a ransom being set up or something. But that’s just one kinda…dimension to the sheer labrynthian (is that a word?) underground maze that runs out here.  I mean, kid, look around this place (L looked around). Do you think this is all for show? You think it’s just hipsters from New York and London who run the new Berlin culture, the clubs and bars and endless new shit that the city is more or less spitting out everyday? Certain people that we’ll never really get to even see are arriving en masse and yeah, they see the cash, and sure, they don’t care if they have to stain it with blood, you know what I mean? Stain it with this modern fucked up system, a way of thinking, not even blood, though sure that’s connected. Blood and dust, that’s all you’ll find in this underworld, L. This scene. Most of it’s already stained with blood, so what’s the difference! har har har! But hey, there’s enough blood and dust that can be found in any wall of Berlin that goes back lifetimes before you and I stumbled off the plane, you know what I mean? The real people behind all this you don’t know, I don’t know, no one knows, but some people do know, or, there’s rumours. The odd name. Faces. Then they disappear with the dust, with the blood. The people you do see are gangsters, dealers, musicians, sometimes people who are all three of these things at the same time! Like charracters in a play, puppets on a string. Har har! Or the old guard. Cos it’s just old German fucks, old Berliner dudes, and everyone knows they don’t have that much money, maybe some of the wise cats who bought property back in the nineties do (now look at them). People used to say, there’s no money in Berlin. No economy. That’s changing faster than Anita’s next powerchord, believe you me! I heard there’s a guy who owns half of Friedrichschain and half of the most famous clubs in Berlin, and by association, the world. It’s a monopoly board out here kid, disguised as a playground. Simply being a musician in this town aint like it is in the old days, but that’s another topic and the lord knows there’s enough rants about social media going on tonight all over the goddam continent by drunker and more cynical fucks than me (but hey, I actually like social media! Har har!). There’s just a lot of angles. You got all kinds of new people walking these streets and sizing it up, it’s like a secret war going on, that aint even kicked off yet, but don’t worry, it will, and soon too. I mean imminently. That’s why I’m moving to Athens, man. ”

Cagey paused for a moment, then nodded, and then said, almost embarrassedly, ‘sorry, that all got away from me a bit at the end there,’ and then cracked up in laughter once more. L pretended to calmly take all this information in.

‘Ricky Joyless,’ he said with a wry smile.

‘Yeah, Ricky,’ Cagey said, puffing on his electronic cigarette. ‘If he aint here tonight, then he’ll be here another night and I’m sure you’ll quickly work out that he aint simply just a hip musician dude from Australia.’

‘He’s Australian?’

‘And he drinks like a fish!’ Cagey said, almost as a joke. ‘Don’t go drinking with him kid, I did and ended up nearly losing a tooth.”


“That’s a long story, but let’s just say it was something to do with a disagreement over ‘grunge’).’ He dragged on his electronic cigarette passionately now, seeming to be once more flabbergasted about the incident he just spoke off.

‘And they’re no longer together? What does he do?’ L asked.

Cagey drank his beer. ‘He’s like, the main man around here, you know, a real rockstar dude. What an asshole, har har! I think he even owns a stake in this club. Bit of a gangster too. Bit of a nasty piece of work in general. The great ones always are though, right? I mean look at the Stones. Anyway, are they still together? Who, the Stones? Har har har! Yes they are, I saw them last month in Munich. I’m fooling around. Ricky and Anita. Yeah I believe they were engaged. I think they’re back together again. They’re always like that. On and off, on and off. I’ve had relationships like that. They’re tough to leave. They’re a real ‘it’ couple though, you know what I mean? Aint that fucking horrible! Har har har!’ Cagey thought for a moment. ‘Anyway, it’s their business, I shouldn’t be telling you about this, but hey, most people around here hang off their every word. Especially Ricky, he kinda run things around here. I’m just a tourist,’ Cagey said, winking, ‘I have my good time then get the fuck out of here and go back to South Dakota, with my wife and kid.’

L listened and throughout Cagey’s stories watched the band, or more specifically, he watched Anita.

 ‘How do you know about this place anyway?’ Cagey asked, then added, ‘if you don’t mind me asking, that is.’

L couldn’t think of an answer and decided to be honest and said, ‘I saw a poster for a concert in a Hungarian bar in Kotti, and ended up here.’

Cagey cracked up with more ‘har har har’s’. ‘No way ! You Hungarian?’

‘No,’ L said.

Cagey nodded. ‘Please lead me to this Hungarian bar though, that sounds great! Hungarians huh? Now they’re a handful. But they’re great. I had a Hungarian ex one, a real, real…a handful let’s say, Har Har Har! But that fire,’ Cagey said, moving his hands around and widening his eyes. ‘It’s great for sex.’

Then they both laughed and Cagey said, ‘Anyway, it’s great. It’s great that you made it over here anyway. Welcome to Berlin. (then in a heavy German accent) Herzlich willkommen, as if any locals are gonna tell you that! Har har har!’

‘Yeah, this place is like nothing I’ve seen.’

‘I love it,’ Cagey said. ‘I use to live here. Used to sleep by the big fireplace.’ Cagey then blinked a few times, and said, ‘you know the big fireplace?’

L hadn’t seen it but nodded somewhat reassuringly.

Then they watched the band for a moment.

‘She is incredible, though,’ L said wistfully.

Cagey cracked up. ‘Tell me something I don’t know man! Yeah she’s a real trip, that’s for sure.’

‘You know her personally?’

Cagey thought for a moment, and then said, ‘Yeah, sure. We party together (when Ricky’s not around), har har har! He goes on tour a lot, she’s like, she’s like a sister, you know? A younger sister. I could be her father, man.’

Cagey continued. ‘But I never tell my wife I’m going to her gigs, ‘cos she knows what Anita’s like too. Heck, I never tell my wife anything anymore, har har har!’

‘You make music too?’ Cagey then asked.

‘No, I’m just a fan. I appreciate music. I appreciate artists,’ L said, simply and honestly.

‘Ah, right on.’

‘What about you?’

‘Yeah, in various bands and projects. Play bass, drums, guitar. Sometimes all at the same time! Man I should be drunker than this. My wife’s got the kid and they’re at her father’s. What do you want, L? I’m buying.’

‘I don’t mind, a beer?’

“Na come on, what would you like? Something special?”

L smiled. ‘Well, I was in a bar earlier, and this guy, Tito, he gave me loads of Mezcal, you ever had that? It’s like Tequila, but-’

‘Ah Tito! And his crazy brother Paolo. Yeah I know those guys (fucking maniacs I’ll tell you that!). But yeah Mezkal, sure. That stuff’ll get you going, that’s for sure. Why don’t we have one now?’


Cagey and L drank the Mezcal and then watched the rest of the band closer from the audience. By now L knew he was drunk. He knew talking to Cagey had been revelatory and that business about people disappearing, about a ransom, and about someone lost was very interesting information indeed, so he consciously stored it in his brain and felt the best policy was to keep up this happy go lucky act and go further down the rabbit hole. Cagey was endearing, if not a loose cannon and someone who spoke a lot; what was true and what were the words of a rambling man from Texas, L couldn’t safely say. It was all a muddle, yet L was certain he was in the right place, and among the right people. The mission could be over within a week. L felt like celebrating. Tomorrow he would meet Tito’s book keeper, who would no doubt confirm Cagey’s ramblings and then (most likely at a price) lead him to wherever the man in the photograph lived. L moved his head in rhythm to the industrial spaced out music, and watched Anita provocatively incite the crowd by strolling by the edge of the stage, and grinning madly at each corner of the front row. And L was not feeling out of his depth in the slightest, which was strange and was perhaps the most intoxicating part of the night for him. Normally, in nightclubs in and with people like Cagey, L would have felt completely out of place, yet something about tonight had changed in him. He looked around and felt that everyone around him accepted him for who he was. And why would they not? Like them, he had come to Berlin with a goal, a mission, and here he was gloriously losing himself with them, joining their ranks and channelling their own desire, which seemed to be a strong and concerted will to procrastinate, effortlessly, darkly and impossibly, throwing all their practical aims and projects onto a tightrope, a rope bridge that could and hopefully would fall down with everyone and everything into the depths that they all danced above. As the music played, he heard a thought in his mind ask himself, Who am I? and no thought answered back: he positively didn’t know. ‘You’re here on behalf of S to find him.’ He sipped his beer. ‘And if not, be him’. L chuckled at this and as he longingly stared at Anita, he felt himself falling through a soft, elegantly arranged spider’s web, and some nilhilistic part of him embraced this web, and it seemed to spread L on all fours, impatient for the ceremony to begin. Essentially, L was drunk and lost in Zone, but he strangely decided he didn’t mind what would happen in Berlin, with his life, with his work, at least, for the time being.


