#GenghizInLove: Episode 58

I am almost always late, not because I don't value other people's time but because I invariably get caught by some old bore who wants to jabber into my ear. After fifteen minutes of insincerely reassuring Professor Masaryk that everything would be all right, really, if he just took a vitamin, I finally managed to escape, just half an hour late for my date with Barbie. Luckily, she knew my habits: I found her in Marek's bar, surrounded by a gaggle of male students. Technology really has changed the world: every red-blooded Central European male under the age of thirty has seen my starlet friend's recent work in such frat classics as The Booze Brothers and Secret Sorority Showers.

"I think my all-time favorite scene was when you crawled out of the beer keg," Fyodor was telling Barbie as I walked into the room. Alexei and Andrei, the art historian twins from Moldova, nodded in intelligent agreement, drooling down Barbie's cleavage.

"I'm so glad you liked it!" Barbie grinned luminously. "I caught an awful cold shooting that scene. That was in Firemen's Party VI. I didn't know anyone had watched that far…"

"Actually, it was in Firemen's Party VII," Fyodor corrected her. "I have seen all twelve movies in that series. At least five times each."

"You were the highlight of my teenage years," Grigori told Barbie, a far away look in his dark eyes. I snickered to myself, trying to imitate that romantic look. Grigori was the University Don Juan. He had seduced every single girl in his department, and a few married ones as well.

"Oh, that's so sweet." Barbie was close to melting. I coughed ostentatiously and joined the group. Barbie turned to me, her eyes shining. "These guys are just adorable. They've seen all my movies."

"And I've seen all their moves." I looked at Grigori severely. "Isn't Svetlana waiting up for you?"

Shame-faced, Grigori mumbled an excuse and drifted off. Barbie frowned at me. "Why are you coming over all big brother?" she said mutinously. "So what if he's married?"

"It's a Russian marriage."

"What's that?"

"You've heard of Russian roulette?"

"All the Russian students have spouses and children at home," Fyodor explained. "None of them knew each other before they came to Prague. But within two weeks of arriving here, they were neatly organised into couples. Naturally, they are all insanely jealous since they have so little time together. Grigori's wife for the year is Svetlana. He has already cheated on her with every girl he can find. If he didn't cheat, he wouldn't feel married."

Barbie was taken aback. "How peculiar."

"Yes, well, Russians are like that." Fyodor leered.at Barbie "Now Ukrainians, on the other hand…"

"Fyodor, what's the matter with you?" I asked, astonished. "Are you drunk?"

"With love!" Fyodor declaimed theatrically. "You bring us a star from Heaven and expect us not to fall in love? We have blood in our veins, not ice!"

"You've got alcohol in your veins, and Barbie is actually a starlet from Kalifornia," I replied tartly. "I've never seen you so drunk before."

"Just a few bottles of pepper vodka, my friend." Fyodor belched drunkenly. "Strictly medicine. To get over the shock…"

"What shock?"

"The shock of seeing our esteemed Professor Novak dragged away by the Czech police. Oh, the screaming and shouting, the wailing and weeping…"

"Marek, call a hospital. Poor Fyodor is having some sort of fit."

"No, he is telling the truth," Alexei said tremulously. Andrei nodded vehemently. "We were sitting in the lecture today and Professor Novak was talking about Deride's theory of meaninglessness. It was after lunch and so we were taking a nice little nap. Just then the door burst open and this fat policeman came storming in with a whole detachment…"

"At least fifty of them," Andrei confirmed.

"And they dragged poor Professor Novak away."

"On what charge?"

"The fat policeman called Professor Novak a pervert."

"Which is true enough."

"But not enough reason to arrest him."

"They called him the Park Killer," Fyodor said sententiously from the floor where he had gradually slumped. "He killed poor Lucy."

"No, he didn't…" I said, aghast at the thought of that mild-mannered aesthetic philosopher in the clutches of Lieutenant Boruvka.

"Yes, he did," Fyodor insisted. "By process of elimination they had figured out that Professor Novak was the only person who knew Lucy and who had been in Prague during the right time period. So they got a search warrant to raid Novak's apartment. And they found all these trophies from all his previous victims, skin, nipples, toenails, nose-rings. He was assembling a big mannequin."

"Oh my god." Barbie shuddered. She looked worriedly at the group of students pressing around her. "This maniac was your professor?"

"He was the head of the department of Culture," Fyodor said with slow relish. "Totally crazy. He confessed to everything. Except Lucy. He said he had nothing to do with her murder. Apparently he went crazy after Divka divorced him. That's when he started picking up prostitutes. He was desperate for human contact…"

"Philosophers get that way," I agreed. "Does Divka know?"

"Novak told them he would only confess if Divka was there. So he calmly told them about all his murders. And then at the end he turned to her and told her he still loved her."

"How romantic."

"She seems to think so. She has been there all day. Immanuel is going crazy with jealousy. I think he has gone to do something really bad. I was trying to stop him but he wouldn't listen." Fyodor tilted his head and sucked back the last of his vodka. "He will get killed and I will feel guilty. That is why I am drinking. It numbs the pain in advance."

"Oh hell." I was worried. "I just hope he won't jump from this building."

Benito came running into the bar. "I can't find her," he announced breathlessly. "Have you seen her anywhere?"

"Who?"

"Lila. If Manny has touched a hair on her head, I swear I'll scalp him," Benito said fiercely. His broad chest quivered. Barbie shivered.

"Why do you think Immanuel would do something to Delilah?" I asked.

"He's missing. She's missing. What do you think?" Benito asked jealously.

"Maybe she's with someone else."

"Oh fuck. Hachek." Benito tottered to the bar. Marek poured him a whisky. Benito tried to slug it back but it went the wrong way when Immanuel made his dramatic entrance.

Enter (stage right) IMMANUEL, his hair standing straight up in a frizzy brown halo, contentedly wiping off the mud and blood from his hands onto his purple robes.

BENITO: cough, cough

IMMANUEL (dramatically): Arise, my children, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand. Lucifer cavorts with the angels, the morning star is brightest at high noon. And behold, the son of man shall learn from the trees, for they neither toil nor spin, but perpetually move in the wind. The sun pours down its gold and the leaves stay forever green. The mysteries shall now unravel, and the stranger in your midst shall save ye. Arise, my children, for the day of revelations is close at hand.

BENITO: cough, cough

FYODOR (sotto voce): That's the kind of lecture Immanuel has been giving us recently in his Philosophy of Revelation class.

ME (cautiously): Immanuel, where did you get those robes?

IMMANUEL (contentedly): From a bishop.

ME: Did the bishop just give you his robes?

IMMANUEL: Yes. At gunpoint. I was wandering about in the park by the train station when I saw the bishop and knew I had to have his robes. I asked him nicely but he wouldn't obey so I pulled out my gun. (Immanuel holds out his gun. It is a water pistol.) I took him to a nice quiet phone booth and told him to strip. Then I put on the robes and squirted him with the gun and skipped away.

ME: You left the poor bishop in a phone booth?

IMMANUEL: It seemed like the safest place to leave a naked bishop.

BENITO: cough, cough.

Enter (stage left) DELILAH, followed by HACHEK KATASTROFSKI. BENITO springs to his feet in an agony of jealousy.

BENITO: Lila! Where have you been?

DELILAH (surprised): Hachek took me to a movie.

BENITO: You went with him?

DELILAH: What's your problem?

BENITO: I love you.

DELILAH (scornfully): You don't even know me.

BENITO: But I love you.

DELILAH: I heard you the first time round. I love you too but I'm not in love with you.

