It had been just over a year since Amy Walsh had left Canada to work in Germany. Her company had been keen to break into Europe and had sent her over as liaison officer to the new Hamburg branch. Amy’s family had had friends in Germany that she had visited throughout her childhood years, gaining a reasonable grasp of German, something she had found it advantageous to improve when she started looking for work. After a frantic first six months things had begun to settle down and Amy had found more time to travel in Europe. Initially she had stuck to Germany but in the last couple of months she had been making weekend trips into neighbouring countries. This weekend it was the turn of Amsterdam. She was staying in a pleasant historic hotel and had already been to the Rijksmuseum and made the compulsory canal trip. Now she was simply enjoying walking along the canal banks looking up at the beautiful buildings trying to imagine the city in the eighteenth century when no doubt horses would have been in place of the numerous bicycles and trams that now filled the streets.
Beginning to tire a little Amy stopped at a nice street-side caf� and, in line with what had been recommended to her, she ordered coffee and apple pie. It was apparently as much part of the Dutch eating identity as it was for Americans. The day was dry if a little dull, not bad for April and she guessed she would have got pretty hot walking around the city in the full heat of Summer. Sitting at a seat on the pavement she was soon enjoying people watching. As in Hamburg, women here seemed to have a different style to back home: there was much more variety in the clothes they wore and very few of them were in the sweatshirt-jeans-sneakers uniform that she was familiar with. Noticing that, Amy was reminded of her friend from college, Caroline Eaton. She had certainly been one for the comfortable look and it had been a surprise to see her in a ball gown the night before they graduated. Amy had heard that Caroline was working in Antwerp. That could not be that far away; she would have to check on the map. The two of them had been close in college but, as often happened, their work had taken them in different directions and it had to be coming on for two years since they had last spoken. In Europe distances seemed so much less than back home. She wondered if she could wrangle for the company to send her to Antwerp on business so she could look up her friend. Amy was sure that if she checked back with Vicky Henderson, another friend who seemed to remain in email and postcard contact with everyone, that she could be put on Caroline’s current trail.
Amy let her gaze wander across the canal and on the opposite bank one woman in particular caught her attention as she wove her way through the pedestrians. Initially it was her clothes: white from head to toe and figure hugging with it. As she walked Amy could see the woman was wearing leather and guessed she had to be a biker. However, Amy quickly realised that it was not simply her clothes that made her stand out: it was the way she moved, with such a relaxed confidence. Amy was no longer too surprised to see a woman in this city dressed in such sexy clothes, they seemed almost commonplace here in Europe, especially in the urban areas. It was more that she surprised herself at how intrigued she was by this woman’s appearance. Amy supposed it was because the pristine white leathers stood out in the way black, brown or even red would not have done. This woman seemed to making a statement with every step she took. Maybe it was more than one statement. She was certainly showing off her sexiness and the colour suggested she liked to be seen. Yet, Amy knew the leather would be resilient, and maybe that was also something the woman wanted to indicate about herself. In so many ways this woman seem the complete contrast to Amy, and maybe that was the fascination: after all, opposites attract.
The woman turned and crossed the bridge a short way from the caf� and so began walking over the canal in Amy’s direction. As she came closer, there was something in her gestures, and particularly that way she flicked back her blonded hair that suddenly made Amy gasp. Suddenly she felt as if her thoughts had just been made corporeal and that she was seeing Caroline coming towards her. It was those small things she knew about Caroline that so caught her attention. We all know so many things that distinguish people we know, like the way they cough or how they cross their legs. All of these small details lie passive in the memory until called upon to verify someone’s identity. This woman had just done something so characteristic of Caroline; now Amy looked at the woman intensely. She realised that the sexy clothes and fashionable hairstyle had thrown her at first, but now this woman was coming, she could see that indeed it was Caroline. Then Amy marvelled at her surprise. Why should Caroline not be here? Amy knew she was in this part of Europe. Why should she not have bought different clothes and had her hair styled in a European manner? If Amy admitted it, since working in Germany, she had done some things that the folks back home might consider unusual.
