Tonight, Twilight Zone is buzzing with energy. Our Bond girls have been cruising the streets (some of them just to the other side and back, which was already a full day's journey), our Bond boys have looked in kitchens of all sorts of houses and companies, and they have picked up more rumours than three years of gossip magazines. Dinner is the best moment to report all the gathered news. The following order is «the biggest mouth first» and the format is like they've learnt from TV: everybody shouts and nobody listens.
"I have breaking news. The widow Kitzbuhel is pregnant. Nobody seems to know who the father is."
"I have stunning news. FC Tirol has bought Lionel Messi for 700 million, Cristiano Ronaldo for 750 million and Neymar for 800 million."
"I have spectacular news. A little bird told me that popular rockstar—"
"Oh, come on, all that was on Facebook hours ago. The latest news is that Nurse Betty won't be coming tomorrow because she's on strike." - "What?" - "She wants better working conditions. She wants a help to clean the floor, a cook to wash the dishes, a washer to do the laundry, and a secretary to do all her paperwork. A gardener, a chauffeur, and a medical doctor are on her wish list too. She won't come back until the management has fulfilled all her wishes." - "On strike?" - "Will that work?" - "When the management reaches the age of retirement, they will certainly solve the problem. Until then, they give the problem to us." - "We don't accept that." - "We'll go on strike too."
"I have urgent news. The town hall debates about setting speed limits in supermarkets for walking frames, wheelchairs and electric scooters for elderly people." - "A speed limit for old-timers?" - "When you're old like us, you don't have time to lose." - "They talk about our time like we can afford to waste it on pastime and politics." - "Does the town hall have a pawn shop where we can get back the time we've lost with filling in their paperwork?" - "They should call us fast-timers instead of old-timers." - "Yeah, when my scooter and I cross the supermarket at 75km/hr, all those youngsters jump to all sides. They should pay me for teaching aerobic classes."
I try to talk some discipline into the troops: "Ladies, gentlemen, please…", but there's no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you, and all those stories want to be told during dinner.
Gabriela enters the dining room and says: "If you're not quiet, you won't get soup."
Silence.
Discipline is a nice thing.
Shirley takes the opportunity to explain something about the relativity of time, to take away the worries and hurries of the residents: "Do you remember those eternal summers of your childhood? You did so many different things, and time seemed to pass slowly. When you get older, you get three weeks of holiday, and it seems they are over before they even started. They say that time flies when you're having fun, but the opposite is true: well-used time passes slowly; wasted time washes away. When you live intense like a child, aware of all the splendid impressions around you, you live two, three, ten times more than when your life is superficial and monotonous. When you work day and night with the idea your life will start when you are rich, or (worse) retired, when every day is the same routine of breakfast, work, dinner, TV and sleep, you throw away the only valuable thing that's really yours: the time of life, given to you. Life is a gift, and the value of every gift depends on what you do with it; a daily used bicycle is worth a lot more than a Ferrari that never leaves in the garage."
Everyone nods their agreement. To save more of their valuable time, I say: "First, I would like to hear only the news, the rumours and the facts about our mission. As you've all seen, we've already captured three members of the Sieben Gänge gang, but they can't tell us about the rest because they don't know each other."
"What are we looking for?", Resi asks.
I remember Michaela's info dump: "The gang members have code names that refer to the courses of a seven-course dinner. Michaela, who served your drinks, is Aperitif. Gabriela, who's dealing the soup right now, is Antipasti. Raphaela, who's preparing Seelachs Filet [Coal Fish] with potato salad and green peas in the kitchen, she is known as Fish Dish. Our next gang member goes under the name Little Bird Told Me. We suspect she works for one of the gossip mills of Villach. All those rumours you've heard today… If anyone knows where they come from, we might have a clue."
Nobody has a clue. A little bird told them, but they don't even remember if it was a sparrow or a chicken.
"Try the Tarot. It worked fine the other day.", Sanni suggests.
Shirley pushes her empty plate aside, shuffles her Tarot deck, and turns the first card: "Strength. It stands for a gentle and courageous spirit who overcomes the ferocity of the Lion. This might refer to someone with the sign of Cancer, which precedes the sign of Lion in the Zodiac. According to Greek mythology, the Cancer represents the crab that attacked Hercules for killing its family."
"The Lion is the King of the Jungle. Who's higher than the King?", Sanni wonders.
