White Niggers
Chapter 70
Friday, November 1st, 2019, 14:15
Abwehramt, Hetzgasse 2, third district of Vienna
Riml-Löhr answers the phone.
"Remember our conversation at the pool," Marik says. "During the international women's day?"
"Yes," Riml-Löhr says.
"Well, I did my homework," Marik says. "Now the ball is in your court."
"Hm. I am kind of worried," Riml-Löhr says. "Looks kind of dangerous."
He flips through the folder the general left.
"He used to be dangerously amateurish a year ago," Marik says. "But he is stubborn, in a good way. He learned a few mentors in prison. I'm pretty sure he took their advice to heart."
"Yeah," Riml-Löhr says.
He feels the aftertaste of the animal-grade mud in his mouth.
Why hasn't the state department sanctioned someone yet? Riml-Löhr thinks. I mean, naming this coffee "Americano" is a worse insult to the country than burning the American flag.
"Are you there?" Marik says. "Still with us?"
I'm a wuss, Riml-Löhr thinks. I'm no match for these people. Marik is talking about murdering dozens of people like he is discussing a new shirt.
Riml-Löhr takes off the glasses and rubs his eyes.
"I'm here," Riml-Löhr says.
The general is a uniformed peacenik, Riml-Löhr thinks. I doubt he ever held a firearm in his hands. This rubbed off on you, too. You are the ultimate paper-pusher, running away from risk which is also your opportunity.
"I will think about it," Riml-Löhr says.
You blew your scientific career, Riml-Löhr thinks. Try not to blow this one, too.
"Alright. Don't call me," Marik says. "I will watch the news."
Marik hangs up. Riml-Löhr is again alone with both paintings and his coffee mug.
I need that "dessert" at Zollgasse, Riml-Löhr thinks. Maybe then I'll calm down.
He stands up and walks up and down the room.
This is murder you are going to commit, Riml-Löhr thinks. Murder by proxy.
He flips through the red folder again.
If this thing goes as it's supposed to, you won't have to work for the general any longer, Riml-Löhr thinks. That's a plus.
He looks at the image with the Viennese cosmology.
For the greater good, Riml-Löhr thinks. It's for the greater good. Resurrection of traditional values, remember? The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of useful idiots and terrorists. You are fighting for freedom, trooper.
He sits down and puts his hands on the table and buries his face in them.
You've always tried to be a good boy, and where did it get you? Riml-Löhr thinks. You are alone, frustrated, and beyond hope.
I don't know about the tree of liberty, Riml-Löhr thinks. Let their blood be the water that brings the garden of my soul to life and their corpses – the fertilizer which accelerates my resurrection.