The evening was not turning out the way I wanted at all. First Maria didn’t want to dance with me, then she implied something about lesbians, but didn’t explain what she meant, and now, there I was, running down a hallway, having to go help some drunkard who couldn’t hold his liquor and somehow managed to hit his head. Need I remind you that, though I am the perfect embodiment of gentleman who will someday become a famous doctor, I had no medical training at the time, plus I was a little drunk myself. Overall, it seemed like the evening could not go any worse. Naturally, I was mistaken yet again, because, when we finally reached the other room, I discovered that the drunkard was none other than Charles.

I am not one for profanity, but the words “what the bloody heck” managed to slip my lips. Meanwhile, Maria seemed even more upset then I was, to the point where she became rather scary:

‘If he’s dead, then we have to make sure nobody ever finds the body.

Before letting that discussion go any further, I decided to check Charles for a pulse.

‘Oh thank God! He’s alive!

‘Is he going to be okay? asked the redheaded woman.

‘I’m not sure, but it doesn’t seem like his spine suffered any injury, so it’s probably okay if we move him on the bed.

After we moved Charles, Maria still seemed rather upset about the situation at hand. At the time, I just thought she cared a great deal about the reputation of her brothel.

‘How did this happen?

‘We came up to the room and he went to take a shower, then when he came out he said we should talk for a while, get to know each other better…

“Great minds think alike”, I thought.

‘…we both started drinking wine and, after a while, he told me it would be nice if we would dance. That’s when he tripped and hit his head on the table.

“Dear Lord, that could have been me!”

Maria turned her attention to me and said:

‘I can’t have this sort of thing happening here, you need to take your friend and leave.

‘I’m truly sorry for the difficult situation you must feel you’re in, but we must first call a doctor, have a specialist check his condition.

‘No, we can’t call anyone here.

‘Why not?

‘Because this is a brothel and our line of work isn’t exactly considered legal. The authorities tend to look the other way when it comes to our business, but if we draw attention to ourselves, then they will have no other choice then to shut us down.

I was horrified to learn all of this. As if things weren’t bad enough, what with Charles being injured and Maria wanting to bury him somewhere, now I find out that my perfect gentleman’s record is besmirched. Luckily for me, nothing between Maria and myself had happened yet, so that thought calmed me down a bit, enough to come up with the perfect solution to our problem.

‘We can’t just leave Charles here and hope he gets better, we have no idea how badly he’s injured. If we take him to a hospital we don’t have to tell anyone where this happened.

‘Wait a second, what’s with this “we”? You have to go take him.

‘I can’t go by myself, Charles is too heavy to carry, plus there’s the issue of our luggage.

‘Oh, so I’m not trustworthy enough to leave you luggage here?!

‘A minute ago you were suggesting we take him somewhere and bury his body, of course I don’t trust you!

To be fair, looking back, I realize that it wasn’t fair to insinuate Maria wasn’t a trustworthy person. I mean, it’s one thing to want to hide a dead body, and a completely different thing to steal someone‘s luggage. I can’t take back what was said, but what I can do is remind you, the reader, to always be careful what you say. It is not excusable, regardless of how stressed or drunk one might be, to conduct oneself in such a rude manner.

‘Even if one of my girls accepted to go with you, I won’t allow it. The way I see it, you have two options: 1. You take your friend, with or without your luggage, and leave; or 2. You stay here until he wakes up or dies. If he dies, then that’s bad for both of you.

I really didn’t want to know what Maria was implying, but I feared that my own safety had become an issue. It was worth taking it into consideration when weighing my options. As a gentleman, I had to keep my head about me, however, it seemed harder and harder to do every second. Thankfully, before I reached a decision, Charles opened his eyes and I went to check if he could speak.

‘Charles, can you hear me, are you okay?

‘What happened?

‘You tripped and hit your head on the table.

‘Excellent, he’s awake, then that means you two can leave now, said Maria.

I helped Charles stand up, but he was too dizzy and fell right back on the bed. He could barely speak, much less stand on both legs.

‘Don’t worry… I’m sure it’s just a…

Before he could finish his sentence he fell to sleep. It became apparent that he needed to rest.

‘We have to let him rest here for a while, he’s not fit to go anywhere.

Maria realized there was no point in arguing, so she told the girls to leave and sat down in one of the armchairs. Meanwhile, I took off Charles shoos, tucked him in bed, sat in the other chair and poured us both some wine. After all, there was no point in letting it go to waste, since nobody else was going to drink it.

Though the problem had been pretty much resolved, the tension in the room was still high, so I decided to try and lighten the mood.

‘So… how about that Hitler guy, I hear he’s causing quite a ruckus.

I could tell she was still upset and didn’t want to talk, however, as the great American gentleman, Johnson, Long once said in his book, “Parties, Festivities, Shindigs, Banquets and General Social Gatherings – The Gentleman’s Guide”: “It is crucial that women are always entertained and are never given reason to frown because, as we all know, frowning is the main cause of wrinkles in the face and once a woman starts wrinkling, she becomes less desirable.” It was my task, nay duty, to make sure Maria maintained an upbeat attitude.

‘The only reason I bring up this subject is because there are rumors going around that Germany is moving troops near the Polish border. I don’t know about you, but I think it is ridiculous to think that they have any intention to start a war.

‘I know what you‘re trying to do and it won’t work, I’m in no mood for idle chit-chat.

‘Look, I know things haven’t been going great so far, but I see no reason why we can’t enjoy the rest of the night.

‘Now you want to have sex?!

‘Heavens no! I just thought we could have a pleasant discussion about Adolf Hitler.

I’m not exactly sure what part of that sentence seemed amusing to Maria, but she started smiling, so I didn’t think too much about it.

‘You are by far the weirdest man I have ever met.

‘How so?

‘A few minutes ago I was ready to bury your friend and possibly kill you, yet you’re sitting here, talking about some lunatic from Austria, as if none of that happened.

‘I think you meant to say Germany.

‘See, that’s exactly my point, you focused on the one part of that phrase that is irrelevant. And no, I meant to say Austria, because that’s where he was born.

‘To be honest, it’s not that I wasn’t worried before, but that moment has passed, so I see no reason to keep worrying. We all make mistakes like these from time to time, but what’s important is learning from those mistakes and becoming a better person along the way.

I’m not sure if Maria was amazed about how forgiving I was or whether she wondering how much I actually had to drink. Honestly, I’m still not sure of that myself, since I never drank before then, and if it weren’t for the earlier excitement, I would probably have passed out by now. Regardless, she loosened up and we talked the night away. Unfortunately, that is around the point where my memory of that night ends. Again, allow me to remind you that I am not a drinker, so I hope you can forgive me for that.

As we were heading to the room, a rainbow of sensations seemed to pass through me. The exact feeling is impossible to describe, but it was almost like having a fever, coupled with the excitement one feels when opening a gift, followed by a sinking sensation, all of which mixed with nausea and fear. When Maria opened the room door and we walked in, all of the sensations from before seemed to be multiplied by ten. It was odd, because the room itself was quite nice, being decorated quite differently from the lobby. The hard wood floor was left uncovered, exception being a few small pillows scattered about; there was a large window, covered by the same purple drapes as the ones in the lobby, in front of which there were two large armchairs and a table with a glass vase on it, filled with white lilies; the dark-red wallpaper, along with the paintings of naked women and the ten or so lit candles – all around the room – created a sensual atmosphere; the large bed, covered in silk sheets and surrounded by thin, see-through curtains, was placed right below the skylight; finally, opposite to the bed, there was the bathroom door. I know some might be curious about the bathroom, but there are things a gentleman must never speak of.

‘Well darling, are you just going to stand there all night?

Suddenly I felt a weight, pressing on my chest, making it very difficult for me to speak. A first I thought it might have something to do with me smoking thirty cigarettes a day, but soon realized that was nonsense: “There is no proof of smoking being linked to any sort of health conditions. If anything, dear old grandpa reached the ripe old age of fifty five and he smoked just as much as you do. Heck, if I remember correctly, during his final months alive, he would smoke a cigarette every time he coughed up blood. Or was it the other way… OH MY GOD?! What am doing?! I’m supposed to have sex with Maria, but I’m thinking about my dead grandfather. What is wrong with me?”

‘Are you alright?

I wasn’t sure what to do, every part of my body was sweating. Suddenly, it came to me, the perfect excuse that would buy me enough time to figure out what was causing my body to act this way.

‘I’m sorry Maria, I need to take a shower, it’s been a long trip. I hope it’s not rude?

– Don’t be silly darling! Actually, it is policy in most brothels to shower before sex. I thought you knew…

‘Oh yes, of course, it must have slipped my mind, how silly of me…

I had no clue about that policy, but I didn’t want to seem like a fool.

