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Heger, he is arrested in the Philippines, asks his friends for help and is bitterly disappointed.
….
Less than a minute later, Frank’s answer comes: “Please don’t get me involved in this story. Ask Wolfgang! He has a commercial bank account. I can send his number if necessary.”
The disappointment is probably written on my face because Franco looks at me confused.
“What’s wrong with Frank? He does not want to help! I want to transfer money over his bank account.”
Franco reacts surprised: “Why?”
“Don’t know! I was thinking he is my friend.”
My cell phone buzzes and I get Wolfgang’s cell phone number. He is a businessman in Sendong City. I know him and consider him as a good acquaintance.
“Well, I have to ask Wolfgang,” I say to Franco and send a message to Wolfgang Schmidt.
Frank’s behavior is strange. I considered him as a good friend and I believed I could rely on him in cases of emergency.
I am very disappointed and have bitter thoughts. What if everyone else says goodbye to me? Family, friends, work colleagues? These thoughts cause restlessness. What if everyone around me doesn’t stay on my side longer? And suddenly I’m here alone. Nailed down in an Asian country, in a rotten and filthy dungeon, in inhumane conditions, far away from home. Damn it, this crazy story needs to end as soon as possible
My thoughts, the growing anger and restlessness seem to have been written on my face again. Franco asks: “Tommy, what’s going on? Are you alright?”
….
Copyright © by NOKBEW™
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[The parents visit the youth home BSWD.]
….
Rica Restito, Sam’s mother and her eldest daughter Silvia, she is married here in Tugalm City, and Lang, the mother of the brothers Jan and Dan (Her real name is Lydia Barcella.) want to meet Michael in front of the BSWD premises to visit the social workers and of course their sons. Rica, Silvia and Lang are still waiting for Michael. The three women cooked and fried fish. They also bring rice, fruit, sweets and soft drinks for the boys. For Tommy they have a Tupperware with crispy fried fish, a box with rice and a small box with spicy soy sauce. Michael Kabaltos, he is Phil’s father, and will also represent little Aboy as he is Aboy’s uncle, arrives at the BSWD at noon. He jumps out of the Motorola and flicks away the cigarette butt. The greeting with the women is short and superficial.
“Well, let’s see what the BSWD wants from us,” says Michael mockingly.
The women are visibly nervous, but look rested and recovered. Silvia and Lang are slightly made up. Silvia even corrected her eyebrows.
He points to the bags: “Very good, you have the food for the children with you.”
Silvia replies quickly: “We also cooked for Tommy.”
Rica and Lang nod satisfied.
“You went to see Tommy this morning? How is he?” asks Lang worried.
“He’s fine. I cleaned the cell,” replies Michael proudly and continues: “Tommy had an attorney this morning. I’ve already forgotten the name. The policewomen must have sent that man. Tommy is not enthusiastic, and he certainly won’t hire him. Franco and Attorney De Baron are with Tommy now.”
The group makes their way to the chain-link fence gate. The women talk about attorneys.
“It’s good that Tommy didn’t take this attorney. He’s recommended by the police! What’s that supposed to be?” says Lang indignantly.
….
Copyright © by NOKBEW™
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[The next attorney is coming.]
….
In Officer Sarang’s office Franco and a slightly overweight man are standing at the seating area and have a lively but quiet conversation. The gentleman wears trousers made of fine thread with creases and a yellow polo shirt. His hair is combed back smooth and has a shine from oil or hair wax. The full face is adorned with a delicate Errol Flynn mustache. He wears blue-tinted sunglasses with a thin gold frame, gold chains and a massive signet ring on his right hand. All in all, he looks like a true American mafia boss from old US films.
Franco greets me warmly and introduces the gentleman as Attorney De Baron. As with Attorney Pizarro, De Baron’s belt also has a large bunch of car keys.
Status symbols!
Short hand shaking and we take the seats.
“So you are Mr. Heger, German. I saw the TV report. Stupid thing, Mr. Heger, very stupid thing.”
A young policeman brings some sheets that the attorney studies immediately.
“Tommy, how are you, did you sleep well?” asks Franco concerned.
….
Copyright © by NOKBEW™
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….
Filipinos say when they are upset or angry: “Highblood.” I’m not sure what causes more highblood to me: the arrogant nature of the attorney or what he said?
I’m thinking about what the attorney just told. There are uncertainties and doubts: What did the attorney talk about and — damn — what if there is even a little truth in it?
Human trafficking, life imprisonment. “Is it human trafficking when I stay at the hotel with children? That was to protect them,” I whisper bitterly and shake my head. “I just don’t want to be on the streets of the Philippines at night with five kids!”
