Edda Green (Hamburg Noir Book 3) by Peter Sarda

Author:Peter Sarda [Sarda, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Highway 99 Press
Published: 2024-11-28T00:00:00+00:00

FIFTEEN

Tante Emma’s

Meike loved Tante Emma’s, a diner on the Elbe frequented by dock workers. Like her dad liked to say: Anytime is the right time for breakfast. So she was thrilled when Dieter called and invited her, even if she’d just eaten a döner. Good thing she hadn’t ordered the garlic sauce. It was their first dinner date. Even the sun was setting on the Elbe again.

Meike smelled sizzling bacon and someone yelling an order to the kitchen as she pushed the door open. She nodded up to the middle-aged waitress, who pointed with her orange perm and a knowing smile to the corner booth.

Dieter.

Meike’s heart sped up—and stopped.

Dieter was sharing the booth with a group of workers in blue coveralls. His face looked grim. The men around him were shaking their heads. Something was wrong.

What the hell, Meike thought. At least she hadn’t brought an appetite.

She made her way around the loud tables, brushing her hips against hard muscles and getting the usual comments, most from behind, all with a grin in their voices. She was almost to the booth when somebody elbowed Dieter. His surprise melted into a smile.

Three men scooted out to make way for Meike. She slid onto warm vinyl and over to Dieter. The three men closed ranks again, sandwiching her securely against his big shoulder.

“Hi, beautiful,” Dieter said, giving her a peck on the cheek. Then to the rest of the table: “This is Meike.”

“Moin, Meike,” the table said in rough unison.

“Hi, guys,” she said, falling into a familiar role. The square jaws, buzzcuts, and tattoos around the table reminded her of her family.

“What’re you doing with a shop steward when you could have me?” a skinny guy to the right of Dieter said. He flashed a silver tooth at her.

Dieter’s elbow sent Silver Tooth crashing into the next guy, causing a chain reaction. The rest of the guys went with the flow—and the inevitable pushback from the other end.

“Your Dieter’s a good man, little lady,” an old guy to Meike’s left said. He was half a head taller than the others—sitting down—with piercing blue eyes and six green Jägermeister half-pints lined up on the speckled Formica in front of him, all empty.

Meike grinned at his dead soldiers. There was always one guy in this kind of group who could drink everybody else under the table. The other guys had half-liter glass mugs with green Jever logos that contained mostly foam residue.

The waitress put a smaller “ladylike” glass of the house beer in front of Meike without being asked and then worked her way around the table, replacing seven mugs and setting down a seventh half-pint of Jägermeister. She made hash marks on Dieter’s beer coaster, handed it back to him, and stuck the pencil back in her perm. Which meant he was paying for the rounds.

“Here’s to the little lady,” the big guy said, holding up his fresh Jägi.

The others did the same with their mugs.

Meike smiled and raised her 0.3 ouncer. “Prost!” she said.

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