The Blackmail

Pico was beside himself when Peter told him what to do. He was to set up, through his bank — through a chain of numbered accounts at other banks — a clean, not easily traceable path for the money Peter expected from his victims. Creditors. Pico understood perfectly well that Peter had started extorting again and was now enlisting him to do the same.

They sat across from each other in Peter's "new" pad and argued. Peter had inserted a video tape at the beginning of their conversation; with growing horror, Pico realized that it was one of his hoarded treasures. Sonja in action. Peter interrupted his demonstration after a few moments and stopped the tape. With his finger Peter pointed to the upper right corner of the picture, where the wall mirror had slowly slid into view. Pico's portrait in the mirror. Clear and plain. Grinning, Peter asked Pico if he wanted to see more or if that was enough for him. Pico was stunned and nodded sheepishly; if this became known, he would go to jail for the rest of his life! He muttered it half aloud to himself, and Peter affirmed loudly. He had no choice, that much was clear. "The little bitch is not 14, more like 13 years old," Peter grinned insinuatingly.

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The still image flickered uneasily on the screen; the cheap electronics failed to hold the still image and the distorted image kept breaking up; it almost seemed as if Sonja was being torn into pieces again and again. Pico nervously asked Peter to turn it off. Peter took out the tape and put it on the shelf. "I copied all your tapes," he said lightly, "besides, I made several copies so you wouldn't get any stupid ideas!" Peter smiled smugly and sat back. Pico almost screamed aloud in anger and indignation until he realized the futility of his protest. Now he sat slumped in his chair, turning the half‐empty wine glass with his fingers. The thought that there were only videos of Sonja flashed through his mind; he had never filmed himself in action. Had he? Was the camera rolling the last time when he had fucked Sonja? He stared into the glass, waiting silently, mortified, to see what Peter actually wanted.

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Peter explained his idea and Pico woke up from his lethargy, listening wide awake. He struggled with himself for a moment about whether to point out the small but crucial mistakes to Peter, then decided to do so: it was also about his fate. He told Peter that there were still at least two remittances and some remittances to numbered accounts at Swiss banks would have to be made, so that the trail would be lost in a circle that outwardly appeared to be meaningless. In reality, the money would go on in two tranches, and this could be done covertly. Peter thought for a long time, then nodded. Besides, he said, he wanted to run a test first, perhaps with five thousand dollars to start with, then they would see.

Once again, Pico rebelled, trying to dissuade Peter from his plan. Besides, he wanted his tapes back, all of them. Peter nodded, that's fine. At the same time, Pico knew that he could never be sure that there were not still copies somewhere and it was clear to him that he had Peter on his back for life. Peter poured more wine and once again described how the the blackmail was to be carried out. At least he wanted to find out in this first round whether the blackmailed man, a Stuttgart dentist, complained to his financial partner (he probably did) and whether he called the police (this was very unlikely). The financial partner, however, would do his own investigation — and find out nothing. Peter said that if they waited two weeks and there were no complications, then things had gone well, he would start the operation big. How big, Pico inquired. Peter looked at him in amazement and then grinned, "Well, about a Million dollars, that's how much it will be."

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Pico whistled through his teeth, sipping his wine thoughtfully. "That's quite a lot!" he said to Peter, "they'll use their best people to find your trail!" Peter laughed. "Why mine? That's your lead, isn't it!" He poured another glass of wine and told Pico that everything would work out. And it shouldn't be his loss, after all, if he was careful enough, nothing would come of it, and Pico would get a share of ten percent.

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Pico finished his glass and shook his head. The test thing was nonsense, he said. Probably the thing does not work, and if, then at most only once. It was a case of hop or drop, and it would be extremely unwise to give the opponent two or more weeks to investigate. The whole thing would have to be done abruptly, quickly and without delay, and after that there should not be a single action, not another trace. The inquiries would certainly lead to him after two or three weeks, he was sure, because Peter's former employers employed excellent people. And last, ten percent was lousy. They disputed like bazaar salesmen and finished with 25 percent. Pico's mind worked on a solution, the struggle for 25 percent was to buy him time to think.