Increasingly Amy was sure this woman was her Caroline. Then the woman stopped at the end of the bridge. She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her pocket, and a sensation of d�j� vu ran through Amy. She and Caroline had smoked a little when leaving their teens but had given it up sometime into college when they got on a health kick. Yet, the one thing Amy remembered was the difficulty Caroline had always had: it was that she put her cigarette in her right hand then tried to pick up the lighter with the same hand and then had to switch it across in order to get the flame in contact with the tobacco. This woman was now conducting that ritual. Whilst Amy guessed Caroline had no patent on behaving that way, combined with the other elements, she was now convinced she had found her friend.
Amy wondered what to do. She looked around for the waitress in order to pay. She kept one eye on the woman as she came closer and then passed the caf�. The waitress seemed more interested in talking to her regulars than dealing with yet another tourist. Eventually she came over and Amy was able to settle up. By now the woman was just a distant white figure, but Amy was not going to give up that easily. She quickly collected her things and walked as briskly as she could without breaking into a run. However, with such a lead, the woman had soon disappeared from view.
Amy kept on going in the direction she had seen ‘Caroline’ walking and turned into the side street she guessed the woman in white had taken. The streets of this area of the town were nicely historic and quite empty with only the occasional passerby. However, Amy increasingly realised she was lost and darkness was falling. Though she had not had bad reports of Amsterdam, she was still a stranger in a big city. She tried to guess the way to the nearest busy street in the hope that she could at least find a taxi there to take her back to her hotel.
Amy halted and rested against a wall. She looked at the tourist map but could not make out the small street she was in. She was beginning to feel tired. Then she heard a door closing further up the street and the click of heels on the pavement. She looked ahead hoping she could at least stop someone and ask for directions. She knew most Dutch people spoke English and many had German as well, so she was certain she could get her questions across. As she looked ahead to see who had emerged from the house, worrying they might be some uncommunicative youth, Amy’s heart pounded as she saw the distinctive colour of the woman in white leather. She wondered if she should call out, but in that moment felt nervous. Instead she hurried to catch up with the woman she was increasingly sure was Caroline.
As she got closer though, Amy found herself keeping a few paces behind the woman taking in the whole view of her, concerned that she would turn off or go into one of the apartment blocks before Amy had seen what she felt she needed to see. Now she was close Amy worried she had made a mistake and this was not Caroline at all, but, something more than wanting directions kept her following. Then they came into a slightly better lit street. Now Amy could confirm what she had guessed, the woman was dressed from head to foot in white leather. Pointed, high-heeled boots stretched to her knee and from them emerged skin-tight leather jeans. Above was a fashion version of a biker jacket; short enough that it did not conceal the woman’s leather-clad bum and detailed with zips, that as she came closer, Amy could see matched those on the jeans.
Suddenly the woman stopped and turned. Amy almost jumped back with surprise. The front view of the woman simply confirmed her previous guesses. The jacket was unzipped halfway to show rounded breasts captured in a bra top beneath the leather. The woman grasped one in each hand and thrust them forward as if offering her cleavage to Amy. Amy had no idea what to do. She certainly felt challenged by this woman, but not threatened. The initial gesture softened and the woman began running her eyes over Amy.
“What do you want?” The woman asked in English with a strong accent.
Amy was still lost for words.
“What are you looking at?”
“Erm, er, you.” Amy confessed.
“You want a date? I do women; I’m off duty but I’ll do it for you as long as you’ve got some place good to go.”
“No, sorry, it’s not that. It’s just, I really thought you were someone else, a woman I knew in Canada: Caroline Eaton.”
The woman seemed to hesitate for a moment as if some memory had been brought back by the name, but she seemed to suppress it. “No, that’s not me, I never been there; not been outside Europe. I’m Belgian.”
“Right. I’m sorry.”
Amy guessed it was possible for someone to have a double. Standing so close to this woman, if she had not spoken, she would have sworn that this was indeed Caroline. Maybe it was wishful thinking. You could forget a lot about someone through not seeing them for two years and she imagined that wishing for a companion in this city she had projected Caroline’s features on this woman’s face.
“I’m called Star. My real name’s Silke, Silke Deridder .” Silke seemed to have decided to confide in Amy.
“Right. I’m Amy Walsh.”
Amy extended her hand and Silke shook it with a smile.
“Tourist?”
“Yes, I guess so, I work in Hamburg. I’m just visiting for a few days.”
“Good, I hope you like Amsterdam.”
“Thanks.” Amy turned to go back the way she had come.