‘…while I shower, would you be so kind as to order some refreshments?

‘How do you feel about champagne and strawberries?

‘Perfect!

As I was taking the much needed shower, my body and mind started to relax, my breathing was back to normal and all thoughts of my grandfather seemed to disappear, including some odd memories with him, where we were playing naked hide-and-seek… huh… weird…

In any case, during the shower, I realized that my strange symptoms were a direct result of not respecting the Gentleman’s Code. You see dear reader, a true gentleman never jumps in bed with a woman without getting to know her first, impressing her with his incredible knowledge of the world, inviting her to dance, taking a long walk down a sandy beach in the moonlight etc. I’m sure I don’t need to name all eighty seven activities. The problem was that I didn’t have six months to do all of them, as such, I needed to try and do at least a part of them. I decided to start with getting to know Maria, so I got dressed and went back in the bedroom. I found her sitting in one of the armchairs, looking even lovelier then before.

‘Darling, I thought it was obvious that you didn’t need to get fully dressed again, she said smiling. Unless, of course, you prefer that I undress you…

‘I’m sorry, I realized my grave mistake and I have to do right by you and the Code.

‘What are you talking about? said Maria, rather confused.

‘I can’t have intimate interactions with you like this, not without first finding out more about you, it just wouldn’t be civilized.

‘I see… I don’t want to sound rude by bring this up, but I hope you realize I charge by the hour, regardless of whether we have sex or not.

‘I understand perfectly.

Before sitting down in the second armchair, I pored us each a glass of champagne. After we toasted and drank a bit, I could already feel that things were heading in the right direction.

“Time to start off the night with light conversation.”

‘Now then, what determined you to become a prostitute?

‘Excuse me?

‘Well we’ve established what you do for a living and the logical question following that is finding out what motivated you to pick this line of work.

‘Wow… most people don’t ask me that, you sort of caught me by surprise…

‘I’m sorry, what I mean is, did you always know you wanted to do this or was it more of a, on the spur of the moment, decision?

‘Multiple things led me to this, one of which was inheriting this brothel from my grandmother, Zizi. Another was realizing that I am really good at this sort of work.

I found it weird that both of us would happen to think about our grandparents in the same night. I didn’t say anything though, I didn’t want to make things weird.

‘So it’s sort of a family business.

‘In a way… sure, I guess you could say that.

A quick side note, this is the problem with the American economy, we don’t have enough family run businesses. These are the only ones that will survive the test of time because you have devoted people making sure the business flourishes, ensuring that the same procedures are being followed every time, never trying to change or “improve”, as these, so called, “new age” economists are suggesting. And, if we take this to its logical conclusion, monarchies are, undoubtedly, the future. Just think, centralized power given to a handful of people, deciding everything for everyone, even across empires. That is the way to go my friends, no doubt about it.

In any case, Maria and I talked for about two hours and I completely forgot about all my anxieties. It felt like we were really connecting, almost to the point where I felt dizzy. Well… the four or so champagne bottles I drank might also have had something to do with my dizzy, upbeat attitude. Normally, in the United States, I would have to be twenty one to drink, but the age limit is eighteen in most of Europe. Come to think of it, in Romania there are a few exceptions to that rule. For example, you can drink if: it is your or someone else’s birthday, you have a tooth pain, you can’t fall asleep, you’re constipated, you are eating stake and have a glass of red wine, you’re going to church, you have anxiety problems… Huh… I think Romanians might have a small drinking problem. To be clear, I’m not judging anyone, I’m sure Romanians are under a lot of stress… and stuff…

Anyway, things were going great with me and Maria. It got to the point where I would make eye contact for more the ten seconds without coming across as some sort playboy. At one point, our hands grazed a little and it didn’t feel off-putting at all. It was apparent that we needed to take this to the next level, intense physical contact. I stood up, took Maria by the hand and said:

‘If I am not to straightforward, would you like to dance?

‘Really… we’ve been talking for over two hours and you want to dance?

I was embarrassed, the alcohol must have rendered me incapable of assessing the situation properly.

‘I’m sorry if I have offended you. It is clear to me now that I was presumptuous and clearly we should get to know each other a little better before jumping the gun.

‘Darling, I meant it’s 12:47 A.M., you drank four bottles of champagne and all you want to do talk and dance?

‘Well, we’ve technically also shared food together, but this room does not offer us much else to do. Normally, I would take you horseback riding or for a long walk on a beach, but we can’t do either of those here.

‘I don’t mean that… look, the whole point why men and women come here is to have sex. Hell, if you like taking things so slow, why not just go out with a regular girl? It certainly would be cheaper.

Under normal circumstances, everything Maria said would have made perfect sense. However, my mind became distracted by the “men AND women” part of that phrase, so I started thinking about other things: “Weird, I haven’t seen any male prostitutes so far… wait… does that mean what I think it means? Wow! Okay, what is the correct way to ask someone about this sort of thing? I can’t just ask her to explain what she meant, that would be rude. I have to seem casual, like it’s not that important, while simultaneously letting her know that I am a good listener. Most men probably wouldn’t have picked up on that, so if anything, by asking, it proves just how much I was paying attention.”

At this point, Maria noticed that I wasn’t paying attention to anything she said.

‘Phillip, are you there? Hello…

‘Oh, I must apologize for my rude behavior, I don’t usually act this way, it must be the alcohol and what did you mean by “men and women” before?

Maria was just about to respond when someone knocked on our door.

‘Mistress, are you there? I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have an emergency!

‘You can come in.

As soon as the door opened, the woman whom Maria had placed in charge, during her absence, rushed inside, quite frightened.

‘We have an emergency!

‘What happened?

‘One of our customers has passed out and hit his head! We can’t be sure, but he might be dead!

‘Show me where!

Maria seemed very upset and she rushed toward the door, but just before leaving the room, she turned to me and said:

‘Well?! Aren’t you coming? You said you were studying medicine…

‘No, no, no dear madam! If you recall, I said I was accepted to study medicine. That implies I haven’t studied anything yet.

‘Good enough for me! Come!

As we stood in the lobby of “La Zizi”, staring into the void, I couldn’t help but feel that there was something lost in translation. Nothing made sense, how did we arrive at this point? I could see how someone might misinterpret the meaning of a sentence, but how could anyone think that a gentleman, such as myself, would even consider doing something like that?! It soon became obvious that I had to say something, otherwise this entire evening would get out of hand.

‘Maria, I have to be honest with you about something and I hope my words won’t upset you in any way.

‘Don’t be silly darling, women in my line of work don’t get upset easily.

‘Fantastic! Well, you see… I find it odd that you would assume that either Charles or myself would be interested in… well, you know…

‘Spending the night with one of my girls?

‘Calling a prostitute “mommy”.

Charles started staring at me in the most peculiar way, but I didn’t give him much attention, I continued my train of thought.

‘I’m certain that some men out there might be interested in that sort of thing, but I can assure you, neither of us are like that.

‘Phillip, what in the name of God are you rambling on about?! Have you not heard what she said?! She thinks we are interested in having sex with prostitutes!

‘Aren’t you? Why else would you have come here if not for that? asked Maria.

‘Because we thought it was a hotel, not a whore-house!

Both Maria and Charles seemed upset at this point, so, as any proper gentleman would do, I decided to referee this discussion.

‘Might I interject for a moment? Charles, let’s talk this out.

‘There is nothing to discuss, it was obviously a mistake coming here and now we have to leave.

‘Be reasonable dear boy, think about what Lady Holey Brown would have done in a situation like this.

For those readers who are unfamiliar with the person I am referring to, Lady Brown, Holey was a nineteenth century Welsh duchess, who wrote “The Proper Etiquette When Visiting a Foreign Land – The Gentleman’s Guide”. This masterpiece of a book is one that I highly recommend to all my readers when traveling abroad. In only eighty-six thousand, nine hundred and seventy three pages, Lady Brown manages to cover all the essential customs one has to take into consideration when traveling to Europe, Asia or Africa. She, unfortunately, was killed in a freak golfing accident, having never finished her work. Some claim to have seen her ghost, haunting the field where she died, trying to finish the course so that her spirit can return to writing. If one were to believe such a bold claim, then it means that Lady Brown‘s spirit is trapped in a place far worse than any hell.

In any case, let us continue with our story. Charles realized the grave error which he had made and wanted to make amends.

‘You are right dear friend, I’m sorry for being so rash.

He then turned to Maria and said:

‘Ms. Maria, please accept my apology for the rude behavior which I have exhibited and allow Phillip and myself to further discuss your kind offer.

‘You boys sure take these things seriously. Look, I have other guests who need my attention, so by the time I come back you had better made up your minds or I’ll have to ask you to leave.

‘Thank you!

