The boy’s glance wandered between Lutz and Lina and he shifted
from one foot to the other. “Well, in case I’m attacked, what I’m supposed to do. What kind of kicks there are. Stuff like that.”
“Show me,” Lutz said before quickly feigning a blow. After a
moment of shock, the boy swerved, turned around with surprising
agility, and kicked—way too high and far from his target. Lutz just
briefly lifted his foot to block, then raised an arm quickly, and Marcel landed on the mat.
“So that’s what your pal showed you?” Lutz asked.
“Dammit, no!” Marcel picked himself up, vacillating between
anger, admiration, and surprise. He squinted at Lutz. His curiosity
finally won and he swallowed his pride. “Would ya teach me that?”
The boy had caught fire, but Lutz didn’t answer immediately. He
gnawed at his lower lip without letting Marcel out of his sight. After what seemed like half an eternity, he said, “Okay, but I’m the one who makes the rules. If you don’t obey them, you’re out.” Marcel was already nodding his agreement—sure, no problem—when Lutz stressed the
point once more. “I absolutely mean it. If you fuck up, you’re gone.”
Marcel heard the man, but, shit, it seemed worth it. And so he
nodded, slower now. He was about to say something to clarify the deal, when the door to the dojo flung open and two men entered, laughing
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loudly. The little group looked toward the door; the laughter stopped.
One of the men—sturdy and pale, with gray eyes and short, brown
hair—stared at Lina. If they had met on the street, he’d have spit on the ground. Here, at the dojo, he just snorted disdainfully. Lina and Lutz exchanged glances. She was about to say something when the
man bawled, “Lookee here, our cop slut.” He glared at Max. “So now
you’re dragging along your pig friends, too, are ya?” The man, Kalle, had a nose for cops. Lina turned around again, measured the man from head to toe, and turned away silently. She told Lutz, “Thanks. We’ll talk later.”
Lutz nodded without taking his eyes off the two men. “Are we on
for later at Chilli’s?”
“They don’t like cops at Chilli’s,” Kalle interrupted and slowly
came closer. He stopped three steps in front of Lina and Max. Marcel had edged to Lutz’s other side.
“Chilli’s is Lina’s joint as much as it is yours,” Lutz said.
“But not this one’s,” Kalle declared, staring at Max. “You’re a cop, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m a policeman,” Max answered, emphatically calm and
polite.
“And how dare someone like you come to our dojo? Did the mis-
sus not tell ya that we don’t wanna see no cops here?”
“Sorry, but that’s news to me,” Max replied, still politely. “I had no idea my presence would disturb anyone.”
“You bet your ass your presence disturbs someone, you fuck-
ing pig.” Kalle looked at his buddy, whom Lina had never seen there
before, and took another step toward Max.
“Stop it, Kalle,” Lina said.
“Kalle, that’s enough,” said Lutz.
Kalle ignored them both. Max stood in front of him totally relaxed,
his weight resting equally on both legs, his arms dangling loosely at his 141
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sides, and his hands slightly open. Kalle’s eyes contracted. He took another step forward.
“If I were you, I’d stop,” Max said. His voice was a touch lower
and a bit calmer, if that was possible. “Otherwise, someone might get badly hurt.”
“Yeah, you faggot cop, I bet someone’s getting hurt right now,”
Kalle said. He wore a tracksuit. Max was in street clothes. Kalle positioned himself in front of Max, held up his fists, and stared at his opponent. Max stood there without moving, breathing calmly.
The attack came with lightning speed. A kick, a blow, a scream—
and Kalle flew through the dojo and crashed down on the mat about
ten feet away. He was white as snow and looked as if he were about to throw up. All Lina could see was Max lowering his arm and putting
down his left foot.
“Wow,” she said.
“The pig dislocated my shoulder,” screamed Kalle, his voice break-
ing and sounding rather high, not at all fitting for such a huge guy.
His pal was already kneeling at his side and Lutz also ran to him and checked the shoulder.
“You’ve got to see a doctor,” he said, but Kalle ignored him.
“I’ll report that pig to the police. This was intentional bodily
injury! That fucking cop . . . Ouch, damn!” When Lina made a few
tentative steps in his direction, he screamed, “Just piss off. Just wait till I’m fit again. I’ll