Child abuse, 12 to 15 years imprisonment. Again I whisper: “My God, they just romped naked on the beds and Aboy was naked in the bathroom. They are children! They wanted to have fun and were just very happily. They don’t know such huge, soft, king-size beds. I have also stopped the romp and the other play.”
The parents should start criminal proceedings against me, this guy said. “Is he crazy? Never!” I want to shout this loud out, but say it barely audibly and add: “Filing a case against me? They would never do that! They are long-time friends and very good acquaintances of mine. They will never file a case and there is no reason to do so! No reasons at all!”
Nonsense, that’s the business of fear, I finish my dark thoughts. My blood pressure drops and the pulse no longer beats as quickly. I hang limp like a teenager in the cheap, shabby plastic chair. The young escort officer clears his throat. I jump up, and the chair slides backwards loudly: “Sorry!”
The officer is probably a little surprised at me, at least his face is astonished or questioning: “Sir, I’ll bring you back to the cells.”
….
Copyright © by NOKBEW™
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Entire chapter for my lovely readers.
Laughing and howling are very close here.
The officer and I are just passing the barrier when the gatekeeper speaks to me: “Your visitor is Mr. Kabaltos?”
Startled, I answer quickly: “That’s correct, sir! But Mr. Kabaltos is allowed to stay at the cell yard. I’ll be back quickly too.”
“No, no,” the gatekeeper answers, “it’s his cell phone that he left here. It is buzzing very often.”
The gatekeeper and the officer exchange a few words, and tell me to wait because the officer is already going to Michael to take him to the gate.
Michael checks his cell phone. Meanwhile, we go to Officer Sarang’s office. The escort officer sits down at Sarang’s desk. Behind Officer Pangutana’s monitor sits a handsome, sporty and elegant dressed man. He will be around 40 years old. “Mr. Heger, nice to meet you. I heard about this extremely embarrassing story. May I introduce myself? Pizarro, Attorney Pizarro.”
We shake hands powerfully, although this is not common in the Philippines. The attorney’s English seems to be good. Probably he was abroad for a couple of years? I believe.
Attorney Pizarro sits down behind the monitor again and uses the computer keyboard. I sit at the corner of the desk across from him, but I can’t see the screen and reply: “Yes, of course, an embarrassing story. You could say it that way.”
“You are close to the children and their parents, Mr. Heger?”
“Yes, of course, sir. I’ve known the boys since they were born and the parents for a long time.”
“Well, that’s very good. You don’t have an attorney yet?”
“No sir, you are the first attorney I speak to.”
He is reading a thin police file.
“Is that my file?” I ask curiously.
Attorney is puzzled by my question: “Yes, a copy of it, Ma’am Tolisan was so kind.”
I realize this is the attorney the policewomen are recommending. Whether an attorney who is recommended by the police in secret — because the police are not allowed to recommend attorneys — is really the right one? I get cautious.
The attorney continues as he studies the file: “Well, the kids don’t say anything about abuse. There are also no offensive photos. You opened the cottage door voluntarily, Mr. Heger. The children were sleeping and no one was naked when the rescue operation took place. But the boys romped naked on the beds in the hotel beforehand. Oops, strange,” he says while turning the page,” a page is missing. It is probably not meant for me.”
The attorney grins oily and turns to the computer. He taps the Enter key briefly and loudly: “Republic Act 9208, human trafficking, life imprisonment!”
At first I think I misheard. It echoes in my head: “Life imprisonment?” Then I’m thinking he’s kidding me. What he said bounces off me because I don’t want to hear that.
The attorney goes one better. He frantically types on the keyboard and pops the Enter key loudly again: “Republic Act 7610, Child Abuse, 12 to 15 years imprisonment.”
I get hot, my pulse and my blood pressure goes up. My blood sugar, however, is apparently dropping because I am starting to shiver. Now I feel miserable. Confused, I shake my head, wipe the sweat from my forehead with my little cloth and croak with a dry throat: “But, but, the children, they are not testifying against me and the parents are on my side and good friends.”
My mind spins like a merry-go-round and I declare Attorney Pizarro crazy. It flashes through me: The business of fear! Yes, he wants to scare me in order to win me over as his client! Immediately I pass my judgment on Attorney Pizarro: No, not like that, not with him! Not that way!
Pizarro is not finished with his incredible statements: “All parents are your friends? In that situation it would be better if the parents file a criminal complaint against you!”
I think I have misheard again. That’s outrageous, and that takes the biscuit! Now I am totally confused and speak hoarsely: “Never!” My dry throat scratches, I cough, clear my throat several times and hardly bring the words over my lips: “Why should the parents do that?”