Maria went upstairs, while Charles and I sat down to further discuss the issue at hand. I took out a cigarette, lit up and presented my argument, like any true gentleman would.

‘I say we need to spend the night here, culturally speaking, it would be rude not to.

‘You make a good point, however, it is unbecoming of a gentleman to sleep in the same room with a woman he has just met, much less have intercourse with her.

Charles made a very good point, as most of my readers would probably agree, but there were other factors to take into consideration.

‘Yes, that is very true, but as you well know, that clause only applies to situations where the gentleman and the lady have met at a social gathering of sorts or when both parties are interested in an intimate relationship and decide to start seeing each other. Need I quote subparts (a) and (b) of this code?

‘Well then, under what category, would you say, our current situation falls in?

‘I can’t be certain, but my best guess would be a business transaction.

‘If, indeed, you are right, then the question we need to ask ourselves is the following: “Is this transaction an acceptable one from the perspective of a gentleman?”

‘Normally, I would say no, however, considering the fact that we are in a foreign country, where this sort of thing is most likely acceptable, then I say yes.

I could tell that Charles was starting to change his mind. Whenever he was in doubt about something, he would straighten his tie.

‘What you say does make sense…

‘And think about the opportunity we have at hand.

‘Sex?

‘NO! I mean… look, we have both read each and every single guide to being a gentleman, correct?

‘Yes…

‘Well?! Have any of them covered this subject?

‘There is “Manners in the Bedroom – The Gentleman’s Guide”.

‘I’m talking about a guide to visiting a brothel. Nothing like this has ever been made. Think about it, we could be pioneers in this field of study.

All of a sudden I could see a change in Charles expression, all the doubt had vanished, being replaced with thrill and excitement.

‘Very well Phillip, I accept this proposal of yours, however, we must agree that what we do here tonight is not for us, but for future generations of gentlemen.

‘Dear boy, I would have it no other way.

Thus we came to the only logical conclusion, and not a moment too late, because by the time Charles and I shook hands on the matter, Maria had come back to hear our decision.

‘Well then boys, what will it be?

Seeing as how it was my idea to remain there for the night, I told Maria the good news.

‘After reviewing all the facts accordingly, both Charles and myself have reached a consensus. We shall spend the night at you wonderful establishment.

‘Aren’t I lucky…

I didn’t quite know what she meant by that, but I didn’t dwell on it too much.

‘…so, I ask you again, would you like for me to call out the girls or would you prefer to be surprised?

‘I think it best to taste the wine before buying the whole bottle, said Charles. Wouldn’t you agree Phillip?

‘I certainly do.

Maria picked up a small bell and rang it a few times. A door, behind the stairs, opened and twenty women came out. I thought that each one was more beautiful than the other. That, in turn, led my mind to wonder about other things:

“Funny expression “each one more beautiful than the other”. Doesn’t make a lot of sense if you think about it. I mean if each one is more beautiful than another, then does that mean that they are all more beautiful than each other or are they all just as beautiful? In which case, why even compare them? However, if there is a quantifiable scale of beauty, and each individual holds a certain position, then why not simply state that? Or, maybe, since beauty is subjective and one can be beautiful, not just on the outside, but also on the inside, then maybe this expression refers to the unquantifiable beauty which a person can express once you get to know them. But wait… if that’s the case, why mention beauty at all? Why not wait until you get a chance to know each individual and then try to come to a conclusion? Unless, of course, you’re talking about the potential that each individual has to be beautiful, both on the inside and on the outside, in which case we’re talking about a sort of Schrödinger’s beauty…”

Before I could reach a conclusion to that idea, Charles interrupted me.

‘So, Phillip, be honest, which do you like the most?

‘I’m honestly not sure anymore…

‘Very well… then I guess I’ll go with the redhead on the right.

‘Excellent choice, said Maria. Diane, escort this fine gentleman upstairs.

As Charles and his lovely companion, Diane, were walking up the stairs, I was still left wondering who I found to be the most attractive lady there. It soon became obvious, I liked Maria most of all.

‘Having trouble deciding? You know, you have the option of picking more than one. Though, I hope you realize, it will be a lot more expensive if that’s the case.

‘Actually, I’ve made up my mind and the one I find most attractive here is you.

Maria started laughing all of sudden. Under normal circumstances, laughter is a good sign, but for some reason, I couldn’t help but feel that I was the punchline of the joke.

‘I’m sorry darling, I didn’t mean to burst into laughter like that. You have very good taste in women, no doubt about it, however I’m not sure you can afford a night with me.

‘What figure are we talking about?

‘Well, considering you want us to spend the whole night together, I would have to say…

Dearest reader,

I know you are curious to find out the price Ms. Maria charged me for the night, however, seeing as I am a true gentleman, it would go against my strict code of conduct if I shared that information with you. I know that you will understand and… don’t look at me that way, you know I’m not doing this because I like keeping things from you… look, put yourself in my situation… Oh wow, repeating everything I say, that is real mature of you… You know what, I felt bad a minute ago, but seeing how childish you are about all of this, I’m not sorry anymore. Have a nice day!

Yours truly,

Phillip

Anyway, Maria and I agreed upon the price and, after she assigned one of her ladies in charge, we went upstairs.

If you would be so gracious, allow me to start off this chapter by saying that there are various rules a gentleman has to respect when interacting with women. These rules differ depending on circumstances. For example, if one were to greet a lady at a formal gathering, said man must bow his head and kiss the hand of the lady, then take a step back, as he is moving his torso in the upright position, and compliment her on the way she is dressed. This simple greeting changes if you are at a masquerade ball, in which case the man must bow, tip his mask, kiss the hand of the lady, then, as he takes a step back and moves his torso in the upright position, he must also tip his mask back to its original position and only then can he compliment the lady on the way she is dressed. It is imperative to remember that women spend hours, days, even weeks preparing to look their best for these events. As such, a man cannot be a gentleman if he does not recognize all the hard work women do to make themselves seem more appealing to us.

Some of my readers might get mixed up when trying to remember all the steps and exact order of a greeting. Threat not, for I will show you an easy way to remember everything you have to know with a simple mathematical formula:

g=[(bh+kh)*tm+(sb+mt)*tm]+cd if g=mb,

where as if g≠mb, then g=[(bh+kh)+(sb+mt)]+cd

g – social gathering

mb – masquerade ball

bh – bow head

kh – kiss hand

sb – step back

mt – move torso

tm – tip mask

cd – compliment dress

Simple, right? All you have to do is remember the above formula and you should be prepared for almost any sort of social gathering where you might have to interact with women. There are, of course, different formulas for when you have to interact with: gentlemen, royalty, children, parents, grandparents, senior citizens, employers, employees, doctors, lawyers, housemaids, butlers, caretakers etc. If you are interested in the full list of formulas, I recommend reading “The Gentleman’s Handbook” by the famous German gentleman, Karl-Peat Müncher.

Now then, having established all of this, here is why this information is relevant to the story.

As Charles and myself walked into La Zizi, we discovered it wasn’t a typical hotel. The lobby of this fine establishment had huge, red carpets covering the wooden floor, leather couches and armchairs were littered all about with small wooden tables and ashtrays placed next to them. The windows were covered by thick, purple drapes, there were paintings of nude women placed on the walls which had cream-colored wallpaper, decorated with blossoming roses. There was a “V” shaped staircase that led to the second floor and a giant crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. From a certain angle, the staircase and chandelier, together, looked like a necklace placed above a woman’s bosom. You can imagine what conclusion, both Charles and myself, came to when seeing all of this.

‘Very interesting architecture and design, said Charles.

‘I must be early Gothic-Renaissance, I added.

‘I detect a hint of Rococo.

‘You might be right dear boy.

As we stood in the middle of the lobby, discussing the fine aesthetics of the room, we saw a woman approaching us. She wore high heels, a long dress – similar to a bustle, but lighter and more revealing – with a mink scarf and pearls around her neck. The red lipstick seemed to contrast her dark hair and blue eyes perfectly. As the cigarette holder touched her lips, the smoke it produced seemed to caress her face and neck. She was a beauty the likes of which I had never seen before and it felt like time had slowed down. I noticed her lips moving in such a way as to form words, but my distorted perception of time made it impossible for me to understand what she was saying. That is, of course, until I realized she wasn’t speaking in English.

‘I’m sorry madam, we don’t speak Romanian, said Charles.

‘Where are you from? she asked.

Seeing as how I was a blubbering mess, unable to voice a single syllable, much less a coherent sentence, Charles decided to speak on behalf of both of us.

‘We are from the United States of America, on vacation in your lovely country.

‘Well then, you lovely boys have picked the perfect place to spend your vacation.

I eventually managed to pull myself together and introduced myself, as a proper gentleman should.