Shirley turns the four 'arms' of the Maltese cross, the indicators of direction: "The seven of batons; the King of the Hill. The nine of batons stands for perseverance and defining your space. The six of batons means victory and pride, which might become cocksure and prideful. And the three of batons stands for looking forward, for far-seeing. All those batons are related to the element of air, which is no surprise when we're looking for a Little Bird… The 'hands' of the cross are… king of batons, king of swords, king of coins and the king of cups."
Frans knows where to look: "FC Tirol is the king of cups. They won it seven times and, if those rumours are true, they'll win next season's Champions League too."
Resi slaps him on the back of his head: "Is football all you men can think of? We're looking for a place, higher than the crown. It's easy. When you look out of that window, you can see it from here: Landskron. Kron [crown] refers to the kings of the land, it's related to air because it's on top of a mountain, and the connection to the bird is obvious too: Landskron is a falconry centre where they conduct daily flying demonstrations with birds of prey. What is higher than the King? It's the Austrian eagle, the strength that triumphs over all…"
All the clues from the Tarot seem to fit.
Tomorrow, we have another mission.
Today, we have to prepare.
Landskron.
We're flying high.
* * *
[Wednesday, 24-1-2018 (Cancer): Even if you aren't feeling that well and the quality of your life seems to fade, you will still remember the ideals that guide you. Move in the direction that inspires you.]
"Tell me again, Shirley. Why was it necessary to have a sex change? Why are you the precious male peacock and I have to be the female ugly duckling?"
"You're no duckling. You're a chicken."
"I don't want to be a chicken. You gave me a courage transfusion. I jump out of helicopters into dangerous situations without any fear at all."
"This is not about courage. This is about getting everywhere without being noticed.", Shirley explains.
"Explain it to me again: walking around as my insignificant self will ring all the alarm bells, so, to avoid being noticed, we walk around in this medieval castle ruin like giant foam birds and rubber ducks?"
"You're not a duck. Frans Waltz is the duck. You're the chicken. And, yes, nobody will know who we are. Yesterday, Raphaela saw us coming, and she ran. Someone is tipping the gang members about an elegant, well-dressed elderly lady and an insignificant young man who's definitely not a Leo. A chicken is harmless. Everybody likes the chicken."
A seven-year-old blond boy comes running towards me, hugs me and says: "I love you, chicken. You're invited to my birthday. Well… At least your legs and your nuggets are. Can you lay an egg?"
Shirley's voice sounds relaxed in my earplug: "Don't worry, my dear Watson. Every little thing is going to be alright."
I don't have a wide view from behind my hen's mask, and I have to duck every ten seconds as if I'm picking at my lunch, but I don't lose Shirley out of sight. How can I? Shirley is in the spotlight. The cock with the flashy colours attracts all the birds in this medieval castle.
She's the decoy. I'm the hunter. A peacock is a perfect call bird to catch our prey for today. We're hunting a bird, a woman, who feels higher than the King. Haughtiness leads to vanity leads to pridefulness. Pride, the sin of feeling better than others, is (according to Dante) the main reason for evil behaviour, the driving force behind criminals and kings.
I'm not sure if this plan will work. I'm not even sure if we're looking for a woman here. Half of the staff of the Landskron falconry is female, but not one of them is born under the sign of Cancer, according to the hacked data I received from #2, The Nerd. Two of the male staff, both trainers-entertainers, are Cancer, though. I think we should focus on them. Shirley doesn't agree. She wants me to focus on her. She's the call bird, the star of today's show. Her suit has a lever that she can use to turn her tail feather into a colourful tail fan. The 'eyes' on the endings of each feather are painted with glow-in-the-dark. She parades over the patio, jumps on picnic tables, turns her back on everyone who refuses to share hor lunch with her, and ignores all her admirers with an attitude that makes Cleopatra look like a desperate housewife. She doesn't take any notice of her surroundings. That's why she doesn't see the danger that's coming her way. That's what she has me for.
"Captain Peacock, are you free? Captain Peacock… Suspect on your left, ten o'clock.", I say to my spiPhone.
Shirley doesn't respond. She looks the other way. The man with the green jacket is one of the two Cancers on the castle's payroll. According to The Nerd's info, this man's name is Abelino Fügelsang. Abelino means «bird». He must be the criminal we're looking for.
Abelino wears gloves, probably because he doesn't want to leave fingerprints when he strangles his victim. He's watching Shirley Peacock with small eyes. He might just wonder what ten man-size bird-figures are doing here, the management of Landskron didn't order them, but he's not looking at Resi in her suit of the wise owl, not at Sanni with her falcon crest, not at Traudi in her swan suit, and not at Frans in his disguise of Donald Duck. All his attention goes to the peacock parade.