Anita’s concert was winding down. Cagey tapped L on the shoulder and said,  ‘hey, you have any speed?’

To this L replied casually, ‘not on me tonight man,’ and Cagey laughed and patted him on the back and L laughed too. They nevertheless went to the bathroom and in the urinals spoke more about Anita.

‘Anita is, is incredible,’ L said.

Cagey laughed. ‘Yeah I know, you said that when I met ya! Hey I say we go hang out with her. I’ll introduce you if you like.’

‘That would be awesome,’ L said, feeling suddenly nervous.

Cagey fooled around in front of the mirror, slapping water onto his face and cracking up about something. He then put on an Elvis rockabilly voice and said, ‘you ready cats?’ L stared at himself in the mirror too. In the neon light he couldn’t really make out anything but he seemed to have a nonchalant glint in his eye that surprised him. ‘Ready’, L said.






Cagey and L then returned to their place at the bar, where Anita was now residing with a fur coat that made her look like an exotic bird.

She turned around and upon seeing Cagey and L, smiled warmly and said, ‘Cagey! How are you my darling,’ kissing him on each cheek and then pinching him on the nose.

‘I’m doin’, Cagey said. ‘How are you? That was a great show by the way. Hey this is L.’

‘Thank you my darling,’ she then turned to L, and accepted L’s hand as if it were a precious stone. She pretended to be shy as she shook it, and in a low voice said, ‘Hi L. How do you do?’

‘I’m doin’ too. Great show, you’re a real, great, great performer. I thought it was great. Incredible, even.’

She smiled and her eyes narrowed mischievously. Up close, L found her almost devastating: she was suddenly a lot more fragile. There was an almost child like vulnerability that took refuge behind flashy gestures and that sing-song voice she used in conversation.

‘Why thank you, L’, she was saying, ‘But if it’s one thing I’ve learnt in this town, it’s that we’re all performing one way or another…Do you perform L? And are you performing now?’

L just nodded as Anita held his eye contact. He broke it and felt very out of his depth.

‘L likes Mezkal,’ Cagey blurted out, then did his laugh.

‘Is this true, L?’

L smiled embarrassedly. ‘As of today, like your music, I’m an avid fan of Mezcal.’

Anita then pinched L gently on the nose and then said to Cagey, whilst still smiling at L, ‘Oh, isn’t he sweet? You’re like a lost new puppy in town, am I right Cage?’

Cagey cracked up, and L laughed too, bizarrely nodding. Cagey then took a swig of beer and nonchalantly said, ‘he’s a charming guy, what are you gonna do?’

‘What are we gonna do L?’ Anita said.

By now Anita’s effortless flirting and teasing with L had made him colour with embarrassment, so he said, ‘I say we drink Mezcal.’

Cagey laughed. So did Anita.

‘That’s just what I was thinking,’ Cagey said and Anita smiled at L one last time, in that cat like trance way of hers.

‘Hows tricks?’ Cagey asked her, as he ordered the drinks.

Anita stole a moment to check her makeup. ‘Tricks? I thought you said how’s Ricky? Better ask him, not me.’

‘You guys aint talking?’

‘You know Rick?’ L asked, thinking of his Australian barkeeper friend at the hostel, though neither responded, and then L heard Anita say, in a sudden sad and faraway tone, ‘Not good, just not good.’

Then the shots arrived. Anita said ‘yayyy’ like a sweet child and then whispered something in Cagey’s ear, which Cagey said, ‘Na I don’t have anything either, but we can sort that out,’ and then raised his eyebrows mischievously with a grin.

Then Cagey lifted his glass,, and Anita and L followed, and Cagey simply said, ‘the night is young’, and they all downed the Mezcal. Cagey then went to make a phone call.

Anita then said into L’s ear, ‘Come on, let’s find somewhere to sit. We need to talk,’ and then she took L by the hand and they found a quiet booth, which had an old looking black leather sofa and a coffee table with an Oriental design. A broken looking piano resided in the corner.

They sat closely together, and Anita stared at L expectantly, her head resting on her hands. Then suddenly she smiled to herself, as if she had been here before and knew what would happen next.

‘So, what’s the story L. That’s a strange name too. I wish I could simply be called by a letter.’

‘I arrived here a few weeks ago,’ L began. He then said, ‘I’m like an alien whose crashlanded, I know nothing,’ adopting a bizarre act quite unfamiliar to him, perhaps to appeal to Antia’s ambiguous, wilder, artistic side. It seemed to work, she smiled, in a trance.

‘What a nice London accent you have L.’

‘Thanks... Where are you from?’

Anita’s smile evaporated, and she then spoke in a bored monotone, as if she was reciting a list.

‘Brooklyn. Moved here four years ago. I’m a rock n roll singer, L, how dreadful does that sound? And I make money! I have a booking agent, and I have tens of thousands of followers, who like photos of me in restaurants. This is what I have become. It’s awful. I’m awful. I just came back from tour. Tour life. Horrid. It’s awful. We were in Austria, Serbia, Poland, and even in Croatia of all places. Bla bla bla, boring.’

She lit a cigarette. ‘I suppose you make music too? Everyone makes music in this town these days, I’m sick of it.’ Anita smoked petulantly for a moment, having somehow briefly upset herself, and then within seconds, the lazy cat smile returned and L didn’t know what to say. He decided to just look at her, which she found amusing.

‘You know there’s something familiar about you, L. I haven’t quite worked you out, but don’t you worry, I will.’






L woke up the following morning in a place unfamiliar to him. For a while he had absolutely no idea where he was.

He began to retrace his steps. The rest of the night was a blur of moments that seemed to be out of sync with one another, and L’s task now was placing them in order. Anita and L had shared a kiss on a black leather sofa – this had been the defining moment of L’s night, the pinnacle from which he had fallen from quite spectacularly. He remembered the pink and blue neon lightbulbs that then began flashing above everyone on the high ceilings, and how Anita’s face changed quite magnificently with the colours. He remembered that they had kissed quite passionately, that Anita embraced him almost as if her life depended on it, sitting on his legs, her hands wrapped around his hair. Then things got tricky. A couple of people stood by L and Anita and said something sarcastic to Anita. Anita ignored them but then two guys started taking photos or filming a video on their phones of Anita and L wrapped up together on the sofa. To this Anita said, ‘fuck off, fuck off, fuck off.’ This also made L panic. He got very angry with them, standing up as if he was about to do something. He remembered how the two guys (he couldn’t remember what they really looked like), just stood smiling, unimpressed, and Anita trying to calm him down and making him sit down again. The two guys had put their phones away at this point, and left the scene casually, smiling sinisterly at L and saying, ‘Ciao Anita’, and laughing to themselves. Anita herself didn’t care in the slightest, saying that her boyfriend (who L didn’t need to know about, and who she wasn’t really with anymore) employed ‘Italian techno dude’ spies on her, and that she found the whole thing funny. Their job apparently was to hang out at clubs or at bars throughout the week in the hope of spotting Anita. For their services he kept them well paid with speed and ketamine apparently. She then told L to open his mouth and she placed something on his tongue, and then smiled cheekily. As it melted, L asked what it was and Anita said, ‘just enjoy.’ Then things got blurry. L became very talkative, affectionate, forgetful, and very high. He told Anita that he was looking for someone, and perhaps even that he was here on a mission. She listened abstractly and only nodded occasionally, in what appeared to L to be some kind of feline and contented trance. L remembered things becoming quite abstract, and that the act of speaking became a heavy process, almost physically exhausting. He showed her the photo and remembered her saying, ‘he looks nice, is that you?’ and then laughing, and her face blurring into three or four different Anitas. It was here that L then suddenly had a great moment of realisation that he was out of it and not longer in control of himself, his heart racing as he felt the need to articulate every thought that came to his mind. Cagey turned up again and Anita said, ‘yayy’, and Cagey said, ‘lets go cats.’. L said he’d be right back and went to get some water, but everything started spinning. Then he was in the bathroom with them, and then Cagey and Anita ran back into the hangar, and L threw up in the bathroom and knew that he had to head home, and he remembered thinking that it would be for the good of the mission, the job, and then he remembered that perhaps he was even telling other people this as he left. L tried to look for Cagey and Anita upon leaving but they disappeared somewhere together, and L didn’t feel too good and wanted to just get home. He faintly recalled wandering around the local streets somewhat lost for maybe minutes, maybe hours. To his surprise he then saw Anita striding towards him, alone, walking loudly with her clattering shoes, with tears in her eyes, and she grabbed L and must have said something like, ‘come on, let’s go’, and L hailed a cab and then they stumbled in, and L kept the window down, let the fresh air hit his face and tried not to throw up in the cab. That’s when he couldn’t remember anything more, just vague touches and movement in the early dawn of Anita’s room that he probably must have loved.





