Red Wine Roulette: a deadly finish E-Book

S. U. Semmel

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 474

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

In the Upper Bavarian community of Wamping, nothing is as it used to be. That's because Mayor Alois Bichlmeier has hired the clever PR man Joe Thaler to boost tourism. Not only does Thaler have some illustrious characters in tow, he also wants to stir things up in the town. Joe's idea: a media-friendly casting for the first coronation of a red wine queen. Of all places, in a town where a family of brewers enjoys supremacy. Fierce arguments ensue. But many women in the area recognize their chance. For the title, they shy away from no wine or beauty offensive. Soon, however, inexplicable things start to happen. And then there is murder and kidnapping. Turbulent times begin for Inspector Ferdinand Karl Köcherl, known as FKK.

Leseprobe

Introduction

It had been raining. The ground was damp and the little blond boy in the blue tracksuit jacket loved the footprints he left in this soil. In this sandy, clayey silt that made it possible for the big toe to leave an imprint through the sneaker. The boy liked that and he trudged over this very special ground with a smile, making one mark after another and looking back with a grin. Could anyone have guessed who was walking here, he wondered. However, he immediately dismissed the idea and headed for a wooden bench that he always visited on Sundays, usually after a sumptuous meal. This wooden bench stood on a hill. From there, he had a phenomenal view over the whole village. And that gave the little boy mental greatness. He felt spiritual vastness, freedom and contemplation at the same time. He felt very good when he sat on this bench and made his plans for the future ...

CHAPTER 1

Commissioner in danger

The two pairs of eyes fixed on each other. This encounter was unexpected for both of them. Ferdinand Karl Köcherl found himself face to face with a frightening wild boar. Now is the time for tactics, thought Köcherl. If I leave the sow alone, she'll leave me alone!

Nevertheless, he calmly and carefully reached for his right breast pocket. Nothing! His holster with the gun was at home. Now he could have used it, which he hadn't used for so long. Then the pig surprised him. It turned off abruptly and disappeared into the semi-darkness. Köcherl was relieved.

That could have backfired. Never mess with a wild boar. He wiped his forehead with his left forearm and walked the last few meters to his front door. And then this. Forgot the key! Köcherl couldn't believe it. He hadn't been able to fall asleep during the night and had crawled out of bed to get some fresh air. Now he was standing there. He made his way to the back of the house with very little hope. And he realized what he already suspected: the balcony door was locked. Suddenly he heard loud grunting. Köcherl turned around hastily and found himself face to face with a whole pack of wild boars.

The sow has called in reinforcements. He counted eight aggressive pigs. No weapon! Sweat on his forehead and the locked door! Then the saving idea. The inspector smashed the pane to his balcony door with a violent push of his elbow and bravely reached inside to open the door. Saved! The loud clanging had driven the wild boars away. Take a deep breath. The window was broken. A hole so big that he could only get through with a simple bend. But Köcherl had had enough. He picked up his cell phone and dialed the saved number. It took a while for someone to pick up.

"Leimbach, I'm in danger. Hordes of aggressive wild boars are at my door. That's enough. Bring two people and shoot the beasts. Imminent danger," he shouted and hung up. Chief Constable Leimbach initially struggled to make sense of the call. It was about three o'clock in the morning and he was in his REM dream phase, which gave him a much more pleasant situation. But then he remembered his boss's voice and knew that he had no other choice. Because the inspector had recently become obsessed with wild boars. Drowsy, he struggled out of bed and prepared for his special assignment.

After he had calmed down again, Köcherl made another attempt to catch up on his sleep. Only very slowly, but nevertheless noticeably, did he drift off.

A little later, something happened that he would not soon forget. The sleeping inspector noticed nothing at first, then he felt the hint of a vibration that grew stronger and stronger. Finally, he was shaken in his bed. He opened his eyes abruptly. His heartbeat was of monstrous proportions. He was facing a boar with huge tusks. It was standing on his bed. Now it was him or me! It was him or me!

Köcherl had the presence of mind to drop out of bed, reached into his bedside drawer, took out his gun and shot the wild boar. Three times. Direct hit. The boar didn't even flinch. A bloodbath in the commissioner's bed. Drenched in sweat, he sat on the floor. His eyes betrayed confusion, his hair screamed for a complete overhaul.

He was shocked! He had pushed a thick armchair in front of the broken glass door. Nevertheless, the hole was there and the boar must have followed him through the balcony door. Only very slowly, and after looking around furtively a few times, did he understand. He took a deep breath, two or three times, and rose to his feet, groaning and with a heavy heart. His unsteady step led him through the darkness to his oak cupboard. His modest bar was hidden inside. With the opening of the door, there was now some light from a bulb from the inner cupboard ceiling. He reached for a bottle of juniper and a small pewter mug. He left the cupboard door open for the sake of the light and staggered carefully back to his bed. There he sat on the edge and took the first sip directly from the bottle. He put the tin cup to one side. He put the bottle down again and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror opposite. A pitiful sight! The 54-year-old Inspector Köcherl put his thinning hair to one side with a few strokes of his hand. His eyes looked tired and for the first time he really noticed dark circles under his eyes. With his upper body free, he stroked his new belly. The realization: "Yes, I have to do something."

But then he looked behind him. He had just shot a wild boar in his bed during a sleepless night. "How are you supposed to look like that?" he summarized.

His summary of the night: wild pig attacks, a smashed glass door, a dead boar covered in blood in his bed and a pulse that occasionally beat through the ceiling. Köcherl calmed down and decided to take a bath first. Because whenever something escalated or threatened to overwhelm him, that's exactly what he did.