‘My name is Phillip and my friend over here is Charles. What might your name be?

‘I am Maria.

After finding out the name of this eastern Madonna, I followed the correct steps of a formal greeting: bowed my head, kissed her hand, took a step back and moved my torso in the upright position and then complimented Maria on her choice of dress. Surprisingly, she started laughing, a thing which left me bewildered.

‘You are hilarious darling!

Normally, I wouldn’t have known what to make of her remark, but, seeing as how everything was strange in that country, I decided not to dwell on it too much. Also, I have to admit, I was a bit distracted by Maria’s smile, which led to the realization that if we were in a Greek epic poem, Aphrodite herself would have been jealous at her. That, in turn, led to other thoughts: “Well, the Greek gods, in general, were jealous at someone every other day of the week. The Olympians must have been really insecure. Now that I think about it, the gods of every religion are somewhat like that, otherwise they wouldn’t mind who we – simple mortals – worship. Could it be that all gods, not just the ones considered mythological, are nothing more than human constructs, designed to help us cope with our own complex emotions, including, but not limited to, our fear of death… wait… what am I doing?! Focus on Maria, forget all this philosophical crap!”

‘So then, Maria, are you a Ms. or a Mrs.? I asked.

‘Ms., but please, just call me Maria.

Nothing gave me more joy then hearing her say she wasn’t married.

‘You speak English quite well, said Charles.

‘Not just English, I also speak French, German, Turkish, Italian, Spanish and Russian fluently. Being the owner of this establishment, I interact with people from all sorts of places, so it is in my interest to understand what they desire. You would be amazed how much some men appreciate being spoken to in their native tongue.

‘I have no doubt, I said.

Maria smiled again and said:

‘But enough about me, how can I help you gentlemen?

‘Well we were hoping to rent two rooms for the night, replied Charles.

‘The whole night? My, aren’t you two full of energy…

“How does she know I drank all those espressos? My hands stopped shaking half an hour ago.” I thought.

‘…and should I bring out the ladies for you to have your pick, or would you prefer to be surprised?

At this point she had completely lost both of us. I decided to take charge of the conversation.

‘What ladies are you referring to?

‘Come now, no need to be shy, I’m referring to the consorts.

‘Consorts?

‘Lady companions if you prefer.

‘As in…

‘Tonight’s entertainment, call girls, prostitutes, hookers, whores, whatever you want to call them, even “mommy” if you like!

What followed was a long period of silence, during which Charles and myself reflected on the surprising turn of events we found ourselves in.

As we were walking down the streets of Bucharest, marveling at the European architecture, I had a sudden realization, so I turned to Charles and said:

‘My good man, wait a second.

‘What is it?

‘We don’t know where we’re going.

Charles seemed surprised about my statement.

‘What do you mean? Didn’t that waiter tell us to go to Crucea de Piatră Street?

‘Yes, but how do we get there? We don’t know the streets.

‘That’s silly, we just have to ask for directions.

We saw three women passing by, so we decided to ask them if they knew in which direction we should go. They didn’t speak English almost at all, having a vocabulary about as vast as the waiter we spoke to at the café. When I emphasized the name of the street we wanted to go to, all three women seemed shocked and left in a hurry, one of which slapped my face. I tried to apologize if we had offended them somehow, but it didn’t seem to matter, they were gone.

‘What was that all about? I asked.

‘You came across to strong dear boy, you can’t simply approach a woman who doesn’t know you and ask for directions, it is uncivilized. Remember, we are in Europe, the birthplace of the gentleman, these people are not like the brutes back home. Surely they have much higher standards.

What Charles said made a lot of sense. I quickly realized that this was a once in a lifetime chance for me to truly develop my skills as a gentleman, to finally stand on par with my idols. I had been given this chance and I was not going to waste it. For the next hour or so, Charles and I did nothing but try and find the correct way of approaching females – only females – on the street and asking them for directions. It was a challenge, to be sure, having been met every time with disapproval, at best, and slaps across the face, at worst.

‘What is it about our approach that seems to offend women so much? asked Charles. We have tried every possible way of greeting them, but nothing seems to work.

‘I think the problem is that we, as men, might seem threatening to the weaker sex at this particularly late hour.

‘What you say makes sense, plus we don’t speak their language, so that only adds to the problem that we are unknown to them.

‘Precisely, therefor I suggest we ask a man for directions.

‘Quite.

We saw a man walking by and asked him which way we needed to go to reach our destination. He didn’t speak English very well, but understood what we said and told us that it was a bit far to walk on foot, considering we had luggage and suggested we take a taxi. Luck would have it that he himself was a taxi driver, so we decided to take him up on the offer of driving us for, what he considered to be, a reasonable sum of money.

Driving down the streets of Bucharest, I sparked a conversation with our guide, as it is expected of a gentleman to do. For those who don’t know the proper topics of discussion in these types of situations, I recommend reading “Taxi, Bus, Train and General Urban Transportation Discussion Topics – The Gentleman’s Guide”, by the Italian gentleman, H. I. Victorian. This book, having been first published in 1918, is said to be the main reason why The Great War ended. The author, unfortunately, died the next year by stepping on a forgotten land mine. Ironically, he was heading to a peace convention in Spain.

‘Wonderful architecture, I can see why some would compare this city with Paris.

‘You go to Paris before? asked the driver.

‘No my good man, this is our first time abroad.

The driver seemed confused, probably because he had never heard the term “abroad” before. I sometimes forget, when I speak to simpletons, to use simpler words. Before I could explain what I meant, the driver changed the subject, probably embarrassed by his reduced vocabulary.

‘English or Americans?

‘We are citizens of the United States of America, said Charles.

‘Why you come to Romania?

‘We’re on vacation, visiting some relatives of mine.

‘So why you go to Crucea de Piatră?

‘This is a bit embarrassing, I seem to have forgotten my cousin’s address. I also had it written down on piece of paper, but I have misplaced that as well. The fine waiter at the café suggested we go there to find a place to sleep for the night.

The taxi driver looked more confused than ever. His vocabulary must have been far worse reduced then I thought. I didn’t know how I could explain our situation any simpler than that. Fortune would have it that he changed the subject again.

‘You… how you say… have problem talking to women?

‘Oh yes! replied Charles. We tried talking to quite a few of them for about an hour, but all seemed to take offense with our approach. We eventually gave up and decided to ask you where this street was.

‘We don’t mean to insult your women, but they sure like to slap a lot, I added.

All of a sudden, the taxi driver started laughing and said:

‘What you expect? Women different in Romania.

Both Charles and I were relieved to hear those words, it meant that we, as gentleman, had no fault in that situation, it was just a misunderstanding between our cultures.

We eventually arrived at our destination and I have to say, it was not what I had expected. I noticed that none of the hotels and motels had any sort of signs or plaques to indicate what they were. Some had signs, but those just indicated the names of the places, not if they were restaurants, hotels, bars or what-have-you. Also, none of the men and women entering these buildings had any luggage with them. Finally, and I won’t go into too much detail, the women were dressed in a manner that didn’t leave much to the imagination. All these observations, and few others I won’t mention, made sense to Charles and myself later on in the story. At the time however, we just thought it was another cultural difference.

Now, to some, the circumstances that led us to this point might seem amusing, but I assure you, the purpose of this story is, at its core, educational.

In any case, the taxi driver was kind enough to point out all the places where we could spend the night.

‘Go to La Zizi, best for culcat, said the driver.

‘Thank you my good man, I replied.

‘It was very kind of you to bring us here and tell us where to go, added Charles.

After paying the driver a sum that, in all fairness, didn’t seem quite as reasonable as we had initially thought it would be – considering that it was ten-times the sum we paid at the café – we grabbed our luggage and walked toward the entrance of La Zizi.

Allow me to start at the beginning. My name is Phillip, I was born in late January, 1920 in Chicago, Illinois, though my parents, Theodor and Marcelline, were both born and raised in Romania. They emigrated to the U.S. in 1917, after our home got bombed during The Great War. Luck would have it that my entire family had gone to attend a funeral when the bomb fell. Coincidentally, the funeral they were attending was for a cousin who got hit by an auto-vehicle while attempting to outrun the military, who, at the time, were trying to draft him for the war. When they moved to Chicago, my father found work as an accountant, while my mother taught ballet at a school for girls. With two steady incomes, I was brought up in a lovely home and was sent to the best schools money could afford.

