Coming out with obstacles or E-Book

W.T. Wallenda

• Herausgeber: BoD - Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 533

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Overweight Berti dreams of a career as a private detective. He is supported by his partner Konny. The household budget is empty and winning a competition promises a relaxing weekend in a luxury ski hotel in the Bavarian Alps. The journey there turns into a catastrophe and develops into a great, bizarre adventure. The gay couple run into drug smugglers, are arrested, kidnapped and have to commit a bank robbery. Together, the friends overcome these hurdles and reach the luxury hotel with their last ounce of strength. A snowstorm cuts them off from the outside world. At the same time, a hotel guest is found murdered. Berti faces his first big case as a private detective. The German bestseller is now also available in English. Comments on the book: This absolutely weird story, which leaves out almost no cliché, is an attack on the laugh muscles. By the end of the book, you'll have grown so fond of the protagonists that you'll be hoping for a sequel.

Leseprobe

Article 3 Basic Law of the Federal Republic of Germany

(1) All persons are equal before the law.

(2) Men and women have equal rights. The state shall promote the actual implementation of equal rights for men and women and shall work for the elimination of existing disadvantages.

(3) No one may be favored or disfavored because of his or her sex, origin, race, language, country of origin and residence, faith, or religious or political beliefs. No one may be discriminated against because of his or her disability.

(Excerpt from the Basic Law of the Federal Republic of Germany)

"As long as we have not implemented this fundamental right in our society, we still have a lot of work to do. Everyone is allowed to love whom he wants to love. Everyone is allowed to believe in what or who he or she wants to believe in, and everyone is a stranger somewhere in the world because of his or her appearance, origin, and language.

We must overcome the last hurdles peacefully and hand in hand to achieve local and global harmony.

My dream: no racism - no wars - no hatred and no rejection just because you are different. Let's fight against it. This time with exaggerated humor to discreetly hold a mirror up to some people.“

W. T. Wallenda

Plot and characters are fictitious.

Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

"I would love to have a mental duel with you, but I don't fight unarmed people.“

Konny Wels

(stolen from an unknown person)

"His mind is his fortune, and poverty is no shame."

Berti Schwartz

(read the quote sometime)

"Give racism no chance!"

Daddy Schwartz

"Anyone who has the ability to laugh heartily at themselves can go through life upright. They are definitely strong, confident and happy people."

W. Wallenda

(Author's opinion)

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https://pixabay.com/service/license-summary/

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Chapter 1 Coming out in suspenders

Chapter 2 Jackpot

Chapter 3 House Community

Chapter 4 Traveling acquaintances

Chapter 5 Bonnie and Clyde

Chapter 6 Hut magic

Chapter 7 Campfire romance

Chapter 8 Reunion brings joy

Chapter 9 Diavolo and Dalmore

Chapter 10 Dancing Queen

Chapter 11 The usual suspects

Chapter 12 A different kind of knuckle

Chapter 13 Exposed

Chapter 14 Revenge is sweet an every cold has a silver lining

Chapter 1

Coming out in suspenders

If there were a red thread in his life that was visible to everyone, the one of Herbert Schwartz, whom everyone calls Berti, would probably be pitch black rather than purple. And if the usual stumbling blocks on life's path were visible to everyone, Berti's path would be comparable to a pre-alpine terrain.

Wherever there was a stumbling block, Berti stepped into it. Whatever Berti started, it always went wrong. At first, the boy with an above-average caloric diet didn't even notice this everyday failure. After all, it was standard in his life that nothing went right on the first try.

Herbert Schwartz grew up in a safe suburban neighborhood. He was the baby of a family of four, and his personal destiny took its course. The overweight boy wore only the worn-out clothes of his siblings, in keeping with his childhood rank. But second-hand clothes were not the real problem. Instead, people at school laughed at the fact that Berti's outfit wasn't exactly up to date. This was because his siblings were a few years older than him.

Berti's father was from Franconia in northern Bavarian. He could never get rid of the dialect. He didn't speak normal slang, no, Daddy Schwartz's pronunciation was very directly with a smart sound of sympathie.

"Where is my bombastic Berti? Come here, Berti! Let me have a look at you. It's still good, you can still wear it, boy," was his father's opinion, and it was the one that was decisive in the great court of arbitration when it came to sorting out and passing on clothes.

"Dad, they always make fun of my clothes at school," Berti tried to defend himself.

But Daddy Schwartz always had a solution ready. "Just tell them that you'll grow out of the clothes,and that they keep their ugly faces. We have to save money. This townhouse needs to be paid for. The stuff is still good," was Daddy Schwartz's usual closing line.

Then there was the matter of the glasses. Berti's horn-rimmed glasses weren't modern back then, they were more practical. They were so big and confusing that you could never really lose them. Despite his best efforts, Berti never lost his glasses. It was an impossibility, and not even Berti's general lack of talent had made it possible.

"We Schwartzs have been wearing the same model of glasses since grandpa's time! It is perfectly made for our heads," the overweight teenage boy used to say. Daddy Schwartz always had a bottle of beer in his left hand and a sandwich with Bratwurst in his right. Daddy's favorite food.

When the kids played pranks at school, it was always an incalculable risk if Berti was involved. Running away was not his specialty. It was always the same one who was caught in these so-called escape pranks. Berti! If you had one, you had them all. This increased the excitement for the other kids immensely. Only those who managed to pull off a stupid prank with Berti without getting caught were considered clever, brave, ingenious, and the coolest kid in school.

Berti believed that this constant getting caught was probably the key to his personal success. He had time to read during detention. He always felt more educated than his grades indicated. And in retrospect, he considered it pure luck that he was always the last to be picked for a team in sports. Not only did he learn to be patient, but he also had the opportunity to study the facial expressions and gestures of others while waiting.

Berti considered this phase of his life to be the cornerstone of his real training. Training to be a super detective. He wanted to be like James Bond and all the other TV detectives in feature films, movies and TV series.

He just never wanted to be like Tom Cruise, the main character in the Mission Impossible movies. He couldn't stand the science fiction and all the posturing. Tom Cruise had double-A status with Berti. A so-called AA guy was nothing more than an arrogant asshole.

Berti wanted to be just like his screen idols and act the way they did in their movies. Superior, cool and smart.

When it came to choosing a career, there was only one option. At the end of his school career he applied for the police force.