BENITO (screaming): Aaaaaghhh!!!

DELILAH: Benito, you're like the boy next door. Hachek is different. (HACHEK smirks.) He has this aura of evil. The way he looks at me makes me shudder. He's every mother's worst fear… (BENITO gags. He waves his fist at HACHEK who cocks a snoot back. DELILAH catches her two suitors making horrible faces at each other.) Oh, take a vitamin, you two!

BARBIE (puzzled): Is it always like this around here?

ME: Often.

Just then the phone rings. MAREK picks it up and hands it to me. "It's for you."

#GenghizInLove: Episode 57

I followed Hell to the boardroom. Hell threw himself into his usual canvas camp chair, which he perversely insisted was infinitely more comfortable than the butter-soft leather armchairs that lined the gleaming conference table. I timidly moved towards a corner of the room, but Hell waved me over to his side. I was nervously aware of Professor Masaryk's disapproving glower, but then cheered up when I saw Lady Monica Bigglesworth-Fume scrunch up her eyes and lips in what looked like a smile. Lady Monica was sitting next to Terence Killjoy-Yuck. I shuddered, appalled at the sight of my old Oxford tutor. Instrumental in sending me to Prague in the first place as the fall guy in his covert plots against Xox, what brought this suave vulture to Prague again, lazily flapping in to gorge on fresh bleeding kill? Next to him was a stocky red-haired man with a perpetually pugnacious expression on his bulldog face. I instantly recognized Blodgett Scrotum, England's most notorious conservative philosopher. Scrotum was engaged in conversation with a short balding man with a thick neck and barrel chest, famous Polish dissident turned pornographic journalist, Cain Piknik. The only person at the table I didn't know by sight was a trim man with a shock of white hair and a black suit whose perfect cut made my mouth water. I regretfully recalled that I still hadn't called my mother to beg for money. I needed new clothes badly.

"Right. Let's get started." Hell silenced the quiet chatter as usual with a noisy thump of his walking stick on the conference table. "Got lots to discuss."

"Are we not missing some people, Otto?" Professor Masaryk quavered. "Also I do not recognise the gentleman in black…"

"Gunter Otto Troll," Hell replied. Gott uncrossed his folded arms and waved a hand. I nodded approvingly at his daring pink tie. "He has taken over the European Studies department."

"But where is our colleague Attila Ugh? I do not like him but surely he should be here for a meeting of the University's trustees."

"Ugh has resigned." A quiet wave of shock rocked the room. "As some of you may know, Xox was held captive in the Budapest College last week until my special assistant here freed him, using some rather unorthodox means."

"Always this boy causes trouble!" Professor Masaryk shook his fist at me.

"This intervention has somewhat precipitated matters," Hell continued. "Ugh and his cronies have come out in their true colours. The Budapest College has seceded from the University of Truth and Justice." Hell raised an embossed parchment. "They have formed their own University of Ruthless Justice and declared war on us."

"The Warsaw College has received an invitation to join this new university," Piknik confirmed. "Budapest has offered us West Slovakia and Northern Bohemia if we join them. I am here to hear your counter-offer."

"Two billion dollars for the Warsaw College and the majority share in Playtoy magazine for you," Hell replied briefly. "Take it or leave it."

"Done," Piknik replied, settling back comfortably in his chair. His small eyes glinted with satisfaction. "Real estate is the most over-rated investment."

"I always said Ugh was a megalomaniac," Masaryk declared with satisfaction. "He was never content with being merely the Director of the Budapest College. He always wanted to be university rector…"

"Actually, they have appointed a new rector. Albert Lumpkin."

"Bert Lumpkin?" Troll asked incredulously. "I thought he was in Paraguay with all the other Nazis."

"Apparently not." Hell sighed and rubbed his eyes. In that moment, he looked old and vulnerable. "I take this personally," he explained. "Lumpkin was a student of mine at Chicago. Took my game theory course along with Troll here and Xox. But Lumpkin always played dirty. Failed him for cheating. He became a strategist for the U.S. Defense Department during the Vietnam war. Worked for Kissinger for a while, then headed down to South America and became cozy with all the dictators. Military advisor to the most repressive military regimes on the continent. Excellent strategist. Eminence grise behind Somoza, Stroessner, Tourniquet…

"Tourniquet!" Blodgett Scrotum said indignantly. "Lord Hades, I must protest your description of that noble man. The Generalissimo is a hero in the cause of freedom."

"Lady Snatcher has just awarded Generalissimo Tourniquet the very first Gold Medal of the Snatcher Foundation," Terence confirmed.

"If Ugh is allied to Lumpkin who used to work for Tourniquet, then my allegiances are clear," Scrotum declared confusingly. "I have no choice but to secede as well. Monica, come!"

"Sorry, Blodgett," Lady Monica replied regretfully. "Free enterprise is all very well but I draw the line at torture."

"But Monica, my dear, ordinary people do not always know what is in their own best interest," Scrotum spluttered. "The masses must be taught to be free. Torture is just another form of education. Think of it as corporal punishment. Firmness is necessary. I was most impressed with the effectiveness of capital punishment during my recent exile in Texas."

"Oh, do stop being so tiresome, Blodgett!" Lady Monica said with asperity. "Texas has changed you. You sound positively Stalinist!"

Scrotum drew himself up to his full height, preparing to respond, but was obviously unable to come up with a sufficiently crushing retort. He turned on his heel and stomped out of the room, ostentatiously ignoring Lady Rudolphine who entered as he left.

"What's he upset about now?" Lady Rudolphine asked lightly.

"Oh, Aunt!" Lady Monica burst into tears. "I've lost the man of my dreams…" she sobbed.

"Nightmare, really," Lady Rudolphine responded unsympathetically. "Pull yourself together, Monica. I've had quite enough weepiness to deal with this week."

"Were you with her Majesty?" Terence asked curiously. "How is she taking Princess Fi's unexpected demise?"

"Badly." Lady Rudolphine sighed. "The poor thing was never taught how to drink. So she glugs champagne straight from the bottle and the bubbles go to her head causing wild exhilaration for fifteen minutes before she's down in the dumps again, whining about how her subjects don't love her anymore. And the Princes are of no use at all since it is shooting season in Scotland and they are all out with the guns. She was nearly apoplectic this morning when she heard the Pope's announcement."

"I thought the Pope was in a coma," Piknik said.

"On life support, I believe. The one in Vienna made the announcement."

"The Pope in Vienna?" Even Hell looked mystified.

"You haven't heard?" Lady Rudolphine chuckled. "Our old friend the Cardinal declared himself Pope this morning after the Vatikan doctors refused to turn off the old Pope's life support machine. His first act as Pope was to sanctify Princess Fi."

"Clever move." Hell sounded impressed. "Wins popular support"

"Right. Now they just have to get rid of everyone who knew Saint Fi personally."

"Is that what upset Her Majesty this morning?" I wondered why Terence looked quite so happy.

"She's always been terrified of assassination." Lady Rudolphine nodded. "I barely managed to keep her from abdicating this morning."

"What a blow that would be to our royal family." Terence surreptitiously rubbed his hands together.

"Be a dear and check the latest news," Lady Rudolphine urged me.

I was back two minutes later. "No news about the Queen. But the new Pope, His Holiness Maximilian the First has crowned His Excellency Axel von Schadenfreude as the new Holy Roman Emperor," I announced gravely, reading out the news release I had picked up on the internet. "The coronation took place in Bratislava about an hour ago."

"Why Bratislava?" Masaryk asked, Czech chauvinist to the core. "It is just a small provincial Slovak city."