CHAPTER 2

A dream couple

At almost the same time.

It was exactly 56 eggs from free-range, happy hens that 55-year-old Dirk Berger was carrying in his bicycle basket on the handlebars at 4:45 in the early morning. From the Burgkirche it was the turn of the quarter hour. His route took him through the asphalted Stiegelgasse. He loved to go fast. He may have had a glass too many the night before and he certainly lacked awareness, but he really couldn't count on that.

"Jesus!", he shouted in amazement into the dawn, his adrenaline rushing through his veins as he shot straight towards this completely unknown apparition. He braked his two-wheeler so hard that it tore off his rear wheel and hurled him straight into the bushes against the wall of the house. Exactly 14 of the 56 eggs survived. Dirk opened his eyes and saw what must have seemed like something unreal a moment ago, but was obviously reality. Elvi!

"Who or what is that?" it roared inside him.

Elvi, 36, athletic, slim, blonde, naked! Naked? That's right! Not always, but at this point in time. With a gold-plated brass crown on her head and half a bottle of red wine in her right hand, she strolled along the tarmac, visibly apathetic and mumbling. And Dirk seemed to be the only person to whom this encounter happened. But then Dirk heard what Elvi didn't want to hear, at least at first.

"Elvi, stupid cow! Come back up here," echoed through the alley. Joe stood in his shorts at the torn-open window of the bedroom on the second floor of the old town house and shouted. "You're making a fool of yourself and me too. Elvi!" Joe became frantic, he put on his dark, thick horn-rimmed glasses and ran down the small wooden staircase from the second floor to the street in his red and white striped boxer shorts, tripping over the troublemaker's red lace pumps in the doorway and cursing under his breath until he finally reached Elvi. He shouted at her: "Look at you, running naked through the old town when someone sees you!"

But Elvi didn't react, she staggered forward, distraught. Her eyes were smeared with dark eye shadow, wide open and yet sleepy. She seemed to be in a trance. And then the time had come! She suddenly slumped over. Joe had the presence of mind to catch her and let her sink almost silently into his arms. He looked around carefully, spotted Dirk lying in the bushes, smiled sheepishly at him, but took no further notice of him. Then he lifted the blonde woman, who weighed around 59 kilos, over his left shoulder and dragged her, butt first, back into the house.

"Egg man" Dirk didn't know whether to grin or swear. He couldn't really assess the situation. He stared after them for a moment, stood up, shook himself two or three times and grabbed his slightly dented bike. Then he straightened himself up and put the 14 eggs he had left back in the basket. Shaking his head, he set off on his way.

With a challenging weight over his shoulder, Joe struggled over the asphalt stones and finally reached the courtyard of the house. There, with a swift and skillful movement, he picked up the lone red shoe he had tripped over with his free hand. Now, however, he was faced with the challenge of the wooden staircase to the second floor. He hesitated for just a tiny moment and said to himself: "What have I been training for?"

Joe, 48 years old and quite athletic. How else could he have dared to lug this blond 130 pund-package up the 32 steps and back into the bedroom? He himself liked to give his age as 38, but few people believed it and at least as few people knew his real age. A quirk he played with. Joe's real name was Johannes Thaler and he was a man of advertising. Inventiveness was his home. His motto: Ideas - make them happen. A doer! At least that's how he liked to see himself. And he knew that he also had to look good in the industry. That's why he always wore stylish Italian branded clothing, shorts and tailored suits from Dino! His black horn-rimmed glasses were inspired by the looks of many old Hollywood greats such as Cary Grant, William Holden, Groucho Marx and Woody Allen. Psychoanalysis classified men with large dark horn-rimmed glasses as humorous, intellectual and potent. At least that's how they wanted to appear. And that's exactly what Joe, who confidently described himself as one of the advertising experts par excellence, wanted. His biggest advertising campaign at the time made him famous far beyond the borders of Germany. It was about a mattress that invited you to sleep on soft, medium or hard at the touch of a button. The decisive factor, however, was that the mattress could be set to single or double bed with a second button. And then there was its presentation. This Elvi appeared in the commercial, which he had just carried naked backwards over his shoulder. Because Elvi fluttered gently into the mattress from all sides in slow motion in an open-hearted negligee. At the time, her look was probably the most famous bedroom look of all time. Her big eyes, her trademark, often garnished with glued-on dark eyelashes, have always won over the opposite sex. Men bought the mattress by the dozen. This made Elvi and not least the mattress nationally famous and Joe a little rich. But what was a little if you spent a little more? And that was one of Joe's problems. He liked to live the high life and was always up for the next job, the big bucks and open to anything that came his way.

But first he had Elvi on his cheek, or rather over his shoulder. Once upstairs, he sat her down in front of the large bedroom mirror and said: "Elvi, what do you see? A good-looking blonde, sporty woman with wonderful big blue eyes? No! You look like a junkie. You wowed everyone back then. Now no 80-year-old in a wheelchair rolls after you like that. Elvi, you're my princess!"

"I wanted to be the queen," sobbed Elvi and then unleashed a vocal concert of weeping par excellence that could not have been staged better in Hollywood. Violins and piano were accompanied by strong minor-key tones.

"Yes," said Joe, "something's gone a bit wrong." And he showed some understanding. "But in my next big campaign, I'll take you to the top again, I promise!"