Growing up, I realized there were differences between me and other children my age. For one thing, I was the only child who had two working parents during The Great Depression, a minor detail for me at the time, but one which didn’t make me very popular at school. Another source of trouble, when it came to relating with my so called “peers”, was that I was vastly more knowledgeable in all relevant fields and was better looking than they were. Whenever I brought up this obvious fact, they seemed to get upset. That, in turn, led to many unpleasant confrontations, one of which ended with me being tied to a tree. Nevertheless, I was not without a friend, in fact, I had quite a close one, by the name of Charles. He and I became best chums in the 5^th grade. Though we had different interests in life, what with him wanting to become a general surgeon and I wanting to be a pathologist, we saw no reason why this major difference should come between our friendship. Also, there was never any rivalry between us because I liked brunets, while he preferred redheads. There were other differences, I, for instance, was tall, blond, had green eyes and liked to wear dark gray suits, while Charles was medium height, had black hair, blue eyes and wore dark suits with white stripes, a style which I, personally, disliked, but could never tell him because it would not have been polite.

I should probably mention that the reason why I brought up my dear friend Charles is because he, in no small way, made my fantastic experience possible. You see, the year was 1938, both Charles and I had just been accepted to attend The University of Illinois College of Medicine, one of the most prestigious public universities in the country. My parents were both so thrilled when they heard the good news that they sent letters to everyone in our family, informing them about my future career in medicine. As to be expected, in only three to four weeks, we received many letters of congratulations from my family back in Romania, including an invitation to spend two weeks of summer in Bucharest, at a cousin. The proposal interested me, but I didn’t want to make such a journey alone, since I had never left the state by myself, much less the country. When I told Charles about it, he proposed to come with me on vacation, after all, we had no idea when we might have another opportunity like this again. Thus it was decided, we were going to Bucharest, or “Little Paris” as some called it.

I could hardly wait to see my parent’s land of birth, to walk down the beautiful streets of Bucharest and to meet some of my relatives for the first time. There was no doubt in my mind that we would have many interesting conversations in the afternoons, sitting down for tea and cake in one of many fine establishments that Old Town had to offer. I prepared ahead, trying to learn simple sentences in Romanian, a language which my parents never taught me because, at the time, they were sure that the Ottoman Empire would eventually reclaim its former glory, taking back Romania as one of its provinces and forcing everyone to speak their language. So, instead of Romanian, I knew how to speak in Turkish. On the other hand, French was also a vastly spoken language in that region. Unfortunately, my mother, having deep respect for royalty, hated the French for what they did during the revolution, so I was never taught their language either. All of this, however, did not discourage me, since I knew there was one language any civilized country understands, that of the gentleman. I speak in metaphors of course, we don’t actually have a language of our own, but the world would certainly benefit greatly from it if we did.

After a few days of preparations, Charles and I left home to go broaden our view of the world and, hopefully, to have a few interesting stories to tell when we came back. I’ll have to admit though, even with all the incredible technology the 20^th century has graced us with so far, I can’t possibly see how transportation can get any faster. It only took us nine days to reach our destination, eight of which were on a beautiful ship. Quite amazing.

Speaking of ships, I recommend all my readers look-up “Ships, Boats and General Water Related Activities – The Gentleman’s Guide”. It is, in my humble opinion, a fantastic book, written by the great, French gentleman (of the early eighteen hundreds), Sir Numé Invéntates. His book is considered to be the main reason why England and France are allies today. In fact, the English loved his work so much that they graced him with the title of Knight. Numé’s eccentric nature was fascinating to many people. For example, one of the things he enjoyed doing, before drinking tea, was to run nude for about five to ten minutes, depending on how late the tea was being served. Although it might seem strange today, this sort of behavior was perfectly acceptable in France at the time. Unfortunately, in England, it was not, which is why they hanged him for public indecency three hours after he had been knighted. Alas, brilliant men are never understood in their lifetime.

Look at me, going on about others when there is still so much of my story left to tell you. As I was saying earlier, Charles and I arrived in Bucharest, by train on the 10^th of July, 1938. As we exited the train station, I could hardly contain my excitement, as could Charles.

‘Quite a lovely place this is, wouldn’t you say Phillip?

‘Indeed, it has a certain something to it, I just can’t put my finger on it.

‘Well then, perhaps we should go to your cousin, drop off our luggage and go eat somewhere nice.

‘That is quite a reasonable course of action, let me check the address and… oh my… we seem to be in a pickle.

‘A pickle you say? How so?

‘Well, I seem to have misplaced the sheet of paper with my cousin’s address.

‘That is a pickle indeed. Have you checked all of your pockets?

‘I have, I simply must have dropped it somewhere.

‘From Chicago to here there is quite a large distance, I don’t think you can simply retrace your steps my good man.

‘Yes… it would seem so… but, I see no reason to worry, I remember my cousins name and I’m sure I can remember his address once I’ve had something warm to drink and a cigarette to smoke.

‘I never had any worries, after all, it is unbecoming of a gentleman to worry.

‘Quite.

We found a charming café where we ate some delicious cake and drank coffee. By the time I was done smoking my eleventh cigarette and drinking the fifth espresso, my hands we shaking like crazy, but I still had no idea where we were supposed to go.

‘Phillip, have you remembered yet?

‘I’m afraid not and it seems that it is already getting dark outside.

‘Well then, might I suggest we visit a hotel tonight and try to find your cousin tomorrow?

Charles, as always, was sensible about the situation, a very important trait of any gentleman. “It is vital that one thinks clearly at all times and never loses their calm, especially around females” is one of my favorite quotes from “Wolves, Bears and Women – How to Stay Alive When Facing Deadly Predators – The Gentleman’s Guide” by the great English gentleman, Richard Little. His is quite an interesting story, the circumstances surrounding his disappearance being highly disputed even to this day. In his youth, Richard was an avid hunter, going on trips that would last three to four days at a time, but always returning empty handed, with the exception of the occasional butterfly (it is said that his butterfly collection wan unparalleled). On the anniversary of his 55^th birthday he left on, what was supposed to have been, his final hunting trip (at least that is what he wrote in the letter he left for his wife). He was determined to return with a grand trophy or not at all. Nobody has heard or seen of him since, some saying he died, while others stating that he is still out there, shouting and flailing his arms about like a madman, trying to attract curious animals.

Returning to our story, I couldn’t argue with the fine point Charles had made.

‘You make a good point, we have much luggage with us and I’m sure my mind will clear up tomorrow, after I’ve had a good night’s sleep.

‘Yes indeed, shall we be on our way?

We paid for our consumption and asked the waiter where we could find a place to spend the night.

‘Sorry, no speak English good.

‘I see, is there anyone around here who speaks English well? asked Charles.

‘Sorry, no speak English good.

‘Allow me Charles, I’ve written down a few questions and sentences in Romanian, one of which might help us.

I took out my sheet of Romanian sentences and read the following: “Noi vrem să culcăm. Şti unde să mergem?”¹ The waiter smiled, almost seemed like he was blushing, leaned in and said:

‘Da, go to Street Crucea de Piatră.

‘Thank you my good man, I replied. You have been of great help to us and, might I add, your services have been impeccable. I just have one recommendation, you should start learning how to speak Turkish, there is no telling how much longer you have before the Ottomans get here.

The waiter looked at me and said:

‘Sorry, no speak English good.

‘Indeed, we shall be on our way.

If one were to look-up the word “gentleman” in the dictionary, it is likely that the first definition that would come up is the following: “gentleman – a chivalrous, courteous, or honorable man”. This definition, of course, is not wrong in the same way that one could, for example, define Dante Alighieri’s epic poem “Divina Commedia” as a story about a man traveling through Hell, Purgatory and Heaven. Both definitions are, essentially, correct, but they have no flavor, they are vague and give no explanation about the true meaning behind the word(s). Simply put, definitions are, by their very nature, well… simple.

Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem, whatsoever, with the person or persons who just want simple and quaint definitions like these. But if you, the reader, wants to know more about what it means to be a gentleman, then put the dictionary down and keep on reading this story, because I assure you, what I’m about to explain cannot be packed in quaint, short sentences. No my good man, the knowledge I wish to impart on you is that of my own experiences and it must be internalized, it must be felt and, if you read carefully, with an opened and curios mind, then you might one day be so privileged as to say that you truly understand what it means to be a gentleman.

Now, for those few readers who truly understand what I speak of, it will come as no surprise what I’m about to say next. Being a gentleman is not simply a way of behaving in public, it is not a dance we move to when the music starts playing, trying not to step on the toes of our dance partner. Such a simple view of our ways is both degrading and insulting, however, if one were to use a dance analogy, then I would state that being a gentleman is like dancing a never ending tango with multiple partners, including, but not limited to: proper manners, education, honor, duty, chivalry and a great many more. I wish not to bore or insult your intelligence by enumerating every single “dance partner” a gentleman has. You will, no doubt, be able to extrapolate the rest from my story.