"Bratislava was chosen because of its historic past as the coronation city of the Holy Roman Emperors," I continued reading. "The historic name of Pressburg has once again been restored to the city."

"Bratislava is an hour's drive from Vienna," Hell said soberly. "And halfway between Budapest and Prague."

"You mean…" Masaryk looked terrified.

Hell nodded and raised the parchment he had received from Budapest. "We need to take this declaration of war very seriously."

#GenghizInLove: Episode 56

"Get to work!" Otto Hell ordered the next afternoon when I finally showed up after many aspirins and pots of strong espresso. "Set up the big bash for this weekend. I've called a meeting of the board of trustees this evening. Confirm Xox's attendance. And what about that historical research on the Schadenfreude family? We need some hard evidence."

My hangover grew worse instantly. I pouted. "What are you going to do?"

My boss put his hairy arm around Pipi's slender waist and smirked. "It's a nice afternoon. We're going fishing." Hell looked at my bleary face for a moment. "You been taking street drugs again? Take a vitamin, damn it. You look dreadful."

I popped a pill and then another. The dark clouds lifted almost instantly. I felt speedy, even belligerent. After some hard bargaining with various caterers and fireworks experts, I walked into my temporary office, placed my feet, cigarettes, and hip flask on the desk, and pulled the ashtray and telephone toward me. I was ready for combat. It was time to call New York. I punched in one of the numbers listed under Exponential Investments in the slim university phone book. "X-O-X Foundation," a cracked voice whined. "Koroviev speaking."

Koroviev. With incredible speed and precision, my memory recalled that Koroviev had cleaned up after Lucy's death. He had also contacted Luke on behalf of the X-O-X Foundation. How did I remember this? Normally I couldn't even remember the names of people I had met an hour before. Clearly the vitamins were affecting my memory. I frowned. A bad memory was so convenient. My closest relatives and best friends had long since reconciled themselves to never receiving birthday cards. Strangers came up and threw their arms around me and I bore their effusions with equanimity, knowing that I would forget their faces again within the minute. A good memory imposes responsibility and the quality I like most about myself is my utter incapacity to be responsible about anything. If I was going to remember things I would have to act like an altogether different person. I shrugged. I had an interesting lead on the line and there was no time for existential questions.

"Monsieur Koroviev," I said warmly. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you," the whiny voice replied hesitantly. "Who is this?"

"Come on, big guy. I work for Lord Hades. I'm his special assistant."

"Nero Insanetti?"

"Of course not," I said cheerily. "Nero is gone. Didn't you know?"

"Of course..." Koroviev whined. "What can I do for you?"

"Would you happen to know how I can reach my friend Luke Leazy?" I asked easily. "We just don't seem to have Murti Bing's place listed in our confidential phone directory. I thought you might know..."

There was a sharp intake of breath. "You don't know?"

"What don't I know?"

"Please speak to Mister Xox himself about this," Koroviev replied formally and then he hung up.

I shrugged, mystified. I had to invite Xox to the Europe conference anyway. After the usual hassles with various clerical intermediaries, an obstacle course which I hurdled with ease, dropping Otto Hell's name whenever I felt like it, I was put through to a mobile phone number in London, a special line to the great man's special assistant herself.

"This is Lord Hades' special assistant at the University of Truth and Justice in Prague," I recited for the hundredth time. "May I speak to Mister Xox please?"

" So you finally learned how to say his name." The voice sounded pleased.. "Thanks for saving his butt in Budapest the other day. I couldn't get there in time. Couldn't find a spare body. In New York City, can you imagine?"

"Excuse me?"

"You used to call him Mister X. You even called him Socks once. I bet you learned it from your friend at the Amerikan Embassy. What was his name, Steele?" The voice giggled. "He was cute."

"Steele was transferred to Tirana. He's still there as far as I know," I replied faintly.

"Tirana, huh? Think Steele managed to find out anything in Albania about Our Master? Or was my mysterious death just a red herring to distract attention?"

"Who is this?"

"It's Lucy, silly." I could almost hear her skip for joy.

"That was you in Berlin, wasn't it? The torch singer with Old Nick and the Fallen Angels? In that dreadful nightclub, Holle?"

"Lucie Settonova," the voice confirmed. "That was fun. I've never been a torch singer before and it was such a relief after being a boring Mormon."

"Did you kill her?"

"Who, me? I was the victim. Ask the Berlin police. About the brutal murder of a young Czech au pair with a husky voice and a fondness for nose rings. Actually, I wouldn't advise asking the police. They would probably arrest you again. And that's no fun, is it?" The voice giggled again. "You might ask Rasputin. When you see him again."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Lucy. Mister Xox's valued special assistant."

"Whose body do you inhabit right now?"

"You know her. In fact, she's a good friend of yours."

"Oh shit. Who is it?"

"I'm not telling..." Lucy teased.

I took a deep breath. "Do you snatch bodies often?"

"Whenever I get bored. Which happens quite frequently."

"So I see. Will you tell Xox that Hell is arranging a conference this weekend?"

"He knows. He'll be there. I'll show up too. When you least expect it."

"Don't change bodies before then. I mean, please don't murder any more of my friends, okay?"

"I can't promise that, silly. You're in for a shock, though..."

"I can't wait." I hung up the phone and grabbed my head. It was still there. My increasingly frequent encounters with the supernatural were imbuing me with a profound appreciation of the simple pleasures of life. Like the fact that I had a head. Safely attached to my body, albeit with a scrawny neck. One couldn't have everything. Or could one? With a little help from one's special friends? Whom did Lucy call when she wanted to dispose of her current body and Rasputin wasn't around? Was Rasputin back in action after all? I was suddenly very afraid. How would Rasputin have felt about me when he woke up from his coma and found himself sold to a Berlin brothel for hardened homosexuals by his erstwhile best friend? Would he still like me? More to the point, would he want to kill me?

I pulled myself together. My personal feelings had nothing to do with it. I had a job to do and I was, after all, a special assistant. Like Lucy. I remembered Nero Insanetti, who too had been fond of boasting about his special status. And look what had happened to him. I didn't want to start frothing at the mouth and sobbing at meetings and threatening to kill inoffensive strangers just because they resembled the Antichrist. I resolved to take better care of myself. I would take more drugs and indulge my personal feelings shamelessly.

I stared out of the large plate glass window. The view was spectacular, a panoramic picture of Prague, faded red rooftops and a thousand spires stretched out beneath me, a broken medieval mosaic, or a complex jigsaw puzzle, or an intricate web. The maze stretched out beyond my sight but I knew that the horizon was no limit, that beyond its horizontal, billions of people were eating, sleeping, working, plotting, rushing to and fro, teeming, struggling to escape the long confines of their particular place in the puzzle, hoping to reach some still center. It seemed to me that all the lines of the labyrinth were leading now to this building where I sat, small, motionless. In that silent instant, I became suddenly aware of the movement of the earth, the unending rotation of the planet, the wild whirl of the world, a greater game than all the plots of power in which I was now embroiled, and I rejoiced.

But then I sighed and stared morosely at the fat studbook in front of me. The music of the spheres was fun enough to listen to but I would face an altogether different music if I didn't do my long overdue historical research. I had no intention of getting a tongue-lashing from Hell: I began dutifully to pore over the tiny print, tracing the intricate pattern of marriages which wove the Schadenfreude family inextricably together with the more obscure offshoots of the Gapsburg dynasty, a narrowing trail of drooping lower lips and hooded eyes and an appetite for mad violence which finally led to the abominable Axel von Schadenfreude, and I was so engrossed in this maze of intrigue and intermarriage that I did not notice Hell standing behind me until he tapped me on the shoulder.