In the control room of a TV show, this statement would have been met with a fanfare at the touch of a button. Not that it wasn't the first time she'd heard that. No matter! Elvi was gullible, in love and without a plan. So her face brightened considerably and Joe received a grateful look from the "princess", who was so keen to believe what this great man of marketing had promised her a few times. And yes, it was sometimes on the tip of her tongue: talker! But his mother, who lives in the Rhineland and who was still there to help and advise him in all situations, would have vehemently disagreed: "The boy will take care of himself. And Joe will do it. That was always the case!"

Not everyone would have blown the same horn. But one thing was true: Joe was always a man of action who tried pretty much everything to climb another rung on the career ladder and had his fair share of successes. But he was just as successful at falling flat on his face time and again. To paraphrase Frank Sinatra, one of his musical idols: He has been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king - That's life!

Joe came from a family of acrobats from Rheinhessen, who were particularly impressive on the trapeze. Grandfather Otto, known as the pirate of the skies because he looked like a buccaneer, mastered the triple somersault long before it became clear that it was even possible. Father Olaf only jumped the somersault two and a half times and Joe didn't want to downsize any further and only offer the double. So he left it. He was sure he wouldn't have had the practicing spirit of his ancestors! In any case, his exit was acrobatic when he cycled down the Rhine at the age of 17 with some money from the Husini circus box office and a bike from the same company. A short time later, he settled in Munich, dyed his hair dark and started a new career as a decorator. He wowed people when he put up black and white mannequins, and later even black and white ones. Joe took on the redesign of the department store and eventually became managing director of the same department store. However, he quickly realized that he had a different calling. Joe played small roles in films, became a movie theater operator and real estate agent. He even came close to opening a casino, if the bank hadn't put a stop to his own hair-raising financing at the last moment! For a while, he managed to keep his head above water with a patent for the manufacture of chipboard, until he sold it. He also caused a sensation as a fortune cookie author, even employing two German studies students for a time. Joe made a name for himself nationwide when he organized a much-noticed demonstration. Against earthquakes and cod liver oil! Nobody really knew what to make of it, but the march of 38 participants was registered. Also in the press and on TV. And he tried his hand as a pop singer, where his contacts came from, which he was to fall back on. Finally, he founded an advertising agency that positioned one or two well-known slogans. His lipstick advertisement for the ROSAMUND brand is unforgettable: "enchanting and healthy." Healthy because the color of the pencil promised a high, never proven content of vitamin C. A dermatologically only very superficially tested skin cream, for which he advertised true miracles, also caused a sensation.

"The old have wrinkles," they said. "With FETE to Nefertiti!"

FETE was the name of the advertised wrinkle cream, which was said to contain ingredients extracted from the depths of the eternal polar ice in the north, which would have a cooling effect on the cells and tighten the skin so that it could be applied very sparingly. The high efficacy of the famous cream set in after just a few days. Unfortunately, it soon turned out that the vaunted wrinkle cream caused an unsightly skin rash in at least twelve out of 100 cases and the ladies' radiance was anything but Nefertiti-like. The advertising agency was history! But Joe left no stone unturned in his quest for fame and glory. But the hard cash was always far more valuable to him. In the best-case scenario, the one went hand in hand with the other. But the best case scenario? When does that happen? Despite all of Joe's activities, he could never be denied a certain elegance ...

But back to Elvis' desire to become queen. This wish could well have become a reality. Because Joe had a deal with some council members of the German red wine town on the Rhine. The popular and, at best, attractive red wine queen was chosen here every year. And Elvi was the ingenious solution, Joe praised her!

"She can drink, she looks good and has a high profile thanks to my mattress campaign," he said at the time. "And I write her speeches," were Joe's words.

The councillors weren't entirely convinced, but couldn't resist the look on the aspirant's face or the envelopes with five bills each for payment transactions. They would have voted for Elvi! But what went wrong? There was the other side. Far more members of the local council were of the opinion that there should be a red wine king for the first time this year in the interests of equality. Also because the representatives of the male creation could tolerate far more red wine than the ladies, according to the members. One report from the conservative corner during the decisive meeting even said that a drunk queen still had something disreputable about her, while a king who drank a little more than he was thirsty was still far more acceptable today. And so suddenly, for the first time in the history of the red wine town, there was a king. And it was precisely this decision that became Elvi's undoing and Joe's burden. But Elvi's reconciliation with her sponsor and "rabbit" Joe on the previously advertised mattress was never long in coming. The loving partnership of convenience reconciled three times. It was Elvi in particular who gave the reconciliation the passion to which Johannes Thaler, known as Joe, was only too happy to submit. And so this devotion and art of a spurned queen was also to play a decisive role in the decision-making process for new joint tasks in the near future. "Hasadeur" Joe was ready for any challenge.

CHAPTER 3

HE

HE opened the drawer of the small sideboard and took out something wrapped in cloth. It was a Smith & Wesson 629 Classic, 44 Magnum caliber. His old gun. He hadn't held it in his hands for a long time. HE opened the revolver cylinder and first checked to see if the gun was loaded. No answer! Somewhere, HE knew, the cartridges were still there. HE rummaged in other drawers and came across a taped-up box. There they are. There must be a good 200 rounds, HE thought to himself. That should be enough for his project. He wanted to fire a few test shots soon. He meticulously checked the gun in his hand. The revolver cylinder rotated smoothly. The trigger jammed a little. But that was always the case. HE only had to transfer his will to the trigger finger and HE would probably get to grips with that. The gun had not been oiled for a long time. A few drops here and there. Clean the barrel. That was what HE was going to do. He checked the firing pin. The hammer transferred its energy perfectly to the bolt when it was jerked forward. Click and click again and again.

