No-LIMIT-Rooms 02 English

One more worry less. However, my cash was still far from sufficient to pay off my loan shark. Normally, I would never have been able to raise such a sum as I had urgently needed not quite two years ago when my sister had been kidnapped. But through the mediation and intercession of an acquaintance, I ended up with this sum. My skills as a poker player, but also my activity in the sex trade, made me appear creditworthy for these circles, in contrast to any normal bank.

I required the money at that time for informers, travels and poker tournaments in dark backrooms of Eastern Europe, protected by a hired bodyguard. So I managed to follow Nadine's trail until Russia, then I came up against a wall of impenetrable silence that I could not penetrate even with a lot of money. On the contrary, I made myself a target. After an attempt to kidnap me failed in a bloody manner, I had to leave Eastern Europe in a hurry. In the process, I spent the last of my money. Afterwards, I made my way again with cam sex and SM shows, until I went too far in Club Hydra and was seriously injured, which brought my account deep into the red again.

However, my research and activities in Russia had drawn the attention of others to me, who were then monitored me, screened me extremely thoroughly, and found out that I had only existed for a little over a year. They contacted me, recruited me, trained me in a crash course and here I was. Since the last conversation with Holger, it had also become completely clear to me that they were not at all concerned with the illegal activities in this house. They probably did care, but they had no intention of stopping it. They were only interested in information about customers and owners. Knowledge is power. After this operation, my sister and I would be able to leave Germany forever with new identities, at least that was what I had been promised. The private screenings with VIP clients would help me obtain the information that would free my sister. So far, things were going unexpectedly well for me.

On Facebook, I surfed a bit in my various groups, shared the odd innocuous thing and set a status message. With that, both Holger and Walter knew I was doing well. Whether they would see it the same way if they could see me like this now, I dared to doubt a bit. I had to laugh, but it was not a happy laugh.

Ever tried putting on something fancy, summery over bandages and thick plasters? Not to mention using bandages to remove the smell of sweat from your body without being able to shower? Forget it. I smelled like a polecat by now, so I peeled off the bandages and looked at myself from all sides in the mirror. My breasts were indeed rainbow-colored. Not just the bruises and contusions, but burned as well. My whole body looked like a Picasso painting. The hot shower hurt, but I gritted my teeth. Some ointment on my burns, and a soft cotton bra replaced the bandage. Over that, a blouse. The jeans were uncomfortable, both to put on and to wear. I would have preferred to put on a dress, but that was completely out of the question, since my legs had also taken a beating. A light makeup completed me, after which I grabbed my purse and picked up Isabell at her apartment. She was wearing a chic, summery dress. Now it was clear who wore the pants in our relationship, and I told her so. The flash of her eyes signaled to me that I would have to regret that remark, later.

Isabell recommended a hairdresser to match my look and reminded me, waving a fence post, that I should have my mane trimmed again. I am so receptive to compliments. I had now from it so to open. Arm in arm, we left our home in a good mood, and strolled towards the Chinese restaurant, where I had already reserved a table. At lunch, I inquired in general what was so recommendable here everything in the city. Except for my short trips to go shopping and meet Holger, I didn't know the city at all. Except from Google Maps. She was not a native either, she was a native of Kassel, a city in the middle of Germany, but had lived here for more than two years and knew her way around accordingly. In contrast to Berlin, this city was the deepest province, despite its size and liveliness. But I don't think any German city can compete with Berlin anyway. Only I had to avoid Berlin from now on, probably forever.

"Do you have any plans for your birthday?" she snapped me out of my musings.

"My birthday?", I asked, a moment confused.

"You do have the 15th, I'd heard, when you were on the phone with that Walter guy. Is he coming to visit, are you having a party with friends?"

"No, nothing like that. I don't have that many close friends, and none of them live nearby. Besides, it's not generally known in my circle of friends how I make my living, either. Of course, I have some club acquaintances who would like to celebrate with me, but I don't like to celebrate my birthday that much."

"Oh, what's the reason?"

"Because that's when I get older?" I shrugged my shoulders. "I can't even tell."