“Wait, I wouldn’t go back that way, you get lost. You know you’re just on the edge of the Rossebuurt? How do you call it? The district of the red light. If you stick to the main streets you’ll be fine, but there’s pickpockets down some of these side streets; junkies too.”
Though Amy could see bright lights at the end of the street she found it difficult to believe that she was anywhere near the sexualised side of Amsterdam.
Silke seemed to read Amy’s expression. “It’s probably not what you’re expecting, the buildings, they are beautiful here. Many come and look at them, but at night it’s the women they come for.”
“Okay.” Amy responded a little nervously.
“Come with me, I’ll get you a taxi to your hotel. Unless you want to tour the stores?”
“Well, yes, I ought to get back, but it’d be interesting to see quickly.”
Silke smiled and looped her arm through Amy’s. Amy quivered a little as the woman’s warm leathered thigh was pressed against her jeans, but let herself be led on. This woman might not be Caroline, but she seemed friendly enough. Within a few streets they were amongst the flashing neons of numerous sex shops and erotic shows. Small clusters of men and the occasional woman shuffled through the street as if stunned by the range of what was on offer. Amy and Silke walked past windows full of women, prostitutes, Amy acknowledged, sat there dressed sexily, but sometimes doing the most mundane things; one was even knitting. Despite the leather and lace of their skimpy outfits, they looked like bored 1950s housewives waiting for their husbands to get home from work. Amy smiled at this, it certainly seemed to take the mystery out of things a little and with Silke beside her she realised she felt far less apprehensive than she would have done alone.
“It’s a bit quiet at the moment, wait until eight and then it comes alive.”
“Star!” A man called out.
Silke waved at him. “Andreas, you bastard!” She shouted back in a joking tone.
“This is my slot, most times.” Silke nodded to a window.
Suddenly Amy went cold. In that instant she realised that this Silke was a prostitute too. Maybe she should have guessed. Nervously she reached for her handbag but found nothing amiss.
“Elise’s in there tonight. Rikki, he’s the guy who owns that place, he’s has me and Sophie in a show, the theatre show that’s his. It was my thought to do it,” Silke said proudly, seemingly oblivious to Amy’s unease, “‘Fire and Ice’ we name it.”
“And you’re the ice.” Amy said partly to keep the conversation going while she thought out what was the best thing to do.
“You know that.” Silke smiled warmly. “White is my colour. You should try it.”
Silke looked down at Amy’s black sweatshirt with the small logo and black jeans.
“Now we must see like ‘coal and ice’.”
Amy had to admit that this woman might be the usual type she mixed with but seemed to be no threat. Silke appeared to take the whole sex business as matter-of-fact and probably had misread Amy’s comment about a quick visit as indicating she thought the same. Amy guessed Silke was just naturally a gregarious woman and she certainly did not seem to have been embittered by her trade. Some shreds of doubt remained in Amy’s mind though that maybe Silke was setting her up to be robbed or compelled to buy drinks at some expensive bar, but she resolved to remain cautious and pull away if she got suspicious. Things were different now she was among people and there had to be police around here.
“That’s here.” Silke nodded to the theatre displaying a range of performances with lurid photos.
Silke glanced at her watch. “I’m on the stage in one hour. There are the taxis. I wish you stay in Amsterdam will be good. If you want to see me dance, one time, this is the theatre.”
“Thank you.” Amy was genuinely grateful as she pondered what it would have been like to try to retrace her steps in the dark.
Silke turned and went into the theatre. Released, Amy felt relief and a little embarrassed to have doubted Silke. Amy hesitated, part of her thinking a little daringly of going into see Silke performing. However, she decided to head back to her hotel and have a quiet night instead. She went to the nearest taxi and was soon heading away from the area thinking over Silke and her resemblance to Caroline. If she ever ran into Caroline, Amy wondered what she would say of a Dutch, sorry Belgian, prostitute walking around Amsterdam with her face.
Amy found herself walking along a street; it seemed a little familiar. A short way ahead there was a woman dressed in sexy tight white leathers and Amy was approaching her; it was almost as if she was waiting for Amy. As she came closer Amy was sure she knew this woman.
“Are you Caroline?” Amy asked.
The woman nodded. “I used to be, but now it’s so much better since I became Silke.”
Amy was stunned and did not know what to say.
“Come inside.” The woman gestured to a doorway behind her out of which bright white light shone.