On the other side of the patio, I see Abelino's twin brother, Anso. Anso means «Eagle» or «God». The two are born on the same day, but don't look like two birds of a feather at all: Abelino has black hair and a dark skin, while Anso is light blond and almost a head taller. Anso doesn't seem interested in what's happening on the patio. He's preparing for the 14:30 show. He's a trainer-entertainer.
Landskron is the central place where sick, hurt and weak birds of prey are brought, kept and trained until they can return to nature. They have all kinds of birds. Each species has to be trained differently, with a game that copies their natural behaviour as close as possible. Hawks hunt rabbit-like prey that moves over the ground. Falcons hunt little pieces of meat, thrown into the air. Owls fly soundlessly when they grab their takeaway lunch. The vultures look at every visitor like children stare at melting ice cream. The biggest attraction is the beautiful eagle that hangs high above us for already quite a while. She was treated here and released years ago, but still shows up at snack-time now and then.
I need to get closer to Shirley. If Abelino is our man, he might get her and disappear before I can do anything in this clumsy suit. I can't. Three blond girls stand in my way: "If you want to pass, you must lay an egg first."
I pick at their hands and say: "Tok, tok."
"Are you tokking to me?", the left girl says.
"Tokyo. Tokyo.", I say.
"Oh, he doesn't understand us. He's Japanese.", the middle girl says.
"It's not a he. It's a she. The he-chicken has pretty colours. This one is ugly.", the right girl adds.
Disappointed, they let me pass, but… the slight interruption was exactly what Abelino was waiting for. When I was tokking with the three little blond birds, he took his chance, crossed the field, picked up both Shirley and Donald Duck under his arms, and now hurries towards the exit on the other side. Strength. He's our man. All I can do is watch them disappear. I can't fly. I'm a chicken. And in this ridiculous outfit, I can't run either; I can hardly walk.
"Captain Peacock. Are you free?", I shout into the microphone of my spiPhone.
No answer.
I have to call for backup, reach the rest of the team: "Captain Elizabeth Swan, come in. Captain Jack Sparrow, report."
Nothing.
This wasn't what we planned.
There is no time to lose. I can take off this rubber suit, which will cost me three to five minutes, or I can leave it on and run as fast as I can behind the kidnapper, the birdnapper, hoping to catch him before he fries my two feathered friends. I run. The audience makes it impossible to take the shortest route to the exit. I go for the field, a D-tour, but the fastest way.
Unless…
Abelino's brother is waiting for me in the centre of the field, arms wide open to grab me. Anso is bigger, stronger, and faster than his twin brother. I turn left, but he turns right. He turns left when I turn right. I go back, but he follows. The audience likes it. Half of them pick the side of the trainer-entertainer, and the others shout at me: "Watch out!" - "He's coming." - "Run." - "Don't let him catch you."
I need both hands to hold the suit. My clumsy moves made my mask shift position. Now I see the world outside with only one eye. Anso appears before that eye. He gives me no other choice than to turn and run away. My mask shifts again. It's looking backwards now. I run around completely blind, like a headless chicken. The audience loves it. They tell me where to run, how to move, that he's coming from the left, from the right, from every side, but it's useless. Two firm hands grab me by the neck. I trip over my chicken feet and fall face forward in the grass. The firm hands lift me, clench my arms against my body and under applause, I'm taken away, to one of the cold cellars under the castle for torturing, or perhaps I'll even end up skinned, roasted and eaten. It's over.
"Hey!", I shout: "Hey, let me go!"
"Shut up."
It's useless.
My day has come.
I turned the Ace of Spades five times in a row.
All I have left are my last words.
I shout: "I taste better if I'm cooked in a cream sauce with mushrooms and peppers."
When I go, I want to go like a king, like a Chicken à la King, named after the famous E. Clark King, the proprietor of a New York hotel who invented my favourite way of eating chicken. I'm not afraid; I've had a courage transfusion. I'm prepared to die. But I refuse to end like chicken soup, or (worse) chicken nuggets.
The trip ends here. I'm dropped on the ground like a bag of garbage. A heavy foot lands on my back, avoiding me running away. I try to turn around, try to find the other foot, the one my killer needs to stand on, hoping to bring him off balance, trying to escape, I have to get out of this stupid suit, get that silly mask off, find out what that noise is, who's kicking me in the kidney, what that heavy weight, falling on my back, I must get out of here, and fast, I panic, I—
"Don't worry." - "Don't worry about a thing." - "Every little thing is going to be alright."