After he collapsed during the physical education test, or rather somewhere between the starting block and the two-hundred-meter mark of a two-thousand-meter race, and woke up in the hospital room of the police barracks, he was advised to lose a few kilos.

"You can repeat the test another time," he was told.

He didn't retake the exam, but instead threw his hat into the lottery of career opportunities. Well, there weren't many tickets. In fact, there was only one ticket in the pot. It was a job as an office clerk at the nearby feed mill. Thanks to Daddy Schwartz's connections at the pub, Herbert Schwartz got the job.

"Berti, that's bullshit with the police. Don't go on a rampage now, but learn something good, then you'll get somewhere in life," his father said. "Look at Uncle Albert, he had a good job. Go to the boss or to the office."

Three years later, Berti had a business degree and was tired of being an office administrator. It was time to shoot for the stars.

"I'm ready now," he said.

Berti was absolutely certain that he was not cut out for the easy life. He needed more. He needed thrills. He was the adventurous type, the man with sunglasses in a linen suit, sipping a long drink at the bar with a smile on his face after solving a tricky case.

Berti was looking for adventure. He would need it in the future, like the air he breathed. That was a fact. To survive, he needed his daily dose of adrenaline. He needed a certain amount of danger, otherwise he wouldn't be happy. That, too, was as clear as mud. The police didn't want him, which he found absolutely ridiculous, so there was only one option left. He had to become a private detective. Not a private eye, but THE private eye.

"As if Sherlock Holmes ever solved a case after running 2,000 meters," he said to himself.

"Wait, Mrs. Tacklestone, I'll run another 2,000 yards before I find your missing husband. Dr. Watson, where are my running shoes?" he joked.

Sherlock Holmes was a private detective, not a sports star. This train of thought was the initial spark for Berti's future career. He was not destined to be a policeman, but a private investigator. With each passing day, week, and month, this idea became more firmly established. One day Berti woke up and knew that the time had come.

This is THE day, he realized immediately.

The decision was made. Berti fulfilled his life's dream. He became a private investigator.

The young man emptied his savings account, left home and sought adventure in the big city.

"If anything happens, call me. You know you can always come back," father Schwartz told his son, taking a bite out of his Bratwurst-Sandwich before adding an incomprehensible "Bye, Berti".

Separated from his parents, the self-proclaimed private dick moved into an apartment in the city. He had a door sign made, designed a homepage and placed banners on all sorts of websites. He also placed an ad in a daily newspaper to attract his first clients.

The private investigator still has appointments available. Investigations of all kinds. The ad was placed in large letters between the animal market and real estate search under the heading: Miscellaneous.

Berti proudly bought a copy of the newspaper, sat down on the sofa at home and waited. Two bags of potato chips and four 0.33-liter bottles of Coke later, he was still sitting there. The phone was silent. Nothing! Nada! Niente! Niente! Not a single call. He checked several times to make sure the phone was working.

It worked! He noticed every time. He never even received a phone call asking how much his fee was.

When the word "fee" crossed his mind, he slapped his thighs. "Exactly! How much money should I charge?"

Herbert Schwartz grinned. He would play it cool. As the Robin Hood of the big city, he would help the poor for free, and the rich would make him rich. He liked the concept. "Is 1,000 euros plus expenses a day okay?" he wondered aloud.

Berti went to the mirror and practiced. "My fee? A thousand plus expenses per day. What, you can't afford that? Look for a private dick in the toy store near the action figures. I only work for solvent clients. I'm a professional. Success is guaranteed with me. Problems exist only so I don't get bored. I solve them. Forever."

When he spoke, he disguised his voice, contorted his face, and imitated screen heroes. After Marlon Brando in The Godfather, he did Robert De Niro. He thought he looked better. In a hotter voice, he said to his reflection: "Hey, you wuss. Yeah, that's you, I'm talking to you. Either you come out with the photos or you're gonna wish the Mafia was here instead of me. I know you'd rather swim in the North Sea with concrete feet than see me here.

Berti was satisfied. Now he was prepared. The phone was ready. He waited again. Nothing happened. Silence. Agonizing, nerve-wracking silence filled the room.

Another phone test followed. Landline and cell. Both worked. He used the cell phone to call his own landline. The familiar ringing tone was heard. Berti waited for the answering machine. "Schwartz, Private Detective. Don't hang up. I'll call you back. Your problem is my problem from now on, and I don't have any problems, I'll take care of it."

More than satisfied, he sat back and waited for the first client to call. He waited and waited and waited.

In desperation, the detective began to read the newspaper. He spread it out in front of him, cleaned the lenses of his glasses, and scanned the headline. Rents are exploding!

"As if nobody knew!"

Berti read an article about the fate of an impoverished multimillionaire who received 50,000 euros in social assistance every month to cover her fixed costs.

He deliberately skipped the sports section that followed. After browsing through all the car listings, he came to the acquaintances page. Berti rubbed his hands together, opened a new bag of potato chips, took a sip of Coke and leaned back. He devoured the first ads with relish.

"Stallion seeks mare! Get in touch!"

"The animal page comes later," he commented amusedly and continued reading.

"Young-at-heart widow, mid-sixties, looking for a new partner."

Berti smiled. "All that's missing is the addition: cooking mushrooms as a hobby. She buried her first husband with that, now it's the next one's turn."

"W wants W to be affectionate. I'm slim, 35 and unattached. And you?"

"I'm not a girl," he chuckled.

"Looking for a fun group of friends for all kinds of activities."

"Buy a bone, then at least the street dogs will play with you if no one else likes you."

"New to town, late twenties, male, looking for a loyal friend. Also chubby if you like. Honesty counts! Likability is important. Get in touch!"

Berti read the ad three times. He felt hot and cold. His heart began to beat. The rising pulse made his palms clammy. A cell phone number was printed at the bottom of the ad. No cryptic crap, no dating agency, and no SMS scam. It was a regular cell phone number. Should he call? A man was looking for a loyal and honest boyfriend.

The guy is in his late twenties and likes chubby men. That's fate, Berti kept thinking. There's an ad in the same paper that's going to change my professional life because of my ad. He stopped thinking about it.

Everything was clear to Berti. He was gay and single. He also didn't have a client at the moment, which meant he had a lot of time on his hands.

So why not?

