The man maintained his grip. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.’
‘What is happening?’ she asked, her words catching in her throat.
‘I need you to come with me.’
They rounded the corner now onto a main road, busier than the secluded side street of the clinic. Her tram stop was just a few metres away, but the man turned left instead of right. Clara looked ahead and saw a policeman standing on the corner, watching people as they walked past.
‘Scheiße! Die Grünen.’ The man cursed under his breath calling the policeman by the slang term of ‘The Greens’ referring to their green uniform.
For a moment Clara considered calling out to the Schutzpolizei, but something stopped her. This man, whoever he was, wasn’t here on official business otherwise he wouldn’t be worried about the policeman. She decided to take her chances with the stranger.
‘Just relax. Look at me and smile. As if we are a couple walking home,’ instructed the man.
Clara wasn’t sure her acting skills were up to the job, but nevertheless she did as she was told. ‘It was very busy at work, but we delivered three babies today,’ she said.
‘Well done. Don’t look at him,’ said the man under his breath before continuing out loud. ‘That is wonderful. Such good news.’
They passed the policeman without a problem. They turned the next corner and Clara let out a sigh of relief. She stopped walking, pulling her arm away from the man. ‘Unless you tell me what is happening right now, I am going to turn and run back to that policeman.’ She wasn’t sure she would, but it was the best threat she could come up with on the spot.
The man’s mouth twitched in amusement as if he too knew full well she wouldn’t do that.
Chapter 10
‘Come with me,’ said the man, taking her arm again.
‘Where are we going?’ He was leading her further away from the tram and in the opposite direction to her home.
‘We need to talk. Somewhere private.’
After about five minutes of walking, criss-crossing streets, taking main roads and side streets and what felt like going back on themselves, Clara was completely disorientated. She had no idea where she was. They were now walking down a narrow side street which appeared to house mainly residential properties with the occasional baker’s or café.
‘In here,’ said the man, still holding Clara’s arm. He guided her into a café which had a closed sign on the door. It was dark inside, the autumn evening already closing in on the city. There were several round wooden chairs and tables with a bar at the back of the premises. A man wearing a white, somewhat stained apron, over a grey shirt stood behind the counter, drying glasses.
He nodded at Clara’s escort and motioned with his head to a door at the side of the bar.
Clara hesitated. She had a bad feeling about what was behind the door, but the man wasn’t having any of it. He forcefully yanked her along. ‘Don’t be scared,’ he said. ‘Nothing is going to happen to you.’
The bartender stepped out from behind the counter and, walking around Clara, went to the front of the café. She heard the bolts slide across the top and bottom of the door. Before she had time to consider any other options open to her, she was being hustled through to a hallway with a wooden staircase. There were two doors. One looked like a rear exit. She glanced up at the bolts. They too were slid into place, but she did note a key in the lock. It was a possible escape route if she needed it. She just had to hope there was a yard at the back she could escape from.
‘It doesn’t go anywhere other than the toilet,’ said the man as if reading her thoughts. ‘In here.’ He opened the door on the left of the stairs which led into some kind of living room. There was a sofa on one side of the room in front of a fireplace. On the other side was a kitchenette and a small table and chairs. A cat jumped off the worktop, making Clara startle. It mewed and sauntered towards Clara. ‘I wouldn’t advise touching it. Full of fleas no doubt.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with the cat,’ came the voice of the bartender as he entered the room.
‘Please, sit.’ The man went over to the window and closed the curtains, before switching on a lamp. An amber glow spread out across the room, not quite reaching the other side.
Clara sat on one of the dining chairs. She cast her gaze around the room, somewhat relieved it didn’t appear to be some kind of torture chamber. It was sparse and could do with a thoroughly good clean. There were dishes and pots piled up on the side with various food debris stuck to them. A faint waft of a several days old dustbin contents drifted across the room.
‘Drink?’ asked the bartender going over to the cupboard and holding up a bottle of Korn.
‘Haven’t you got real vodka?’ asked the other man. ‘I can’t stand that wheat-based pretend stuff.’
‘Not for free,’ came the reply. The bartender poured two glasses, obviously confident the other man would indeed drink it despite his protestations. The bartender looked at Clara questioningly.
Clara shook her head. ‘Can someone tell me why I’m here?’ she asked, sitting upright. ‘And who you are?’
The man took off his hat and placed it on the back of the sofa, pushing his blond hair from his forehead. He took a seat opposite her. ‘You can call me Max.’ She looked at the bartender. Max took a sip of his drink he proclaimed not to like. ‘You can call him Karl.’
‘Not your real names, I presume?’ Clara looked from one to the other. She was beginning to feel angry for being forced here. The fear she had initially felt had subsided and now her sense of anger was rising. ‘Look, can you just tell me what you want from me? I need to go home, my husband will wonder where I am.’