"Enough work for now," Hell said almost kindly. "Come along and have some wine. Most of the trustees are here for the meeting."

"Who's here?"

"Some old friends." Hell grinned. "And one or two you haven't yet met."

"You're not planning to kill anyone tonight, are you?" I asked in alarm.

"Asking questions again," Hell reproved. "Just sit in a corner and take notes. The big stuff will take care of itself. Just sweat the small stuff."

#GenghizInLove: Episode 55

Ce..le…brate

All night long!

Come on!!



It's a ce… le… bra…shun!!!



Dance music blared triumphantly through giant loudspeakers on all four sides of the enormous room. Strobe lights pulsed in hypnotic rhythm, bouncing spangled reflections off the kaleidoscopic mirror-ball hanging from the ceiling. We shoved our way towards the bar. The Moxie was Prague's hottest nightclub, a converted movie palace in the heart of Prague's art deco Old Town district. The seats had all been ripped out and the big screen resembled an abstract expressionist work-in-progress on which the kids practised their graffiti skills. The place was packed with Prague's hippest: little teeny-boppers in tied-dye rags and piercings on every conceivable body part, cool party-girls with spiked white hair and black band-aid skirts barely covering their shapely hips, battered old hippies with long ponytails and vacant looks in their rheumy bloodshot eyes. The air was thick with tobacco smoke and incense and the pungent odor of home-grown pot. The drug-dealers and prostitutes plied their wares surreptitiously in corners under the benevolent eye of the blatantly plain-clothed and easily bribed policemen, and yet an odd innocence prevailed: this was, after all, the capital of Bohemia.

Lulu, Stash, Barbie and I lolled against the bar and let the world flow by. "Psst, want some X?" The bartender whispered, taking us in with a practised eye.

"Not for me, thanks." Having inadvertently eaten a Truth sandwich on the way back from Budapest, I felt all drugged out. "Just another beer…"

"Ecstasy? I'd like a hit," Barbie said brightly. I tut-tutted at my little friend. She stuck her pointy tongue at me and grimaced horribly. "Want some, Lulu?"

"Of course, darling," Lulu replied. "Stash will have some too."

"Will it wake me up?" Stash asked dubiously. "I'm not sure I want that."

"Oh, don't be so grumpy. You two grouches can just hang out here and get smashed. Barbie and I are going to have some fun." The two girls popped their pills and pranced off to cavort on the dance floor, instantly drawing a circle of drooling men around them, like iron filings to a pair of magnets. Stash and I took our beers to a table and slumped into companionable silence, grunting occasionally, asking for a match, the occasional appreciative head jerk indicating an exceptionally cute chick, a casual sexist slur here, a bigoted remark there… Male bonding is so undemanding.

"Pretty girl, Barbie," Stash said. "She good in bed?"

"We've never slept together." Stash raised an interrogative eyebrow. I shrugged. "I've known her since she was six."

"Never stopped me. I had slept with every girl in my neighbourhood by the time I was fourteen."

"Yeah but that was in Katholic Poland. You had repressions to overcome."

"And you didn't in laid-back Kalifornia?"

I shuddered. The Truth drug was wearing off but I still felt an insane compulsion to confess everything. Just then a deafening drum roll induced a momentary hush. All the lights went out and we were enshrouded in inky darkness. "Ladies and gentlemen!" an excited voice boomed. "We have the pleasure to present this evening an extraordinary entertainment… A surprise performance by the one and only… Artist Who Dares Not Speak His Name!" After an instant of stunned silence, loud cheers and shrill whistles resounded through the night club. I stuck my fingers in my ears and watched the graffiti-laden big screen lift up, revealing a makeshift stage. Dry ice billowed everywhere and amp;$%*=$ leaped onto the stage and struck up a fast and furious rendition of his notorious classic "Black Wedding":



Baby I don't care what you feel

As long as you do what I tell you

You can dress up in rags

Or just crawl in a sack

Nobody will come to save you



Don't ask for a bedtime story

'Cause it’s a

Black wedding



Always wanting to be bad

Go straight down to hell

You can rip off your shirt

And wax the hair on your breasts

And play rebel-rebel



Don't ask for a fairy tale ending

'Cause it's a

Black wedding



amp;$%*=s managers were quick to deny reports of the reclusive artist's surprise performance in Prague when reports spread like wildfire on the internet the next day. "It must have been an imposter," one spokeswoman insisted. "amp;$%*=$ would never travel without his pet chimpanzee!" However, I remain convinced that the Artist I saw that night at Moxie was the real thing: the patented MarswalkTM had the authentic dragging lethargy and the slow wiggle of the hips at each refrain bore undeniable testimony to the Artist's distinguished history as a topless go-go dancer. I sat in my chair, goggle-eyed, and when the whole thing was over and amp;$%*=$ had vanished as unexpectedly as he had appeared, I was barely able to walk weakly to the bar and beg the bartender for a bit of X.

"Did you see that?" Barbie demanded, wide-eyed. "That was…"

"amp;$%*=$. Yes, I know, Barb. I took you to see him in concert on your thirteenth birthday, remember?"

"I saw him just last week at your mom's place. He was serenading her."

"Oh fuck." I winced. "Did I miss her birthday again?"

"You're in big-time trouble, boy. She'll leave me all her money if you don't watch out."

"Were you sucking up to her again?"

"I just happened to be visiting my parents in Caramel-by-the-Sea," Barbie replied innocently. "And my mom was having her nails done…"

"At Nails-by-the-Sea…"

"Which happens to be next to Salon-by-the-Sea where your mom was having her hair done before her birthday party."

I shuddered. "Was it big?"

"Not really. Just a couple of thousand people."

"And the Artist sang Happy Birthday. What devotion."

"It was all over the newspapers that week."

"The tabloids, you mean."

"Yeah, whatever." Barbie only read the National Busybody and Tittle Tattle. "Anyway, your mom misses you. She told me so. And I saw the tears in her eyes."

"She can turn them on and off like a tap," I replied indifferently. "They taught her how to do that in the days of the silent movies."

"You're so mean."

"I'm her son. You want to dance?"

Barbie and I went out under the lights and swayed our limbs in wild abandon, letting the staccato rhythm of the rave sweep through our bones. Time ceased in that ecstatic moment and I was free, anonymous, without attachment or history or famous mother as the sweat dripped down my nameless face and my heart pounded to the beat of the music. Lulu had persuaded Stash to join in, and the four of us danced through the night, an orgy of movement punctuated only by frequent visits to the bar and toilet. I guzzled bottle after bottle of mineral water, savouring its bitter saltiness. My thirst was as endless as the night.

But all good things come to an end, just as they should, and my friends and I walked out of the night club into a cold blue dawn. We walked down a long deserted boulevard, past a solitary tram making its stately progress, its lights pale gold against the lightening sky. The pale blue was taking on a rosy flush by the time we crossed the Vltava at Charles Bridge, taking deep breaths of the frosty smoke-scented morning air, expelling the night's detritus from our lungs.

"So you guys won't stay here for a few days?"

Lulu shook her head. "It's been lovely to spend time with you, sweetheart, but we must get back to Berlin today. I've got to finish my manuscript. The publishers are waiting with bated breath and they've been so patient, poor darlings. And Stash has to work on his movie…"

"Will he find someone to replace Anastasia?"

"It shouldn't be too hard. Lots of ambitious actresses out there. Will you be able to replace her as easily, my poor baby?"

I sighed. "I don't know, Lu. I have to find the right girl."