Excitedly, he typed the number into his cell phone. It rang. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

What could I say?

His index finger was about to hang up when someone with a very sympathetic voice answered the call.

"Hello, this is Konny."

"Hello, my name is Herbert ... better Berti."

"Hi, Berti."

"I read your ad and ..."

"Are you from here?" Konny interrupted the short pause.

"Yes. I thought we could ... well, I have time and ..."

Konny laughed. "You mean we could meet sometime?"

"That was the idea."

"You're really going for it."

"I have no ulterior motives," Berti gushed. He felt quite stupid.

"I didn't mean it that way. But as luck would have it, I don't have any plans for today either."

"You mean it works?"

"Shall we go out for dinner? We can get to know each other in a comfortable atmosphere."

"Dinner is great!"

"I'm new here. Do you know a good place downtown? I wouldn't know where to find it."

"Sure! How about Italian?"

"I'd love to."

From that day on he was with Konrad Wels. Konny was great. He was a perfect match for Berti. They got along right away. It was love at first sight. Konny was slim, athletic and visually the opposite of Herbert Schwartz. Perhaps that was the secret of their mutual affection.

"It can happen to anyone," smiled Konny when Berti tried to sprinkle some Parmesan over the pasta during their first dinner at the Italian restaurant, but the lid of the cheese shaker, including the entire contents, landed on his plate.

"I love parmesan," Berti chuckled, trying to put a positive spin on the mishap.

And even later, when he poured more red wine and knocked over the glass, Konny remained calm. Smiling and fascinated, he listened to the tough guy sitting in front of him.

"I can't stand white jeans anyway. They make me look like a doctor. I'll throw them away later," the new detective played down the embarrassment.

For Herbert Schwartz, his counterpart was a dream type. Konny had a degree in German. He loved to write novels and dreamed of becoming a great writer. As Konny Wels, he had already achieved his first respectable success. One of the big publishers occasionally published a manuscript by the up-and-coming author.

"They may be clichéd romance novels, or to be more precise, the weekly penny dreadfuls that women of a certain age devour, but with the stories about Dr. Kurt Lonedale, I hit the mark with this clientele," he said.

"Why Konny Wels and not Konrad Wels?" Berti wanted to know.

"Because women would probably rather read something by women than by men. The publisher changed Konrad to Kon-ny. It sounds more feminine."

"I don't understand."

"Never mind. I won't publicly present myself as a male author until I have my first bestseller in the stores. Until then, I can live with the fact that everyone thinks Konny Wels is a woman."

When the two men's legs accidentally touched under the table, her pulse immediately shot up. A tingling sensation ran from her little toe to the roots of her hair. Their eyes were glued together. Cupid had shot an arrow and pierced both their hearts at the same time.

Broke Back Mountain at the Italian Restaurant. Two cowboys were attracted to each other. They had only known each other for a few hours, but from the beginning they were as intimate as two friends from long ago. This was the jackpot for both of them.

Together they needed a bigger apartment. A car was to follow. The career plan was also perfect. Konny wrote his love stories. On the side, he was supposed to take care of Berti's office work while he was away on dangerous missions.

Unfortunately, the order situation was such that calls from potential clients did not materialize, and Berti ended up working as a department store detective for a large consumer temple. "Just temporarily, to pay the bills," he said.

"Think of it as a training program," Konny had said, and as he did every week, he gave his friend the postcard with the solution to the crossword puzzle from the TV magazine when Berti went to work. "Will you put it back in?"

"We can save the money for the stamp. We won't win anything anyway."

Konny's blink was enough. As usual, Berti took the postcard and put it in the mailbox in front of the department store. Then he entered the building, walked past the human resources department, greeted Ms. Perla, and wanted to disappear into his four-monitor surveillance room.

"Mr. Schwartz, the boss wants to talk to you."

Berti stopped.

Damn it! What's going on now?

Just last week he had been told that the loss due to shoplifting in the last quarter had exceeded 20,000 euros. He was also sure to be told again that the company had hired him to prevent exactly that. All he had caught so far were a couple of teenagers who specialized in stealing girls' bras. "Hey bro‘, it was just a dare and all, to look cool in front of the chicks and stuff, you know. It's better than stealing a bag or destroying legumes, right?"

"Destroying legumes? What are you talking about?"

"Well, bro‘, where did you grow up and stuff? Hey guys, the dumpling with eyes doesn't know what legumes are."

The other two thieves laughed.

"This is canned beer. Can I go now, bro’? My producer faction will be terrorized if ... Shit, the cops!"

The three youngsters were picked up by the police and taken home. Berti celebrated his first success. He felt great. That was only two weeks ago. And now? Now the boss asked for him. He was hardly going to praise him for what happened two weeks ago. Berti took a deep breath.

"Thank you, Ms. Perla," he replied. At first, Berti wanted to go on, but then he spontaneously turned back. He returned to the secretary's desk. The store detective put on a particularly friendly smile. "You're wearing that lovely pale pink blouse again. Are you going out tonight?"

Mrs. Perla looked sympathetically at her outer garments. "Oh, you old charmer. It's nothing special," the aging lady replied, blushing slightly.

"Stop it, Ms. Perla. The way you look, I'm sure the gentlemen are lining up."

"Mr. Schwartz, you're one of them," she smiled.

"And you're nicely tanned, too."

"I've been in the solarium a few times. You know, I'm going on vacation soon," came the bubbly, flowery voice. "I don't want to get sunburned when we're sipping cocktails under the palm trees."

"Where are we going?"

Privately, he thought it was a shame about all the money Ms. Perla had brought to Mallorca. The artificial brown made her skin look more like wrinkled leather rags than a beautiful complexion.

"To the South Seas. I'm looking forward to it."

The anticipation of the trip was written all over the secretary's face.

"The South Seas. Isn't that expensive?"

"I've been saving for this for a long time."

Berti sat down on the corner of the desk to look relaxed. But when it creaked under his weight and the opposite part rose slightly, he stood up immediately. "What does Mr. Romer want from me?" he whispered softly.

The look on Frau Perla's face did not bode well. "I think it's about..."

"Schwartz, there you are," the branch manager's voice broke through the conversation. "Come into my office right away. Oh, Ms. Perla, I still need the purchase receipts from last quarter!"