Then L got out of bed. He called out Anita’s name, but there was no answer. He walked around and checked the flat. Anita clearly lived with a couple of other people, but they weren’t in either. He poured some tap water from the sink and then returned to the room, muttering to himself that he felt hungover, wrecked. He stood on Anita’s balcony, and found himself looking out to a pleasant, very modern courtyard. Rent here was clearly expensive. L tried to remember where they had driven too, but had no idea.


L decided to explore Anita’s room. It was a large space, relatively empty, somewhat minimal in design. L found himself going through Anita’s bedside drawer. Here he found lots of small objects, paraphernalia of some kind. There were also polaroids of Anita and a man together; Anita and the man with friends at a party, Anita and the man about to kiss, Anita and the man having sex, Anita and the man on the beach in haiwain shirts. L stared at the face of the man. It had bleached blonde hair, and a mischievous, child like grin. Something about his face unsettled L, it was those childish, almost cruel eyes, glinting and almost mocking with indifference.

The rest of the room looked like the room of someone who didn’t stay there a lot. He found a note on the dresser, and which read,


Dear L / crash landed alien,


Am at studio. I have your number, and will be in touch.

Wake up you sleepy head!


A xx


He smiled. He remembered that he had described himself as an alien and laughed at his pretentiousness.

Then he heard a door open and L realised someone had just entered the house.

Instead of bursting into the kitchen and frightening whoever had just arrived (he was after all, a stranger in somebody else’s home), L decided to let the person know he was here by saying, somewhat hesitantly, ‘hello? I’m a friend of Anita’s…’


Before he entered the kitchen, he heard a familiar voice say, ‘Aren’t we all mate,’ and L couldn’t believe it when he found himself staring at Rick, from East Of Eden.


‘Look who it is!’ Rick said, but not offering his hand, simply standing there.

‘Someone had a good night then!’

L nodded, confusedly. He was in his underwear and not wearing a shirt. ‘We were at Zone…Anita let me stay.’

‘I bet she did,’ Rick said, winking. ‘You know she’s got a boyfriend mate?’

L looked down at the ground.

‘Old Ricky Joyless,’ Rick said, taking some apple juice out of the fridge, and adopting a faraway tone. ‘Friend of mine actually.’

‘Nothing happened,’ L said, quite suddenly. ‘She just let me stay, I was so wasted.’

‘Wasted, eh?’ Rick said, grinning. ‘I don’t care what you do mate. It’s a free world we live in. Anita already texted me to say that she an old friend of hers had stayed round. I guess that old friend must be you, L!’

L nodded.

‘But old Ricky,’ Rick was saying whilst moving around and opening cupboards and cleaning glasses, (like he had done back at East Of Eden, L thought), ‘he’s…well, I don’t think he’d be too happy if he saw you in Anita’s kitchen right now, let me put it that way. He’s known to…lose his temper.’

L nodded. ‘You live here with Anita, Rick?’

‘I sure do,’ Rick said. ‘She’s not round so often, though.’ His phone then went and he proceeded to have a playful conversation with someone. L guessed it was Marta.

L then hurried back to the room and got dressed. He checked the time and realised he had to hurry, remembering his meeting with Tito’s bookkeeper.

He returned to the kitchen, to find Rick eating humus at the kitchen table and working on his laptop.

‘So I’m going to head off now,’ L said.

Rick nodded. He smiled at L. Some sort of agreement was forming. L guessed the agreement was that Rick probably wouldn’t say anything to whoever this Ricky Joyless character was, but that he no longer cared for L, and maybe, he never had in the first place.

L nodded.

‘Bye Rick,’ L said, and walked out the door.

‘Hey L,’ Rick said.

‘Yes, Rick?’

‘Any luck finding that guy yet?’

‘Not yet,’ L said. ‘But for some reason I think I’m very close.’

Rick then smiled knowingly, and nonchalantly ate some pitta and hummus.

‘Everyone knows everyone in this town’, Rick said.

L nodded and walked out of the apartment.

As he left the building he passed Marta in the hallway, but she was on her phone and didn’t seem to recognise L, much to his relief.







L arrived at Tito’s bar for the meeting with the bookkeeper somewhat late and dishevelled.

It was a humid, sticky afternoon and the bar was half full.

Tito was sat outside on the seats that faced the street, and greeted L like a brother, saying ‘wassup’ and giving him a hug. ‘Mezcal?’ he said jokingly, and they both laughed and L felt somewhat relaxed again, putting the bizarre encounter with Rick to the back of his mind.

He then introduced L to the two people he was sat with.

‘Ralph, this is L; L, Ralph. And this is Ralph’s friend, Boris.’

‘How do you do L?’ Ralph said quietly with a smile. The other man, Boris just nodded serenely.

L guessed that Ralph was in his forties. He had a distinctive brown pony tail, and wore a long, rusty looking leather jacket that was also brown and must have been at least twenty years old. His teeth were brown too, stained by cigarettes. He had a small beard and seemed to be quite thin. He didn’t look like a lawyer or a book keeper.

Boris was quite the contrast. He was wearing a slim fitting grey suit with a white shirt, looked to be in his early thirties and his skin was fresh looking. He was immaculately clean shaved, his greyish brown hair slicked back, and his eyes, also grey, were somehow effeminate, yet when he smiled, his whole persona became almost devilish, and his eyes seemed to grow darker. The overall effect L found quite concerning, and so he consciously tried to avoid eye contact with Ralph’s friend whenever he could.

‘Tito tells me you’re looking for someone,’ Ralph said, raising his eyebrows, awaiting confirmation.

‘Yes,’ L said. ‘I’m looking for this man.’ He took out his drawing of the photograph and placed it on the table.

Ralph glanced at the drawing and then let it rest on the table. He lit a cigarette quite irritably. The street was noisy and he glanced at the people walking by impatiently. Boris smiled at the drawing and then at L.

Tito approached their table and said, ‘Drinks?!’

‘Yes Tito, I’ll take a Duvell,’ Ralph said. ‘Boris?’

‘Iced tea,’ Boris said softly.

‘And Mr L?’ Tito asked playfully.

‘I’ll have a lemonade please,’ L said.

Tito went away to make the drinks.

Ralph then leaned closer and said to L. ‘You know Tito’s a great guy. A great man.’

L nodded.

‘You know, when he first started this place, the street was nothing. He really galvanised the area, if you ask me.’ L listened carefully and the thought came to his mind that maybe Ralph had already been drinking for a few hours. There was a somewhat emotional slur that made L wonder whether this meeting was going anywhere.

‘Boris, do you agree?’

Boris nodded. ‘I do.’

Ralph smiled and dragged on his cigarette. ‘Boris is one of the best doctors in Berlin. And a lovely client.’

Boris smiled, almost bashfully.

