The Rats from the Kiez E-Book

Jana Ehlers

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

"The rats from the Kiez" In the dark corners of Berlin, the residents of the notorious neighborhood fight for power, respect and survival. When a serial killer paves the streets with bloody executions, a wide variety of characters find themselves caught up in the vortex of fear and betrayal. Kalle, a hardened investigator who has seen more shadows than light in his life, is the only one who can hunt down the murderer. But the deeper he delves into the reasons of the district, the more the boundaries between good and evil become blurred. "The Rats from the Neighborhood" is a tough crime thriller full of violence, intrigue and a touch of humor that reveals the dark soul of the city and its residents. Everyone has a secret - and the only way to the truth is through the dirt of the streets.

Leseprobe

Title: The Rats from the Kiez

Author: Jana Ehlers

Biography:

Jana Ehlers was born in Hamburg in 1985 and grew up in a lively part of town, where she got to know the different facets of life in a big city at an early age. After graduating from high school, she began training as a journalist and worked for several years in the editorial department of a local newspaper. There she discovered her passion for writing and her fascination for complex, exciting stories.

Over time, Jana devoted herself more and more to creative writing and began to write her first novels. Her literary work is characterized by lively characters and a gripping narrative style, often with a touch of suspense and dark secrets. In her stories, she often processes her own experiences and observations from theeveryday life and mixes it with fantasy and intense emotions.

Jana now lives in Berlin and devotes herself exclusively to writing.

Chapter 1: Murder in the Night

The air in Neukölln stank of rain, cheap beer and too many bad decisions. A lonely street lamp flickers above the dingy pub, whose red neon light advertised "Zum Anker" as if this were some kind of haven for lost souls. Inside, it was just as bleak. The musty smell of cigarettes and stale liquor hung in the air like an old, wet carpet.

On the small stage, a disinterested guy was strumming a sad song on a worn guitar. The few guests sat at the tables, silent or muttering insults to each other. At the counter, the young woman was the most conspicuous thing in the room. Long legs, black miniskirt, far too little fabric for this time of year. Her blonde hair was so platinum that it almost looked cheap, and her smile was as fake as the rest of the shop.

"Another vodka," she said, tapping the counter with a painted fingernail. "But make it cold, not like the piss you just gave me.poured.”

The bartender, a burly guy with a bald head and greasy hands, just grunted and filled her glass, refraining from commenting.

A while later, she stepped outside, wobbling slightly on her high heels. A man in a worn hoodie followed her into the dark backyard where the dumpsters were. He was tall, his silhouette quickly blending into the shadows of the night.

"Listen, sweetheart," he said. His voice was rough, like sandpaper on old wood. "I think you've wandered into the wrong corner." The woman turned around and snorted derisively. "Fuck off. I don't have time for your bullshit."

But he came closer, his step threatening, his hands buried in his pockets. "Oh, no time? Too bad. I thought we could... get to know each other better."

"If you don't get out of here right now, I'll call the cops." Her voice was loud, but fear was already creeping into her eyes.

Uh laughed. A short, ugly laugh that broke out in the narrow alley. "The cops? They haven't had any say here for years. And even if they did, do you think they'd come for a slut like you?"

The woman tried to back away, but she hit the wall. Her hand glistened in her pocket, perhaps she was looking for something, pepper spray or a knife. But he was faster.

His hand shot out, grabbed her by the throat and squeezed. She struggled, kicked at him, but his strength was overwhelming. "Hold still, doll," he growled as he pushed her to the ground. "This will only hurt for a moment."

Your screams were stifled in a gurgle as he drew the knife. The blade flashed briefly in the light of the distant street lamp. What followed was brutal and fast. He stabbed, again and again, a rhythmic, almost mechanical slaughter. Blood splattered on his hands, his jacket, the wet asphalt.

When it was over, he knelt over her body. Your eyes were wide open, staring into nothingness,his mouth twisted in a silent scream. He leaned forward, reached into his pocket and pulled something out. A small dose of spray paint. With quick movements he painted a symbol on the wall behind her: a distorted, abstract cross with two snakes around it.