The attorney works the keyboard, answers casually and appears arrogant: “Because it’s better.”
For me the conversation is over. I cross my arms demonstratively on my chest and move the chair a little backwards. The plastic chair creaks pathetically on the concrete floor. Like a trumpeter I make big cheeks and let out the air loudly.
Attorney Pizarro probably understands my body language. How and what he asks seems like sarcasm to me: “Are you okay, Mr. Heger?”
I’m sweating on my forehead again. I wipe it away with hectic movements and be silent because I’m speechless.
The attorney suddenly holds a business card in his hand. It’s the size and thickness of a credit card, is made of plastic and has a high-gloss surface. When I turn the card, the font and logo appear three-dimensional. Lost in thought I let the high-tech business card circle in my fingers and look sadly at it from all sides. I would love to jump up straight away, run out of the office and be with nice Michael. Though I’ve never smoked in my life, my body screams for nicotine while I think about Michael. Or is my body crying out for sugar? For chocolate? I just don’t know what’s going on with that stupid body. But I still feel miserable and the slight tremor does not subside.
Again Attorney Pizarro seems to be able to read my mind: “You need legal assistance, Sir Heger.”
Oh, suddenly he’s calling me “Sir.” I’m angry.
Attorney Pizarro is standing now behind the desk. Contrary to his elegant appearance, a bunch of keys hangs and jingles on the carabiner on his belt. The voluminous Toyota car keys are striking. They certainly belong to a fat SUV.
“Call me or let the policewomen know and don’t wait that long. My phone number is on the card.”
We shake hands again. This time his hand is dominant and powerful. He waves my hand like a handkerchief in the air. The attorney leaves the room with great strides. Exhausted, I sink into the stupid, loudly creaking plastic chair, am confused and annoyed at the same time and have only one thought: What was that?
Copyright © by NOKBEW™
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….
That was the night: I badly slept, dreamed stupid, often woke up and urinated several times in a mineral water bottle.
My skull is buzzing a little. I have no choice and open my eyes. The carpet of cobwebs with the innumerable sucked-out insects hangs over me. That’s how I feel right now, sucked-out. Outside the cell the day begins. My watch shows 5:43 a.m. I put the neckline of my t-shirt over my nose. It smells bad. The rest of the water in the bottle is lukewarm. Still, it helps wash down the leaden taste and furry feeling in my mouth.
Now I’m sitting on the edge of the rickety, dirty double bed. The small bottle of ethyl alcohol is on the floor next to the bed. I inject a little alcohol into my hand and rub it on my face and scalp. The scent of alcohol smells pleasant and invigorates my senses. A second empty plastic bottle has to be sacrificed for my morning toilet. The rats didn’t come back, but I also didn’t miss them. That unbelievable pile of rubbish on the wall opposite. I shake my head in disgust and whisper: “Thomas, where did you get into? This is a real nightmare. Today is Tuesday, the third day of detention. Something has to be done. Finally do something! There is only one solution: I have to get out of here! It can’t be, that I’m here!”
I go through my hair and have to admit: “All my hopes are now with the lawyers. They’re called Attorneys here. But maybe the police will finally understand that I’m innocent!”
….
Copyright © by NOKBEW™
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….
Of course, my mother doesn’t call with Skype. Her cell phone number appears on my display: “Mom, don’t call my Philippine number with your cell phone. This is too expensive!”
My mother interrupts me: “Wait and listen, Tommy, I’m in the car right now. Wait, there’s something, a parking space, wait!”
Incredible, I stare at the phone and wait.
A few minutes later I first hear the sound of the blinker, then my mother curses, then she pulls the hand brake, then I hear the sound of a lighter, her inhalation of a cigarette and finally her worried voice: “Well, I’m back, Tommy.”
My eyes are closed. I’m mentally in nowhere. I have both elbows on the thighs. My right hand supports my forehead. The left hand pushes the Samsung on my ear. Good that it is waterproof, because between the ear and cell phone are already pearls of sweat.
Surprised, I ask: “Yes, I’m here, have you achieved something?”
“Yes, listen to me, my son. Sabine informed the German embassy in Manila. She wrote an email. Calling was not possible because she waited too long and the call was very expensive. I had just spoken to Sabine. She doesn’t have any feedback on her email yet. Write her the exact name of the city and police station you are in and what you are accused of.”
….
Copyright © by NOKBEW™
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….