Mr. Romer stood in front of Berti. The store manager that no one liked. As usual, the boss was wearing an ill-fitting suit, because the volume of his belly didn't match the length of his sleeves and the width of his shoulders.

Berti thought that Romer only knew the term Tailor as a family name. In his mind he saw his boss shopping. Everything off the rack.

"I'll take this one. It doesn't fit right, but it's reduced."

Surely he is known everywhere as the Rack-Romer.

Herbert Schwartz could no longer suppress a contemptuous grin. He had to concentrate to keep from snorting. His boss had just been given a new nickname. Berti would tell Mrs. Perla as soon as the conversation was over. She guaranteed that the news would spread very fast. Especially if you added the words: but please don't tell anyone.

Rack-Romer looked ten years older than he actually was. An optical parade. No! Not an optical clown, but the optical clown par excellence! A different suit every day, but the same look. Ash gray.

Berti's thoughts turned to his boss.

For him, everything goes according to plan. Lunch is served at twelve o'clock on the dot. Dinner at six. Shopping on Saturday. Sunday night, it's time for sex. Either before the news or after the crime show at 8:15. But it has to be dark, and it can't last more than ten minutes. In total. So with undressing, foreplay and climax. His climax. Moaning was undesirable, the missionary position was mandatory. Talking before, during and after the sexual act was forbidden.

Berti had to pull himself together not to laugh. This was exactly how he imagined the life of a Rack-Romer.

He couldn't stand that sack of shit from the start.

"What's up?" came from Berti's lips in a surprisingly friendly manner. Actually, he wanted to punch the guy, Jason Statham-style, but Romer was responsible for ordering Berti's money. So the store detective controlled himself.

The office was coldly furnished. Freezer-style Feng Shui. Emotionally, Berti would have placed it between his grandfather's long underpants and ochre women's bodices from the fashion catalog. Nothing lived here. In fact, the flies probably swarmed out of this sterile room. "Get out of here, houseflies. This is the forecourt of hell! Any spider's web is more comfortable."

The only splash of color in the room was a long-distance travel brochure lying around.

Berti felt a little uncomfortable. If you compared his performance curve with the results of other store detectives, you could say that he had had little success so far. His competitors, on the other hand, were racking up one catch after another. He was ridiculed. But since his last success, the store manager had put him in the center of the action, while the others eked out an existence in the PC department, the children's toy section, or the household goods section in the basement.

Berti was also annoyed by the way Romer kept introducing conversations. He couldn't listen to this Mr. Schwartz anymore. Romer's voice was certainly a model for many movie villains.

"Mr. Schwartz! We have another shortage in the women's lingerie department. I told you last week that I want results, otherwise we part ways."

"I ... hmhm," Berti cleared his throat, "... it's my turn."

"Whose turn? What do you mean, it's my turn?" he mimed with funny head movements. "I want to see the results!"

The detective's hands grew clammy. What could he say to Romer? Think, Berti! Tell him something. Only talking will save your head! Silence means loss!

"I was under surveillance and I can narrow down the circle of suspects."

"Narrow?" Roman's voice rose. He became loud. Very loud. "I want them arrested! I want charges filed! Arrests! I want the thieves hauled away in handcuffs by police officers!" The store manager stood up. His head was glowing bright red.

If he had hydrocephalus, he would start whistling. "Ready, the water's boiling," Berti mentally changed the subject, but it didn't help. Romer's words crashed mercilessly into his ears.

"You still have this weekend, Schwartz. Only this weekend! On Monday the regional director is coming for an audit. Either I show him the culprit or culprits, or you're out! You bear the entire responsibility for this enormous deficit!"

"No problem, Mr. Romer. As I said, it's my turn."

"Out!"

Badass, moron and ass-face were the most harmless insults that raced through Berti's mind. I'm going to show Rack-Romer who I am. First I'll catch the perverted suspender thief, then I'll buy this full- fledged ..., Berti thought of his own character and deleted the last word. He replaced it with, ... that armchair fart.

The day passed without results. We had high hopes for tomorrow, Saturday. Saturday was shopping day for the ladies. Rumble in the jungle! Like flies circling a dog turd, the ladies of the city stood at the lingerie baskets and rummaged until they found something to distract their husbands' eyes from their cellulite legs.

Anyone who knew Herbert Schwartz knew that he never gave up. Especially not when he was mad. Angry at Romer, angry at the thief, angry at the whole deadly situation.

But when the anger boiled over, so did the enthusiasm. He wanted to solve the case.

My first big case.

Berti suspected that there was a system behind the high number of thefts. It was no coincidence. A professional thief was at work.

The next day, he was already highly concentrated at breakfast. "I'll get it today," he thought.

Konny sat across from him as usual. He was in a good mood. His dark, almost black hair shone with the new wet gel as if he had just come from the sea. His brown eyes looked at Berti.

"Of course you'll get her," the writer smiled. The moment was perfect. Beaming with joy, Konny presented his good news, the hammer of the day. "Are you sitting well? I've got a great surprise for you. Maybe even the solution to our problem."

Berti put down his coffee cup. Solution to the problem? What problem? He was full of hope.

"This time I've solved the big crossword puzzle. You can win a weekend in a ski hotel. The second prize is 500 euros and the third prize is a 50 euro shopping voucher".

The hope faded. The bright light in the sky crashed. Konny's carefree, light-footed approach to life seemed to underestimate the fatal situation they were in. By problem solving, his friend meant the second prize. 500 euros was a small fortune for the two young men.

"We're not going to win anything anyway."

"Sourpuss!"

"What have you won so far?"

Konny frowned. "A knife block, a trial subscription to Woman’s Health and ..."

Berti grimaced. "I know," he interrupted his friend, "and the red rubber ball to blow up."

"After all."

"Konny, we're broke. Your fee and my detective's salary are just enough to cover the rent and the first two weeks of our household needs. What are we supposed to eat in the second half of the month?"

"I'm a lucky mushroom, as the English say," replied the Penny Dreadful author, grinning irresistibly and holding up the famous weekly postcard. "I stuck on our last stamp. It's good luck. Will you drop it in on the way to the store?"

Berti gave himself a wide berth. The stamp was already on the card anyway. "Well, the second prize would be helpful anyway."

Konny got up, Berti poured more coffee. As always, something splashed out. The usual little brown puddle had formed on the saucer.