"Lots of pretty airheads out there," Lulu said reassuringly. "Just keep hanging out at night clubs and taking drugs. Things will work out." She cast a sidelong glance at Barbie, striding along beside Stash, chattering away happily. "I like Barbie. What about her?"

"I can't do that," I said, shocked. I looked back surreptitiously at Barbie's bright face and opulent curves. "She's my friend."

"You are allowed to fall in love with your friends, you know," Lulu chided.

"Yeah, but Barbie is going out with my friend Luke," I replied weakly.

"What's that got to do with it? You've known her longer than he has."

I played my trump card. "My mother likes her."

"That does make it difficult. Are you sure you can't overcome this obsession you have with annoying your mother, angel?"

"No," I said rebelliously. "It's my one principle."

"Ah well," Lulu observed philosophically. "I prefer not to have any principles at all. But then I am a married woman so I can afford it."

"But I am running short of money so I will call my mother and wish her happy birthday."

"Darling, how reasonable of you. Let's go find a pub somewhere and have sausages and beer. This calls for a celebration!"

#GenghizInLove: Episode 54

The scene has become a visual cliché now, after Stash's notorious depiction in Escape from the Temple, the blockbuster mega-hit which finally earned him Hollywood dollars in addition to the usual critical acclaim; even beer ads on television now parody that famous moment when a troop of nuns scrambled six flights of stairs down a fire escape, hitched up their skirts and ran through the traffic snarled up as usual on Budapest's busiest boulevard, chased by a horde of husky men in tight purple jumpsuits. One devout old lady suffered a minor stroke when the wimple flew off Xox's beaming bald head as he ran past her car, causing irate motorists for several blocks behind to impatiently honk their horns, in turn causing the Prime Minister, engaged in a fiery parliamentary debate, to briefly consider resigning. A survey commissioned by the Archdiocese some weeks later confirmed the Archbishop's worst fears: nuns had plummeted in public opinion to a status barely higher than policemen although still substantially above lawyers and journalists.

"Phew!" Lulu said breathlessly, as we found shelter in a dark alcove behind a fast food stand on the Danube embankment. "Are we safe yet?"

Stash stuck his head out for a peek. "For now," he replied cautiously.

"Oh good." Lulu pulled off her habit and straightened her hair.

"Good idea." Barbie followed Lulu's example. "I'm hungry."

"I could use a coffee." The two girls ordered refreshments from the fast food vendor, a dissatisfied middle-aged man who couldn't take his eyes off his gorgeous customers. Stash, Xox and I also disrobed but we didn't get nearly the same level of service. We sat calmly around a table, sipping cappuccinos and soaking up the pale winter sunlight, transformed in that moment into lazy tourists enjoying a well-deserved vacation from mayhem and chaos.

"So what did you find out?" I asked Lulu.

"So much resistance to telling the truth. Got some juicy stuff though." Lulu peeked sideways at Xox. The great man's head was thrown back and his mouth was slightly open. An incipient snore gurgled forth. Lulu and Barbie giggled.

"With whom did you get into a fight?" I asked Stash, who was applying a cube of ice to his black eye.

"Nectarini."

"My hero," Lulu trilled, solicitously taking the ice cube from her husband and deftly dropping it down his neck. "My big strong man got into a fight to defend my honour, didn't he?"

"Nobody is going to call you names in my presence," Stash said firmly. "Except me."

"I must say I would never have got engaged to Nectarino if I had known his true opinion of women," Lulu said. "Italian men... I didn't know Nectarino could even speak but there he was, yelling away, calling me a two-timing unfaithful bitch. And Luciano was nodding away too, even though I only slept with him once when we were at Oxford."

"What did Godfrey have to say about it?"

"Ah God. He just sat there watching calmly. We went around the table, you know, confession time, and when it was God's turn he just admitted that he totally bored with everything."

"Which makes him a very dangerous person," Stash commented soberly.

"Was he representing Terence at this meeting?"

Lulu nodded. "Terence couldn't make it because he was at some ceremony in London deifying Lady Snatcher. So he sent Godfrey."

"Did Godfrey explain the connection between the British secret service and these crazy Euro-plotters?"

"No, but he did confess that he had told Axel that Anastasia and you were at her father's castle."

I nodded. "That's what I thought. Any revelations out of the rest of them?"

Lulu shrugged. "Just your usual tangled mess of conspiracies. This pompous little man Pickie was from the Zurich Club..."

"He's Navel's father," I explained.

"The one who institutionalised Navel?" Lulu asked, interested.

"Navel's only got one father as far as I know. Why was Pickie at this meeting?"

"He was representing the Sultan of Arabia. Apparently the Sultan owns this bank…"

"Bank Ripoff."

"Yes." Lulu seemed affronted. "Do you know everything or do you want to shut up and listen?"

"Oh, okay," I said meekly. "So Pickie was here to put through this merger of Bank Ripoff and Hotbank?"

"Exactly. He had to negotiate with Nectarino, since the Nectarini family basically runs the Vatikan's finances. But Pickie was also buying something from Nero Insanetti…"

"Secret documents," Xox said unexpectedly. We turned to look at him. He seemed wide awake and completely lucid. "Nero took them from me this morning when they put me into captivity."

"What happened, exactly?"

Xox shrugged. "Nothing special. I was on my way back from a MIDAS meeting…"

"MIDAS?"

"Have you heard of it?" Xox beamed. "It is a billionaire's club. Fine fellows. We play bridge together sometimes. Yesterday we met at the funeral of Christian Covett."

"Covett's dead? What happened to him?"

"His private jet lost cabin pressure and he suffocated to death along with all the crew. The plane flew half-way across the Pacific Ocean before landing on auto pilot in Hawaii where he was due to play in a bridge tournament. A sad loss. He was a good player. Anyway I was on the way back from his funeral so I thought I would drop in and see how things were going here in the Budapest college."

"And they just locked you up?"

"There was some talk of ransom," Xox said mildly. "Our European friends have not been particularly happy with me since I picked their pockets. Also the Sultan of Arabia was particularly anxious to get these documents. My colleagues and I have been funding some research which might affect the Sultan's interests."

"What kind of research?"

"Solar energy. A new artificial photosynthesis process…"

"Oh my god," Lulu said, appalled. "Why didn't we take those papers away from that pudgy little man…"

"Oh, it really doesn't matter," Xox replied calmly. "The documents were just camouflage. I always have my documents stamped "Top Secret". It diverts people. Everything in those papers is readily available on the internet."

"So where are the real secrets?" Stash asked slowly.

Xox smiled and tapped his forehead.

Just then a shot rang out. A hunk of plaster crashed down from the wall behind Xox, narrowly missing his skull. I turned and groaned. I had barely drunk half of my cappuccino and there they were again, the men in purple jumpsuits running towards us, tireless, indefatigable, always on our trail.

"Quick. Let's go." We jumped into a small motor boat moored to the embankment. The boat's owner, a hefty middle-aged woman with bright yellow hair, drinking coffee with her friends at a nearby table, screeched angrily at first, but then waved permission after we threw her a fistful of dollars. Stash revved the engine and let her go. Rifle shots rang out as we careened wildly into the middle of the Danube, bouncing through a freighter's wake, nearly colliding into a tour boat laden with middle-aged tourists. Jaws dropped and cameras snapped as Stash expertly whipped our vessel around the big boat, eluding our pursuers' sniper fire. We made as if to follow the tour boat to the other side of the Danube before turning back in our tracks and docking at the embankment right below the Grand Hotel.

"What fun." Xox beamed as we pulled him out. "Thank you for the rescue. Excellent timing. I have a meeting in New York in ten hours. My Learjet is parked at the airport. Taxi!"