The woman smiled warmly and stepped up to the door. Amy made to follow, feeling initially it was the right thing to do, but then she hesitated. The light seem to surround the woman and moments later she was gone. Amy realised that this was a dream and awoke.
Amy sat up abruptly and found that she was panting. She grabbed for the glass of water by her bed and drank it down. She glanced at her clock: it was just passed midnight. She thought back over her dream. She guessed it was not that surprising: all she was doing was processing the thoughts and sights of the day. She guessed it could be expected that she would mix Caroline and Silke in her mind; they did seem so alike. Surely it was impossible that it could have been Caroline that she had been talking with. However, the dream had clearly told Amy that; but how could it be possible? She guessed Caroline might have learnt Dutch for her job, she had been good at languages, but then how would she have ended up as a prostitute in Amsterdam? And if it was the case why did she not recognise Amy? Maybe she had, Amy now speculated, but was worried about the story getting back home and instead had decided to brazen it out and pretend to be someone else. Maybe she had had an accident and had forgotten her true identity; possibly, even, she had been brainwashed or drugged. Now a whole chain of more or less feasible explanations began rushing into Amy’s mind.
Amy wondered what to do. She thought about going to the police, but was uncertain what she would tell them: ‘this Dutch woman is actually my Canadian friend, but she has forgotten her name; she’s really a businesswoman not a prostitute’? Amy realised that if she was going to achieve anything she needed more evidence than simply walking with the woman for a few minutes. She also recognised too, though, that for her own peace of mind, she had to be certain who Silke was or was not. It would be no use returning to Hamburg simply to be haunted with wondering.
Now Amy felt a bit more determined. She quickly dressed, putting on her smartest jeans and blouse and selecting a short jacket that looked fashionable. She picked the ankle boots she usually reserved for special occasions, but now seemed more appropriate than sneakers. In minutes she was in a taxi speeding back to the Rossebuurt. The driver said nothing and simply kept his eye on the road. Amy was glad as her resolve was wavering a little and anyone questioning what she was doing might have encouraged her to retreat back to her hotel room.
Amy was dropped close to where Silke had left her. The streets were now far busier and the lights a lot brighter. A gaggle of women on a hen night passed her giggling away as they eyed up the wares on sale in the shops. Living in Hamburg, which like many German cities even had sex supermarkets, Amy imagined there was nothing much here that she could not get back there, if she was so inclined. For the moment her attention was focused. Now she was actually outside the theatre she felt she had to go through with it. She marched boldly to the door which was guarded by a large man, who looked Indonesian, and a not much smaller blonde-haired woman. They did not even delay her, just nodded and opened the door. In a minute Amy had paid her entrance fee to the young fire engine red haired woman in the small kiosk and had walked inside.
Amy had seen strip clubs and lap dancing bars in movies and this place was not too different. There were small patches of light breaking the darkness where the audience sat and it was in contrast to the stage area which was intensely lit. Loud music was coming from concealed speakers and two women dressed in black leather were performing. One was shackled over something that looked like a gym horse and the other was running a huge black vibrator up and down her body. A glitterball turned over the proceedings and Amy gazed at it for a few moments, feeling intrigued by how the light bounced off it. Amy was relieved to see some women among the customers, there was even a drunken party of females, no doubt similar to the one which had passed her in the street. Being alone Amy headed to the bar. Amy was sure that being so fully covered in trousers and jacket, no-one would get the idea that she was looking for an encounter. As she sat down and saw herself reflected in the mirror behind the bar, she even imagined that she could resemble the local environmental health office on an evening of checks.
The barmaid smiled warmly as she came up to Amy. Amy ordered the least lascivious sounding cocktail from the menu. Then she readied herself for the barmaid’s return.
“Erm, is Silke, erm, I mean, er, Star performing tonight?”
“You’ve just missed her. She’ll be on in about an hour.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Amy sat back and sipped her drink.
“Are you a fan of Star’s? A friend?”
Amy turned to see a blond man sitting beside her. He was in his thirties; dressed in a black polo top and loose trousers. There was a relaxed air about him, but Amy also sensed that that simply concealed a certain determination. He did not look lustful and though there was a whisky in his hand neither did he seem drunk. Amy felt no real unease in answering his question.