To my less educated readers, this tango that I speak of, must sound tiring. Well, I can assure you it is not, at least, not for the person who understands the following fact: being a gentleman is not a choice, it is a way of life. Yes, it is true, some people were brought up this way, while others learned it in time, but the fact remains that all true gentlemen live their lives by a strict code of conduct (if you wish to simplify it, by calling it a “code”). To phrase it differently, one cannot simply behave in the manner of a gentleman, one must be, at all times, a gentleman. Anything less than that falls outside of what I am talking about.

Let’s imagine, for a second, a flower, say a rose. Now, I ask you this: Is a rose that which it is only part of the time? If so, what is it the rest of the time? Of course, a flower is what it is. In that same sense, a gentleman cannot be anything less than that which he is. However, being that which you are does not limit you. For example, a flower can inspire a work of art, it can bring a smile to someone‘s face, and it can have many functions aside from being a flower. Here again, we can draw a comparison. A gentleman can be any number of things: businessman, doctor, lawyer, artist, lover, father, son etc. all of these things can be unique aspects of ours, as individuals, however, we are all, in one regard, the same.

Now, since we have established that people of all sorts can live by our code, then it means that each person has different experiences while conducting themselves as proper gentlemen. Each new experience adds to our code, enhances it if you will. Thus, it stands to reason that when I was faced with an unprecedented experience, I felt obliged to write down everything that happened so that decades, even centuries from now, future gentlemen will know what the proper code is when visiting a brothel.

As I drove down the streets of Bucharest, it felt like I was on autopilot. Nothing made sense in my head, but I knew I had to get away from the gunfire sounds. Soon things started to clear up and I noticed that, Andreea, George and myself were all breathing heavily and cursing fate for this night. After a while, Andreea just started laughing, George was thanking God for being alive and I was just surprised we managed to escape. And even though I still hated the death trap we were in, at least it was useful in our hour of need. I think the fact that it was such an old piece of crap is the reason why it deflected most of the bullets fired at us. More modern cars aren’t built completely from steel, but this one was, which, in a way, made it feel less like an iron maiden, and more like a shield. That, in turn, made me think more about all the times I made quick assumptions about decrepit things, how I thought they were automatically useless, when, in reality, they might have had something unexpected to offer.

Anyway, that wasn’t the time or place to feel bad about how I treated my grandparents, I had bigger concerns at that moment, so I asked Andreea and George:

– So what are we going to do now?

– What do you mean? replied George.

– I mean, where am I going? This car is almost out of gas and we have a few hundred thousand dirty, stolen Euro in the trunk.

– I thought it was obvious, we are going back to Stephan and we’re giving him his money back. Then, when our debt is settled, I’m never going to talk to you ever again.

– It’s not that simple… said Andreea. How are we going to explain why Michael isn’t with us? You think Stephan will believe Michael wasn’t feeling too great, so he simply went home after the heist…

– We could try telling him the truth…

– Right… and Stephan will think we had nothing to do with it, he’s going to cut his losses and let us go…

– It’s not our fault the police showed up. Speaking of which, how the hell did they arrive on the scene so quickly?

I intervened and said:

– Out of all the crazy shit that happened this night, the police showing up too quickly is your problem? What about the van drivers? Unless I’m mistaken, shotguns aren’t standard tools in their line of work!

Andreea seemed pissed off at my remark, but said:

– Okay, I admit, I suspected that at least one of them might have been working for Mathews, I mean it would be naïve to think otherwise…

George seemed very irritated at this point and I was starting to question what else Andreea suspected, but didn’t tell us.

– …but I had to convince Stephan to let us try to pull this off, otherwise we might have been killed right then and there.

George didn’t seem to like Andreeas explanation, but said:

– Okay… fine… you bluffed in order to save our asses, but we still have to decide where we’re going, and since we miraculously managed to survive so far, I say we take our chances and go back to Stephan.

– I agree, we need to square things with him and who knows, he might not even care that Michael was left behind. With all the money we stole he can probably hire an even better thug.

Andreea still seemed to disagree with us, but ultimately gave a nod of approval, which, made things easier for me, since she was still holding a gun and could have forced us go wherever she wanted. Ultimately, I think everyone can agree that while conversations are important, when trying to resolve an issue, it’s unfair when one of the conversationalists is pointing a gun at the opposition.

We arrived back at the fish factory around 4:20 AM and as I turned the car motor off, for a few seconds, it seemed as if there was total silence. This made us all feel, I think, uneasy. It was like the calm before the storm. Just as we were getting out of the car, everything that happened up to this point felt like a dream, but now we were waking up and realizing what we had really done. I couldn’t believe it, but for the first time that night, I was actually starting to panic, like hyperventilating and shit. I couldn’t explain it, why then? George saw me panicking and, like a true friend, slapped me and said:

– Don’t you fucking start now!

At first I thought he was a bit of prick for doing that, but soon my breathing was back to normal and I started contemplating the medical applications of a good slap across the face. “An adjustment of this treatment could help a lot of people”, I thought.

We started walking towards the factory. Andreea to my left, George to the right and me in the middle, triumphant in procuring that which we set out to get. It was like a victory march.

As soon as we entered the building, Stephan greeted us. Dave was standing next to him, looking slightly better than before. There were three other guys with them and they all seemed rather friendly in a weird, you’re-not-getting-out-of-here-alive sort of way.

– Well, well… since you’re back I assume you have my money?

– Yeah, it’s in the car, said George.

Stephan seemed really happy to hear the good news.

– Perfect! Tell Michael to bring it in.

“The moment of truth”, I thought.

– Yeah… about that, we ran into a bit of trouble and…

– What trouble!? asked Stephan, rather upset. Did Michael get shot?

Andreea intervened and said:

– We don’t know what happened to him, we got separated and…

– The police showed up out of nowhere, they started shooting and we had to get away, George quickly explained.

Mr. Lance seemed more upset with every syllable we spoke, so I thought to calm him down a little by saying:

– Michael was a hero, without him we would have never…

– Shut up! said Stephan. Do you fucking imbeciles realize what can happen if the police caught Michael and got him to confess?! He can tell them everything!

The atmosphere was starting to get a bit tense, mostly because Mr. Lance was so furious that half the things he said were curse words and the other half seemed like the ramblings of a madman. If that weren’t bad enough, I noticed Andreea gripping her gun, a gesture which, in turn, made the three unknown men grab their weapons. Deep down, I knew what was about to happen, but I kept hoping Stephan would calm down so we could resolve the situation without bloodshed.

Ultimately, Mr. Lance just looked at us and said:

– I am going to murder you and your entire…

Before he could finish his sentence, the doors of the factory opened and police officers rushed in, surrounding all of us. Most of the mobsters ducked behind whatever cover they could find, while Stephan himself just pulled out his pistol and pointed at us, shouting:

– You mother-fuckers led the police here on purpose didn’t you?!

One of the officers, using a bullhorn, said:

– This is the police, slowly put your guns down and place your hands behind your head.

Stephan didn’t seem to care about the police, he was only looking at us. I was sure he was thinking: “If I go down, I’m taking you guys with me!”. Even when one of his men said: “We’re surrounded, what should we do?”, Stephan didn’t pay him any attention, he seemed contempt to shoot us even if that meant he would also die. In a way, I sort of admired his determination, the same quality which, ironically, his character was most famous for on TV. Well… you know… except that his character just wanted to save the world from pollution.

As I was staring down the barrel of a gun for the fifth time in the last four hours, I realized why I prefer cafés. Nevertheless, I was about to die, so, since it worked before, I started praying again: “If by the good grace of Joe Pesci I get out of here alive, I promise to never again set foot in a bar… unless Andreea and I start seeing each other, in which case I make no promises. Amen!” And wouldn’t you know it, just as I said those wonderful words, I see a dark figure, on four legs, behind Mr. Lance, moving towards us. One of the police officers shouted:

– Remain perfectly still, there’s a bare behind you!

Stephan immediately turned around and saw the massive beast. The bear growled at him, a gesture which, clearly indicated that it was ready to attack. Stephan, instead of slowly moving backwards, away from the beast, he tried to shoot it, but missed. That single mistake, much like this entire night, unleashed a chain reaction. The police opened fire on the mobsters who, obviously, responded in the same way, and all the gunfire noise, in turn, just seemed to piss off the bear even more, so it started mauling Mr. Lance. Andreea, George and myself simply fell to the ground and started crawling out of there. Obviously, there was no point in sticking around.

We managed to escape through the back door that led in the alley. Once outside, we started running, but soon heard someone shouting:

– Police, stop or I’ll shot!

“So close!” was the first thing that popped in my head.

– Turn around slowly.

I glanced at Andreea and George, both of whom seemed just as tired and defeated as I was. It was clear that our luck had ran out, we had to face the consequences of what we had done.