‘And with a lovely bride to be!’ Ralph said, again with the emotional slur. L noticed that it wasn’t actually a slur, and that Ralph probably hadn’t been drinking already: it was actually a distinct feeling of being uncomfortable in saying something nice that manifested itself in Ralph’s speech that made L feel uncomfortable.

‘I hope so,’ Boris said.

‘Congratulations,’ L said.

‘You live around here, L?’ Ralph asked.

‘I just moved into a place on Stutgarderstr, down the road,’ L said.

‘Ah yes, Stutgarder.’ Ralph nodded knowingly and ambiguously, leaving L to wonder if Ralph approved of Stutgarderstr or not.

Ralph then looked again at the photo. ‘Your drawing,’ he said, stubbing out his rolled up cigarette, ‘makes no sense.’

There was a pause. There was no more emotion in Ralph’s voice. Now it was just business. Tito returned with the drinks and Ralph sipped his Belgian beer like a fine wine.

‘In fact, I don’t quite get your whole charade, if I’m going to be honest with you.’

‘But,’ Ralph said, ‘I know what this is about. I don’t like this kind of work, though. Your work.’

L watched Ralph carefully. He sipped his lemonade.

‘So you know who this is?’ He asked.

Ralph smiled. ‘More or less. To be precise, I know someone who knows where you’ll find him, and it’s not in Zone or in any other tourist trap. But I’ve probably seen him, there’s something familiar about him, that’s for sure.’

‘I was at Zone last night,’ L said.

‘Of course you were. And tonight you’ll be at Village, or Dusch, or Vinyl. But you won’t find him there.’

‘Who is he?’ L asked.

Ralph thought for a moment. ‘He’s a lost soul,’ he said finally. Boris did one of his knowing smiles. ‘He’s the symptom to this town’s sickness, a sickness not yet defined or diagnosed, yet an obvious sickness nevertheless.’

‘Do you know a guy named Cagey?’ L asked.

Ralph shook his head, almost disgusted. ‘Never heard of him.’

‘Well last night I met him. He’s from South Dakota, a musician. He told me something about some kind of cold war of new money and old money, something bad happening, people disappearing, people lost.’

‘And people looking for someone,’ Ralph said, smiling. ‘Or something, I should add.’

‘Yes,’ L said.

‘People like yourself, L.’

L nodded somewhat hesitantly.

Ralph moved closer to L. His breath stunk of beer and L tried not to stare at the chaotic layout of his teeth.

‘What if I were to tell you that a police detective came into my office today and asked if I’d heard of the young man from London causing trouble with a drawing, asking strange questions, upsetting the locals.’

‘Causing trouble?’ L said, startled. ‘The police?’

‘Just think it over. What if.’

L stared back at Ralph and saw a corrupt smile and vacant eyes that could be leading him anywhere. He chose to not believe him.

‘Relax,’ Ralph said, blowing out smoke through his nostrils. ‘Maybe he came to see me, maybe he didn’t, but maybe you should be ever so careful where you poke your nose in, before you too, end up lost. I say this out of kindness, or what’s the translation – Boris?’

‘Care,’ Boris said with a happy smile.

‘With care,’ Ralph continued, with a perfect air now of cordiality. ‘I say this to you now out of care. Be careful young fellow!’ The last part of this was said somewhat calmly, almost as advice, like a teacher to a student.

Boris sipped his ice tea.

Ralph stared at some passers by then turned to L again. His eyes were dark again and filled with bitterness.

‘You know, people spend their whole lives looking for something in this town, L, and you know what they end up with? Nothing.’

‘Do you know anyone called Ricky Joyless?’ L asked, another shot in the dark.

Ralph chuckled. ‘Ah Ricky. One of my clients. A good lad, albeit somewhat troubled. Probably down to that crazy bitch he goes out with. Why?’

L sipped his lemonade. ‘Ah, Cagey mentioned his name.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Oh that, that he was…a known guy in the Berlin art’s scene.’

‘The Berlin art’s scene!’ Ralph started laughing. He then lit another cigarette and said, ‘there is no art scene. It’s a hole in the ground that people have decided to start digging, looking for gold. It’s a bloody business too.’

L finished his lemonade in one burst of thirst.

‘What happened to the man in the drawing?’

‘Happened? What is happening would be a better question, but also a question I’m unable to answer. Who’s making you do this L? Why on earth are you out here looking for someone who not even I would try and look for?’

L looked at Ralph and then at the ground. He too lit a cigarette.

‘Because I want to succeed in my chosen field of work, which so happens to be looking for something.’ It was a strange and wordy answer but it made Boris smile.

Ralph didn’t seem too interested in the answer, and stubbed out his second cigarette.’

 ‘Zone,’ he said, somewhat familiarly. ‘Anita played there yesterday. Did you see the band, L?’

L thought for a moment. He decided to lie. His instincts told him that it was in his interests. ‘No I didn’t, actually. I just missed it.’

Ralph looked at L, quite petulantly. ‘Well that’s a shame. You could have seen Anita Haag. A real beauty,’ he said, his voice becoming bitter and sardonic at the end. He eyeballed L for a moment. L stared back, wondering if Ralph believed him. ‘You sure you didn’t see Anita?’

L then had a flashback of those guys with their phones taking pictures of he and Anita together on the sofa. Ralph was Ricky Joyless’ lawyer. Maybe he should get going.

‘No I didn’t, unfortunately.’

Ralph shook his head. ‘That really is a shame. Then again, I’m sure if you’d have seen her you’d have known straight away. No matter. Ah, Miss Haag,’ he then added with a sigh and something close to a smirk.

L glance at Boris who was happily watching the conversation.

Ralph rolled a cigarette. He wasn’t quite finished about Anita.

‘Anita and Ricky know everyone in Berlin’s underworld. I’m sure she met this person you were looking for, but was too fucked up to even remember. Enough about her. I can’t stand that whole crowd if I’m honest with you.’

Ralph then looked away and watched the street.

He handed L back his drawing.

‘The guy who can help you hangs out at Soul Kitchen. He’ll be there tonight. There’s a live session, jazz. Good jazz too. You like jazz, L?’

L shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sure. Soul Kitchen, you say?’ L said, writing it down.

‘Soul Kitchen, like The Doors song.’ Ralph then smiled at Boris and murmured some of the melody to his friend under his breath with a smile. ‘Up north, in wedding,’ he continued. ‘A bit rough around the edges up there, eh Boris?’

Boris nodded and kept smiling. Ralph then grunted with satisfaction, and took a slug of his beer.

‘What’s the guys name?’ L asked. ‘What does he look like?’

‘He’s called Mo. I don’t know his surname. As far as I know he never had one. Mo has long black hair, almost Turkish looking. He’ll help you. I can’t tell you more.’

Ralph was smiling now, all of the sudden quite friendly and warm.

‘Tito,’ he called, ‘Another Duvell?’ He then turned to L.

‘I wish you all the best with your work here in Berlin, young man.’

L shook hands with both of them. He went inside and hugged Tito goodbye and then as he passed Ralph and Boris once more, he nodded at both of them, and their smiles seemed frozen and faraway.







The next few hours L spent back at his apartment, where he slept heavily throughout the afternoon.

In his sleep, strange visions and perhaps slightly altered memories came to him that he immediately forgot but whose intensity remained in his system. Falling in out of consciousness, faces, words and events from his last twenty four hours returned but with different colours: he was once again in a trance staring at Anita perform, he was talking and laughing with her on the black leather sofa, he was passionately kissing her, the cab, then they were naked together again in her apartment and L could remember now, or at least he convinced himself, how brilliant it was, how beautiful her body and touch were, her playful voice, her cat-like eyes, then he remembered the whiteness of the apartment, the bare white walls of her room, the dirty polaroids, quite crass and lewd in their profanity, Ricky saying, ‘don’t we all mate’ and looking at him with barely concealed disgust in the kitchen, or perhaps it was indifference, whatever it was, it made L upset, or uneasy, and then there was Cagey, ranting, brilliant, funny but someone L didn’t really know, and then flashes of his time at the hostel, Marta and Rick flirting, the man with the breathing apparatus, the Canadian mother, her bare back to the city, now more a pleasant mental souvenir than someone who actually existed, the leather jackets and men with the rubber faces at Kotti, Ralph’s brown and stained teeth, and the strange and leering men who took photos of Anita and L, ‘Anita’s spies’, the bright flashing lights of the cameras, the club lights, the noise, the chatter, , the ecstasy all mixed with a numbing sense of foreboding and anxiety, of deep and dark fear that rested snugly in L’s soul, all this drifted in and our of L’s consciousness.