We waved goodbye and then went up to the hotel. Stash and Lulu packed and paid up, after which we caught a taxi to the university building where Stash's Mercedes was parked. Stash sneered at the parking tickets on the windshield and threw them away like so much confetti.

"You know what I still don't get?" I asked as we left Budapest behind us, driving into the sunset. Stash had his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. Barbie was curled up comfortably against me, her head in my lap. I stroked her hair idly as I spoke. "Why did Axel bring Anastasia with him to Budapest?"

"Oh, we asked about that, angel," Lulu replied, looking over her shoulder. "I didn't finish telling you about the interrogation. Apparently, Anastasia's father left her the bulk of his fortune and so Axel can do what he wants with it now since Anastasia just signs everything. He wants her to make over the shares she owns in this Tamato robot company to Nectarino. In return, the Nectarini family will help Axel buy up lots of seats in the European assembly."

"What for?"

"The Cardinal wants Anastasia's son, Ulrich, to eventually become the Holy Roman Emperor. They want to make the European bureaucracy really powerful and to have young Ulrich rise through the ranks till he becomes President. The idea is that once he's President he would declare himself Emperor and nobody could do anything about it."

"Like Napoleon."

"Exactly, sugar. But Axel doesn't want to wait till Ulrich grows up. Axel wants to become Holy Roman Emperor himself. So he wants to pack the European assembly and then stage a coup. It was all working out fine until Xox threw a spanner into the works."

"What did Xox do?"

"He took billions off the European bank, didn't he? So now they've lost all this credibility. Nobody trusts Eurocrats any longer."

"That's why Hohenstaufen wanted to kill himself." A thought struck me. "Why do the Nectarini want to buy Tamato robots?"

"Luciano said something about perpetual motion. I didn't get it," Lulu confessed. "I was always terrible at science in school."

"So Luciano has been working for the Nectarini all along?"

"Tamato hired him on his own merits but he sold out to the Nectarini." Lulu shuddered. "I always knew he was twisted."

"He's Sicilian," I said, defending our old Oxford acquaintance. "What do you expect?"

"Whatever. Did Xox tell us something we didn't already know about MIDAS?"

"He made it sound so simple," I replied. "A billionaire's club. They play bridge together and go to each other's funerals. Lots of those lately. And they also fund research on solar energy that makes the Sultan of Arabia nervous. Nervous enough to kill? I have no idea if Xox was telling the truth or not."

"Why not? Didn't he eat the Truth sandwich?"

"You saw him gobble it up. It didn't seem to affect him though."

"You're right. It was a wrenching experience for all the others. Maybe Xox tells the truth all the time."

"Maybe. But he can also keep a secret. I just wonder what's behind the smile on that big bald head."

#GenghizInLove: Episode 53

From my vantage point at the edge of the boardroom, I surveyed the faces at the table and conducted a mental roll call. Attila Ugh, the rodent-faced director of the Budapest College with slick black hair plastered to his pointy scalp and a perpetual expression of sly malice on his sallow face. Crazy Nero Insanetti whom Hell had chased out of Prague and who had destroyed my office with his incontinence and hatred. The Cardinal, a dignified mummy in his stiff purple robes. Axel von Schadenfreude, baring a yellow fang above that querulously drooping lower lip. And then a few surprises. My old pal Godfrey, languidly leaning on an arm, idly stroking his chin as he looked on with heavy lidded amusement. A small officious gentleman in a pin-striped three piece suit, fussing with papers in his handsome leather briefcase: I had met Navel's father just once before, at a lunch before Navel's commitment into a mental institution, but I recognized Mr. Pickie of the Zurich Club all the same. A short young man with gold-rimmed glasses on his handsome face: could that possibly be Luciano Shinola, my Sicilian friend who now worked for Tamato robots? Luciano was gesturing with boyish enthusiasm as he talked with a big blond man whom I didn't know but whom Lulu seemed to recognize, judging by her stifled gasp.

"Nectarino Nectarini," she whispered when I nudged her and raised my eyebrows. "My former fiance."

"What the hell is Godfrey doing here?"

"Standing in for Terence?"

"Makes sense. And Luciano?"

"Too weird. This is like an Oxford reunion."

"You there!" Axel shouted harshly. "Stop whispering while I am talking." Was he speaking to us? Axel's arrogant face was flushed brick-red. "What impudence!"

"You have done your job," Ugh said harshly. "Now leave!"

"I don't think so," I replied calmly, pulling out the gun I had confiscated from Nero in Prague. My friends pulled out their plastic toy guns and fanned out towards the exits. "We just got here and we need to ask you a few questions. Besides, it's so good to see all these familiar faces."

The familiar faces didn't seem to reciprocate the sentiment. Axel's face became a magenta mask of violence and hatred. The Cardinal sucked his yellow teeth in a rictus of fury. "Oh my God!" Nero groaned, raising his hands to heaven. "It's the Antichrist himself!"

"Nice to see you too, Nero," I said amiably. "Get away from that security alarm, Axel, or else…" The gun exploded in my hand with a deafening report. Axel screamed in pain and clutched his shattered shoulder. I smirked modestly: I had only missed his hand by three feet. Not bad for a first try.

"Okay. Now tell me where Anastasia is."

"In the chapel," Axel moaned. "Mein Gott, this really hurts!"

"Professor Ugh, would you please take me to the chapel?" I asked pleasantly. Ugh looked into the maw of my gun and nodded reluctantly. "Lulu darling, would you mind asking our friends here a few questions while I find Anastasia?"

"Not at all, angel." Lulu blew me a kiss. "Say hi to her for me."

I followed Ugh down the corridor, walking close enough behind him to smell the coconut-scented brilliantine on his hair and to prod him in the ribs with the pistol I was holding in my jacket pocket.

"You will never get away with this," Ugh snarled as we rounded a corner.

"Why is that?"

"Because I am about to pull that cord on the windowsill which raises an alarm… Oh damn!" Ugh said furiously as I moved the cord out of his reach. "Why did I tell you that?"

"Because you value truth deeply?"

"I do not!" Ugh wiped away the slaver from his mouth. "All I want is power!"

"Power to do what?"

"To rule the world!" Ugh shouted. "Everyone in the world must learn Hungarian!"

"Even if they don't want to?"

"Do people learn English today because they want to or because Amerika rules the world?" Ugh asked. I shrugged. Fair question. "Now it is my turn. I want to rule the world. It is what I have struggled for all these years, what I have lied and cheated and plotted for all my life." We stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. The chapel was guarded by five hefty nuns in black habits and white hoods, toting shiny machine-pistols. They nodded respectfully at Ugh and opened the door. The chapel was a small jewel box, all red velvet and intricate gilded woodwork. "Oh my God!" Ugh fell to his knees before the altar and broke down sobbing. "I have wasted my life! I cannot face the truth!"

"Don't worry," I said reassuringly. "The truth will wear off in a while. Now just tell the nuns to bring out Anastasia. Tell them Axel and the Cardinal asked you to deliver her to me."

"I can't do that!" Ugh looked around, panic-stricken. "That would be a lie!"

"The truth shall set you free," I quoted lightly, nudging Ugh's neck with the gun. "Or it might kill you. It's entirely up to you, my dear fellow."

Ugh scrambled up and gabbled something in Hungarian to the nuns. They nodded and disappeared behind the velvet drapes. "I told them you wanted to see Princess Anastasia," he mumbled.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" The nuns emerged from behind the drapery, respectfully pushing forward a pale slim woman with curly red hair. "Anastasia, my darling," I cried in anguish, my eyes filling with tears. "What have they done to you?"

