Free Midnight in Berlin by JL Merrow

Christoph had a point. Schreiber and the gang were probably heading off to the hostel right now.
    “There’s a bar I used to work at. Before all this shit. I told Jon there’d be a job going.”
    “Jon?”
    “He’s a friend.” Okay, maybe that was overstating it. “He owes me.” If he was even still in the city… Damn, had it really only been yesterday I’d last seen him? It felt more like a month ago.
    “Which bar?”
    “Corvino’s. You know it?”
    Christoph nodded. “Will he be there now?”
    I looked at my watch. “It’s Monday, right? If he took my job, he ought to be.” And if Jon wasn’t there, maybe Timmi who did the glasses would be good for a few euros. Hell, at this point, I was willing to consider robbing the joint.
    We left the Porsche illegally parked down a side street, with Christoph in it. It seemed kind of wrong to leave him on his own, but jeez, the guy was covered in his own blood. Taking him with us would have attracted all kinds of attention, not to mention freaking the hell out of Jon. Anyhow, I figured he’d scare off any traffic cops easy, the poor bastard. I had to change my shirt, but I decided my pants would pass—there were a couple spots of blood on them, but as long as you didn’t know, you’d just think I was a messy eater or something. Of course, that wasn’t too far from the truth… I gagged and tried really hard not to think about Sven’s throat anymore. There was a half-drunk bottle of water in the car which I used to clean up a little, at least enough that people wouldn’t take one look at me and call the cops.
    I wondered again whether Sven was alive or dead. Then I wondered which of those two options I actually preferred.
    It’s not murder if the other guy would’ve done the same or worse to you.
    Right?
    Silke and I walked the rest of the way, down the Kantstrasse. Taking Silke with me ought to keep Christoph from getting any ideas about heading off and leaving me stranded. I hoped. She was wide-eyed and trembling and she flinched every time someone got within three feet of us, but that was okay. It helped me remember not to eat people. I was holding it together, but barely.
    Corvino’s was hidden behind a whole bunch of greenery on Savignyplatz, not far from the Erotica Museum and Berlin Zoo. You can probably guess which place I’d bothered to check out when I was on a break. The guy who ran Corvino’s called it a “Bar Américain”, although far as I could tell, I’d been the only American thing in the place. It was a cozy little nook, with mellow décor and warm lighting. Before they brought in the smoking laws, it used to get so you could hardly see your hand in front of your face—or so the guy told me. He said it like he mourned the passing of the good old days, but I was just as happy not to die of lung cancer before I hit thirty. Also, I preferred to be able to see the man I was hitting on. Although come to think of it, that approach hadn’t done me a whole lot of good lately.
    It was midafternoon when we got there, and the place was dead. Just a half-dozen tourists sitting on the chrome barstools, drinking cocktails real slow because ambiance comes cheaper than alcohol. Jon was behind the bar, and he gave me a big old happy wave when he saw me. “Dude! You know, you freaked the shit out of me last time I saw you. How are you, man?”
    “I’m good,” I lied. The warm rush of familiarity had faded almost as soon as it’d hit me, and now it was making me jumpy, being in a place this small with all these strangers. I realized I could differentiate between the scents of the people in there. Just like you can tell a hamburger from a bowl of chili with your eyes shut.
    My stomach rumbled. I told it to shut the fuck up before my teeth heard it and started getting ideas.
    “Man, I hope you’re not after your job back,” Jon said with a smile, his scent turning nervous.
    “No.” It came out sounding rough. Growly. “Need help, though. Can we