Your Perfect Year(99)

“Let’s just say this: someone like you would never go there to buy a car.”

“So why did you take the car there?”

Leopold rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “Because it’s the place where I could most easily sell it. No questions asked, cash in hand . . .”

“How much did you get for it?”

Leopold grinned again. “Five thousand euros. And they paid for the two taxi drivers who took me there with the car and then ferried me back into town.”

“Two taxi drivers?”

“Well, I haven’t really been in a fit state to drive these last few weeks,” Leopold said. “Anyway, I don’t have a driver’s license.”

“No?”

“Not anymore. I should have retaken the test, but I’ve never had enough money.” His grin broadened even more. “But I’m a rich man again now.”

“I see.”

“I can see you’re not particularly impressed,” Leopold said. “But it’s more than enough for me.” He ate another morsel of flan.

“Yes, yes,” Jonathan hastened to assure him. “It’s just that I’m still completely . . . It’s such an unbelievable story.”

“True enough. I couldn’t believe it myself at first. But that’s exactly how it was. And whatever you think, this unexpected gift saved my ass.”

“What did you do with the money?”

“Invested it in shares.”

“Really? Which ones?”

Leopold roared with laughter, so loudly that some people in the café turned and looked at him with disapproval. This was not the kind of behavior they expected in Eppendorf.

“Of course I didn’t buy any shares!” Leo continued in a lower voice. “First of all, I headed back to the red-light district. I had no idea where I was going, really. I talked to a couple of buddies there, and they said we could use the cash to get totally tanked up.” His face turned serious again. “But then, thank God, I saw the light. I told myself that fate was offering me a second chance, and I shouldn’t mess it up again.” He paused for another mouthful, although Jonathan suspected he was merely ramping up the suspense.

“And then?” he asked, to indulge Leopold.

“I rented a room in a cheap motel for five days and spent the time sobering up,” he continued. “It wasn’t much fun getting back on the rails by myself, but there was no way I wanted to return to the clinic. The last time, I left with a few choice words. ‘You won’t see me here again anytime soon,’ or some such. So you can understand I didn’t want to go crawling back.”

“Did you manage it?”

“Just look at me.” Leopold put a hand to the collar of his clean shirt. “I’ve never had it so good.”

“I’m really glad to hear it. So you’ll be retaking your driving test now?”

“No.” Leopold gestured dismissively. “It’s not important. I went to look at a little one-bedroom apartment in Barmbek, and because I could put down the first three months’ rent on the spot, I got it.” He sighed. “I was able to . . . What do they call it? ‘Break the vicious circle of homelessness,’ because once I’ve got a place to live, I can get social security. I even get my rent paid. And I’ve still got a bit left over from selling the Mustang.”

“Freeloader!” Jonathan joked.

“Fat cat!” Leopold retorted. “Anyway, I just have to find a job now, and that should keep me off the streets once and for all.”

“Are you looking?”

“Yes. But it’s not so easy, even for a chef.” He gave a crooked smile. “No one’s actively searching for a fifty-four-year-old, and there are one or two unexplained gaps in my résumé. You wouldn’t believe it, but having been on a board of directors isn’t particularly helpful—no one believes I’m going to want to stand at a stove all day.”

“Have you been to the employment office?”

“Of course,” Leopold said. “If nothing else, to apply for my benefits. But they haven’t found me anything yet.” He laughed. “Well, they did offer me something.”

“Not what you wanted?”

“It was a sports bar. It didn’t seem quite the right thing for me to be serving alcohol.”

“Hardly,” Jonathan agreed and laughed too. “I wish I could help you,” he added. “But we don’t do catering at Grief & Son. And I’m afraid we deal in literature, not food.”

“Selling things is the same, whatever the product,” Leopold said.

“Well . . . um . . . ,” Jonathan stammered, not knowing what to say. Did Leopold really mean it?

“Don’t worry, I’m not asking you for work. I’ve realized that life in the fast lane isn’t for me; I’m looking for something a bit more relaxed. I’ve got plenty of time to look—I’m doing nicely on my welfare payments and housing benefit.”

“I’ll let you know if I hear of anything.”

“Please do,” Leopold replied in a tone of voice that said, “And where do you think you’re going to hear of anything?” He changed the subject. “I’ve rambled on enough. Tell me what’s been going on in your life.”