I freeze. I know those voices. The heavy weight falls off my shoulders. Someone grabs my head, pulls and…
Three little birds stand on my doorstep. It's Resi, Sanni and Traudi, dressed up like an owl, a falcon and a swan.
"What happened?"
"Oh, you crossed the field after the trainers started the show." - "There were protected birds of prey all over the place, and you were running towards them like a fox in a henhouse." - "They had to stop you." - "You were ruining the show." - "These people have paid 6 euros to see those birds of prey, you know." - "But when the trainer tried to stop you, you started making an act out of it…" - "… and it was hilarious…" - "… but at the end, the show must go on." - "So they caught you and took you backstage." - "And we called you on the phone, but you didn't answer." - "So we thought you might be in trouble in your rubber suit." - "So Traudi threw her handbag at the trainer." - "She hit him on the head." - "She carries a heavy brick in her handbag." - "These things always come in handy, you know." - "He fell right on top of you." - "When I want, I can make every man fall for me." - "So we had to forget about our mission and help you."
I get my hand back into my pocket, take my spiPhone out, and check the display: no battery. I had all the time in the world to prepare for this mission, and I forgot to charge my phone… Would James Bond ever make such a silly mistake? I have a lot to learn…
"Where's Shirley? Where's Frans? The peacock and the duck…"
"Oh, they were removed from the field too." - "The show starts at 14:30 and they were standing in the way." - "They put them in a cage, for the time being." - "Perhaps we should get them out and have tea together." - "Are you crazy? We can have tea every day. I want to see that show."
The three little birds waddle away to the patio where Abelino has taken over the show from his brother, who sits next to me on the grass, cockeyed, rubbing the back of his painful head: "What hit me?"
"My husband, the cock, thought you ran off with one of his women. He got angry and started to rock-and-cockerel", I explain: "Don't worry. Every little thing is going to be alright. That's what three little birds told me. I'm going to invite you to a cup of tea. And when the show is over, I'm going to arrest you for being part of the Sieben Gänge gang."
I struggle to get my arms through the holes under my little wings and help Anso get up.
"Sieben Gänge gang? What's that?"
"You tell me. We know you kill millions of people each year, but we have no idea why."
Either Anso is a brilliant actor or he has absolutely no idea what I'm talking about: "You talk like a headless chicken. I'm a bird trainer, like my brother. We work with all those beautiful birds of prey you see around here. We cure the sick birds, we take care of them, and we help them get back to nature. Do you know how much work that is? We don't have time to kill millions of people. We have more important things to do."
Anso and I take a seat on the bench of the stand where they sell drinks and sandwiches. I wave at the girl behind the counter, smile to draw her attention, and when she sees me, she blushes, which makes me realise how ridiculous I look in this white chicken suit. She probably thinks I've just laid an egg for her. I feel how my face turns hot, and she seems to like that, she's lovely too, especially when she smiles, when those cute craters give colour to her cheeks, perhaps she fancies me, and I thought women liked successful, confident men, which doesn't look like me at all right now, and I try to move backwards because my tail feathers are pinching my butt, but this bench isn't very stable, and it stands on a layer of pebbles too, so, when I shift my weight and can't find any support for my hand that's struggling with my wing, I feel my feet coming off the floor, and I try to row through the air to avoid falling backwards, but chicken can't fly and…
Bump.
Great.
I must have made an unforgettable impression.
Anso helps me to get up: "Why did you do that?"
"Oh, that's my little trick to impress cute girls with stunning smiles. It works all the time. Look…"
I expect to see the cute girl coming to us, worried, asking if every little thing is alright, asking if she can do something for me, perhaps cure the pain with a little kiss…
She's gone.
She's shy.
She's, of course, madly in love with me now, walking on the clouds with her circus mind that's running wild, and all she ever thinks about is me, the funniest man she's ever met. Women like men who make them laugh. I must have made an unforgettable impression.
My senses pick up a smell of danger.
Mortal danger.
I look around.
I feel some serious panic coming up, but I'm cool, I can handle it, I'm in control…
"Anso. You know a lot about birds. What bird flies around in circles after it died?"
Anso looks puzzled: "I can only think of one."
Me too: a roasted chicken. I'm in trouble. She wasn't looking that way at me for my pretty blue eyes or my witty behaviour. All she wants me for is my body. She's gone to the back to get a big knife and turn me into dinner.
"I need something to defend myself.", I say.
"Against what? Against who?"