Anastasia looked at me blankly. The fire in her eyes was gone. I stared sadly into pale green disks with pin-prick pupils. Her breath rose and fell, but her skin had an ashen tint.

I turned away and waved my gun at the startled nuns. "Drop those pistols!" I demanded coldly. "Ugh, gag those nuns and then tie them up. No, actually, make them take off their clothes first. Yes, goddamnit. It's your life, buddy. Tie them tighter. That's better. Now you stand with them. No, you don't have to take your clothes off. You want to? Oh, okay. Right." I glanced at Ugh intertwined lasciviously among the horrified nuns and smiled.

I led Anastasia to the altar and held her close to me. I kissed her gently, running the tip of my tongue over her still lips, the pure curve of her slim throat, the sensitive edge of her inner ear. I breathed softly on the short hairs on her long neck and ran my fingers like living feathers down the curves of her breasts and thighs. She stood there, motionless in my arms, oblivious to my caresses. I raked my nails down her lower back: still no response. I closed my eyes, and sighed. Anastasia's inertness was a heaviness in the gut and my own lack of response to that beloved body was a dull affliction in my heart.

The chapel door burst open and my friends came running in. "We've got to get out of here!" Lulu said breathlessly. She caught sight of Anastasia and gritted her teeth in pity. "Poor baby," she said briefly, touching Anastasia' face. "Let's take her out of here with us."

"No," I said sadly. "She wouldn't want that. She told me before that Axel will never let go of this body. That's why she left it. And that's why she won't go back in."

"You can explain later," Stash said quickly. He had a black eye and his knuckles were raw and bleeding. "We must find Xox and get out of here. The men in purple jumpsuits will be here any minute."

"Xox?"

"The Cardinal told us Xox was imprisoned in the chapel."

I ripped Ugh's gag off. "Unnggh!" he moaned. "Just a second. Unnngghhh! Oh, yes, that's it!" His ugly face creased in orgasmic ecstasy while the nun in front of him cringed in mute shame at her defilement.

"Ugh. Where is Xox?"

"What? Oh, Xox? Behind the altar," Ugh said obligingly. "The key to his cell is in the back pocket of my trousers. Be careful. There are nuns on guard."

"Right." My eye fell on the nuns' habits lying on the floor. Minutes later, five nuns shuffled cautiously behind the altar. Xox was sitting cross-legged on the bare concrete floor of a cramped cage in the centre of a cavernous space concealed by velvet drapery. The nuns on guard greeted us happily but their enthusiasm diminished rapidly once we had taken their guns and clothes away from them. Hell hath no fury like a defrocked nun.

"Ah, thank you," Xox said placidly, when we unlocked the shackles on his ankles. "I was beginning to get rather hungry." I dug out a sandwich from my jacket pocket and offered it to him. "Salami? My favorite kind." Lulu looked at me askance. I shrugged as Xox took a big bite of the sandwich. It would be interesting to hear Mr. Xox tell the truth. We used his chains to tie up the nuns.

"There is a fire escape here!" Stash called out.

"Get moving." I dashed back to the chapel. Anastasia was still standing there silently. I pulled off my white wimple and touched her still face. I could hear the heavy footsteps pounding down the corridor. I kissed my darling's body goodbye forever, once, lingeringly, and then ran for dear life.

#GenghizInLove: Episode 52

We had time to kill since Barbie's flight would only get in at eight the following evening. Stash plugged his video camera into the television and played tapes from their honeymoon in Venice, that spectacular city made for sin. I listened with amused delight to their stories: Lulu's giggly enthusiasm bubbled merrily through Stash's ironic descriptions like froth on dry champagne. It was a lovely night that ended with breakfast in bed together at three in the afternoon, feasting on eggs Benedict and garlicky salami and Bellini cocktails, brought to us on silver platters by a charming dark-eyed maid in a black and white uniform that nicely fitted her slender frame. The maid glanced wide-eyed at Lulu reclining luxuriously in bed between two men. Lulu smiled at the girl and thanked her nicely but the maid just put her hand to her mouth, crossed herself, and scampered away.

"I'm even wearing pyjamas," Lulu exclaimed indignantly. "Honestly. People just assume the worst."

"I can't even get it up," I said mournfully. "Did I tell you about Lady Rudolphine and this lotion called Lethe?" I told my friends the sad story of my drug-induced impotence. "I'll remain a eunuch until I can find a good home for Anastasia's soul."

"There, there, sweetheart," Lulu said tenderly. "Don't cry. We'll find her for you."

"Evil Axel has probably got her pregnant already."

"That can be fixed," Stash said reassuringly. "In Poland we have many cures for that ill. Repression is the mother of invention."

We finished our cocktails and dressed lazily. Just as we were leaving Lulu's sumptuous suite, the phone rang.

"Maya?" Lulu exclaimed. "Where are you, angel? How fabulous. Yes, we just finished breakfast. Wait for us… we'll be right there." She hung up, her eyes shining. "Maya is here, darlings. We're to meet her at this café down the street right away."

We hurried out of the hotel into the dark evening. Cold raindrops spattered heavily down from an oddly yellow-grey sky obscured by massive black clouds. A bare-headed man in a black raincoat ran past us. The yellow lights and smoky warmth of the Café Arpad were welcome shelter from the storm.

After a short struggle with the officious maitre d' and his flunkeys, all dressed in regulation black and white, we made our way into the café. Maya was sitting at a corner table in front of plate glass windows overlooking a broad boulevard, talking intently to three swarthy men I did not recognise. She caught sight of us and her thin face lit up. We hugged for a long moment and I felt her heart beat like the pulsing of a bird.

"These are some friends who will be helping us," Maya said, tactfully not introducing her companions. "I won't bother with their names as you wouldn't be able to pronounce them anyway." We all laughed. The swarthy men had nice smiles under their grey-flecked dark moustaches. I felt grateful to them for the risk they were taking for someone they didn't even know and I tried haltingly to thank them, but was told by Maya to shut up and sit down and drink my coffee like a good child.

"So when we do this?" asked the youngest of the swarthy men.

"How we do it?" asked the middle one.

"What we do?" asked the oldest and gruffest of Maya's men.

Lulu, Stash and Maya turned in unison to look at me. So did the scowling waitress, coming up at that moment with a plate of assorted pastries.

I took a deep breath and an apple tart and extracted a crumpled piece of paper from my pocket. I smoothed it out on the table. "I was involved in renting the facility for the Budapest college so I happened to have the building floor plan," I explained. "This is the main entrance. If security here is like in Prague, then there might be steel doors and guards with sub-machine guns. We would need university identification to get in. Here are the conference rooms and the guest suites. My guess is that Axel and his men have Anastasia holed up in one of those suites while they hold their conference in the main board room. Axel has a small army of men who wear purple jump suits. I believe they are armed and dangerous."

"What is our objective?" Stash asked.

"I need ten minutes alone with Anastasia."

"Is she that hard to get?" Maya grinned. She lightly jabbed a finger at the building plan. "This is actually not so difficult. We just need to arrange a diversion so that the guards go away from the guest area."

"A demonstration at the main entrance?" Stash suggested.

Maya nodded. "That might work. Gives us enough time to sneak into the guest suites… if this plan is accurate."

"Must watch building," the oldest swarthy man said emphatically. "I no trust paper."

"You're right. Will you three mount a stake-out of the building tonight?"

"In this weather?" I protested. "I feel guilty enough as it is, getting you folks involved. I'll watch the building by myself tonight."