"Why don't you set a trap for her," Konny answered his partner's first comment.

"The suspender thief?"

"Of course! You have to be more cunning than your rivals and more devious than your opponents."

Berti picked up his saucer and cup. First he sipped the spilled coffee from the small plate, then he took a sip from the cup. Konny was right. "A trap," the detective repeated slowly. "I already thought of that," he interjected, not wanting to sit there looking completely stupid. "That's a very good idea. I just need to know how to do it. I can't draw attention to myself in the lingerie department."

"Disguise yourself as a customer," Konny suggested.

"Do you really think so?"

"Honey, don't be like that. You can do it. You're the best detective I know. Nobody's better than my fat boy."

"Don't always call me fat!"

"Fat. Fat."

"Konny," he literally blurted out. Berti was visibly angry.

"It's all right," the writer relented. "You have to go. And take the map with you."

"Give it to me."

"What has been stolen so far?"

"Lingerie of all kinds worth about 20,000 euros."

"A lot of stuff. That sounds more like a professional operation than random theft by frustrated housewives."

Berti got dressed. He opened the front door, greeted Mrs. Kapaunke, who was on stair duty, and turned back to Konny. "I'll get her."

"Okay, I'll see you later, sweetie."

"Konny! Please! Not when the door to the hallway is open," he grumbled back, but was secretly happy about the caresses. My Konny is already a big man.

The weather was as bad as Berti's mood when he thought about pole-vaulting. It was raining. The cold and wet weather had only one advantage. It cleared Berti's head. He was up a little earlier than usual today. The shelter at the bus stop was already full to bursting. He didn't feel like waiting for the bus anyway. Fuck it, he thought. I'll walk today.

He turned up the collar of his coat, pulled his mismatched baseball cap down a bit, and marched off. Rush hour. The streets were packed with angry drivers, but the sidewalks were clear. Hardly any pedestrians.

They stay home in the rain.

A plan matured in Berti's subconscious. The same words circled over and over again.

Professional action ... twenty thousand dollars ... I'm the only detective. Something's rotten. Totally rotten!

It went around and around in his head. After twenty minutes of walking, he was there. As always, the department store stood proudly in its place. The red brick building defied wind and weather. The mannequins stared impassively at the rain-soaked asphalt. Berti's coat and baseball cap were soaked, but not dripping. The yellow mailbox next to the staff entrance was already waiting for the weekly postcard.

"Here, eat or die," the detective breathed out as he slid the card into the mail slot.

Five minutes later, he was in his office. The store detective had another fifteen minutes before the front doors opened. The shopping-hungry crowd would pour in like vandals in ancient Rome. The first bargain-hunting she-wolves were already waiting to enter under dark umbrellas.

When the stores open, the thieves come. She is certainly the one.

Berti knew it. He suspected it. He felt it. Unrecognizable from the outside, they crept among Mrs. Müller, Mrs. Meier, and several other customers. They waited for a favorable opportunity to strike mercilessly at an unobserved moment.

Rack-Romer's face appeared in Berti's mind. Flushed red, he trumpeted the detective's name. "Mr. Schwartz!" He spat. The disgusting thought made Berti's skin crawl. The tingle of the Drake film stretched from his neck to his hips. He jumped up in disgust. A brief thought flashed through his mind. It was as if he'd taken his famous foot off the line. Berti had indeed had an idea.

"Brilliant idea," he shouted out loud.

Looking at the camera footage gave no real clues. He had watched it over and over again, but he could neither observe any theft nor clarify important questions, such as how the stolen goods were smuggled out. Or what faces kept showing up? Did they work alone or in teams?

That was the whole mystery. In this case, no answer was also no answer. Berti had no idea, but at least he had a vague initial suspicion. He thought he knew how the hot goods left the department store, and he just had to put it to the test.

Right now!

He left the office in a flash. He hurried down the corridor and into the sales room. There he hurried past the shoes and handbags, knocked over a basket of socks, and rushed forward to the women's underwear. The lingerie, or "sensual fashion for underneath," as the latest slogan on a poster read, was right across the street from the two dressing rooms.

The doors would open in a few minutes.

It didn't take long for the first customers to appear in front of the shelves, racks and baskets. Time was precious now. Berti had very little of it. Too little to be choosy. In front of the rack of tights and stockings, he reached for the largest size. Armed with a pair of XXL black fishnet stockings, he ran on. His right paw grabbed a pair of oversized panties, his left hand picked something out of the erotic basket.

Another seven minutes, he estimated.

Berti disappeared into the dressing room. The lights in the sales room went on. The countdown began. He had five minutes to carry out his plan. The detective quickly stripped down to his underwear.

"How do they do that?" he muttered as he pulled the black fishnet stockings over his impressive calves.

His initial apprehension was allayed. Surprisingly, he had no problem putting on the sexy underwear. Berti pulled the women's briefs over his underpants. The thong looked terrible. If he wasn't wearing his retro pants, the front middle section of the ladies' thong would barely cover half of his joystick. His testicles would inevitably be exposed to free fall to the left and right. He struggled a bit with the suspenders. The detective was satisfied when he had fastened the buttons on one leg.

"Thank God for Ruben's ladies. The regular stuff would never have fit me."

Berti looked at himself in the mirror. His dark blond hair was shaved at the sides and at the neck. He let the hair on top grow a little longer. That way he could wear it in different styles. Parted as desired or wildly styled with hair wax in a wake-up style. The glasses looked sporty and elegant. The well-proportioned detective glanced down with satisfaction.

"For God's sake," he slipped out. "I look like a self-made faggot. I'm a drag queen with a welfare look. I'm a welfare-drag."

His free upper body with the huge belly was a familiar sight to him. The lower part looked wilder. Berti wore a pair of white retro-style underpants with a red lady's thong on top, the string of which had completely disappeared rectally, so that the retro pants in front of it could also be pulled into the gap. "Aep," Berti scolded. "Ass eats pants!"

The garters were wrapped around her plump hips. The erotic suspenders were tied to the fishnet stockings on the right leg. On the left leg they hung loosely like tendrils. Berti held a second pair of suspenders.

"49.99," he squeezed out, wedging the packaged department store lingerie under the buttoned suspenders on the right leg. They held.

"That's how they do it," he gloated. "That's one way to smuggle the merchandise out of the store."