I point at the counter of the deserted stand: "Against that girl, of course. She wants to kill me. She sells roasted chicken."
Anso raises an eyebrow: "Ursula? She doesn't harm a fly. She's the most sensitive person I've ever met. And she's gentle. And courageous. She's a Cancer, like me. Do you fancy her?"
Of course. She's a Cancer. Like me, she's shy. She blushes when a cute boy smiles at her, just like I did when she looked at me. The Nerd's data didn't mention her because she doesn't work for the Burg Landskron Adlerarena like Anso, Abelino and the others. She's an independent shop owner, selling drinks, snacks and… roasted chicken. What were we thinking? We were looking for haute cuisine, plates like fried falcon, poached peacock or eagle steak. How stupid! Haute cuisine doesn't reach millions of victims. If you want to poison millions of innocent victims, you pick the most popular carrier pigeon to carry the message: the roasted chicken.
I run (waddle) to the stand and look inside: nobody.
"Where did she go?", I shout at Anso.
"Over there. She probably wants to see the show. It's quite spectacular, you know."
There's no time to lose.
I run back to the entrance of the field. The audience sits on the left. Abelino stands on the right with an owl on his gloved hand. And between audience and act, a tiny figure runs as fast as she can, towards the end of the field, towards the little wall of ancient stones, the wall of a medieval castle, build on top of a high mountain.
She's going to jump.
I run after her, as fast as I can. Those stupid chicken feet… No time to lose. I have to get her. Before she reaches that wall, I have to grab her tail . I'm faster. I can make it. But she's almost there. She looks around. She smiles. An incredible smile. Cute craters in her cheeks. It's alright, she says. It's alright. I'm going to ride the wind. Let me fly. The audience holds its breath. "Look at that chicken!" Ursula reaches the wall. With one leap, she plants her right foot on top of it and… take-off. But I'm close enough. I'm trained. I'm fit. I have enough speed. I have more than enough courage. I jump after her. She's not getting away. The world is in danger and I'm the only one who can save it. She's not getting away!
With one giant leap forward, I jump after her, into the abyss. Flying is easy; it's hitting the floor that's hard. My hands grab her ankles. I have to hold on. She's not getting away. Her hang-glider is only built for one person. She's not taking off. I'm taking her down. But I have to be fast. If she starts kicking, I might lose my grip. With my right hand, I grab the belt of her jeans.
"HEY! Do you always pinch a girl's ass on your first date?"
I'm lucky she's not one of those modern girls whose oversized jeans show the top half of their vertical smile. The jeans hold.
"Don't worry, Miss. I'm not that kind of man. We're not on a date either. We're just hanging out. I prefer we know each other a little better before I ask you out."
The hang-glider makes a turn and faces the high walls of Landskron again. The audience has lost all interest in Abelino and the owl. They hang over the walls of the ancient castle and point at us: "Look! A flying chicken…"
I explain to Ursula: "Do you see all those people, watching us? Like you, I'm a little shy. When I'd ask you on a date, I would rather have some privacy. I would take you to the moon, just you and me, high above the rest of the world. Don't you think that would be romantic?"
It's hard to think clearly when you're high as a Moonraker. I'm not exactly on drugs, but the sensation of hanging out with a cute girl, with one hand trying to avoid tearing the jeans off her well-shaped bottom and the other arm firmly around her feminine femur, riding the wind below a little wing, with below us five hundred metres of clear, healthy Austrian air and the blue Ossiacher See, inviting us to take a refreshing dive… It's not an everyday experience. The adrenalin, produced by my brain, gives me a more intense feeling of being high than any chemical drug. Even without thinking clearly, I do remember what the Tarot said: «haughty, air, higher than the King». For being a Cancer like her, I know she must be romantic, and the moon is her planet. Within the space and time I had to think, my moon-taker opening line was the best I could do, but it's stupid to think I can win this girl with some fancy words; not only is she a notorious criminal but also: this girl, falling for me, right now, is really the last thing I want.
"Perhaps we should go to the right and land over there, at the car park of the Affenberg, the Ape Mountain.", I suggest.
"We're not even on a first date and you already want to present me to the rest of your buffoon family?", Ursula wonders.
I guess she has a point. All this is going too fast for her.
I lift myself up, so I can grab the metal frame of the hang-glider with my left hand, and then with my right hand too, to get myself in a relatively safe position. I shift my weight to the left so the hang-glider makes another curve. We must look like a vulture to the ones below. We're going down fast now, but we're going in the right direction too, the Ossiacher See, where we can make a safe landing.