"Yes, everything is perfect," HE encouraged himself. HE turned around and looked in the mirror behind HIM. HE risked a glance and saw a man who was determined. HE played a little with his facial expressions, remained very serious, rehearsed the cold-blooded look, was convinced of himself and brought his weapon up to eye level. Click!

CHAPTER 4

Wamping

In the Bavarian community of Wamping below the Weisswurst equator and close to the Watzmann mountain, you could hear the clinking of mugs and glasses on this beautiful late summer evening, as is so often the case. In the idyllic Zur Wilden Sau beer garden, which is so highly regarded and loved by the locals, things were usually less wild by name and more civilized, but cheerful, almost always wet and cheerful.

But that evening was different. Not in terms of the damp arrangement, it was the cheerfulness that was missing. At least at Table 6, the regulars' table of regulars' tables. Mayor Alois Bichlmeier had had enough of being mobbed by his regulars' table friends and neighbors. He slammed his tankard onto the oval oak table!

"Baggage, saublede! Sake cement crucifix noamal! Where were you when we were discussing for hours last week?"

The gentlemen present had not expected so much anger in their stomachs.

"Calm down now, Alois," replied Josef. And Alois found his way back to the German language.

"Oh, I come up with something every year and then you come along and say: That was nothing! I've had it up to my eyeballs." He took a good swig down his throat.

The Machinger brothers Josef and Fred, the local brewers who enjoyed supremacy in the region with the Almenbräu brand, were also at the regulars' table alongside the mayor. Anton, the somewhat shy tourism expert, who made you wonder why he of all people should be an expert in the field of communication. And old Peter, who nobody really knew how old he actually was. 85 was in the air, 90 had already been offered. His trademark was his pipe, which he always chewed on blissfully. His piercing, observant gaze always suggested that something was brewing behind his bushy eyebrows and that he was about to intervene. But that rarely happened. When he did say something, it usually had substance, which was not always the case with the others at the table.

But why did Mayor Alois Bichlmeier go so berserk? The reason: there had been problems in the municipality of Wamping for many years. There had been no snow for a long time, which kept the winter tourists away, and other communities were also much smarter in summer. They had long had summer toboggan runs, celebrity mountain huts and traditional music and shooting festivals that thrilled the crowds. And that's exactly what was missing in Wamping! Few tourists, little turnover and even less confidence among the citizens that this could ever change. All this led to the fall of the last mayor, Max Mockenhaupt.

But then came Bichlmeier, Alois Bichlmeier. The 58-year-old, burly representative of the Bavarian way of life, whose ancestors had had a decisive influence on the town for centuries and who had worked hard over the last 20 years to build up his handsome protuberance below the pectoral muscle. He set out four years ago to change that. In the year 1 after Mockenhaupt, however, nothing happened at first! But the new hopeful mayor and the community's beacon of hope had only had a few months to get something going. This could be forgiven!

In year 2 after Mockenhaupt, the World Championship in sausage turning and roasting was to be held in Wamping. In addition to the local butchers, a number of Polish and Czech roasters had registered. However, the Austrians canceled. Nobody knew why! So there could be no question of a genuine world championship, because the Austrians were good roasters.

And then there was the weather. Bad, just bad! Yes, it couldn't have been worse. Storms and torrential rain were not just announced. They were there! There was no alternative venue. A hall? Not a chance! Wamping didn't have anything like that. No press, no tourists! Awarded again!

In year 2 after Mockenhaupt, the local brass band was the focus of the planned major event. 52 brass players were supposed to blow their horns for three days. But the event had to be called off. Unfortunately, a virus had found its way from one brass player to another. The air that should have been blown into the horn and tuba now found its way back into the bowls of most of the players! Even if Bichlmeier really couldn't help it, the critics woke up! Nevertheless, forgiven once again!

In year 3 after Mockenhaupt, Bichlmeier now believed he had found the right path for his municipality of Wamping. With great persuasiveness, he won the council members over to his side. The following plan was to cause a sensation, the press and tourists : the canonization of the Virgin Hermine from Hummelweg! A procedure that should have taken three days. Parades of the faithful with meter-high crosses were planned! In addition to festivities and fairground rides, the concept of free beer for everyone was particularly convincing! Not only would this have attracted hundreds of tourists, but the beer brewing brothers Josef and Fred Machinger, in this case the mayor's first supporters, were also enthusiastic about the project. They would have loved to bring their fine brew to the public. The cost of many 1,000 liters of beer would have been covered by the local community.

What a move! That's what everyone thought back then! The tourists would have arrived in droves and the town and beer would have been the talk of the town!

If it hadn't been for the Pope. Because he would have had to canonize the chosen Hermione from Wamping. But he did not. His bishops gathered around him said: "Non meritava di essere sacra!"

In other words, she did not deserve to be canonized. This is because there is clear evidence that Hermione from Hummelgasse, who is said to have performed miracles in the 18th century, was firstly not a virgin and secondly performed her miracles on a horizontal plane. Many gentlemen at the time spoke of a miracle that had happened to them in Hummelgasse. And these accounts continue to this day. The many phenomena written down by the gentlemen of Wamping were to a certain extent misinterpreted. And so the numerous petitions from the local community to the diocese for Hermine's canonization were rejected! Another defeat for Mayor Bichlmeier. No more forgiveness!

And so everyone could now understand why Alois Bichlmeier became so frustrated and distressed. He knew something had to be done now! The regulars at the table discussed loudly. The Machinger brothers and owners of Almenbräu had been calling for "a stinking great beer festival" for years. They just had to find the right time, when the other neighboring communities weren't holding one, said Josef, the older of the two brothers.