The glee faded. He shook his head in disbelief.

No! Not possible! Anti-theft device! Damn it again.

Berti jumped when he heard footsteps. He looked at his watch. The countdown to the opening of the shop was exactly two minutes. Who was marching around here? The detective pushed aside the curtain of the dressing room. He peered cautiously through the small slit. Berti's heart began to pound. He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw Ms. Perla. The secretary was strutting past the lingerie. She deliberately grabbed one garment after another. Everything went into a cool bag she had brought with her.

That bitch, it flashed through Berti's head. She bypasses the electronic anti-theft devices. Mrs. Perla is a wolf in sheep's clothing. She hasn't been saving up for a vacation in the South Seas for a long time.

The secretary pulled out a piece of paper and nodded with satisfaction. The detective suspected theft for hire. He was boiling inside.

That old frigate! Now I know who's responsible for the 20,000 Euro damage. And silly me, I've watched hours of surveillance footage. Of course, I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. The cameras are only turned on when customers come in. Automatically.

The brazen thief looked around to make sure. She was about to leave the lingerie department and return to the office when Berti jumped out of the changing room. He stood in front of Ms. Perla with a bare torso, a flabby belly and a pair of suspender straps on his left leg.

"I finally got you!" he squealed.

"Iiiiihhhiiiii!" screamed the surprised secretary. The bag of stolen goods fell from her hand. Shocked by the sight of Herbert Schwartz in his suspenders, she clapped her hands together in front of her mouth. Her eyes raced up and down Berti's body.

Just then, the first customers streamed into the lingerie department. As soon as they saw the half-naked garter belt, they too began to scream.

An elderly lady ran up to Berti in disgust. "You're a lecher," she shouted at him. The elderly pensioner kept waving her umbrella in the air.

From behind him he heard all kinds of expressions.

"Peeping Tom!"

"Castrate the pervert!"

"Stop that dirtbag!"

"I'm a detective! I've caught a serial thief in the act," Berti defended himself, but it was as if he was calling for help underwater. His sentence died unheard in the crowd of angry women.

Mrs. Perla's cries, on the other hand, were easily heard. Her shrill voice always found the right gap in the chatter of the women's squadron. "Help! He tried to rape me!"

Berti became afraid. The circle around him grew tighter and tighter. The faces of the angry women looked distorted, frightening. They seemed determined to kill him. They all stared at him with hatred in their eyes. From behind, the crowd opened up.

Berti was relieved. A movie scene flashed through his mind. Moses parted the sea. But it wasn't Moses walking through the parted sea of women, it was Mr. Romer and a member of the security service. Both came running at a trot. The security guard's muscle-bound battering ram cut through the crowd like an icebreaker. Rack-Romer followed.

At least three of the customers punched 911 into their smartpho-nes. "Emergency call? Police, please come quickly ..."

"Mr. Schwartz!" Romer shouted. He had stopped right in front of Berti and Ms. Perla. He, too, was staring at Berti's lingerie-clad body. It was a mixture of anger, horror and disgust that prevented him from cursing and left Romer speechless for a few seconds. "You ... are ... you're a ..." Romer couldn't get any further.

The security man shoved the manager aside. "I will get him," he shoutet.

"I arrested the thief," Berti shouted in defense.

The guard tried to get past the manager, tripped over his leg, fell forward, and grabbed Berti's retro underpants. He slowly slid to the floor with them. After the customers had been confronted with the naked facts of the store detective standing in front of them in his suspenders, the screaming in the lingerie department of the department store reached the top end of a gigantic noise level scale.

Probably even the wild howling of a Chippendales performance in a sold-out hall of man-hungry women was topped. Several photographs were taken. The scene was captured.

"I'm disappointed in you, Schwartz! I ... I ... hope you won't be released from prison soon," Romer half-stuttered.

"Damn it all! Ms. Perla is the thief! I caught her red-handed!" Berti's mood was like an erupting volcano.

"He was going to rape me," the secretary cried repeatedly.

"Never," Berti replied.

A police patrol ran up. "We happened to be on foot patrol and were right outside the door when the call came in," one of the officers explained, while the other tried increasingly desperately to keep the peace.

Berti pulled up his retro underwear. The two cops also ran their eyes over the man's body several times, clad in suspender belts and fishnet stockings.

"I'm a detective, I disguised myself and caught a serial thief."

"Well, well!" said one of the uniformed men.

"She steals to order. The freezer bag contains both the goods and a note on which she has definitely written down her customer's wish list. I didn't want to rape her," Berti gushed. He just wanted to get out of this embarrassing situation.

"Rudolf, do something," Mrs. Perla hissed at Mr. Romer.

Berti was astonished that the two were on a first-name basis, but they had known each other for years.

"Ms. Perla," Romer fended her off.

Berti wanted to follow up, but then the policeman began to speak.

"And we're supposed to believe that? It all sounds a bit far-fetched."

"Here's the proof! Look in Mrs. Perla's bag. It's got everything she got at the five-finger discount."

"And her outfit?" the officer pointed to the women's underwear.

"Camouflage! Or do you think I like walking around with the egg pincher and the stupid garters?"

"Who knows?" the officer remarked. "And the lady's details?" he added quickly.

"Lies!"

"And why should we assume she's not telling the truth? The way you look, it's quite possible you wanted to rape her."

A lot of stupid questions. Berti flew into a rage, he was about to explode. He was a hero, not a sexual predator. Besides, Ms. Perla was too old for him. And to make matters worse, she was a woman. That was enough. The detective angrily blew his top in front of Romer, the security guard, the two cops, and the entire audience. It had to come out. Here and now! The time was ripe.

"Because I'm gay!" he shouted at the top of his lungs to the mob. His voice was about to break. Some saliva shot forward. Berti's eyes danced wildly behind the lens of his glasses. His cheeks were blood red with rage and wobbled a little.

Silence. Icy, desolate silence. You could hear a pin drop.

Berti tried to think of something to say. His state of mind could easily be described as out of control. The detective tried to sound somewhat normal again, but still spoke with measured anger.

"I'm a homosexual, I'm in a committed relationship, I'm not interested in women, and I'm certainly not interested in Ms. Perla! Have you understood that now, or do you want me to confirm it in writing?"