It’s 4:45 p.m. My visitors left about half an hour ago. I’m in the same situation as yesterday: standing at the cell door, looking onto the yard and pressing my forehead against two bars on the door. In the late afternoon the air stands still. It is scorching hot, and the cell resembles a hot oven. My impatience increases, accompanied by a steadily increasing uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Did the officers forget me? Did they forget that the policewomen promised me to call? I feel bad. There is no one here to talk about my worries.
This silly helplessness and dependence on other persons. The knowledge of being curtailed in personal decisions and rights. No longer being one’s own master. Pinned down in this unworthy dungeon, in this godforsaken place. A place where nobody really wants to be. And another bad feeling is clutching me: Loneliness! I am alone in this hole. I miss my friends and last but not least my family. Talking, joking, laughing, taking spontaneous actions together. Simply surf the Internet, write emails, Skype, WhatsApp. This is no longer possible. Only with a request and the goodwill of the police. My impatience turns into anger. I just gently shake the lattice door. It rattles a little. From the other cells I hear the usual low murmuring and snoring, but no other reactions.
….
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Warum noch warten? Klicken Sie auf die Buchhandlung ihrer Wahl und erleben auch Sie die atemberaubende Reise ins Verderben! Als eBook für nur €2,99!
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Arm aber unbeschwert….
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Chapter 3.19. online. • Excerpt and Preview • Access to the entire novel by password • The novel as book and ebook will be published soon.
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Novel
I proudly present chapter
Marielou and Jonathan have a very dangerous experience with the German Frank.
….
Marielou clings to Frank’s hips and she presses her right cheek tightly against Frank’s back. He is leaning forward and steering the rattling decrepit motorcycle. She smells the cold smoke of the chain smoker on Frank’s denim vest. Her long hair is blowing wildly in the wind, and she is annoyed not to have tied her hair in a braid before setting off. Jonathan, who is sitting behind Marielou, holds with his right hand on to the bottom of the empty propane cylinder. With his left hand he is constantly busy wiping Marielou’s hair from his eyes and face. The propane gas cylinder that Frank has tied with ropes behind Jonathan on the wobbly frame presses Jonathan painfully in the back. Now, to make matters worse, he gets cigarette smoke from Frank’s “More” in his left eye. The engine roars, the gearbox cracks, the frame and shock absorbers of the Yamaha STX groan. They are shaken vigorously on the first two unpaved kilometers out of the village. The most important part of the motorcycle is the horn, which Frank operates continuously. Children, dogs, cats and chickens jump aside in fear. Nevertheless, Marielou and Jonathan are pushed back on the worn, smooth synthetic leather seat when accelerating and then pushed forward again when braking. And there are many obstacles like pedestrians, puddles, potholes and branches. Frank has no problems. He holds on to the wide handlebars. Jonathan has Marielou before him, a graceful young woman with a pleasantly fragrant body.
On the so-called highway — the road has only two lanes and unpaved hard shoulders — Frank accelerates so much the engine can. The muffler has holes like a kitchen strainer and the noise is deafening. Now they crawling behind a completely overloaded wooden truck for about three minutes. The trunks are at least one and a half to two meters thick.
Frank curses, loses patience and shifts down a gear. The gearbox cracks, the 125 cubic centimeter engine howls. There is blue smoke from the exhaust and the rust holes. Frank turns the gas to the stop, and the motorcycle is already beside the truck. They are just at the height of the trailer hitch of the articulated lorry when the huge front of a yellow intercity bus suddenly appears in front of the motorcycle riders. Marielou sees the lights up of the headlights and hears the bus horn. Frank yells “Shit!” Marielou already recognizes the white in the wide-open eyes of the panicked bus driver and the passengers in the first rows of seats. Marielou sends a quick prayer to heaven, Jonathan hysterically yells something vague behind her. The motorcycle engine howls again, the tires of the bus and the semi-trailer are smoking blue from braking and throwing up a lot of dust. It smells like burnt rubber and Marielou closes her eyes: “I’m too young to die. Lord help me!” One swerves to the right, and they drive in front of the semi-trailer. The yellow bus races past them on their left, honking loudly. The wind from the huge bus grabs the old machine with the three people fighting for their lives and shakes them wildly. Frank is busy not to lose control.
….
Copyright © by NOKBEW™
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Please click in the Table left or [HERE] to jump to the current chapter. Access by password. Please ask me!
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| Chapter 3.19. | E-Mail me | Previews [German] |
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🇩🇪 ➡ 🇬🇧/🇺🇸
This is a translation from the German language. I search for you! Would you like to check the English language? Please contact me by email for further information. [HERE]
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For the German Edition Reise ins Verderben
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500 Beiträge • Articles