"How about I take you to a party then. There's a great club, outside our scene. Just dancing and having fun."

"Sounds great, why not?"

By now we had reached dessert. Vanilla cherry ice cream with lychees. Definitely way too cold for many calories to have survived in there. Therefore I ate it with pleasure. Ice cream always worked for me. But my pleasure was interrupted.

"Who is this Walter, and why did you turn so pale when he called?"

Fortunately, I had already expected such a question. Holger had made the story believable. Nevertheless, I wanted to remain deliberately vague at first and not lie to Isabell unnecessarily.

"If it's all right with you, I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"All right, another time, if you want to talk about it."

I nodded. Lying was not difficult for me, but I did not like it. The art of lying sincerely is to believe the lie itself. By now I almost believed I was Johanna myself, believed in my made-up life story and that I was only here to work in the apartment building. Walter had thrown me for a loop there. But then again, the lie lived better if I told it too.

"All right. I lived with him for a few weeks because my parents had died in an accident and I had to find a place to live quickly before the Youth Welfare Office put me in a home. He is 6 years older than me. And he was my first. He had gotten me completely drunk the second night, I didn't fight back."

Horrified, Isabell stared at me. "And you didn't report him, even still talk to him?"

"It was actually pleasant. However, he then dropped me and put me virtually naked on the street."

"You're not serious? The man is a rapist, he should have his dick cut off. I can't believe you still keep in touch with him." She grabbed my hand. "I swear to you, if that guy comes here to visit you, I'll get him a gig with Jelena in the basement and tell him to call her Gretel first!"

No, the poor guy really didn't deserve that, well probably not entirely. After all, he didn't even know what he supposedly did to me. But for the mishaps in the investigation and the search for my sister, I did think he deserved a lesson.

Aloud, I said, "It's all right, dear. I told you he was good to me. He had experience and was tender. It was the homeless that traumatized me. We never quite lost touch, but he's married now, has children, and is quite well-behaved."

"You know that's what they call Stockholm syndrome?"

"It certainly isn't," I weakly defended. "Let it go, or do you want me to regret telling you?"

She gave up. The mood had turned. I paid and we left the restaurant. I had to do something crazy to lighten the mood. Buy something really crazy, for example.

"Come on, let's go buy a bicycle for me."

What's crazy about buying a bike? Basically nothing, in fact it's very sensible, unless you have a welted and scalded butt and burn blisters on your labia and clitoris. I did without an extensive test sitting and then pushed the bike home. Isabell got no longer one before laughing.

At home, I connected the bike in the bicycle cellar and together we went up in the elevator. On the third floor, Isabell said goodbye to me, while I first returned alone to my apartment. The next morning, Isabell had the 36-hour session ahead of her, which would start at 7:00 am. So we didn't want to meet again that day, because she had to get up at 4:00 already and wanted to sleep in.

Quickly, I watched to get out of jeans and briefs, and then rubbed my inflamed abdomen with sore ointment. No more jeans if I got sore there, I vowed. And I certainly wouldn't use the bike until at least next week.

However, my planning and resolutions regarding cycling abstinence were overturned by a message from Rebecca.

Already early in the Saturday morning, I pedaled in jeans and not insignificant saddle pain across the city. I had to inform Holger and wanted to use the hidden phone. Small purchases offered themselves again as an excuse.

The previous late afternoon, Rebecca had surprisingly called me back into her office and handed me the plan for the next few months. My training plan, so to speak.

Afterwards, Isabell had come to see me, and we had spent the night together. Again, neither of us got much sleep, which made me feel really sorry for her. But it was not because of intense and persistent love games between us, but that we were both already thinking about the next day. Her at her 36 hours session, mine at what I had to do early: I had learned the name of our host and also the place where we were invited. The man's name was Vladimir Morozov, and he had invited us to his country estate in Cyprus. I don't really believe in coincidences, it was the same name as the one who probably held Nadine captive.

15 Lost time

"Are you sure you're not busted?" Holger's voice sounded worried.