That was a mental knockout. Berti had come out in public for the first time in his life. If Daddy-Schwartz were here, the Bratwurst-Sandwich would fall out of his hands. "My son is a warm brother, a Homo? Oh my God! I didn't know Berti was a back-side-lover."

The detective stared into open mouths. The crowd was still speechless. For the first time in several minutes, Ms. Perla was also silent. Romer and the guard looked at each other questioningly.

"I see," said the policeman, who was the first to regain his composure. "That's where the wind comes from."

A murmur slowly spread through the rows of spellbound spectators. It was replaced by whispers that escalated into wild cackling.

The day was over.

The headline in the local press was devastating. "Detective in suspenders catches suspected thief!" Berti's photo was emblazoned next to it. The worst of all pictures had been chosen. The guard was lying with Berti's underpants in his fists between the detective's fishnet-clad legs. The suspenders were hanging down, Berti's butt looked oversized. The case was the talk of the town, and cooperation with the department store was terminated.

"Mr. Schwartz, this has gone too far. The reputation of our company has suffered considerably as a result," said Romer.

Berti didn't care. He wouldn't have been able to work there anyway.

"Look at the bright side," Konny comforted his friend. "They can't see your face. The photographer was focused on something else. That´s good."

"And now the whole city knows my ass."

Konny smiled. "I think the stockings and suspenders don't look bad on you."

Berti blushed. For some seconds he forgot the desaster. "Do you really think so?"

Konny nodded, stood up, went to Berti and put his hand on his shoulder. "Do you still have them or did you have to give them back?"

Now Berti smiled. "Hm, if you ask me. I was allowed to keep them."

"Would you wear them again?"

"Konny ... it looks really stupid."

„Really?“

The blink was enough.

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Chapter 2

Jackpot

There was only one thing that could beat the life of an extremely disgraced store detective. It was the life of an unemployed, disgraced store detective. No matter which store Berti applied to, he received rejection after rejection.

"Aren't you the one with the suspenders and ..." was how it usually began.

Everyone knew the photo from the newspaper, but no one mentioned the solved case. Berti still considered it his greatest success. He was sure that sooner or later he would be recognized for exposing this serial thief.

For now, however, the private detective had no choice but to spend all his free time at home with his partner. Konny spent the mornings working on a new Dr. Kurt Lonedale novel, while the afternoons belonged to them.

The internet and newspapers were scoured, ideas worked out, applications written, rejections collected. Day after day, the same procedure. Eventually, Konny Wels had enough. One day he brought home a surprise from the shops.

"Fatty, I've got something for you."

"Don't always call me fat."

"Look."

"Our checking account is almost full and you're buying clothes?" Berti wondered as Konny put a bag with various clothes on the table.

"I invested."

"In what?"

"In you! These are work clothes. We'll push your private detective agency in my direction. I've even got an invoice for the tax office," the author beamed. Konny continued to unpack. Beaming with joy, he laid a stack of business cards on the table. "Our first advertising campaign. You just hand out your business cards everywhere."

Berti stared at his friend in surprise. There was a certain gleam in the detective's eyes.

"That's a great idea! Clothes make the man. All I have to do is hit the city's high society, make a little impression, and hand out business cards. Konny, you're a genius! Let me see."

Konny handed his partner one of the cards. Gold background, black lettering. The author had chosen Verdana as the font. Berti read aloud: "Herbert Schwartz, private detective, your problem is my problem, guaranteed investigation," with the phone and cell numbers printed below.

"No address?"

"We can't receive clients here. The office has to wait. They call you, you come there, that's it!"

"Tell me, Konny. Isn't the guarantee a bit exaggerated?"

The writer grinned and shook his head. "Oh no, just the opposite. That's the difference between you and your competitors."

"And if I can't solve a case?" Berti's voice wavered a bit. "Not that I doubt it, I just mean ... well, it could happen ... well ..." He took a deep breath. "I'm only human, after all."

"It doesn't matter! You guarantee it to the customer! It's been proven that 99 percent of all cases can be solved. You can refuse the tiny percentage of unsolvable cases because of the workload," he winked.

Berti was on fire. "Why didn't we think of this before?"

"We just didn't think hard enough, or rather, we didn't see the forest for the trees, as they say. Now we just have to think about where to find the most solvent customers."

Berti snapped his fingers. "At the tennis club. That's where the rich and beautiful are."

Konny nodded. "Perfect."

"When we go to the tennis club, I put on some sports gear. I'll hang around the bar area a bit, leaving a card here and there."

"Good idea, but you have to show up in a suit, not gym clothes. They have bouncers."

"Bouncers outside the tennis club?" asked Berti. "Like outside the dessert?"

"Yes. Like outside the disco."

Berti was puzzled. "Why is that? Only members go there anyway."

"Stupid question. You know what kind of clientele goes there. They're there to protect them."

"Should we take that address off the list?"

Konny shook his head. "Never! Some of the big shots in the sports world are always cheating on their rich spouses. There's a lot of money to be made. Two or three conclusive photos, a few little notes, and you'll get a hefty bill."

"Maybe I'll go to City Hall and hand out business cards. The city council people have their fingers in all the pies. I think there are some surveillance jobs to be had."

"You mean poking around the big felt?"

"Logical. The bribery mafia, election scandals, and so on. In politics, private investigators are an effective tool in the ubiquitous party struggle."

"And we don't care from which dark channels we get the fee," Konny rubbed his hands together.

"I could go to the doctors. I have an appointment with Dr. Green-foot this afternoon anyway."

"Has your back gotten worse?"

"Just a little, but I have endless time, so I might as well go to the doctor and get some massages. They always work."

"Look at your work clothes."

Full of enthusiasm, Berti reached into the large plastic bag with the advertising print of his last employer.

"They didn't have anything else at the thrift store," Konny apologized.

Two shirts, three ties, a bow tie, a suit that could easily compete with those of Rack-Romer, a Norwegian sweater with a moose pattern and a funky hippie jacket were already on the table. Then Berti reached for something hairy. Konny's eyes widened as his friend pulled out an Agnetha Fältskog wig.

"What's that?"

"Agnetha from Abba! Dancing Queen, you know."

"And this is supposed to be my work clothes?"

"Why don't you sit up?"

Berti was shy. "What nonsense."

"Go on," Konny urged.

