Back Alley Brawl

Half an hour earlier, Konrad and Borowski had come down the same way I did.

“Beer?” Borowski offered.

“Got work tomorrow, remember?” Konrad replied doubtfully.

“Oh, come on. When has that ever stopped anyone? Two each and home. I’m not suggesting we tear through the whole night.”

“Want to wake up in "Dublin" again?”

“Nah. Guinness is starting to make my jaw lock up. Let’s grab something simpler — and drink it right here so we don’t have to go anywhere.”

“Deal.”

They stepped into the twenty-four-hour shop across from the office and bought two bottles of beer each, then sat down on a bench opposite the station entrance.

Konrad opened his bottle elegantly with a key. Borowski simply pressed the cap against the edge of the bench and smacked it with his palm so hard the metal lid flew off with a crack, foam spilling over the rim.

They saluted each other and took a drink.

“Maybe we should call him?” Konrad meant me.

“Forget it. He’s probably still messing around in there. Either way, we won’t miss him when he comes out. Then he can decide for himself.”

“I’d listen to his jokes again, like last time. Where does he even find them?”

“No idea. You know how Russians are — there’s a joke for every possible situation.”

“But it’s fun.”

“I’ve got nothing against it.” Borowski threw back his head and drained the bottle — still more than half full — in three gigantic gulps. He held the air in for a few seconds, then let out a belch so powerful it seemed the windows in the neighboring buildings trembled.

“That was fast,” Konrad said surprised.

“The first one is for cooling down. The second is for relaxing.”

“You drink like that every day?”

“Only when I’m not fighting.”

“Judging by that belly, you don’t fight very often,” Konrad smirked.

“You don’t know shit. That’s mass.”

“That’s pure fat, not mass. What, did you sign up for sumo?”

“What sumo…”

“The regular kind.”

“There is no other kind.”

“Mm. I’m not so sure about that,” Konrad said thoughtfully.

“Enlighten me.”

“Nah, forget it. Too long to explain.”

“We’re not in a hurry.”

“You’ve already finished one beer.”

“I’ll get another,” Borowski waved him off. “Don’t like drinking dry.”

“We agreed on two.”

Borowski rolled his eyes again.

“You really are a pain in the ass, Konrad…”

I didn’t see any of that.

When I came around the corner, the first thing I saw was Borowski standing sideways to me, fists clenched in his trademark boxing stance.

***

A homeless man had noticed them.

There were plenty of them around Ostbahnhof — as there were near any station. He approached and gestured for a cigarette.

“We don’t smoke,” Borowski answered for both of them.

The man must have known almost no German, because next he asked for money with gestures.

“Kein Kleingeld,” Borowski said again, spreading his hands.

The homeless man pulled a pitiful face.

“We’ve got nothing. Get lost.”

“Bitte,” the man said, opening his mouth and pointing inside.

Borowski shook his head. The man remained where he was.

“Wait,” Konrad said, taking pity on him and reaching into his back pocket.

Catching the familiar motion, the homeless man moved with surprising speed, stepping right up to Konrad and thrusting his filthy palm almost into his face.

“Fuck’s sake,” Borowski rose from the bench. “Get the hell out of here when you’re told.”

The homeless man straightened to his full height, turning toward Borowski in surprise, but without lowering his outstretched hand.

The next moment, Borowski’s devastating right hand smashed into his jaw.

The beggar hadn’t expected the punch and collapsed to the ground. Borowski swung his leg with all his might, like striking a penalty kick, and drove his foot hard into the man’s ribs.

There was a crack.

The homeless man screamed and began rolling on the pavement with a hideous howl.

Borowski kicked him in the back, the face, the knees — aiming especially for the joints, striking anywhere he could reach. His face lit up with the smile of a butcher carving meat, sweat beading on his forehead.

He was already drawing back for a finishing stomp straight to the face when Konrad grabbed hold of him, straining with all his strength to drag Borowski’s carcass away from the man curled on the ground.

The homeless man had stopped screaming now. He was only crawling away on all fours, sobbing.

“Leo, enough! Come on! That’s enough! Have you lost your mind?”

Konrad could not stand the sight of the defenseless being beaten, and more than anything in that moment he wanted to throttle Leo Borowski himself. But he knew he would hit the ground first before managing anything at all.

The homeless man kept scrambling away from them, trying and failing to get back on his feet. His face was smashed open. Behind him, a thin red line of blood trailed across the cobblestones.

Borowski still kept trying to finish the job, attempting to get around Konrad, but Konrad stepped into his path every time.

“That’s it! Enough! Calm down!”

With a sharp tilt of his head, Konrad signaled the homeless man to get out of there. Glancing back at them with hatred, he finally got to his feet and limped away.

“Are you completely insane?”