L then woke with a start and remembered that he had to go to Soul Kitchen, to see a ‘Mo’. He tried to put the uneasiness that he had felt from his meeting both with Ralph and the encounter with Rick in the kitchen out of his mind. He attempted to motivate himself again, to focus back on the mission. The aftermath of the narcotic fuzz he had experienced last night was now a lethargic and uneasy lull that he also tried to shrug off. Dressing in new clean clothes steadied his nerves and made him feel self assured. He took out his drawing of the man he was looking for and looked at him in the eye, holding the stare, closing his eyes for a moment and believing that he was already so close, so close to finding him. By nine thirty in the evening he was already walking out into the street and heading to the train station, the dark blue sky above him turning blacker with each step.


By 10pm, L stepped off the train at Pankstr U-Bahn (with it’s strange psychedelic station name font completely in contrast to it’s desolate feel) and walked out into the streets of Wedding.

L immediately felt an uneasiness as he got off the train. The streets near Pankstr were as dark and low-lit as in Neukolln, yet clearly had none of that neighbourhood’s ‘expat glamour’: here L just passed locals and street types. He passed a group of Jamaicans sitting outside a Donershop, who after getting L’s attention, asked him to buy them a bottle of Jaegermeister. L shook his head politely, and then an older man, stumbling around, nearly knocked into him, saying in a heavy German accent, ‘I guess that’s a wasted tram ride!’ As he made his way up the main street, he passed a grey building with incredibly loud techno music blasting out, and neon lighting almost giving the open windows a smoky glow; police sirens wailed constantly, lonely drunken souls loitered the streets, seemingly lost and trying to work out where they were, occasionally screaming nonsensical sounds at no one in particular; local Turkish German youths mocked L as he passed them (L heard something about his jeans); L then passed a family of homeless people gathered together in a corner by the thin canal and huddled over tin foil, smoking what was probably heroin and nodding quietly to each other, oblivious to the passing pedestrians, whilst bored Indians stood outside their white table cloth oversized restaurants, waiting for the night’s first customers, despite the already somewhat late hour. A small Korean drug dealer or gangster of some sort starting hurling abuse at L outside a Spaeti, and L looked away and kept walking further into the neighbourhood, only minutes away now from Soul Kitchen. Then after all the noise and aggravation, there were stretches of silence, with no one on the roads or streets, just blacked out casinos with lights flashing in the windows. In the distance L spotted groups of people stood outside a bar, and as he drew closer, he saw the familiar ‘Zone look’ of fur coats, leather jackets and loud hair, and all the rest of it, and he realised he had arrived at Soul Kitchen.





Soul Kitchen was a long narrow bar with dark red walls, upon which hung obscure street art of varying styles. The ceilings were littered by tacky chandeliers, whilst the floor was entirely covered by Persian rugs. In the bar were perhaps no more than a hundred people, the majority of which sat on the rugs, smoking hashish and drinking bottles of beer. In the back of the bar stood a ramshackle stage, where well dressed young men and women played Afro style jazz.

L sat at the bar and tried to see if he could recognise anyone from the previous night at Zone.

L ordered a beer from the Turkish man behind the bar, whose body language signalled that he was probably the owner. This was not the ‘Mo’ though, as he the man had short grey hair and looked close to sixty.

L then turned his stool to face the panorama in front of him: the jazz music, the rugs, the chandeliers, the hashish smoke and the clinking of beers. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to get his bearings.

To the left of him he heard a couple talking.

‘That’s the beauty of song though, you see? It’s like a blank canvas, but instead of a canvas, its like blank air.’

‘I though air was blank though?’

The man then laughed. He was saying all this in a heavy Welsh accent and had a pompadour fifties haircut and a somewhat subtle leather jacket on. L guesses he was in his mid thirties and to L, he sounded full of himself and somewhat of a bore. The girl with him had spikey dyed hair that also covered her eyes and had a spider like beauty. She was chain-smoking cigarettes and to L couldn’t think much of her other than that she sounded very stoned and possibly jaded.

‘Well, for example, give me a lyric?’ The Welsh man said, as if he was on to something. ‘It doesn’t have to be your best lyric, just any lyric…’

At this point L then tuned out and returned his attention the main room, when someone then tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to his right and saw a casually dressed young woman with short hair and bright, intelligent eyes.

‘Hello L,’ she said in a cheerful voice. ‘You don’t remember me? I’m Jen. We met last night. We spoke. For quite some time too!” She then laughed and waited as L tried to remember her.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t remember any of it. Last night is a bit of a blur.’

Jen laughed. She wore no make up, yet had an almost boyish beauty and L found her immediately pleasant company and felt comfortable looking her in the eyes, unlike most other Berliners he had met so far. L noticed straight away that she had a poised maturity about her, and that her eyes were constantly taking in information.

‘Yes, I thought as much. You were telling me that you were on a mission. That you were looking for someone. How adventurous.’

‘Oh dear. Well, I am indeed looking for someone,’ L said, sipping his beer.

‘Yes, you showed me the drawing. It’s funny actually, he did seem familiar to me. You’re new in town aren’t you? You have a new glow about you.’

‘Yes, I got here a few weeks ago.’

‘How schoene. Berlin is nice, but the people at bars like this can be a little…strange. I like to come and listen to the music. It’s not far from my house and my friend works behind the bar.’

Jen finished her drink, which seemed to be an elaborate tea of some sort.

‘Okay, now I will have a beer,’ she said, and the Welsh man overheard this and said, ‘Always a good idea darling.’

‘You’re terrible,’ the woman with him said in a smoky voice.

Jen laughed and rolled her eyes at L, and then, whispering in L’s ear, said:

‘These people think they’re in a movie the whole time. If only they could see themselves.’

L nodded. Jen smiled warmly at him.

‘Do you know anyone called Moe?’ L asked.

‘No I don’t. I know Moe from the Simpsons. He’s the only Moe I know.’

L laughed.

Jen then said excitedly, ‘Do you want to go into the room and listen to the lovely jazz music?’

‘Yes,’ L said.

They Amoved into the main room and found a corner and sat together on the floor of Persian rugs. L scanned the room for someone who could have fit Moe’s description but it seemed to him that this character wasn’t here yet. Not that he minded. Jen’s company was enjoyable and L told himself that patience came to those who wait.






Then Anita Haag waltzed into the room with someone who could only have been Ricky Joyless. From the other side of the room she caught L’s eye, offered a faint smile, and then looked somewhat perplexed at Jen. Jen smiled at L and whispered, ‘Uh oh, look – it’s your girlfriend, with her boyfriend.’

L smiled, then shook his head to disagree, and nervously watched Ricky, who hadn’t sat down yet. He was busy shaking hands with practically everyone in the room and laughing loudly about something.  Whilst he was doing this, he dragged on his cigarette as if his life depended on it, exuding a tragic air, as if no one could quite understand him, yet he was most definitely proud about this, a smile leering menacingly over his lips, ready to always break out into that loud laugh of his.  He took his sunglasses off and clapped and danced effortlessly in time to the music, and the musicians all smiled and nodded at him. L was struck by the almost white colour of his blonde hair, cut very short on the sides but with long bangs that hung close to his chin, and he walked around with a sort of stoned swagger, his head swaying from left to right: he seemed to be very alert, and yet also capable of collapsing at any given moment, and to L, there was something dangerous about his overconfidence.

‘I hope you brought you’re boxing gloves Leonardo,’ a familiar American accent muttered to L’s right, and L turned and saw Cagey, grinning, already sat down next to him. He gave L a hug and offered out his hand to Jen.

‘I’m Cagey,’ he said.

‘And I’m Jen.’

‘Good evening to you Jen , I like your hair, very short, it’s nice.’

‘I didn’t see you Cagey,’ L said, ‘When did you get here?’

