Mister Wolf by Chris Petit

Author:Chris Petit [Petit, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

HERR WOLF

1931

28

Martin Bormann, 1931

Whether any story is true or not doesn’t matter beyond the fact of its existence. The Führer is a master of the lie, which when it comes to his personal life is his blind spot. Call yourself Herr Wolf and promote yourself as a man of alias and intrigue then others bound to speculate. The stories about Herr Wolf had been going on for years. The ones about him picking up boys. People swore they had seen the police reports. It was said that Emil Maurice, ex-bodyguard and ex-chauffeur, who had marched alongside him during the failed putsch of 1923 and gone to prison with him, was his bum boy and the two were involved in a complicated ménage à trois with the Führer’s niece. The murk and stew of the milieu made anything technically possible and, yes, something had been going on; the gossip – smut and giggles, most of it rank – said so. Drunken idleness and poor pay mean more or less anyone can be bought off.

Herr Wolf,’s trench coat, the whip and the holster and pistol were part of his Wild West image (well, not the Lederhosen); ‘risqué’ was part of the man’s bohemian act, though Bormann was willing to bet the sex trophy cupboard wasn’t nearly as full as Herr Wolf made out. As for Emil being his bum boy (and pimp, it was said, too), that was offered as the reason for Herr Wolf’s tolerance of Emil’s Jew grandmother. Bormann had no wish or desire to blackmail the Führer; he was there to serve and protect the man from his naivety. Emil he couldn’t care less about. Come the time, any story could be made to stick – Jew-schmew, take it up the arse like a man. The pederasts would have to go, and in the case of the fairer sex Herr Wolf needed to settle for something a little duller.

*

From Bormann’s side, Geli was a disaster. Gold-digger on the make, a classic good-time girl, ‘fun loving’ (and how!), leaving a soppy Führer making goo-goo eyes. Bormann personally found nothing complicated about sticking his dick between a woman’s legs. Not the Führer. All infatuation, playing hard to get, and never real women, more girls, then making them miserable because they couldn’t compete with a man wedded to his political destiny. Look at that shopgirl who tried to hang herself from a doorknob!

With Geli, the distraction was colossal. People sniggered as he escorted her around town; possessive uncle, idiot paramour – and the gossip! His niece! Regardless of what she was up to with her ‘Onk’, she was putting it about. Oversexed, a hormone fountain. The gossip wasn’t good. Jews. A Jew musician. Another Jew lover. The latest rumour: she had stopped menstruating . . . If the child were a little Wolf? Out of the question. Bormann had been told categorically: not on the cards. No reason was given but digging had been done: family in-breeding had produced a load of cretins.

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