Berti had had enough of dressing up. The thing with the suspenders had eaten away at the back of his mind. "Are you having a hetero fit or what? I'm not a chick."

The famous kissing wink followed and the weighty detective softened. "All right, then. Putting it on once is okay," he said and pulled the blonde, long-haired wig over his hair.

Konny looked at his friend and was thrilled. "Super," he exclaimed. "That thing really suits you."

Berti couldn't believe it and went to the mirror. "Hello friends. Agnetha is back. She's hardly changed. Maybe put on a pound or two," he mimicked.

Konny laughed heartily. "I know you're a big Abba fan."

"All right. I have to admit I like the wig. But it's not work clothes," she said energetically. "It's more for home."

"And if you're watching as a man, get discovered, disappear behind a wall and reappear as a blonde Rebel Wilson lookalike in a weird Hollywood role, nobody in the world would suspect the famous detective Herbert Schwartz under that wig.

Berti melted at the words. "How nice of you to say that."

Konny stayed on the subject. "So, where do you start? I mean with the business cards."

"As I said, with the doctor."

After Berti left the apartment a little later, Konny picked up the phone. He dialed a friend's number.

"Gerd? Hello, hello to you ... yes, I'm fine ... and how are you? ... Fine! Listen. I have a little problem. Are you still working for eBay? ... Great! I've noticed that a certain seller has been auctioning off all kinds of lingerie for a while now. The username is: Erotic Dream. Can you take a look?"

Konny waited. At the other end of the line, Gerd typed on his PC, found the account and gave the details to his friend.

"What?" Konny exclaimed in astonishment. "Twelve thousand euros in the last four weeks? Can you tell me who that is? ... Come on, you owe me a favor. After all, I was the one who brought you together..."

Again, it took a moment for the information to come through. When Konny found out who the owner of the account was, everything was clear to him.

"Thank you, Gerd. You can rely on my discretion."

Only two minutes later Konny was sitting at his PC. He created a letterhead based on the business card and started writing. "... I have investigated ... I must draw your attention to this ... Fee arrangements are with my secretary, Mr. Wels ... signed Herbert Schwartz, Private Detective".

Konny read the letter again, printed it out twice, signed it with the abbreviation pps and put it in an envelope. Then he went to the post office. The obstetrics for Berti's first solved case had been completed. As soon as he received positive feedback, he would present it to his friend. Konny leaned back in a good mood.

"Do you have the card with you?" asked Dr. Greenfoot's robotic receptionist. Of course, the question came without a hint of politeness. The monster behind the counter was the epitome of evil. She was the reason children were afraid of doctors.

"Come on, let's go see dear uncle doctor."

"No, that's where the evil dragon sits."

Berti could imagine the eternal struggle of the mothers who dragged their babies with mumps, measles, head lice, or gastrointestinal illnesses to this practice.

"Here you go," Berti replied politely, sliding his health insurance card across the counter.

The dragon took it, looked at it, and said: "Mr. Schwartz, you can take a seat in the waiting room. We'll call you in then."

It was the same stoic voice as before. The robotic style seemed to come naturally to the quirky woman. Sometimes Berti doubted that this woman was alive. She was somehow mechanical and worked the same way every time he visited the doctor.

"I'm number 5 ... I want to be a doctor's assistant ... please lubricate my vocal cords ... I need to recharge my battery in the evening ... please sit down in the waiting room".

Berti entered the waiting room. A young couple was whispering in the corner. Two older ladies were sitting to the right. They were obviously regular customers of the family doctor. Across from them, a mother sat on the bench. Her baby was coughing, and his three-year-old brother was rummaging through a virus-infected toy box. His nose was constantly running, which was relieved by constant sniffling. When the snot was a little longer, the sleeve helped.

"Yannik-Konstantin, please," was all his overwhelmed mother would say.

An overweight woman in her mid-fifties had sat down next to the little family. She was the living embodiment of the double-whopper and had to sit on the bench. She certainly wouldn't have been able to get up from an armchair. The sight of the woman awakened in Berti an immense joy of existence. He felt instantly slender.

Two men who belonged to the guards, who often got a special day off with a yellow slip, completed the patient program of the first hour. Berti sat down next to them.

"A nice little boy," the fat woman began. When she turned to the toddler, her cheeks wobbled like jelly. "What are you looking for?"

Yannik-Konstantin was startled. He looked at the mountain of meat, started to cry, ran to his mother and buried his head in her sweater. She smiled somewhat reservedly.

"He's in the alienation phase right now."

Nonsense! He's scared to death that the mountain of meat might eat him, Berti thought, imagining the scene. "I love little children! My favorite is sweet and sour or crispy fresh from the oven."

The couple next to Berti kept whispering something about children, but they both stared a little uncertainly at the three-year-old, who was pulling away from his mother. What remained was an unmistakable streak of nasal mucus that the mother tried to wipe away with a tissue.

One of the two men reeked of alcohol. Berti called him the Ensign. The other guy seemed absent-minded. Berti mentally called him Coke Head.

The two old men chatted all the time about their eternal illnesses and how old Dr. Greenfoot was better than their son.

After what seemed like thirty minutes, but was really only five, Robot #5 whined into the waiting room.

"Mrs. Schmitz, we need a urine sample! There are cups here, the toilet is over there," she pointed with her hand. "Put the sample in the window of the toilet."

It was unmistakably the tone of a military barracks. "Fall in, or I'll get a good beating," Berti thought. Before this job, the old woman must have been a warden in a women's prison.

The young woman blushed. She stood up and went to the counter. With an empty urine cup in her hand, she disappeared into the toilet.

"Mr. Niederreiner, we also need a urine sample from you, and while we're at it, Ms. von Emmering, you should also fill a cup for us."

Berti felt disgusted. The officer stood up. According to her reaction, the fat woman was Frau von Emmering. With a groan, she also got up and walked heavily back to the counter.

They both waited impatiently in front of the toilet.

The young woman came out. "Excuse me," she breathed as she made her way past the alcoholic and the cake fortress.

She took her seat next to her lover. The whispering started again. Now and then they both looked at Berti. When his eyes met those of the person sitting next to him, they quickly looked away. They were talking about him. That was unmistakable. They both laughed.

How can you talk so much about a urine sample, Berti wondered at first.

"So, how was it?"

"It's amazing! I hit it with the first jet."