As we turned around, we saw Dave standing in the alley, with a badge in his left hand and a pistol in the right. Nobody said anything for a few seconds, we just stared at each other, until the Dave finally said:

– You are the craziest sons of bitches I have ever seen. Can you grasp how many years I spent undercover, gathering evidence to bust Stephan Lance? Do you even realize how close you three came to destroying everything I’ve been working so hard to achieve?

It was obvious that Dave wasn’t expecting an answer from us, but I still replied with:

– Sorry about all that.

Andreea and George tried to refrain themselves, but inevitably started laughing, shortly followed by Dave and myself. It was strange how quickly everyone just loosened up and started talking, almost like we were all good friends who met up after years and now we were catching up on events.

– I was wondering why the police showed up so quickly during the heist and again here, said George.

– How are the arm and neck? asked Andreea. Hope I didn’t fracture anything, I really had no clue who you really were and…

– It’s okay now, I think my ego suffered more than my body.

– Is Dave even your real name? asked George.

– No, my real name is Adrian.

“Adrian” didn’t sound as cool as “Dave”, but I didn’t want to be the one to tell him that. Instead I asked:

– So… I guess you’ll have to arrest us now?

– Under normal circumstances, I would have to say yes, but since you three, inadvertently, helped me get dirt on the two, most powerful crime syndicates in this country, I will let you go.

We were all very relieved to hear that and thanked Adrian a lot.

– I hope I don’t have to tell you three to stay out of trouble, lay low for a couple of days and most importantly of all, you can’t tell anyone about what happened here tonight.

– You can count on it, said George.

– Perfect, now I have to go back inside, but I’ll have to ask you to give me that gun back, it’s kinda’ important that nobody finds out that you managed to take it from me.

– Oh right, of course, said Andreea and handed Adrian his pistol back.

And so, the night finally ended, we each went back to our homes to rest and try to put all the madness behind us. Well… you know… except for me, who clearly decided to write it all down and try to make millions off of it. I mean hey, put yourself in my shoes, would you turn down such an amazing story idea? Anyway, I’m getting really tired now, since I haven’t slept in the last 48 hours, so let me leave you with one final bear fact: they are dangerous fucking animals and you shouldn’t piss them off.

P.S. – In case you were wondering, the bear that saved our asses, by mauling Mr. Lance, was tranquilized and sent to a reservation.

Goodbye and thank you for reading!

After Stephan finished giving Michael all sorts of instructions, we followed them downstairs and exited the building through a different way then the one we came in. I found myself standing in a parking lot where Dave, just as Stephan told him to, had prepared two cars for us. Now I use the term “car” very loosely here because the objects in front of us, which we were supposed to drive, could only be described as “death traps”. Dave had prepared the two most rundown, beaten, excuses for cars that ever existed in this world. I swear, the doors on those things couldn’t open properly because of the sheer magnitude of rust and dents in them. It felt almost inhumane to even keep those things, much less have someone drive them. I didn’t know if I should get inside one of them or take it out back and put a bullet through it.

– What the hell are these things?! asked George.

– Is this some sort of joke?! added Andreea.

– Dave assures me that both cars work, replied Stephan. This is another way for me to rest easy, knowing you can’t drive off. Well that and I also told Dave not to put in more then seven liters of gas. I doubt you’ll be needing more to get there and back.

– And if we get into trouble and have to make a quick escape, what are we to do then? asked Andreea.

Stephan smiled, leaned in and said:

– Well then, you’d better make sure not to get into any trouble.

With Stephan‘s encouraging words, and having turned off our sense of good judgment, we got inside the cars and drove off to rob some mobsters. Because we had only two guns, Michael holding one of them and George loosing at rock-paper-scissors, George was left having to ride with Michael, while I was riding with Andreea. Now I know what you, the reader, might be thinking at this point: “That’s great news Toni, now you can talk to Andreea alone, you can even ask her out sometime.” Well, as much as I hate to disappoint my readers, that idea never crossed my mind at the time. I was preoccupied with driving a death trap, so, as you can imagine, I was a bit distracted at the time. Besides, it’s not like I could spark a conversation with a joke and then amaze her with my knowledge of bears. The mood wasn’t right for something like that and to be perfectly honest, I was still fearing for my life.

Getting back on track, we arrived at the casino at 3:03 A.M., just as the workers were loading the laundry van with the final bags of money. When the van started moving we tailed it with our car lights turned off. Dangerous, I know, those lights are there for a reason, but Andreea insisted and I wasn’t going to argue with a woman holding a gun, especially one with such a short temper.

The overall tailing was pretty standard… not that I usually tail cars… but you know what I mean. In the movies they make it seem interesting, but in real life you just follow a car around, trying not to give yourself away. That last part was a bit difficult, I’ll admit. It’s hard to go unseen when the vehicle you’re in looks like the unholy offspring of something that once resembled a car and an iron maiden. Now someone might say: “Okay, the car looked like shit, but how did it handle?” That depends on what you expect a car to do. If you expect a car to slow down when you press the break, or the engine not to die out when it miraculously manages to reach it’s top speed of 60 km/h, then no, the car did not handle well.

Don’t worry though, the death trap on wheels ended up being the highlight of this entire fiasco. What? Did you expect everything to go down smooth as silk? Fuck no, I’m not George Clooney and this wasn’t “Oceans 11”. Actually, if I have to compare my experience with that of a movie, I guess I felt like a character from “Snatch”, I had no clue as to what was happening, but I was along for the ride.

After about eight minutes of following this car around it eventually stopped at a red light and I knew what that meant: the heist was on. I pulled up our car in front of the van, while George and Michael stopped behind it, thus preventing it from trying to escape. Before the van driver even knew what was happening, Andreea was pointing her gun at the guy, ordering him to put his hands behind his head. Meanwhile, Michael walked up to the driver, took his car keys and opened the back doors of the van. The guy standing next to the driver seemed pissed off, rather then scared, which should have been a sign of trouble, but we didn’t pay any attention to him at the time. Everything was going according to plan.

While George was delegated with the task of sifting around through the bags of laundry, trying to find where the money was, I started feeling kind of bad about what we were doing. I didn’t mind the stealing money part of the plan, but the driver seemed really scared and I kinda wanted to reassure him that we weren’t going to hurt him or anything. I should probably mention that I took a few courses in psychology in college and so I knew that a person could develop PTSD from a traumatic experience like this. As you can imagine, I felt really shitty about this entire mess. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to voice any of my concerns about the psychological wellbeing of the driver because the guy next to him said this:

– You people have no fucking clue as to what you’re getting yourselves involved in!

– Shut up and keep your hands where I can see them, replied Michael while pointing his gun at the man.

The fact that even a simple laundry van driver was threatening us got me worried that people weren’t considering me intimidating, even dressed up in the bad-ass way that I was. Disconcerting as that was, I noticed George loading up the car with bags of money, so, again, I didn’t give it much thought. We were nearly done.

No sooner then having thought that, seemingly out of nowhere, four police cars showed up. The officers got out and shouted:

– Put your guns down slowly and step away from the van!

“Why is this happening to me?” was my first thought, but then I realized this was a good thing. I could explain to the police what happened, tell them how Stephan threatened us and ask them to put me in a witness protection program. “Hell, if I play my cards right, I might end up co-writing a film with Martin Scorsese. I just have to make sure that bastard doesn’t steal all the attention and glory of my brave deeds.” All I had to do was wait for the police take us in and make sure I was the first one to rat out the rest. If we got lucky, I might even be able to cut a deal for Andreea and George.

There was one problem in my plan: “What if Andreea doesn’t want to turn herself in? She did try to start a gun fight with a bunch of mobsters…” I hoped she could see clearly enough to realize that this was not a fight she could win.

My worries were starting to fade away when I saw that both Andreea and Michael started lowering their guns. It felt like the glimmer of hope, brought on by the dawn of a new day, was finally pushing back the darkness of this despair-filled night… or that would have been the case if fate wasn’t such a wretched bitch.

Before you could say “shattered dreams”, the guy next to the van driver pulls out – from what I can only assume was his ass – a shotgun and starts firing at us. In response, the police start firing at both the van and us. Andreea and Michael, almost immediately, jumped behind the cars and opened fire on the police and the van. George simply fell to the ground and crawled over to my car. Meanwhile, I was just standing in the car, unable to open the stupid door because… you guessed it: that wasn’t really a car, but fucking death trap!

You know how people say that in a near death experience you look back on your life. Well I have to say, with so many bullets flying past me, I think I had a similar experience, except it wasn’t my life flashing before my eyes, but rather, all my regrets. The biggest regret I had was the possibility that I might never get the chance to tell Andreea how hot she was. In what felt like five seconds – though it could have been less – I knew what I had to do, so I rolled down the window and shouted:

– Maybe we should go out sometime!

To which she replied:

– Start the fucking car and get us out of here!