Cagey took out his electronic cigarette and started blowing his heavily perfumed smoke. ‘About ten minutes ago. I saw ya, but didn’t want to disturb. So what happened last night? I heard all kinds of crazy stuff. Bumped into some pals of Ricky who showed me a video of you two on a sofa making out!’ Cagey laughed. Then he murmured to L, ‘Hope I’m not ruining the moment with you two here…’ Then his voice lowered, and he became quite serious. ‘Anyway, I gotta be honest with ya, it’s risky business my friend. I wonder if Ricky has seen it yet. I believe he hasn’t, but I don’t know. I’ll try and smooth things over, if it gets to that. You probably don’t have to worry. But also you know, be prepared, is all I’m saying.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah, Ricky’s…a loose canon. A dangerous cat if I ever saw one. The guy’s unhinged, like the best of us I guess. You know, he does this thing where he shows his knife. He does lines on it. Heck I’ve done lines on it, it’s a great knife. Scary shit though. Carries it under his belt. Big old knife actually! Christ. Don’t know if he’s ever used it though. He certainly takes it out. He even takes it out onstage.’

Jen was listening to all this, somewhat horrified.

‘Are you serious? What a psycho. L, what are you still doing here? You should get out while you can, you’ll get hurt.’

L sat there confused. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t come here for trouble. I can’t even remember last night properly. Someone told me to meet this guy Moe.’

Cagey cracked up. ‘Ah old Moe. Gee, you sure pick your characters my man!’

‘You know Moe? Is he here?’

Cagey thought for a moment. ‘Well I aint seen him. Some people hang out in the bathroom here. Maybe there’s…na, he aint, I was just there actually. There’s a basement too. Hey why don’t we go down and see if he’s here. Moe’s all right. Bit of a gambler, throws his cash around. I think he’s even Iranian. He sells coke to Ricky and Anita. To everyone here actually, even me! Har Har Har!’

Jen looked at L with great concern.

‘I say we go have a beer in the basement and look for him then,’ L said.

Jen shook her head slowly.

‘Sure let’s do it,’ Cagey said with a smile. ‘You pickin’ up?’

‘No,’ L said. ‘Someone recommended I get in touch with him, as he probably knows the person I’m looking for.’

‘Who you looking for?’ Cagey asked. Then he smiled. ‘Anita? Har har har! I already said hi to her but she’s all quiet and withdrawn. I mean, it’s a bit of a set up right, you and her and Ricky here tonight. Who told you to come here?’

‘Exactly,’ Jen said.

‘This lawyer called Ralph. Works for Tito. He was with this doctor man.’

Jen was listening carefully.

‘Ralph,’ Cage said, confusedly, then laughed. ‘What a name! Let’s go get that beer.’

L, Cagey and Jen then got up and headed down to the basement. L stole a look at Anita, who looked sad and gave L a sheepish look. She had her bright red hair slicked back and tied up in an elegant fashion and was dressed all in black this time, wearing an almost see through black t shirt and a leather jacket which on the right side of it vertically spelt, ‘Joyless.’ She watched L and the others head downstairs and sipped her drink sheepishly. L found the aura around her completely different tonight: she was still effortlessly elegant and to L very beautiful, still even seductive, but tonight she was seemed undoubtedly subdued, fragile and most probably nervous.

Ricky Joyless meanwhile, had jumped up on stage and decided to play guitar, halting the music momentarily. He was saying something like, ‘it goes like this fellas.’ L then took one last glance at Anita, and in code she nodded reassuringly, to which L guessed that either Ricky was unaware of who L was, or that she would come and see them downstairs soon. L felt intoxicated again when Anita looked him in the eye, and felt powerless to events that would transpire tonight. He nodded back, to which she sweetly smiled again, almost bashfully, and then L followed the others downstairs into the basement.

Jen and Cagey were chatting.

‘You know, Berlin’s just one big basement, man. You know?’

Jen sighed. ‘Berlin this, Berlin that. Yes, so there’s a few basements, so what? It’s not a movie set. People treat it like Disney world.’

Cagey nodded and laughed as they all sat down in the corner.

‘All right, right on. Disney world, I like that. Maybe Jen’s right. Hey L, you want a Mezcal?’

L felt distracted and on edge. He didn’t feel safe with Ricky upstairs. Down in the basement, there were a few groups of people sat around but again, no sign of Moe. There was also another bar down here, with a middle aged Turkish man as the barman.

 ‘Sure,’ L chuckled. ‘Let’s all have a Mezcal.’

Jen shook her head again, and Cagey burst out laughing.

‘Are you still a Mezcal champ?’ Cagey asked with a grin.

Jen watched on, more and more exasperated by everything Cagey said.

‘Yes,’ L found himself saying, and Cagey howled with laughter and patted him warmly on the back. Jen watched him stroll to the bar, clicking to the loud jazz music which could still be heard from downstairs.

Jen then turned to L and said, ‘L, on this piece of paper is my address. I think you’re in grave danger L. I think you’re being set up. In fact I know you’re being set up. I wouldn’t trust that Anita girl if I were you either. Look, just leave Berlin, it’s for your own safety. That Joyless creature is not even the half of your problems.’

L looked at her more closely. He took the piece of paper and scanned the address.

‘What do you do Jen?’

Jen lit a cigarette. ‘My name’s not Jen, its Tania. But call me Jen still if it’s easier, it’s not important to me. Well, first of all, perhaps it’s easier if I tell you what I don’t do. You see, what I don’t do is blurt out information like you do to every known mortal in Berlin the moment I land and check into a hostel. That’s the first thing that I don’t do. I also don’t go into Zone, the seediest club in Berlin, and roll around with one of the most recognisable girls in town, and then run around like a lunatic, blabbering on about who I’m looking for and thrusting a drawing in people’s faces. What I almost certainly don’t do is stay in this bar now whilst her psychopathic boyfriend is here, and who will soon no doubt, if he hasn’t already, find out what happened with you and the lovely Anita last night. That would probably be on the top of my list. And I’m not from Berlin, by the way, I grew up in a small town outside St Petersburg, Russia. (she then said a Russian proverb that laid that claim to rest)  Look just trust me, I know more than you think. I know all about you L, and I repeat: you’re in danger. I’m only saying this to you because I like you L. You seem like a good person. I don’t know why you’ve got mixed up in all this. Clearly someone is taking advantage of you, and it isn’t just you.’

‘I don’t understand any of this. Who are you?’

‘I already told you, and there isn’t time. What I’m saying is you need to leave town. As soon as possible.’

‘But I can’t do that Jen, or Tania, I was sent here-‘

‘You haven’t the faintest idea of why you were sent here, and you know it. You took this job because it sounded like fun, but you seriously haven no idea what you’re getting mixed up in. You want to become the next toy of the Berlin underworld? Be my guest. Maybe you’re already too far gone, you seem utterly lost already.’

L frowned. ‘Look, all I’m doing is looking for someone. I was sent here and that’s it. Part of the mission implied a certain…letting go, of the work finding itself. And I’m starting to get that.’

‘Letting go? Can you here yourself L? Seriously. I know the people who sent you, I know why you’re here. You’re a very lost and naïve young man to have gotten involved in something like this. You see, this city looks like a playground at first, but there’s something dark and sinister going on beneath the surface, and I’m not going to tell you what that is exactly, not here in this bar, because I can never be certain whether someone is listening or not, but put it this way: there is blood being spilt for your illusions. And I even know who you’re looking for. He’s right in front of you. Go take a look a look in the mirror. Look at that face, let me save you some time.’

L then stared around to check if anyone was listening or watching them, but the others in the basement were busy chatting amongst themselves, and the music gave them cover to talk. ‘Do you know the person I’m looking for Jen? You do, don’t you?’

Jen then almost raised her voice. ‘Do you not have any –‘ she then lowered her voice to almost a whisper. ‘Do you not have any idea of the danger you’re in? It’s not a game, its dangerous.’

‘Yeah so they all say,’ L said, trying to sound confident.

‘Do you know S?’ L asked.

Jen rolled her eyes. ‘Look, I know all about you L. You need to get out of town. The further you go with this, the more fucked up it gets, you have my word on that. It’s not too late to jump out of the rabbit hole.’