The beating had made noise, but luckily for them the evening rush hour was already over. There were barely any people left around the station, and no one had noticed.

Except me.

I had seen everything clearly from behind the corner, and they hadn’t noticed me either. Konrad was saying something to Borowski, then the two of them entered the station.

I stepped out.

The beaten homeless man was leaning against the wall of a building about fifty meters away. I didn’t know what to do.

I had seen what Borowski did to him. Whatever else he was, he was still a human being. Maybe he needed help.

But something like this could not simply go unnoticed.

What if they blamed me?

Borowski was exactly the kind who might pin the beating on me. I was right here, after all, not going anywhere, while Borowski and Konrad had already vanished.

I stood frozen in indecision.

Only when I noticed, in one of the windows, the silhouette of someone intently watching the station entrance did I slip into the vestibule, trying not to run.

***

“What the hell did you do that for, you idiot?”

Konrad had transformed.

His handsome, almost feminine face had frozen into a serpent’s mask. His eyes narrowed, and his outraged stare bored into Borowski.

Usually, when Borowski realized he had gone too far, he took on the look of a remorseful Rottweiler — head hanging low, gazing sadly and guiltily at anyone who came near him.

But now he sat with his arms crossed, staring somewhere past Konrad at the wall, wearing the expression of a man convinced that all truth in the world belonged to him alone.

“We could’ve just told him to fuck off and walked away. Hell, I would’ve given him those miserable fifty cents just to avoid ending up in situations like this with you.”

“And then what?” Borowski looked at him from under his brow. “You going to hand coins to every filthy bastard who sticks out a palm at you? Konrad, Konnie — these aren’t people. They’re carrion. Garbage.”

“You can’t know how that man ended up on the street.”

“Oh, please. I know exactly how. Laziness, booze, and no desire to drag his own ass up and do something with his life. What is there to guess? That kind of scum senses weakness in its gut. You think this happens to me often? Never once. Know why? Because this trash is scared of me like fire and crosses the street a mile away. But you, Konrad — you’re such a weakling it hurts to look at you. That’s why they stick to you like flies.”

Konrad had wisely seated them at the farthest table in the corner, but Borowski still shouted loudly enough now and then to draw irritated glances.

“So you think it’s fine to just beat any one of those people begging on every corner in Berlin?”

“He came up to me. I didn’t touch him first.”

“No, Leo, you touched him plenty. Touched him so well it’ll be lucky if he lives till morning.”

“Come off it. A couple of light hits.”

“Have you looked at yourself in a mirror? ‘Light,’ sure.”

“No one will know.”

“And if they do?”

“If what? Oh right! News of the day! Extra, extra! One fewer bum in Berlin! What a sensation — unbelievable!”

Borowski slammed his heavy glass mug onto the table so hard people turned again, and the guard by the door cast them a warning glance.

“Keep it down. You do realize that would be murder?”

“What murder, moron? One to the jaw, one to the ribs. Nobody dies from that. He’ll cough it up and crawl back to whatever hole he came from. He’s probably there already. Everything’s fine.”

“Then you sort out your own ‘fine,’” Konrad said, draining his now-warm beer in one swallow. “But without me. I’m going home.”

“Won’t stay with an old friend a little longer?”

“We’ve known each other two months.”

“And still?”

“Only when you learn to keep your hands to yourself.”

Konrad rose from the table, picked up his backpack, and headed for the exit.

“Konnie!” Borowski half-stood, shouting over the music and bar noise.

“What?”

“We’re all the same carrion here! Berlin devours everyone!”

Borowski drew his thumb across his throat, stuck out his tongue, and rolled back his eyes.

“Don’t worry so much! We’ll all have time to die yet!”

“Sick bastard,” Konrad muttered under his breath.

Damn Leo. It was always like this with him.

Of course, after everything that had happened, Konrad ended up dragging the idiot to "Dublin" and pouring beer into him until he cooled down a little. Drunk, he was no smarter than sober, but at least this way he was less likely to hurt anyone else. And he could make it home on his own — he wasn’t nearly as drunk as he pretended to be.

Konrad had been deeply worried they might be found that same evening. He kept checking the news every few minutes to see whether a body had been discovered near Ostbahnhof.

There was nothing.

By the time he left the bar, he was calm again.

There were still forty minutes until midnight, so he planned to get home quickly, soak himself properly in the shower, and go straight to bed. He needed to be fresh for work tomorrow.

And not a word to him about what had happened.

On the way to the station, Konrad sent one more message:

Ma chérie,
Ne plaisante jamais avec des imbéciles, surtout des imbéciles décisifs.
Tout va bien à Berlin, mais je n’ai pas encore fini ma tâche.
Je t'embrasse.
Conrad

(My dear, never joke with fools — especially decisive fools. Everything is fine in Berlin, but I have not yet finished my task. I kiss you.)