"Oh, stop with your beer festival," the mayor said indignantly. "That's exactly what everyone does. What would you do differently or better?"

"We could focus more on the rides. For example, put up the world's biggest Ferris wheel," said Anton, who was about 15 years younger and the current head of the tourist office, somewhat meekly. "I mean, that would go down well!"

But he received no reaction. He had barely said it when he furtively tilted his gaze downwards. He knew the mayor was on 1,000 and his suggestions from the tourist office hadn't always been well received recently.

"The biggest Ferris wheel? You're a big oaf, Anton! That's been planned for other events for years," snapped Bichlmeier. "We need something really unusual, something innovative," he said to the group. "I'll think of something!" And took a big swig from his mug.

The younger of the two Machinger brewers seemed to have an idea. Fred, 35, unmarried and - when he had time off from brewing - also liked to travel the world.

"Now pay attention, what do you think?" he whispered.

"What are you whispering about?" asked his brother Josef.

"Move together a bit. I'll tell you something! I was in Australia last year, as you all know. In Melbourne, among other places."

Fred pushed down his tuning knob, took a big pull from his half pint, wiped the foam from his mouth, looked around carefully and continued: "There's the biggest brothel in the southern hemisphere. And they're even listed on the stock exchange. When business is good, the shares go up. I've seen for myself, a good place, cleanly run and gorgeous, lusty ladies! Maybe a little expensive."

And with that, Fred at least caught the attention of his table companions.

"And here it comes," he said. "I don't want to suggest a brothel in the true sense of the word. But why don't we do that? We have the old market hall, where we're building the finest Bavarian erotic shed. The largest Eros center in the northern hemisphere, here in Wamping. The girls all dressed up in dirndls, elegant and classy. All legal and registered. And believe me, it generates a lot of PR, more traffic, tourism and sales! Let's ignore the stock market for now! Here you come!"

Silence.

Old Peter's punishing gaze hit the witty Fred.

Shoulders shrugged and uncertainty in the group. Then Bichlmeier went on the attack: "I'm surrounded by idiots! You've just catapulted yourself to village idiot of the month, congratulations! What are you all thinking?" Bichlmeier was beside himself. "Wamping is and remains clean." He banged the table with the flat of his hand. "Tradition applies here! The church is in the right place, the neighborhood works, the beer tastes good and, apart from the Steffi in the Dorfgasse, there's stylish togetherness and absolute harmony here. I won't turn this place into an Upper Bavarian eyesore on the map!"

Bichlmeier grumbled and was slow to calm down. But Alois Bichlmeier could allow himself this outburst and rant, as everyone at the United table had known each other for many years, old friends, as they themselves would say; old bazis, as the others would say.

"And now?" asked Anton.

"Now I'll think of something," said the visibly grumpy Alois Bichlmeier, got up and left the beer garden. The silenced Machinger brothers, Anton and Peter, who was happily chewing on his pipe, stayed behind.

Bichlmeier tossed and turned in bed half the night. He brooded, mumbled and woke up several times, only to return to his left side position. He had once heard that the right side of his brain was responsible for creativity and images. He needed this half of his brain now, he didn't want to squeeze it, at least not that night. Left shoulder position - right brain free! That was the plan of the slumbering Alois. There was no question of sleeping.

"And maybe that worked with the free half of the brain," he mumbled to himself, drowsy. Brooding, brooding ... he felt sick. He probably couldn't expect much from his nocturnal unit of thought. Perhaps a cuddle with his wife on his right should take his mind off things, he thought. And had to realize that she had long since left the nest in an unnoticed moment. A disaster through and through for Alois!

Alois' wife Marlene was about to turn 42 and was therefore 16 years younger than her partner. The dark-haired former village beauty was already enthusiastic about her future husband's drive in her early 20s. She always knew that Alois would be mayor one day! And that's exactly where she saw her chance. She put her own career, her rise from talented hairdresser for men to head of the largest chain of men's hairdressers in the region, on the back burner. After all, she would have been granted this promotion if she had given in to the advances of her then boss and owner of the flourishing business. No, it was supposed to be Alois. A handsome, promising man with goals that might have reached as far as the district administration. And she was happy to be by his side. And he was sensitive, sensual and courteous. Alois had his charming side, albeit with a gentle, coarse touch. Just a real guy. And that's what Marlene wanted. That's what she liked to tell her friends.

Lately, however, Alois had been inattentive, distracted, grumpy and generally different. She knew, of course, that he had problems. After all, he had set out to give the town a more public presence again. And he had failed so far. That morning, she had prepared a breakfast that her husband hadn't seen for a long time. Fresh rolls, orange marmalade, eggs, bacon, coffee and ginger tea. But she cheered him on. Because she knew he didn't like it. But this morning was worth trying again, she thought.

And Alois was already standing in the kitchen doorway. He introduced himself with a very reserved and grumpy "Good morning".

"Did you sleep well, Gockelchen?" replied the beaming Marlene, who managed to look like she wanted to take part in a beauty contest every morning. Obviously not if she looked at him like that. She immediately directed him to the terrace, where she had set the table for breakfast. With flowers.

A smile immediately appeared on the mayor's face. Touched by so much warmth in the morning, he even began to speak. Which was not usual at this time of day, it was 7:10 am.