"I wouldn't know how, always been careful. Besides, I don't think they'd let me out of the house anymore if that were the case."

With the phone in one, and pushing my bike on the handlebars, I walked along a somewhat secluded forest path. At length, I had already told Holger everything that had happened this week. Including the conversation with Rebecca yesterday.

"They can also try to find out whom you work for. Maybe they could identify Walter and assume you're working for the BKA, so they'll leave you alone for now until they can get you out of circulation safely."

The thought troubled me. "So, what should I do?"

Holger was silent for a moment at first. "The decision is yours. If you want to abort, we'll cover for you, of course. I will try to get with my superiors that you get the promised new identity anyway. You can also give the previous information to the BKA and ask them to give you a new identity. But they won't like that."

No, the BKA would definitely not like that. Neither would I like the veiled threat of abandoning me. Damn. Caught between plague and cholera. On the way here, I had already racked my brains. I needed a solution.

"I'll keep going. If I feel I've been busted, I'll give the signal. If I can't do that anymore, they may still use me in the basement for filming. Then I'll try to give you signals there. You're still monitoring the building?"

"Yes, around the clock. If you're taken out, we'll know about it. Do you realize you've already caused two red alarms for us when you came to the hospital?"

Oops. No, I didn't know, but thought that was good.

"Then that seems to be working." I saw my comment as payback for the threat earlier.

"We would like to do without further blind alarms. In Germany, don't you know our russian tale: 'Peter and the Wolf'?"

"Of course we know those. We already get to know them in kindergarten. What am I supposed to do, sign off beforehand if I have an accident? The first time I was unconscious and the second time they gave me sedatives. Also, I didn't have a cell phone with me to give status updates."

"The first time, we didn't hear from you for more than six hours until the ambulance drove you to the hospital. At that point, you could have at least sent the all-clear signal while you were drinking coffee there."

I was about to reply something snarky, when it didn't occur to me what he had said. "Six hours? No way, the whole house tour and conversation hadn't lasted two until I tripped on the way out. Let it have been three. You must be mistaken."

Silence on the line. Then, with a worried undertone, "Describe again what you remember, please."

This time I described in detail how my first day had gone, not just in short, coded bullet points. Somehow, though, I suspected that I had missed something. Something I could not remember at the moment. I kept quiet about that, though.

"Strange. There's something wrong somewhere. I'll have to check again. Or they left you sitting unconscious in the chair in the basement for almost three hours before they got you to the hospital."

In my stomach, the sinking feeling I'd had since last night intensified. Was this possible? But to what end? And how could I get clarity on that?

"Why would they have done that?"

"I don't know. I'll clarify it with us. Maybe it's just a communication error on our end after all. That shouldn't happen, though," he said.

"The last time, they took me to the hospital right away?"

"Yes, if the show started on time, there's not much of a time gap. You were at the clinic at about 10:40. Live shows are better for monitoring you there, of course."

"I hope you like them." It pushed me further and further to provoke him. However, he did not respond.

"You said more live shows are planned with you? That speaks less to you being busted."

"Two in the next week. Tuesday a short one and then a 48 hour show this weekend. I'll have details this afternoon. And generally two shows every week going forward."

"Good, then you seem to be safe for at least next week. I'll look through what else we have on Vladimir Morozov and if any cross connections to the Calabrian Mafia are known. Get back to me after the show next week. Don't do anything stupid in the meantime."

He had thus made the decision whether I should continue. Resistance stirred in me, but on the other hand, I didn't want to give up the opportunity to get closer to my sister.

"Then I'll pull through until October. If my sister is in Cyprus with Morozov, I might find out something."

"I think that's too dangerous. You should find an excuse not to go there. Crash your bike for all I care and break an ankle, I can arrange something there too."

No, thank you. I evaded. "Can you monitor me in Cyprus?"

"Yes."

And also protect me and get me out if need be?"

Hesitation.

"Difficult, but certainly doable."

"All right, then this is what I'll do. I'll go there, no accident before! Now I have to go back, see you soon, bye."