‘Who’s looking for me?’

Jen looked around for a moment and then said into L’s ear:

‘Ruben Schwarz.’

L looked at Jen. The act of saying his name had almost quite shaken her, or at least cast a dark shadow over her face, even in the low-lit basement.

L also realised that Jen most certainly wasn’t twenty years old (during that conversation, her whole body language and tone of voice had changed quite incredibly) and that her interactions with everyone else were most certainly an act. L guessed the act was that of the easy going Berliner student. Whatever act it was, it had completely fooled him. Before he had time to think more about what Jen had just said, Cagey returned with the Mezcal.

‘For England,’ he said, and they drank the shots, Cagey beaming with a smile, Jen looking agitated and watchful, and L trying to work out what was going on.

Then Anita Haag and Ricky Joyless entered the basement, and headed straight for L’s table.



‘Hey, I thought I told them to lock you up!’ Ricky said to Cagey, grinning happily and giving Cagey a very aggressive hug, patting him hard on the back a few times.

‘How are you doing Ricky?’ Cagey said, smiling shyly.

‘Them punks couldn’t play a jazz chord if I spelt it out to them,’ he said, then turned to L and Jen.  ‘Which one’s the boy, and who’s the girl?’ He then did his trademark fake laugh and offered out his hand to both of them. ‘Ricky Joyless, how you doing?’

L and Jen shook hands with him.

‘Hi Cagey,’ Anita said, rustling up some cheerfulness and formally shaking his hand.

‘Hello lady Anita,’ Cagey said, suddenly seeming more subdued than usual.

‘Oh,’ Cagey said, motioning to his friends. ‘Have you met L and Jen?’

Anita glanced at both of them, and slowly shook her head. ‘I don’t think so,’ Anita said shyly, and offered out her hand. By now everyone had shook hands and Ricky and Anita took a seat opposite L, Jen and Cagey and Ricky called out, ‘Hey Mehmet, five beers!’

Ricky lit a cigarette and then rubbed his nose for a moment, looking L and Jen up and down.

‘You like jazz?’

Jen seemed to be the only one indifferent to Ricky’s persona, or at least seemed the least intimidated.

‘Very much so,’ she said, her accent slightly German once more.

‘Very much so. Ha. Like who?’

‘I like Mulatua Astatke, I like Chet Baker. Do you need three answers for your questionnaire or is two enough?’

Ricky looked up for a moment at Jen and then at Cagey and then returned to inspecting his cigarette and said, ‘get the fuck outta here.’

Anita was nervously chain smoking cigarettes and occasionally making eye contact with L.

‘Look, don’t get me wrong, jazz is great, but you know what I’m sick of,’ Ricky was saying, his voice nasally and sounding like it came from New York. ‘I’m sick of cats coming to Berlin and pretending its fucking 1958 or something, you know? I don’t know why people act all pure about it. But hey, maybe I don’t know a lot of things eh?’ He then turned sweetly to Anita and they kissed briefly on the lips.

He then motioned to Jen. ‘Look I’m sorry, I’m in a bad mood. My phone’s been broken all day and now they’re charging it at the bar. These things happen, I guess. We’re about to go on tour and naturally there’s a lot to organise.’

L watched Ricky switch moods within a blink of an eye and realised that there were something equally as intense about Ricky as there was about Anita. He was quite clearly a magnetic personality, and had the ability to push his luck with people, knowing that his charm could ride him out of any given scenario. However, this same mercurialness also made him unpredictable and quite nerve wracking company: L wasn’t sure when he would leer back to his confrontational New York gangster persona, or when he was simply being a sympathetic stressed out working musician.

Cagey grinned. ‘It’s a pretty big tour, right?’

Ricky smiled then tuned to L. ‘Don’t you think he looks quite ridiculous with that electronic cigarette?’

L nodded and smiled.

Cagey laughed too. ‘Hey, I’m ridiculous, we’re all ridiculous. This whole fucking world’s ridiculous.’

Ricky turned innocently to Anita. ‘What on earth is he talking about darling?’

Anita smiled. ‘Leave Cagey be, darling. I think he looks quite adorable with his electronic cigarette. It’s like a lightsabre.’

Ricky dragged on his cigarette, then turned to Anita. ‘You know what would be adorable? If you didn’t hit on every guy in sight every time we left the house.’

There was a moment where no one said anything. Anita looked down and Cagey said, ‘Ah Rick, come on man. She didn’t mean nothin’-

‘It’s Ricky, Cage, I haven’t been called Rick since primary school. Told the teacher to go fuck themselves if they thought I was called Rick. I was only seven years old!’ He then did his fake laugh and they all began to laugh too, even Jen.

‘Look like I said, I’m on edge. I’m sorry baby, I’m a bastard, and you’re perfect. We know this, we’ve been through it.’ He then put his arm around Anita. He then said to Jen, ‘I always get like this when I’m about to go on tour. Kinda a mixture of wanting to get the fuck out of this stupid city and also feeling somewhat nervous.’

‘Why do you feel nervous?’ Jen asked.

Ricky fiddled with his cigarette. ‘I always think she’s gonna leave me. And she always thinks I’m gonna leave her, but we never do, do we baby?’

Anita sadly shook her head and lit a cigarette.

‘Where’s the tour?’ L said, in the attempt to say something in the conversation.

‘Where’s the tour? First we go to Japan, then Australia, then we hit the US.’

‘What’s the name of your band?’ Jen asked.

Ricky chuckled to himself, then turned to Anita, seeming to be surprised at the question, then he looked at Jen again, quite seriously. ‘Moral Dirt.’

Cagey puffed his electronic cigarette and nodded. ‘Japan, man. That’s pretty good. Far out.’

Ricky nodded. ‘We’re excited. It’s a big deal, no doubt about that.’

‘What kind of music do you make?’ Jen asked again.

Ricky smiled. ‘We make Moral Dirt kind of music.’

Cagey laughed. Anita smiled and Jen nodded, perplexed at Ricky’s arrogance.

‘And what do you do in the band?’ Jen asked.

‘What do I do in the band,’ Ricky muttered to himself with a smile, then took out a long black knife from behind his shirt and slammed it on the table, so that the knife stuck through the wood. The action nearly knocked over the drinks. ‘What is this a fucking interview? What do you think I do? I make rock n roll music. I sing. I’m fucking Ricky Joyless, look me up.’

There was another moment of silence. Then Cagey laughed quietly, saying, ‘Fucking A.’

Ricky then laughed. ‘Sorry! Really, I am! You try organising a tour with fifteen people involved. I’ll be lucky if I make a cent.’ He put his arm around Anita again, almost squeezing her and with his other hand again made some sort of apologetic gesture to the others. ‘Hey Mehmut, give us five whiskeys will ya?’

‘Here we go,’ Cagey said. ‘Hey Ricky, you know what we were all drinking last night? Drinking fucking Mezcal! Mez fucking cal! Har har har! Like, an ocean of it. It’s L favourite drink.’

Ricky smiled as he stroked his knife absent mindedly and then glanced at Anita. ‘Mezkal,’ he said. ‘What are we, Mexicans now?’ He then took out a small capsule and lined up some white powder on the knife and then promptly snorted it. Then he did the same again and said, ‘there you go baby. Fire away.’

Anita did the same and then looked away nervously. ‘Anyone else need a hit?’ Ricky said, making more lines.

There was a pause then Cagey said, ‘Yeah all right Ricky, thanks.’

Ricky passed him the knife. Cagey looked incredulously at the knife and said, ‘oh boy.’

‘What about our new friends?’ Ricky said, grinning at Jen.

‘No thanks,’ Jen said. ‘We’re fine.’

‘We’re fine,’ Ricky said, chuckling. ‘What does she do, tuck you in at night too? I mean, you can tuck me in if you like, but it’s not my bed time for a while, if you get my understanding.’

Ricky then laughed, snorted another line. Mehmut arrived with the whiskeys. ‘God sometimes I crack myself up.’

‘Try not to be vulgar darling,’ Anita said quietly.

Ricky nodded. ‘You’re right, you’re always right, that’s your problem actually.’