Ursula tries a final call for help: "Mayday, mayday. I have a highjacker on board. He forces me to fly to Cuba…", but it's in vain.
I have to disappoint her: "This isn't a highjack. A high quack, perhaps, but not a high Quaker because I'm a chicken, not a Quaker bird, and we're not even high anymore."
We land softly in the water, close to the beach of the Freibad, the area where you can swim for free. In summer, this place must be full of people, but now, in winter, with a water temperature around 8 degrees, it's breathtakingly cold and lonely. The hang-glider lands on top of us. I need to get Ursula out of her harness, or she'll drown. Come on, girl. Don't give up on me. I'm fighting for your life. You might at least try to give me a hand. She's paralysed by the cold. It's hard to work on the clippings with my wet and freezing hands. The metal bars of the hang-glider fill up with water. The construction on top of us starts moving to the left and goes down under. I'm struggling with my chicken suit too, but the air inside the rubber keeps me floating long enough to get my Swiss pocket knife out of my Austrian pocket, just in time to cut the eight cables and separate Ursula from the octopussy that tries to tear her with him to the bottom of the lake. Ten long minutes later, I put my chicken feet on firm ground again. I feel… fantastic! My heart beats so strong and free that nothing can hurt me anymore.
I put Ursula on the grass. She's exhausted and cold, but she's not unconscious and still breathing. James Bond would bend over and kiss her now. I can't even use the excuse of artificial respiration. All I can do is strip, get out of this chicken suit as fast as possible. Ursula should get out of those wet clothes too, or she'll catch pneumonia.
Ursula looks at me and snaps: "You can't wait to get out of your clothes and have sex with me? I'm not that kind of woman, Mister."
"What kind of woman are you, Ursula? Why did you join the Sieben Gänge gang? Do you want it so much to be high above the rest of the world? That's not you. You're modest, like me, and shy. You wouldn't hurt a fly. And now you help kill millions of innocent people each year."
"You don't know me."
"Oh, you bet I do. I'm a Cancer too, just like you. I know you like I know myself. You thought your goal in life was to go as high as you can, all the way to the top. But you looked the wrong way. Your top isn't «there» (I point up, at the eagle that's still watching us). Up there, we call it heaven, and you'll get there only if you move in the direction that inspires you. Your goal lies «here» (I take her hand and put it on her heart). That's where you can find real happiness. As long as you stay up there, high above the rest of the world, feeling superior, you'll never know how nice it is amongst all those people down here, how nice it is to help them, to feel needed. You are not important because you're in a high place. You're important because you're important to others. As long as you don't try helping those who need help, you'll never find out, you'll never know what real happiness is. And now, get out of those wet clothes. We have to get warm, hot, and there's only one way…"
"Are you tokking about the birds and the bees?"
* * *
"Oh, I'm so hot, I'm so hot. Oh… This is good. This is soooo gooood…"
"Keep turning. Don't stand still. You'll get burnt."
"Hey, are you two going to eat the birds, or are you just looking at them? You, tourists, are all crazy. First, you go for a swim, in January, when the water is much too cold, then you run around in colourful bathing suits that look like underwear, and then you come here to warm yourself in front of my chicken roaster. Do you have money to pay me?"
Heinz owns Heinz's Headless Hens, the little grill restaurant next to the Freibad at the Ossiacher See. The place is deserted. Nobody comes here in winter. He should be happy, having us as clients. I don't answer him, but grab my spiPhone (it's being charged at Heinz's costs).
"Shirley? No, don't worry. You were right; every little thing is alright. Only my suit is ruined. Can you be so kind as to pick up some clothes from somewhere? Two sets: one for me, and one for the barely dressed pretty lady next to me. No, it's not what you think. I saved her life. She was drowning, and I was hanging around. She says it's alright, I can take anything I want from her, and I've told her I want her to come with us to Twilight Zone, but she can't go there in her underwear, you know how people talk, we don't want any rumours, she's not that kind of woman… Yes, I know it's getting late. Don't worry. I'll take care of that. You take care of two sets of clothes and I'll take care of dinner… For you, me, fifteen residents, Michaela, Gabriela, Raphaela, and Ursula…
» That makes twenty-one roasted chicken, with fried potatoes, salad, and ketchup, Heinz."
Heinz's eyes grow as big as plates: "You want twenty-one half-chicken portions?"
"No. Twenty-one whole chickens. What are we going to do with only half a chicken? We work hard, we eat hard. Entire chickens. Do you have desserts too?"