"Marlene, you've got me under control, you always manage to please me. It's been hard lately, I'm just surrounded by jerks. I have to come up with something, I'm under pressure! Everything looks so beautiful here and you anyway, my angel." He gave her a hearty kiss on the cheek and caught a glimpse of the steaming glass of tea. "But this ginger tea, don't be mad at me, I don't drink it."

The two sat down and had breakfast. Marlene immediately took the floor because she had something to say to Alois. She knew he needed a speech from time to time to encourage him in his actions. Because the man he might be on the outside had his soft, doubtful quirks. She had already thought about how she wanted to go about it.

"Alois, you're the mayor. You're the boss. But you need your people. If ideas come from you, that's a good thing. But you don't have to do everything. Ministers, entrepreneurs, trainers, they all have their people to do the groundwork. That Anton in your tourism office, you can smoke his pipe. The other day he was supposed to put together a special circular route for my friend from Hamburg. What he came up with was the usual: the church, the city wall, the old town and the Wilde Sau beer garden. Then he gave her the brochure, which was about 20 years old. That was it! Do you understand? Nothing new, no ideas, no initiative, not even for the smallest challenges. Especially when it comes from the mayor's wife. You need different staff there. A modern manager type, someone who approaches everything differently."

She made a point here, because Alois responded with his gaze. That was what she had wanted to say to him for a long time, knowing full well that her husband spent his evenings in the beer garden with Anton, the head of the tourist office. Alois had listened attentively, gulped down his coffee and rubbed his face with the flat of his hand. He grumbled and said: "Maybe I know someone!"

CHAPTER 5

The idea

The open-top Audi A5 Cabrio flew over the country roads of Rheinhessen, past route markers and vineyards. Joe and his girlfriend Elvi were exuberant from the rush of speed and loud music. The Rolling Stones and Brown Sugar were playing from the four loudspeakers. Joe downshifted and turned right onto a dirt road. But he hadn't expected the dust he kicked up on the dry surface. He braked abruptly and stopped right next to a vineyard full of Silvaner grapes. Elvi and Joe coughed their lungs out.

"Have you gone mad?" she screamed as Keith Richards started his guitar solo. "How do I look now? I just put the dress on, now I'm completely dusty!"

"I wanted to treat us to a bit of fun, up there on the hill, we're all alone," replied Joe. And switched off the music in the meantime.

"Leave the music on!" Elvi shouted. "Besides, I don't feel like it now, the way I look. Screw you!"

Just then, the phone rang. Joe picked it up expectantly and at first had no idea whose voice he was hearing. But then: "Alois, old fox. I've already heard , you've made it to mayor. What gives me the honor?"

And Alois spent a good three minutes on the other end of the line. He needed a manager in his town, someone with ideas. He needed press, a party, an audience. But he didn't know how and with what, which is why he remembered Joe.

"Joe, you're the right person to get something going there, I saw you at that marketing seminar back then. How you managed to get everyone there so enthusiastic about an ordinary folding chair as if it were the most innovative invention in decades. I have the utmost respect. I need something like that!"

"A folding chair?" Joe joked.

"Yes, indirectly," said Alois. "I need this effect, let's say this folding chair effect, that gets everyone excited in the end. What do you say? Do you have time? Do you fancy this job? We'll give you a title. Pick one!"

Joe thought for just a tiny moment, looked over at his girlfriend, who was still wiping the dust from her dress, fired up his mental turbo and then immediately had the title ready.

"What do you think of Senior Marketing Director?"

"You really have time? You're doing this? Joe, you should have the title. You are now the new Senior Marketing Director of Wamping. Let's meet soon please, we need to chat!"

Alois Bichlmeier was delighted. His preferred candidate took the bait straight away.

"If we can agree financially, I'll be your man!" said Joe. A few cheap jokes about money, success, affairs and the end of the phone call followed.

Joe looked at Elvi with a beaming smile, he paused for a moment, then took off his dark horn-rimmed glasses, chewed on them a little and felt something big approaching.

"Elvi, that's the bang I've been waiting for. We have to go down to Upper Bavaria. Pack up your things and let's go!"

He put his horn-rimmed glasses back on and set off. With the convertible through the vineyards, past Riesling grapes, Gewürztraminer, Morio-Muskat and then the first red grape. A whole slope full of Pinot Noir. And the full brake!

"Elvi!" he shouted, drumming on the steering wheel as if he had just discovered the solution to all the world's problems. But Elvi looked hateful and pissed off after swallowing dust for the second time. She knocked all over herself and was about to launch into a verbal attack when Joe continued talking.

"Now watch out, don't look at me so angry. I've got it! Bavaria, that's lederhosen, pretzels and beer! Where are we here? Look around you. There's only wine everywhere." Joe was bubbling with energy. "Elvi, Wamping will be the first big wine oasis in Upper Bavaria. And the biggest thing: we're going to elect a wine queen there. Do you understand? There'll only be beer and we'll choose a wine queen! Have you got it?"

He looked at her, who was still trying to knock the vineyard dust from her flowered dress, angry and transfigured at the same time.

"Say something," he urged her.

"Yes, now I'll say something. You're paying me for a new dress! Do you know what I paid for it? Do you know how long I've been looking? Do you know...?"

But Joe didn't let her finish. He interrupted her harshly: "Do you know what we can make out of this? I'll buy you ten new dresses if it works."