The man stood up, wiped the knife on her jacket, then tossed it into one of the dumpsters. His footsteps echoed as he left the alley, calm and methodical, as if he had just disposed of a bag of trash.

The corpse was left behind, surrounded by pools of blood, with the pungent stench of death, metal and despair in the air.

At the "Anker" the guy on stage was still singing. Nobody had heard anything. Nobody would remember that the woman had been there tonight. And if they did, it would only be to shake their head and say: "It was obvious that something like this would happen at some point."

Chapter 2: Kalle Brenner – Downwards

Kalle Brenner woke up with a disgusting taste in his mouth. A mixture of stale beer, cheap cigarettes and a hint of blood. His head was pounding like a construction site in full swing, and when he opened his eyes, the sight was not exactly a comfort: the familiar chaos of his one-room apartment. Empty cans were piled up on the table, the couch was littered with clothes and yellowed newspapers, and a disgusting stench that he had been ignoring for weeks was emanating from the trash can.

"Shitty day," he muttered, reaching for the half-full beer bottle on the nightstand and taking a big swig. Warm. Disgusting. But he drank anyway.

A knock on the door jolted him out of his self-pity. It wasn't the polite knock of a visitor, but the dull, impatient hammering of a guy who either wanted money or was ready to break a few bones.

“Brenner! Open up, you bum!” The voice was deep, aggressive. Kalle knew it. It was hisLandlord, Mr. Haase, an old man with a body like a crushed beer keg and the patience of a hungry pit bull.

"I'm not here," Kalle grumbled, rummaging around for a cigarette. The knocking got louder, now accompanied by a foot. "Brenner, if you don't open the door, I'll kick it in!" You owe me three months' rent! And your electricity bill, you asshole!"

"Screw it." Kalle stood up, pulled on a crumpled T-shirt and opened the door. Haase stood there, his face red with anger. "Morning, chef. Can I help you?"

Haase immediately took a step forward, the smell of sweat and bad decisions filled Kalle's nose. "You can help me by finally paying!" I'm fed up with your excuses. You're an idiot who can't get anything done!"

Kalle lit the cigarette, took a long drag and blew the smoke directly into the landlord's face. "Listen, Haase, I'll get the money together quickly. Give me another week."

"A week? I'll give you three more days, Brenner! And if you don't have anything then, I'll come over with two guys. And believe me, they won't ask as politely as I do."

"Yes, yes. Relax." Kalle closed the door before Haase could say anything else and leaned against it. Three days. No problem, he thought cynically, even though he knew that his account was in the red and the only constant in his life was the empty refrigerator.

He sat down at the table and pulled out a crumpled pile of papers. Bills, reminders, and somewhere in between a letter from his ex-wife that he hadn't opened yet. He stared at the envelope for a while, then threw it back on the pile.

His cell phone vibrated. A glance at the display showed the name "Thor". Kalle sighed and answered the call. "What do you want, you wanker?"

"It's nice to hear from you too, Brenner. I have work for you." The voice on the other end was deep, slightly amused. Thor König, ex-colleague, now a cop on the decline.

"Work? Sounds suspiciously like a favor I'm not getting paid for."

"Calm down, Kalle. It's a simple job. You ask around a bit, ask a few questions. You'll get a hundred bucks for that. Maybe even more if you find something useful."

“A hundred bucks? I don’t even get up for that, Thor.”

"You have no choice, Brenner. I know what you're going through. And believe me, if you help me, it could save your ass. You too? Are you in?"

Kalle took another drag on the cigarette and stared at the stains on the wall. "Shit, okay. What do you want to know?"

"I'll send you the details." We have a body, young girl, badly beaten up. Found behind the 'Anchor'. Looks like someone was having a lot of fun. I need information from the milieu. Nobody is talking to the cops, but you still have a few contacts, right?"

"Oh, fuck off. You only call me when things get really dirty, right?"

“Do you want the job or not?”

"Yeah, damn it. Send me what you got."

"Good. And, Kalle..."

"Was?"

"Try staying sober." It might help."

