“Theoretically, yes. I was going to write the report, but, well, you know . . .” Alex was the only one in their group who actually enjoyed writing reports and filling out forms.
“Then get in the car,” Lina said. “It’s a good idea anyway if some-
one keeps an eye on the rascal, but keep your mouth shut.” When Max
looked at her curiously, she blushed, something completely atypical for her, and added, “I want to show you something.”
Max climbed in the backseat behind Lina, so that Marcel could see
him and he could see the boy. The latter seemed to feel uncomfortable, which Lina could understand.
After they had driven for a while, she asked the teen, “Where did
you learn to kick?”
He shrugged and glared. “A dude showed me.”
“On the street?”
The boy nodded.
Lina signaled and turned right. They drove in silence. Every now
and then she glanced at Marcel. In profile, he resembled his mother
and even already had the same tired expression around the corners of his mouth. Before the large intersection where she would have to turn right to reach his home, she slowed down and asked, “Would you like
to learn how to do it? I mean real kickboxing?”
She saw him fight with himself. Finally he snorted derisively, “In
the police sports club, you mean?”
“No.” She drove even slower. “So, what about it?” She looked at
him and detected something familiar in his gaze, maybe herself, a former self or what she might have become.
“Fine, then,” he conceded generously. “I can have a look at it.”
Lina nodded and turned left at the intersection. She could see
Max’s raised brow in the rearview mirror.
She knew he would be there. Lutz practically lived and breathed
kickboxing and spent every free minute in the dojo in Altona-Nord.
He either practiced by himself on one of the few machines they had,
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or he worked out with his buddies. Sometimes he taught kids and
adolescents from the neighborhood—youngsters who knew a lot about
beating someone up, but little about fighting fair. Lutz tried to teach them that, combined with the art of defending yourself without killing the other guy right away. Of course, he didn’t tell them that, at least not so openly, since otherwise they’d have disappeared immediately.
Most were boys, but there were a few girls, as well. When Lina entered the room that was covered with training mats with Marcel and Max,
the boy opened his eyes wide. Inside, a giant was hitting his partner with a series of blows, each of which looked as if it hurt like hell. And they would have, too, if the receiver of the blows hadn’t protected himself with thick foam pads. Lina waited until the giant looked up, and then waved. He said something to his partner, who nodded and disappeared. Then the huge man wiped his forehead with a towel, came
toward Lina, and smiled.
“Hey, Lina.” He put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a
smooch on her cheek. Then he turned to Max and greeted him with a
nod. His smile was a little forced. “I’m Lutz.”
“Max.” Max politely bowed his head. He looked out of place here,
with his neat shirt, polished shoes, and jacket, but it didn’t seem to bother him at all.
Lina put her hand on the boy’s elbow. “Marcel, Lutz is a good
friend of mine, my trainer.” Marcel had to look up to the more than
six-and-a-half-foot-tall man with a chest like a tree trunk. With his short-cropped hair, the dark tattoos on his naked upper body, and his crooked nose, he hardly exuded respectability, but Lina saw the awe-struck sparkle in the boy’s eyes. It seemed she had used the right bait.
Lutz scrutinized Marcel: the skinny arms, the cheek that was still
red from Sebastian’s slap, the stains on his pants. Most of all, however, he saw an expression around the boy’s mouth, the hint of a blissful
smile reflective of all the dreams a boy like him could achieve if only he were more like the hulk in front of him. “Who did ya fight with?”
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“The cops nabbed me and one of them clobbered me.” He swal-
lowed. “And she threw me against a car.” He was pointing at Lina.
“And what were you up to?” Lutz asked.
The smile disappeared. “Nothin’.” He looked suspiciously from
Lutz to Lina. Was this a setup? Could this type here be a cop as well?
But Lutz just snorted sarcastically.
“Sure. You’re a poor little orphan. Completely innocent. Wouldn’t
hurt a fly.” Before the boy could answer, he asked, “Have you ever actually fought