Elvis' expression visibly relaxed. Joe gave her a big kiss on the cheek and started the convertible again. Queen was playing on the radio with Don't Stop Me Now and it seemed to be just the right accompaniment for Joe's mood. He was euphoric, stepped on the gas and you could see that he was rattling around behind his skull. One idea followed another. That was Joe. He was unstoppable in his imagination. Elvi couldn't keep up with the pace of his flashes of inspiration and looked at him expectantly. What kind of strange guy did she have at her side? Her decision: use a hand mirror and lipstick to add a few missing contours! A fatal mistake! Because just a few moments after pouting her lips in the passenger-side mirror and sliding the pencil over them, the tires squealed and Joe braked from 125 km/h down to a flat zero!

The events of that moment in the passenger seat amounted to a moment of rage. Elvis' mood could not be found on a scale of one to ten with increasing anger levels. And Joe? On 1,000! Only the scale was different.

"I have an intuition, a vision! Elvi, listen!"

And he slapped the badly shaken blonde, who was smeared all over her mouth, on the upper thigh.

"We are holding a casting. All women over the age of 16 in Wamping should come forward and apply. We are looking for the red wine queen of Wamping. They have to dress up, dance, tell us what they know about wine, give a talk and, of course, taste wine. But here it comes, Elvi. We're putting a celebrity on the jury. Firstly, it's an incentive for the ladies, secondly it's great PR for the venue and thirdly..." He hesitated. "Well, I'll think of someone. I have someone in mind too. What do you think of Carlos? Carlos, the Don of the pop industry!" he enthused. "The old charmer has won over the ladies by the dozen, in every situation."

He asked her the question, but he didn't care about Elvi's answer. For him, it was already a foregone conclusion. In her current mood, Elvi couldn't follow his quick explanations anyway and could have torn him to pieces with rage.

"And I think ..." Joe continues. "Carlos can use that too! Yes, that's how we do it."

Gradually he calmed down, as if he had needed this verbal waterfall in the mountains to get into calmer waters. Joe felt liberated. He looked deep into his girlfriend's eyes. There were now two people sitting in the front row of the convertible whose minds were completely at odds. These two were not going to be happy together, at least not today.

But Joe also knew how to win Elvi back.

"Listen," he said. "I was thinking about you too, you wanted to be the Red Wine Queen. Now you'll be in Upper Bavaria. We'll swing that. Give me your smile!" But that pinched, malicious look on Elvis' face, which wanted to say "Now one knife and you're gone", told Joe everything. He knew Elvis's moods. He started his car, drove off with feeling and headed towards the setting sun behind the vineyards of Rheinhessen, knowing full well that a new adventure awaited him.

After sleeping on it for a night - and it really was just a night's sleep, because there was nothing more to be done with Elvi, at least that night - Joe crept out of bed early in the morning, made himself an espresso and then took a few notes. Of course, he could have spoken everything into his smartphone or hacked it into his laptop straight away. But Joe still loved pen and paper. And that's how these lines came about:

Call Alois and convince him!

Coordinate dates!

Call Ute - Carlos' manager!

Obtain information about wine (Edeltraud?)

Wine tasting

Develop PR strategy/write concept ...

buy a new suit

A new suit, that was one of his hobbies. A new suit for every new job! He wanted to stick to that. It may sound strange for a shrewd manager like Joe, but this new suit gave him a spirit of optimism and a touch of tradition on his way into the unknown. And it also gave him something to orientate himself by. Because apart from an idea, there was nothing yet. And Joe didn't really know what was in store for him. He was looking forward to it and was already full of zest for action. He would never have thought that Mayor Alois Bichlmeier would reject his proposal to choose a red wine queen in Upper Bavaria! He made himself another espresso, sat down on the plush sofa and let his mind wander. He wondered what would happen if Carlos turned him down, but he was sure that this former megastar of the pop industry needed the money, as he had heard that things were no longer going so well for him.

And then there was his manager Ute. She always got him back into the race. So he ticked that off for now. His next thought revolved around the world of wine. Although he was a wine drinker and enjoyed a nice red, he could sometimes tell the difference between a cheap and a very good wine. He could also classify grapes. At least the red and white ones. But there was more. Literature, sayings, grape harvest, production, flavors, awards. He knew nothing! And it became clear to him that he could only convince the jury, and he wanted to sit there, if he had the charisma of a great wine connoisseur.

"Doing an extensive wine tasting will be a must!" And it wasn't just him, he thought, Alois Bichlmeier also had to be there, as well as Carlos and his manager Ute and Elvi. Yes, that's how he wanted to approach it. He also thought it would loosen up the group and pave the way for a fruitful collaboration. He made a mental exclamation mark, nodded his head resolutely and looked at his watch, but it was too early to inform the mayor of his plans. He had made his decisions and organized his thoughts.

"So, what now?" Elvi was still in bed. Let's see if he could make up any ground with her. He crept back into bed. He was just about to snuggle up gently and pleasurably from behind when Elvi suddenly turned around, came face to face with him and, more alert and attentive than he would have liked at that moment, confronted him with her wide eyes.

"So you want me to be the Red Wine Queen?" she purred.

"Uh, yes! Of course you have to go to the audition, like everyone else," he stammered, surprised by Elvis' confrontation.

"And why should I be in the casting? You're the doer, so you're doing it for me, right?"

"Uh, yeah." He couldn't have said anything else. But he added something afterwards: "Elvi, please let's get everything out of the way first. It's just an idea so far. There isn't even an order. The plan isn't in place any more than the city of Bielefeld is. But we can do it," he heard himself say, not feeling very comfortable in his own skin. He rolled his eyes unnoticed, but Elvi seemed convinced. She moved into his arms and cuddled up to him devotedly in her own way.

"My cue, Elvi!" She launched her offensive without any fanfare and wielded her weapons, the weapons of a woman, purposefully and deliberately. A commitment that has always paid off for her so far.