“Erm, yes, a friend. We met in the street, erm, she looked like a spitting image of a friend of mine from back home, Canada that is. I’m here on holiday. Anyway she looked so much like Caroline, that I had to go up and ask her. Caroline’s been working in Antwerp, so I thought that it was possible she was in Amsterdam.”
“Caroline, you say? She looks like Silke?”
“Yes, Caroline Eaton, she works in shipping. The resemblance is uncanny, but I doubt her Dutch is as good as Silke’s. Caroline would laugh about it I’m sure. Anyway, it was my mistake but me and Silke, Star, hit it off, it seems, so I thought I’d come and see her performance, ‘Fire and Ice’ she called it.” ”
“Right, yes, it’s worth seeing. Silke’s always ice; she’s always had a thing for white.”
“That outfit she had on today was something.”
“The white leather, yes, it’s cool; sexy. I could see you dressed in something similar.”
“Erm, I don’t think so.” Amy laughed lightly, worrying that Karl was moving on to more personal topics. “Though the white is distinctive. I loved how she stood out from the crowd.”
Amy turned to sip her drink and neither said anything for a few moments.
“I guess you don’t get places like this back in Canada.” Karl began.
Amy shook her head. She guessed there were some, but she imagined the rules were not as liberal as here.
“Have you been to Antwerp?” Karl asked a little abruptly.
“No, I’m based in Hamburg, this is the first time that I’ve even made it to the Netherlands, I doubt I’ll make Belgium until the late Summer if not next year.”
“Antwerp’s nice, it’s worth a visit, it’s up and coming for fashion, did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t. I’m not really one for the high fashion, the catwalk stuff, I’m more a jeans and sneakers girl.”
“Oh, Silke was like that when I first met her.”
“Have you known her long?”
“About a year. It was me who brought her here.” Karl said, then, as if he had said a little too much, he sipped his whisky.
“Right, from Belgium.”
For an instant Amy felt a little concerned. Was this man saying he was Silke’s pimp?
“What do you do for a living?” It was Amy’s turn to be abrupt.
“I install electrical systems, the PA, the lighting. You see that mirrorball?”
Amy followed the way he pointed, though she knew what he meant.
“I put that in earlier today. Rikki liked some of the work I’ve been doing in Antwerp and wanted some of the same for his club. Now I’m just out here seeing what effects it creates.”
“That’s cool. It looks very good.” Amy tried to sound positive.
Karl’s answer had seemed genuine enough and she felt a little guilty for misjudging him.
“It’s Rikki who owns this place isn’t it?” Amy said as she remembered.
“That’s right. Have you met him?”
“No, it was just Silke mentioned him.”
“Yes, he’s her boss.”
“He’s not around though?” Amy glanced up the bar but could see no-one who looked like she imagined he would appear.
“No, not tonight. He’s a nice man; going places.”
Karl downed the remainder of his whisky. “Drink up and we’ll go back stage and see Silke.”
“You can get back there?”
“Sure, I’m well known here. I’m sure Silke will be pleased to see you’ve come.”
“Okay.”
Amy agreed and followed Karl to the side of the main bar. He pushed at what appeared to be a decorated section of wall and it opened into a well-lit corridor. After the darkness of the theatre, Amy blinked as her eyes adjusted. The noise from the performance was muted and, after the glitz of the room she had just left, it all seemed rather sober and mundane. She guessed it was the same environment backstage no matter what kind of theatre you were in. They turned a corner and Karl opened the door into a small room.
“You can wait in here. I’ll send Silke along in the minute. I am sorry to put you in a storage room for the moment, but as you can imagine, the main dressing area is always frantic.”
Karl’s explanation seemed to make sense.
“Okay.” Amy stepped into the room.
“I enjoyed our chat. It’s a shame but I’ve got a few phonecalls I really need to make now, people to contact, things to organise.”
“Sure, thanks, er, Karl. Some men you meet at the bar can be bastards, but you seem like one of the good guys.”
“When I’m bad, I’m better. See you soon.” Karl smiled wickedly and closed the door.