Without further words, I hung up. I enjoyed having the last word this time. After that, I returned the phone to its hiding place and got my groceries. It was convenient to carry those on the bike, but since I was still sore, I didn't enjoy the exercise at all.

Three hours, it went through my mind. I was missing three hours of my memory. What had happened there? Unless it had really been a surveillance glitch, which wouldn't really reassure me either, in three hours they could easily get me out of the house a dozen times over and dump me somewhere, I had spent three hours in that basement. Strained, I thought, while I pushed further. Somehow, there was something at the edge of my memory, but I couldn't believe it. Surely someone would know something about that day? My doctor? Probably, but since he was privy to the whole affair, I couldn't ask him. Why weren't there any public telephones anymore? I could have just called the clinic now and had them check the records to see when I had been admitted. But that would be too risky from the apartment building. Meanwhile, I was back and in the bicycle basement. With my shopping bags, I dragged myself to the elevator. That's when the epiphany came to me. But I still needed more information.

I spent the rest of the weekend planning for Tuesday, doing chores, and watching what happened to Isabell in the basement. After all, I would be facing something similar next week. On Sunday evening, I picked her up in the basement after the show. She was completely exhausted, both physically and mentally. I nursed her and cuddled up to her for the night. Yes, by now I also had a toothbrush standing with her and she with me.

"Hello Rike!" my smile beamed all over my face.

I stood opposite her Monday morning in front of the entrance to her apartment, where I had rung the bell seconds before.

After breakfast together, I had first said goodbye to Isabell again. For lunch, we wanted to meet again.

Frederike was wearing casual clothes and looked a bit tousled, as if I had pulled her out of a nap. Her facial expression indicated complete surprise.

"Hello, uh..."

"Johanna.", I helped her up.

"Thanks, what do you want from me?" Her tone was cool and dismissive.

"Nothing at all. Actually, I just wanted to say hello. I don't know that many residents in this house yet, and we've already met twice, after all. So on good neighborly terms and all, you know." Well, that didn't really sound convincing even to me.

"Well, here's to good neighborliness, then," she was already about to close the door.

"I'm three hours short."

"Excuse me?"

"From the first day we met in the basement, I'm missing three hours of memory. At least I think so." I showed her some bills.

She turned pale, glanced around the hallway to see if we were being watched. Then she lowered her voice, "We can't talk here, they monitor everything here with cameras. Probably hidden microphones too."

I nodded very weakly to signal to her that I knew that.

"Where then?"

"In the basement, boiler room. The door is at the end of the corridor to the bicycle cellar, but in the blind spot of the cameras. At 11:00?"

"All right. See you then."

Yes, it was risky. But I needed certainty. From everything I had gleaned about Frederike, I gathered that her relationship with Rebecca was strained, to say the least. Moreover, she seemed to be short of money, which also meant that her wealthy aunt did not support her very much. Sure, her lingerie looked expensive, but her other clothes did not. And the lingerie was work clothes. They looked a lot like the stuff the company was obviously buying on the cheap. Now all I had to do was get into the boiler room inconspicuously. I also already knew where the cameras were sitting. So I would go to my bicycle, screw something on it and then quickly scurry to the boiler room. Of course, that might attract attention. But with hundreds of cameras in the house, I just trusted that not everything could be watched all the time.

Two hours later, we were face to face in the boiler room. Sure, here the burners roared so loudly that eavesdropping would be impossible. Although it was summer, several boilers were running. The room was huge. Thick pipes ran up and down to maintenance shafts. In one corner hung a clothesline where Rike had hung her laundry. So at least her stay was fully explicable.

"Why are you drying them here?"

"Because the drying machines cost a lot of money, I have permission to do it." She held out her hand.

From my pocket, I fished out some bills and thrust them into her hand. She counted them and let them disappear in her pocket.

"So, what do you want to know?"

On the day we first met, did you see the ambulance that took me away?"

"An ambulance? No, I would have noticed that. I can see the driveway from my window."

Damn. They'd taken me away through the parking garage, logically.

"You warned me the first day, what exactly were you trying to warn me about?"