‘Thank you dearest Mehmut!’ Ricky then called out, and they all drank the whiskies and clinked their glasses.

‘What are we drinking to Cage?’ Ricky asked.

Cagey shrugged his shoulders. ‘Let’s drink to Moral Dirt!’

Ricky laughed. ‘I can’t argue with that. Fucking Moral Dirt. I don’t even wanna go on tour,’ he said, looking at Jen. ‘But you know, I’ll do it. There’s too much at stake not to do it, you know? I’ll miss my baby though,’ he added at the end, singing a song and stroking Anita’s hair.

He then glanced at L. ‘So what do you do here kid, besides having the same hair colour as me?’

Cagey nodded. ‘Yeah, you know, I did say, there’s something about you two, you’re like mirrors you know. There’s like a dua-listic…thing, going on. I don’t know, maybe I’m drunk.’

‘I’m a writer,’ L said. Jen looked at him curiously and Anita looked at the ground.

‘A writer,’ Ricky said, thinking for a moment. ‘What kind?’

L thought for a moment. ‘Some poems, some stories.’

Ricky rubbed his nose again agitatedly. ‘If there’s nothing I find more out-dated, it’s ‘the short story writer’. No offence, but god, writers, they bore the hell out of me. Most of them haven’t read anything before Jack Keroauc either. Where are you from? Is that a London accent I spy?’ He then winked at L, and offered out his hand. ‘Look kid, I’m sorry. Let’s just say, I’m not such a fan of writers, but you do your thing.’ He then glanced at Anita and then leaned forward and  murmured to L, ‘Her ex (a complete narcissistic freak, by the way), was a writer, or I should say, is, a writer, seeing as the miserable cunt’s still alive I believe. One day I’d love to change that.’

He then turned L’s wrist over. ‘Oh I know that stamp very well. Good old Zone. You were there last night?’ His eyes were grinning excitedly, almost menacingly, at L.

L nodded slowly.

‘Yeah we were there,’ Cagey said. ‘We got shitfaced actually,’ and started laughing.

‘What a small world,’ Ricky said. ‘So was Anita.’

‘Ah that’s right,’ Cagey said, nodding slowly.

Ricky then thought for a moment, and then turning to Anita, he said, in a sweet voice, ‘But I thought you said you hadn’t met this lovely couple yet? How strange. All this thinking is making me thirsty. Hey I’m gonna go and check if my phone’s ready. Could I be so nice as to get anyone a drink?’

Anita smiled, completely ignoring what Ricky said about not meeting L and Jen. ‘Darling, could I please have a gin and tonic.’

‘Yes you can my love,’ Ricky said, stroking her cheek for a minute. ‘This face. This face. Any other takers?’

Cagey then glanced at the table. ‘Yeah beer’s all round. Cheers Ricky, you’re a good man.’

Ricky then swaggered away upstairs, and no one at the table said anything for a while.

Anita then took L’s hand from the table and held it. ‘L, are you okay?’ She then glanced indifferently at Jen. ‘Ricky doesn’t know yet, but he will, once his phone’s on no doubt.’

‘Know about what?’ Jen asked.

‘L stayed at mine last night,’ Anita said. She then added: ‘We slept together, big deal, call the cops.’

‘You might need to with that Ricky guy finding out,’ Jen said, quite seriously.

Cagey was listening to everything in a daze and trying to work it out.

‘Yeah, this aint good actually…Ricky’s in a weird mood right?...Gee, L, maybe you sneak out of here or something.’

‘I really had a nice time with you L,’ Anita said softly.

‘Look,’ Jen said calmly. ‘We have to act quickly. You can continue your romance somewhere else. I have an idea: why don’t we all go up together. We can all distract Ricky, and L can make a run for it. Say, shouldn’t you make a run for it too Anita?’

Anita laughed, and took a large gulp of her drink. ‘Ha! If I did that I’d be killed.’

Cagey let out a ‘woahhh’ sound and then said, ‘all right, let’s go cats, Let’s get L out of here.’

They headed upstairs, to find Ricky surrounded by a group of five or six tough looking men, one of which stood resolutely by the door.

‘Ah you’re just in time to join us,’ Ricky said to L and the others as they entered the bar area.

‘We’re watching a new short film. It’s called ‘Anita And L On The Sofa’, and my, I gotta say, it’s pretty realistic.’

Cagey approached Ricky and tried to put his arm around and began to say, ‘now Ricky, look,’ but before he had finished, Ricky grabbed hold of him by his jacket and headbutted him in the nose in a swift movement, that sent Cagey stumbling back onto the floor, where he laid there in a daze. Ricky then turned to one of the tough looking guys who stood by next to him. ‘In any industry, in any scene, in any world: lying is a sin.’

A couple of them nodded, a couple of the others just stood motionlessly waiting to see what should happen next.

‘Ricky you bastard!’ Anita said, going over to Cagey on the floor and wiping his bloody nose. ‘You really hurt him!’

Ricky lit his cigarette. ‘Hey Marcus, get me a drink, that took a lot out of me, gee. Whoops.’

‘What would you like Ricky?’ Marcus said from behind the bar.

‘I’ll have a whiskey. What are you having L? I already got you a beer, but when you sleep with Anita, you also get a real drink for free too. You slept with her right? Whatever, it’s part of the deal.’

During this time, L had just stood frozen with fear. His cover was well and truly blown and he didn’t know what he was going to do.

Ricky then turned to Marcus. ‘Hey Marcus, don’t worry about it, he’s not thirsty. Last night he was, you better believe that!’

By now the music had stopped and everyone was practically watching in silence.

One of the tough looking guys, who were all heavily tattooed and had shaved heads and wore big leather boots, said, ‘Hey Ricky, why don’t we just take him outside, punk don’t deserve to even have a conversation with you.’

‘Why don’t you shut up, you stupid animals!’ Anita said, almost in a scream.

Ricky started laughing. ‘Ah how I love you sometimes, Anita. I’m not sure why you’re mixed up with this strange looking boy, but it’s all right, I forgive you. Hey Cagey, you all right, old timer?’

Cagey spluttered some blood, and murmured, ‘I’m all right Rick, I mean Ricky,’ and chuckled to himself on the floor.

Ricky frowned and put out his cigarette. ‘Hey, L, or whatever you called, outside. Now.’

Two of the tough looking men grabbed L by the arms and began to drag him outside. Ricky stayed for a moment by the bar and sipped his whiskey, murmuring, ‘God, the things we do for love.’ Then he lit a cigarette. ‘You know, I don’t even need this shit right now, I’m going on tour soon.’ He glanced at Anita wiping the blood from Cagey’s face.

Anita began to sob and threw herself at Ricky, trying to grab hold of him, saying, ‘No, no, no, no!’

Ricky was laughing and stroking her hair as she cried, saying, ‘Poor old Anita. I’ll be back in just a second baby.’

He left Anita sobbing on the floor, then walked outside, to find L against the wall, with the five tough looking guys surrounding him.

He then heard the sound of a click behind his head and turned round to see Jen, holding a small black gun.

‘Tell them to let him go,’ she simply said, not taking her eyes away from Ricky.

Ricky smiled for a moment. Then Jen fired a shot in the street and suddenly everyone outside stood still looking at her.

Ricky frowned and spat onto the street. ‘Let him go,’ he simply said, now disturbed and nervous.

Ricky’s entourage stood outside, staring in disbelief at Jen and muttering a few things to themselves.

‘Go on boy, run while you can,’ one of them said.

‘You shut up,’ Jen said. ‘No one talks unless I say so.’

L looked at Jen, then at Ricky, then at Anita, who had just come outside after the gunshot.

‘Don’t worry about her,’ Jen said, not even glancing at Anita. ‘Ricky and his friends will leave her alone, don’t worry about that.’

‘Ricky and his friends,’ Ricky murmured petulantly. ‘Who the fuck even are you?’

‘I will call you L,’ Anita said, in a frightened, almost broken voice. Ricky then looked at Anita with absolute disgust, and then a sinister smile appeared on his lips, which he then licked.

‘Get the hell out of here,’ Jen barked, and L started running. It was after he had reached the third block when shots began to ring out.