Thor hung up before Kalle could answer. "Asshole," he muttered, grabbing his jacket and the half-empty bottle. Stay sober? Sure. But not until tomorrow. Today he had a few things to take care of- and that included visiting a few assholes who probably didn't want to see him any more than Haase did.

It was cold outside and the wind bit his face. Kalle pulled up his collar, stuck his hands deep in his pockets and made his way towards the "anchor". A hundred was not a lot, but it was enough to keep the ball rolling. And if Thor was right, it would soon get a lot dirtier anyway.

Chapter 3: Dark Acquaintances

The "Anchor" was, as always, a monster of oblivion. The walls were covered in the remains of old jokes and even older, spoiled dreams. The smell of sweat, beer and cigarettes hung so thick in the air that it was almost impossible to think clearly. Kalle pushed down the dirty handle of the back door and entered the room that had already given him many a shitty night.

It was just after midnight and the place was still half full. A few figures at the tables, gulping down alcohol as if it were water, and the DJ playing music from the shabby stage as if he were selling the last remnants of his dignity.

Kalle went to the bar, sat down on the wobbly bar stool and nodded to the bartender. The guy, an old fellow with a wrinkled face, looked at him briefly and then shook his head in resignation. "You really are a joke, Brenner. Do people come here to get drunk or to do something useful?"

"What do you know, guy?" "I just revived myself from a damn bunch of murderers, so shut up and pour me a beer," Kalle replied, throwing a five-euro note on the table.

The bartender grabbed the money and pulled a bottle of beer from the shelf. "Don't think you're lucky today." These are not good people."

Kalle grinned and took the beer. "I know that. But the better ones aren't here anyway."

He took a deep drink and looked around the room. A fat man was leaning over the table by the window, arguing with a red-light angel, and a group of guys in oversized Adidas jackets were laughing loudly as they stared at each other from the bar as if they were the only ones who really had any say in the matter.

But then his eyes fall on her. Lina. The woman with whom he had made more bad decisions than with anyone else in this shithole.

They sat in their usual spot at the counter, looking as always with a mixture of pride and disdain as she had already beaten up the whole place for daring to enter her space. Her black top stretched tightly over her breasts and her cigarette smoked in the air as if she was the absolute center of chaos.

The last time Kalle had seen her was when she had slapped him for a lousy favor. But there was more, much more, that connected them - or not.

"Come on, Kalle," she said when she noticed his look. Her voice was rough, as if she was selling a piece of her soul with every word. "Don't you really have anything better to do than stare at my face?"

Kalle grinned and put down the beer. "I didn't think you'd show me your ass again. I thought you'd had enough of me."

"Oh, you're the last person who can complain about that," she snorted and took a deep drag on the cigarette. Her eyes sparkled as she turned to him."If you would at least stop acting like a clown, maybe we could even talk."

"Talk? "You're just as bad as me," Kalle replied as he pulled out another chair and sat down next to her. "Let's be honest, all you want to do is spin around in circles all the time anyway."

Lina laughed, a rough, unpleasant laugh that echoed in the stuffy air. "Yeah, maybe. But that's honest. With you, you never know what you're going to get. Are you the damn detective today or the sick dog that's fighting its way through the neighborhood?"

"Today?" Kalle raised his eyebrows. "Today I'm just the asshole who finds out who's got their finger in this shithole." And you're going to help me, right?"

Lina blew the smoke in an elegant spiral and then looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You also want to find the neighborhood killer, right?" The guy who stabs girls and chases a bunch of circus guys around the area? Are you crazy or just stupid?"

"Stupid and crazy. What else?" Kalle grinned. "And what do you know?"

"You want to know what I know?" Lina turned her chair slightly towards him and put down the cigarette butt. "I know you don't have the balls to throw yourself into the shit you're trying to get into."

Kalle clenched his fists, but he held back. "Listen, I need information, Lina. I'll get the money and clear my head if I know who's out there messing around with the girls and treating them like shit. Even if you stand here and tell me what to say, don't take responsibility for it."

Lina stared at him for a long time, then stood up. "You really are a damn asshole, but you'll still get your information. Come after him."