They discussed back and forth for a long time, talking to the wine, and Pico calmed down a bit as he thought intently about his own plan. If he didn't make a mistake, he would remain visible but invisible as a person to everyone; how Peter was going to hide from his employer's bloodhounds later was something he thought about only briefly; let him see how he coped. Peter promised to hand over all the videotapes to him after the action and seemed to mean it sincerely; Pico knew he had to trust Peter whether he wanted to or not. Nevertheless, Pico wanted to proceed as prudently as possible and not to let Peter in on all the details. That he was also cooking his own soup to get out of Peter's stranglehold, only he and the wind knew.

First he discussed with Herzog, later also with Dr. Kantor, that an important customer, a trustworthy appearing sailing partner named Peter Weichsler, had asked for a secret numbered account through which he wanted to handle some transactions. He invented a little inheritance story in which Weichsler had diverted undeclared money from the estate before the executor accessed it. This money would have to be deposited and later paid out in cash to Weichsler. Pico had cleverly chosen a time when Dr. Kantor had little time and listened only half‐heartedly to his drivel. Then Dr. Kantor rushed on, to his next appointment; before that, he instructed Herzog to do it for Pico for once. Behind Pico's back, he still gestured to Herzog with his hand that old Pico probably was a little bit crazy before he left.

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Pico rummaged awkwardly in his leather bag, then handed Herzog 120,000 shillings as the first deposit in Peter Weichsler's secret numbered account. Herzog raised his eyebrows in astonishment, but Pico explained that this was only the first tranche, the cash, so to speak, that would be withheld from the community of heirs. The total would certainly amount to several Million. Herzog whistled through his teeth and muttered that the Weichsler was a sly dog and that he did not want to be his brother! Pico did not take off his mask of simpletonism until he stood on the street again and took a deep breath. One, he thought to himself, that was One. Now came Two, and Two was the more difficult part.

He took the night train to Zurich and duly identified himself at four banks as a member of the board of Kantor‐Bank. Naturally, all four immediately made inquiries and received confirmation from the Kantor‐Bank that everything was legal — Herzog had been prepared by Pico for the inquiries. He then set up numbered accounts for his client Peter Weichsler, each time showing the bank receipt he had prefabricated, stating that Peter Weichsler wanted to transfer through Kantor‐Bank some one and a half Million Dollars via the Kantor&ash;Bank. Herzog had been easily duped into not only countersigning the 120,000 shillings. Herzog, who thought he was dealing with a simpleton and could hardly be restrained in his arrogance — Dr. Kantor had signaled to him that Pico was not all there in the mind! Now all accounts pointed to Herzog and Peter, let the two of them themselves cope with the consequences.

When he called on Peter again in Vienna, he told him an account number to which the blackmailed victims would have to pay in. Then he revealed to Peter two more accounts, because those were the ones to which the money would be sent in the circle. The fourth account he concealed, as well as the account at the Kantor‐Bank.

The next few days he hardly slept, so excited was he. Every day he met with Peter, gradually memorizing the names of the extortioned victims and the amounts, while Peter was already in a buying frenzy. They drank a lot and argued again and again, because Pico was afraid they would be found out. He didn't even have to pretend to be afraid. In truth, he was in a hopeless situation and hoped to somehow get out of it. Peter had scraped together what was left of his savings while he was away, borrowed money from others and borrowed money from others and gave it to Angel. At the same time, he instructed Angel to go into hiding in Amsterdam for at least two months until the coast was clear and he would follow. Which, of course, he never intended to do.

Pico's call to Zurich brought clarity: much of Peter's demands had been had been received. He forced himself to remain calm and concealed it from Peter, or more precisely, he only laconically informed Peter that it was not yet time. In the evening, when Peter was on his pub crawl, as he did every evening, he drove straight to Zurich, left the money in Peter's name as planned and the next day withdrew all the cash in the fourth account — about half — under Peter's name again, of course; Peter's ID and Herzog's power of attorney did their part. With the valise full of dollar bills he drove to Vienna. A short visit to Herzog, during which he complained bitterly about Peter Weichsler's hesitant and procrastinating behavior and withdrew all the money, the 120,000 shillings. Weichsler had now got cold feet and wanted his money back, he complained. Herzog found that both Pico and Weichsler had a screw loose in their brains and closed the file grumblingly.

Pico went to Peter and told him that they could now go to Zurich to pick up the loot; with not a word he mentioned that he had just come from Zurich and had already taken much of the loot to safety. Peter nodded absent‐mindedly and fetched a bottle of wine, which they drank down slowly before hurrying to the night train.

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Pico really was crazy enough to want to cheat Peter.

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