CHAPTER 6

Carlos

Tall, skinny, wiry and quick-witted, she commanded respect from everyone she met. Ute. At 1.78 meters tall and with her dark, wavy hair, Carlos' 44-year-old manager stormed furiously up the stairs of the three-star guesthouse in Düsseldorf to the third floor. Room 312, where Carlos was still lying in bed. She had rung through about ten times, but Carlos didn't answer the phone.

"I can't understand why he doesn't lose weight."

She thundered against the door and then grabbed it boldly. Yes, the door was open. She pushed the door out of the lock and was in the room in one movement, slamming the door shut again and waking the distraught-looking man in his late fifties! Carlos was so startled that he reached for something to defend himself, spilling a bottle of Zinn 40 lying next to him over the bedspread.

"What a load of shit! Damn, what's going on?" he rumbled, only to realize meekly: "Ute, it's you!"

He rubbed his face with both hands before shaking his head vigorously.

"What's wrong with you, I wonder," replied Ute, who was standing with her legs apart at the foot of his bed in her blue, flower-studded summer dress, as if she wanted to pull out her gun at any second. Fortunately, she didn't have it with her. Who knows what would have happened? Because Ute was loaded.

"Look at you, you're just a pathetic little thing. Your concert last night was extremely mediocre and in the past I would have at least pulled a few groupies out of your room in the morning. But you can't even do that. Instead, you've spent hours at the bar with those pinstriped douchebags. You're sitting here like you've just woken up in the tomb."

Ute's usual insults. That should be enough to start with. Now she waited eagerly, as always, for his defense speech. Carlos leaned back, straightened his slightly out-of-place dark toupee and began.

"My head is spinning. What do you want? I had three encores yesterday." Slowly he got going. "We were sold out and if that stupid bass player hadn't missed the start of the third song, it would have been almost perfect," he said and wanted to take the last sip from the bottle, which was almost completely empty. But Ute rushed forward, knocked the bottle out of his hand, which smashed on the floor, and sat next to him on the edge of the bed. Defenseless and with a blank stare, Carlos accepted this attack on his free development. He didn't really have anything to say in response. Especially not at 11:45 in the morning. And now it was Ute's turn again. After a round of scolding, it was time for the softer tones.

"Carlos, my golden tail", began her verbal cuddling initiative; only Ute was allowed to call him that, after all, she had once been more than just the manager at his side for five years until she had had enough of his escapades with the many female fans. Nevertheless, she stayed! As a good friend, counselor and manager. And as this , she always had to come up with new tactics to keep him on track. Now she revealed the reason for her spontaneous appearance. "Listen, your old friend Joe from the old pop days called me. He's got something really great planned and wants you to join him. It's about casting, he talked about PR, TV, good fees. What more can I say. It all sounded really good. It's about a longer campaign. And, please look me in the eye, we need that! Our schedule isn't exactly full to bursting. Can you please trust me? As far as I can tell, Joe's always pulled something off. Now fix up your curls, freshen up and then we'll talk again!"

"Give me a cigarette first," Carlos stammered.

"With or without a pig?" Carlos can't believe his ears.

"Please?" he asked.

"Yes, with or without a filter is the question," said Ute, who couldn't always suppress her know-it-all attitude. "Listen, I'll enlighten you: The manufacturers of cigarette filters very often use haemoglobin, which is a protein that filters the harmful substances out of tobacco smoke. And it comes from pig's blood." That's what she had read earlier that morning.

"Ugh, give me one without a filter!" Carlos shook himself, lit one and took a deep drag.

"You do it with the Joe, you've got it all under control. I'm still feeling a bit deranged."

"If that's all. I sometimes worry about you, Carlos. Your lottery life is taking its toll on you! But well, I'll be your manager again and sort it all out. Next week we have to go to Rheinhessen for a wine tasting! That's part of the job, it's probably part of the preparation."

"A wine tasting in preparation?" Carlos wondered. "But that's fine. That's fine by me."

And Ute hit him with another one: "Preparation is the anchor in the sea of determination, compris?" She jumped up, told him to hurry up with a hand gesture and left his room.

Her unique wisdom could sometimes drive him to white heat. But it had to be at least in the afternoon and he had to be really sober. Ute had him under control and that did him a lot of good. At least he came to this conclusion at some point.

They already knew each other from the time of his great successes, when he landed a hit with "Amore auf der Empore", which reached number 1 in the charts in all German-speaking countries. Further hits followed, but he never managed to repeat this mega-success. Carlos was a heartthrob. His female fans were at his feet and often in his bed. They thought he came from Italy and that he had acquired this velvety voice from watching the sunsets on the Gulf of Naples. In reality, his name was Karl Matschinsky and he came from the Palatinate Forest. But his Romanian ancestors gave him this southern look in the cradle. He benefited from this in the ladies' world. At the age of 15, he realized that with a guitar in his hand and a little lard in his voice, he could be convincing. As "Dino Martino from the Palatinate", he was already causing a sensation in rural circles. And so he made his way. He was already able to support his entire parental family of three brothers, including a twin brother, and four sisters financially with his talent. At times, he even tried his hand with his twin brother Marian in a duo: the Oberpfälzer. The success with Czech folk music was moderate, the engagements not particularly numerous. The people in the Palatinate wanted Carlos and his crooning. Marian dropped out and Carlos had his big breakthrough. He was discovered on a stage in Frankfurt for "higher tasks" with hit parade potential and made his first TV appearances at the age of 19.