"Don't be silly," Maya replied acerbically. "In the first place, they know you. Secondly, you're not a trained watcher. You'll fall asleep. Third, my friends are used to jail."

"Oh, okay," I said, shame-faced. "But I don't know how to thank them for this."

"This isn't just about you," Maya replied mysteriously. "We have our own reasons." She got up. "We shouldn't spend too much time together in one place. Let's disperse for now. Think up a plan and let's meet for breakfast here tomorrow. Before four in the afternoon, okay?"

"I've got to go pick up Barbie," I told Lulu and Stash as we walked back to the hotel. "I don't know what time we'll be back."

"The room's all yours, angel," Lulu sang out, holding on to Stash's strong arm. "We'll do the night clubs and mount a little stake-out of our own."

"Have fun." I grabbed a taxi outside the hotel and asked the driver to take me to the airport. The street lights glowed vivid white against the glistening black of the night. Black and white, black and white… the flickering tapestry of light burned an obscure pattern into my mind and inchoate plans floated like paper airplanes through my brain, as I sat brooding through the long taxi ride. The flight from LA had already arrived. As I stood waiting for Barbie to clear customs, my ideas slowly gathered shape and flowered into dazzling blossom at the sight of my childhood friend striding through the arrivals area, oblivious as ever of the dropping jaws and envious gazes, lissom and svelte, long blonde hair blowing behind her and big blue eyes glistening with joy at the sight of me, the archetypal Amerikan beauty, my lovely Barbie doll.

"I missed you!" Barbie exclaimed in her inimitable child-like fashion, once I had dragged her through the drooling crowds and we were safely in a taxi headed back to the city. "I've been so lonely since Sleaze went away. I have a really bad feeling about this trip to England and my astrologer agrees…"

"Have you heard from him?"

"He called after he arrived in England, but I haven't heard from him since." Barbie pouted. "I don't think he loves me anymore."

"Of course he does, you little idiot." It didn't matter that Barbie had metamorphosed into the hottest starlet in Southern Kalifornia: I looked at the shining butterfly and saw a familiar caterpillar. For me, Barbie would always be the scrawny little girl next door with the big trusting eyes who adopted me as her big brother and whom I had tirelessly abused ever since. "But a man's got to do…"

"What does a man have to do?" Barbie prodded me in the ribs. "What is Luke up to in England? And what are you planning to do with this…" She thrust a hand into her opulent cleavage and pulled at her bra. In the mirror I saw the elderly taxi driver's eyes nearly pop out of his head as the taxi swerved alarmingly off the road.

"Barbie, wait till we get to the hotel, all right?" I scolded in alarm.

"Okay, okay. It's sort of uncomfortable, that's all."

We made it to the hotel without further mishap, and the taxi driver's eyes were so glued to Barbie's chest that he didn't even bother to bargain with me. I took my friend up to Lulu's room and opened the door for her. Barbie tip-toed in and turned to me, holding a finger to her lips.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Sshh…" Barbie looked at me reprovingly, went into the bathroom, and turned the shower on full-blast.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking off my clothes, silly."

"I can see that," I replied acidly. "And you look very nice. But what's with the silence routine?"

"Security," Barbie said, unhooking her bra and letting her splendid breasts fall free, a vision for sore eyes in the billowing steam. "Luke taught me. They can't listen to our conversation while the shower is on."

"Guess we'll have to leave the shower on for a while then. Where's the Truth drug?"

"My bra has a secret compartment."

"Tut tut. Don't tell me you need to stuff your bra these days." As a teenager, I had caught Barbie stuffing her training bra with my athletic socks, and blackmailed her into buying us milkshakes for a whole year with her pocket money.

"It's very convenient. I've smuggled all sorts of things in it. Here." Barbie handed me a small glass vial filled with glowing amber liquid.

I looked at the vial curiously. "Truth, huh? How long does it take to work?"

"Ten minutes, maybe fifteen. Works best with food."

"Maybe I should test it on you and find out if you've been naughty or nice lately."

"Very naughty." Barbie got into the marble bath and moaned throatily as the hot water cascaded down her beautiful body. "Oooh, yeah. That's what I needed. You could soap my back, you know, like you used to when we were kids. And isn't there any champagne in this joint?"

"All right, I'll soap your back and bring you some fizz. Luke's been spoiling you. You were never this demanding as a kid." I retreated out of the bathroom, clutching onto the precious fluid. "Let me just get this to safety before you throw the soap at me."

Lulu and Stash didn't get back from the night clubs until six the next morning. After ordering a little something from room service, the four of us walked sedately by the Danube embankment like good little tourists, all the while plotting mayhem and murder, until it was time to meet Maya and her companions. On the way there, we found a toy store and made a few small purchases. Over breakfast at the Café Arpad, brought grudgingly by a puffy-eyed waiter, I told my friends of my plan. Maya whistled approvingly.

"Could work," the oldest swarthy man agreed, grudgingly. "But have to get past the nuns."

"Nuns?"

"Many nuns around the building," the middle man explained. "With sub-machine guns."

"Nuns with guns," Barbie said dreamily. "Sounds like a rock band."

"They must be guarding the Cardinal," Stash said. He looked at his watch. "Well, we should get going."

I nodded in agreement. We got up, pulled out the toy pistols we had bought at the toy store, and finally got the attention of our waiter. We picked out waiters of approximately the right shape and size, forced them to take off their white and black uniforms, tied them together in a circle amidst the café's confused clientele, and gave the long-suffering pianist a handful of money to play Hungarian dances all morning. Lulu, Barbie and I piled into Stash's Mercedes and we followed the nondescript Lada Maya and her friends had rented almost to the entrance of the university building. While Maya and her companions began yelling Kurdish independence slogans through megaphones, attracting a large crowd of curious bystanders, many of whom shouted along in sympathy, Lulu, Stash, Barbie and I dressed quickly in the stolen waiters' uniforms, took up the platters of sandwiches we had ordered from room service at the Grand Hotel, and marched resolutely into the service entrance of the university building. Lulu and Barbie smiled and batted their long eyelashes at the stout nun guarding the gate and offered her a salami sandwich. The nun grunted and let us in. Once we were inside the building, Lulu and Barbie adjusted their clothes, pulling up a skirt, undoing some buttons. The irresistible waitress wenches then led the way past guards and men in purple jumpsuits, flashing smiles and cleavage in every direction, while I consulted the floor plan at each turn. We could hear the Kurdish demonstration growing in volume outside on the street, and hurried before the police arrived and dragged away our friends.

"We've got two minutes max before the guards return," Lulu said urgently, knocking down the first guest suite door. We fanned out down the corridor, searching for Anastasia. Besides a couple of cleaning ladies in mid-fuck, we saw no one. Anastasia was nowhere to be found.

"This is hopeless," I said breathlessly. "She could be anywhere. We have to interrogate Axel and his friends."

"Break into their meeting and feed them sandwiches?

"I know it's rude, Lulu, but I'm desperate."

"All right, let's do it. Sandwiches to the ready… aim, fire."

We marched down the corridor in perfect formation, past some returning jumpsuits. I opened the boardroom door noiselessly and we distributed the sandwich platters evenly along a long glittering mahogany table. The assembled dignitaries ignored us completely, their attention focused on a balding thick-set man with a drooping lower lip who was standing at the head of the room lecturing them in heavy hectoring tones. Listening is hungry work: the Truth-laden sandwiches disappeared within minutes in an orgy of chewing and gobbling. I complacently watched them take their medicine, having stashed away a couple of spare sandwiches in my pocket. Sitting inconspicuously in a corner of the boardroom, I checked my watch. Ten minutes, then fifteen. Time to tell the truth.