Her response seemed odd at first, but I soon realized she had a point. So even though I am not a religious man, I quickly prayed to Joe Satriani and Jimi Hendrix for the car to start. And wouldn’t you know it, I turned the key and the car started, George and Andreea jumped in and we drove off, respecting the speed limit and all.

Speechless is a poor substitute for how that number affected my state of mind. To say it put a damper in my negotiations would be like saying that your house burning down is making your living arrangements difficult. There was nothing that came to mind as an appropriate response. George was more clear minded then I was, so he responded on my behalf.

– There is no way the damage done to your bar sums up to that figure! Even if you take into consideration the money you loose by closing the place for a few days while you renovate, 300.000 Euro is way to much.

– The cost of renovating that shit-hole doesn’t concern me. What does concern me is the money I was going to launder there and in some other locals I own. Unfortunately, you three decided to start your little revolution in an establishment I own, creating just enough of a ruckus to attract the attention of the police. Normally, something as minor as a police investigation wouldn’t be a problem IF those parasites down at the DNA¹ weren’t looking for an excuse to start investigating me, which, as it happens, you just gave them. So basically, you three have managed to royally fuck me! Now, I don’t mind getting fucked as long as I also get paid. Does that make me a prostitute? Yes, yes it does, but hey, I don’t care what the world thinks of me, I know what a unique little snowflake I am. The bigger issue at hand is that you had your wicked way with me, but have no means of paying me for the service I provided. In short, my question to you is this: Should I have some of my men beat you until they kill you or should I cut out the middle man and do it myself?!

With Stephan‘s fascinating and threatening explanation coming to close, we found ourselves right back were we started, which was me caught in the middle of a very possible shootout between Andreea and Michael if we didn’t reach a consensus soon. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting we should have let those people kill us, but I couldn’t help but feel that everyone was to quick fall back on violence as a solution to there problems. When has violence alone ever solved anything? I decided to step in and try to settle the issue peacefully.

– Stephan, can I call you that?

– No.

“Touchy much?” I thought to myself.

– Mr. Lance, we understand where you’re coming from. We live in a day and age where it’s not easy to manage a business, especially an illegal one. We have all these problems with the economy, we’re currently in a recession, so the only logical conclusion is to fall back on crime. If that weren’t bad enough, now we have all these bureaucrats shouting that we need to find, arrest and prosecute people like you, who, are just trying to keep their business alive. Hell, you can’t even fall back on acting, not the way you look like now anyway…

– Toni, get to the fucking point already! exclaimed George.

– The point, George, if you had let me finish, was that the three of us can pay Mr. Lance back if we put a down payment on this debt and then just continue with a standard, monthly payment plan. I suspect that if we each pay 50 Euros a month…

– Dave, Michael, I change my mind, intervened Stephan. I don’t want to kill fan-boy anymore…

– Oh, thank goodness! I’m glad we finally started seeing eye to eye…

– …I thinks it’s better if we break every bone in his body and then bury him alive somewhere.

Before I could even finish thinking of a clever retort – the closest thing that came to mind was: “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, please, I don’t want to die like this!” – Andreea came up with an alternative solution to our problem.

– What if we pay you back? If we got you your money back, tonight, would that make us even?

At this point, not just Stephan, but everyone in the room seemed curios about what Andreea said.

– How exactly are you going to get me all that money back? You don’t seem that rich to me. I assume you have some friends you can borrow money from or, maybe, you‘re making all of this up so I would lower my guard and then you’ll try to shoot your way out? If that’s the case, it won’t work honey.

– I’m not bullshiting you, we can get you your money back, but first I want to know that we have a deal. We leave here unharmed and you won’t send any more people after us.

Stephan looked at her for a few seconds, it seemed as if he was trying to figure out if Andreea was lying to him or not. I don’t know if he trusted her, but I think curiosity got the better of him.

– Okay then, we have a deal. Michael, lower your gun.

Both Michael and Andreea put their guns away. Up to that point, it felt like someone was slowly sucking away all the oxygen from the room, but now I could finally breathe normally because we had reached a resolution. Andreea had a plan and I was keen to find out what it was.

– So tell me, how are you going to get me my money back? asked Mr. Lance.

Andreea smiled and said:

– We’re going to rob a casino.

And just like that, all the oxygen in the room disappeared again.

– Excuse me? I think I’m getting old, my hearing isn’t what it used to be, for a second it sounded like you want to rob a casino.

– You’ve heard of the “Imperial Palace Casino” right?

– I have…

Stephan seemed more curious then ever.

– Well then, you know that they are running an illegal gambling ring bellow the casino. You can find just about anything there, from dog fights to Russian roulette.

– Yes… but the men running that place are even more dangerous than me. How exactly do you plan on robbing them?

Mr. Lance‘s statement was upsetting, to say the least. I was starting to get worried about my safety in regards to Andreea‘s plan. It didn’t seem to me like we had exhausted every idea, that our only and best plan, at the moment, was to rob people even more dangerous than the ones we owed money to. More to the point, I started having this faint impression that I might have fallen in with a bad crowd. However, regardless of these upsetting thoughts, I felt it best that I let Andreea continue, it would have been very rude of me to presume her plan was dangerous without giving her the benefit of the doubt.

– My plan is very simple, we’re going to rob, at gun point, the car that’s delivering the money from the casino to the owner of, said, fine establishment. I believe the guy who owns that place is Alexander Mathews.

– And you know for a fact that the money is being delivered tonight?

– I know exactly the hour and the place where the money is going to be picked up. I figure all we have to do is follow the car, wait until it stops at a red light or something and that’s when we rob them.

– How could you possibly know all of this? Asked George and Stephan almost in unison.

– I knew a guy who used to deliver the money, he kept bragging to me about it. Unfortunately, he got caught stealing and… well… let’s just say he now has the opportunity to learn how to be ambidextrous.

– Hold on a second, we can’t honestly be considering this right?! said George. I mean the people delivering the money will probably be armed…

– If we take two cars, flank the van on both sides and threaten to shoot the driver and his pall if they move a muscle, then we shouldn’t have any problems, replied Andreea. Besides, I haven’t told you the beauty of the plan yet. The money is being delivered in a laundry van, by employees of the cleaning company. Not one of those guys work for Mathews directly, they’re just there to pick up the laundry from the casino. All they know is that they get a little something extra to keep their mouths shut and drive from point A to point B. Even if those guys have guns, we’re not talking about mobsters here, they‘re just a couple of schmucks.

Now, normally, this is the part where I would make a pun about “dirty money”, but what Andreea said got me thinking about the real problem with this whole mess: “No wonder mobsters are going out of business, on one hand they outsource manpower, and on the other, they aren’t very original with their hide-outs and plans. For a bunch of people who live outside the law, they sure can’t think outside the box.”

– Let’s say, for a moment, that I believe you, that you know when and where the money is going to be picked up, said Stephan. Let’s be even more generous and assume that those two morons, that are with you, will manage not to piss their pants in the middle of the heist…

“Here’s hoping” I immediately thought.

– …you‘re suggesting that I give you at least another gun and two cars so you can pull off this plan of yours. What guarantee do I have that you won’t just run to the police the second I let you go, or worse, you steal the money and run off with it.

Andreea smiled again – a gesture that got me worrying – and said:

– There are two reasons why that won’t happen: 1. We made a deal, and whether you believe me or not, I always keep my end of the bargain; and 2. One of your guys will come with us so you can rest easier, knowing that we will get shot if we try to double-cross you.

Stephan liked that part of the plan, but still seemed to be weighing his options: should he trust us or not? Andreea didn’t wait for him to make up his mind.

– Look, if I’m lying about this, then you’ll just kill us later, rather then sooner and you won’t get any of your money back. On the other hand, if I’m telling you the truth, then you get your money back, with interest, since the illegal gambling ring is where the real profit of the casino is coming from. Right now it’s 2:11 AM and the pick-up is going to be around 3:00 AM. I’m not trying to rush you or anything, but if you want this heist to go down, then this is about the time you say so.

Stephan looked at Andreea for another second, then at us, he seemed like he still wasn’t sure about any of this. Who would be? I was ready to throw-up, regardless of Stephan‘s answer. George didn’t seem to like are options any better than me. Meanwhile, Michael and Dave looked like they were hoping Stephan would say “no” just so they wouldn’t have to deal with us anymore. Ultimately, Stephan said:

– Dave, have two cars, without license plates, ready for them.

– Okay boss… whatever you say…

– Michael, you will escort our new friends and make sure that everything goes well. If any of them give you the slightest impression of trying to go back on our deal, shoot them.

With Stephan‘s consent, all we had to do now was rob some other gangsters… At this point, I was sure nothing could possibly make my day any worse. Oh, what a naive, fucking idiot I was…