The room had a chair and small make-up table, though for now the chair had its back to it. Amy sat down in it. As she did she looked around as she thought she had heard whispering behind her. Then it seemed to be all around her. She guessed the walls in this place were not that thick and she might be picking up muffled sounds of the women dressing and undressing. Then again it might be the electrics, the pipes or anything. The sound seemed to nag at the edge of her hearing and Amy looked about for distraction. There was a rail of clothes recessed into the wall, next to it a full-length mirror, and beside that, hung on a kind of metal wire mannequin was one set of clothes someone had picked out. They were all in shiny white vinyl: a cropped jacket over a bustiere; a micro mini skirt and thigh length boots. Amy was reminded of the outfit she had seen Silke in. She wondered if this was for her too; Amy knew that she played as ‘Ice’, perhaps this was what she wore on stage.
Amy found herself walking to the outfit and running her fingers over the slippery vinyl, it had a really sensuous feel to it and she wondered what it would be like to dress in such clothes, to stand out when she walked in the street so that people, men especially, would turn their heads as she passed. That seemed like a delicious form of power. Then again, round here would she be that distinctive? She guessed dressed in these clothes she could walk straight into the dressing room and would simply be seen as the ‘new girl’ ready to perform like any of the others. Then her fantasy gathered momentum and Amy quivered at the thought of being mistakenly ordered on stage and expected to perform just like the women she had just seen. Somehow that thought did not alarm but excited her and she was increasingly certain she could pull it off.
Nervously, worrying that either Karl or Silke would catch her, Amy slipped off her cotton jacket and freed the white vinyl one from its hanger. In moments she was sliding into it. It was a little tight, but she guessed that was the intention and that her blouse was probably thicker than what was meant to be worn beneath it. She looked at herself in the mirror, enjoying the shine of the jacket. Quickly she zipped it up and liked the way it pressed against her breasts. They stood prominent in the white vinyl and looked so sexy. Amy began wondering what her bum would look like so coated. It felt tantalisingly as if something was in her grasp. Her earlier concerns that she would be caught had faded and instead were replaced with seductive thoughts about how good it would look to ease into these clothes.
Amy hesitated, looking around a little guiltily, worried that someone would come in and catch her. She slipped off her sneakers and reached to unbutton her black jeans. She guessed that in a few moments she could be slipping into the miniskirt and if that felt good maybe she could try the bustiere; she was curious as to how the vinyl would feel stroking her breasts.
Suddenly there was a bleep and Amy looked around, startled. Quickly she re-did her jeans and snatched on her shoes. She slid out of the jacket and hurried to re-hang it. Then she glanced over at her cotton jacket and saw a red light flashing in her pocket. She went over to it and saw that it was her mobile phone telling her it was running out of charge. She glanced at the time, it was well past one and suddenly Amy felt foolish. She did not look back at the vinyl clothes, instead she headed to the door asking herself what she thought she was doing here. She headed away from the bar and found a back door propped open by a beer barrel. She went through it to find herself in an alleyway. Quickly she returned to the main road and in less than five minutes was in a taxi heading to her hotel.
Back in her room, Amy slumped on the bed and flicked on the television but even the free channels seemed to be showing erotic programmes. Finally she settled on music videos and fell to sleep with women cavorting in front of her much the same as if she had remained at the theatre.
The dream came again, but this time it seemed to be a little different. She was still walking down the narrow street with the sound of footsteps echoing gently, but she seemed to be a little ahead of where she had come into the scene before. Amy slowed her pace and began looking around for the woman she had thought looked like Caroline, the one in white leather who had turned out to be the Dutch prostitute. Amy could only guess that it was the fascination that her mind had had that somehow the woman had been Caroline transformed which kept her returning to these images in her sleep. Maybe now the woman was gone from dreams she could put the whole incident behind her. Something told her that was a good idea.
Suddenly, from behind her, Amy heard a voice: it was in English, a language she felt she only understood a little of. She turned to see who had spoken. The woman standing a few steps away looked like a tourist, she guessed from her baggy teeshirt, jeans and running shoes that she was an American.
“Excuse me, aren’t you Amy Walsh?” The woman asked eagerly.
Ulrike wracked her brain then realised what the woman was asking, she had clearly mistaken her for someone else; an easy mistake she was sure.
“Sorry.” Ulrike answered in German, then corrected herself to English. “Sorry, erm, I’m Ulrike Reiter.”
“Oh, my mistake.” The woman said and turned away.
Ulrike did not know what to say and just watched the woman go. She glanced at her watch, the vinyl of her jacket squealing as she lifted her wrist. It was coming up to eight o’clock, the time when the Reeperbahn really woke up. Ulrike hurried off.