"Comrade Otto broke the law and was lawfully tried by the People’s Court. This is a victory for our system," Werner said, his tone as placid as if he were reciting from a textbook. "Comrade Hoffman, what does that have to do with ?"
The response took Hoffman slightly aback.
He had a whole series of taunts prepared, but Werner’s bureaucratic reply completely threw him off his rhythm.
"Cut the crap!" Hoffman, now incensed, began to circle Werner. "You’ve taken over Otto’s ’charity’ business. What a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?"
The crowd of onlookers grew.
East Berlin’s Black Market circle wasn’t large, but everyone knew Hoffman had been expanding rapidly and was challenging the established order.
And while Werner kept a low profile, news of how he had just taken down Otto had already spread throughout the entire underground world.
"Comrade Hoffman," Werner said with a faint smile, his voice quiet but clear enough for the crowd to hear, "if you have any evidence that I’ve broken the law, you’re more than welco to report to the Stasi. Our people’s governnt always welcos public oversight."
He paused, his gaze turning sharp.
"However..." His voice dropped lower, audible only to Hoffman. "I suggest you think carefully. Could *you* withstand an investigation?"
The words struck a nerve with Hoffman.
As a newly ascendant Black Market rchant, many of his dealings were indeed shady.
Hoffman knew perfectly well that while both he and Werner were Black Market rchants, they faced entirely different levels of risk.
Werner’s smuggled coffee and cigarettes were illegal, but at worst, they constituted economic cris.
The chemicals he dealt in, however, if classified as materials endangering national security, would constitute a major political cri. The difference wasn’t between a few months and a few years in prison, but between getting out and not getting out alive.
"Are you threatening ?" Hoffman struggled to remain calm. "Werner, you think you’re invincible just because you’ve cozied up to the Stasi?"
"I never threaten anyone," Werner’s tone was terrifyingly calm. "I am simply stating a fact."
The crowd of onlookers began to whisper.
In East Germany, you didn’t lightly provoke soone with ties to the Stasi. Besides, Werner had just done them a favor and was riding high.
Hoffman felt the fear and scrutiny in the eyes of the crowd, which only made him more furious.
He had intended to display his strength and build his reputation with this confrontation, but Werner’s words had painted him into a corner.
"We’ll see about that!" Hoffman snarled, his earlier arrogance gone. "I’d like to see how long you can keep this up!"
"I’ll be waiting," Werner said with a polite nod before turning and walking away, his stride as steady as if he were out for a stroll.
That evening, Werner sat at his desk, thinking about what had happened during the day.
’Judging by what happened today, Hoffman won’t let this go. I need to investigate him, make preparations. Know your enemy, know yourself, and you’ll never be defeated.’
Just as he was lost in thought, there was a knock on the door. Werner stood and peered through the crack.
It was Eva.
"What is it? It’s so late," Werner asked, opening the door.
Eva wore a dark blue coat, her blonde hair shimring in the moonlight, but her expression was tense.
"Werner, I heard you had a run-in with Hoffman today?" Eva said, stepping inside quickly, her voice laced with worry.
"News travels fast." Werner closed the door and poured Eva a glass of water. "Don’t worry, it was just a clash of egos."
"It’s more than that." Eva sat down, her expression serious, her hands clutching the glass. "I heard so things at the foreign trade shop. Hoffman is asking around about you, saying he’s going to make you pay."
Werner sat down across from her. "And how does he plan to do that?"
"I don’t know about that." Eva took a sip of water to wet her throat. "But there’s sothing more important. I heard from a regular custor—you know, the portly woman who always buys perfu from France—she ntioned offhand that Hoffman has been in contact with soone nad Krupp recently."
’Krupp!’ The na sent a jolt through Werner.
Heinrich Krupp was the kingpin of the East Berlin Black Market. He was in his fifties and controlled more than half of the city’s underground economy.
It was said that even high-ranking Party officials had to give him face. If Hoffman had really managed to connect with him...
"Where did you hear this?" Werner asked, his tone serious.
"The woman said her nephew is a waiter at a high-end restaurant," Eva said, lowering her voice. "A few nights ago, her nephew saw Hoffman eating with an old man in a private room. They seed to be getting along very well. He asked around later and found out the old man was Krupp."
Werner fell silent for a mont.
’If Hoffman really has Krupp’s backing, then I’ll be facing a challenge from the entire Black Market hierarchy.’
’But it also ans my own growth is already a threat to the established order.’
’Looks like I’ll have to move faster,’ Werner calculated. ’Still, if Hoffman gets too impatient, he might just give an opening.’
"Werner," Eva said, looking at him with concern, "maybe you should lay low for a while? I’ve heard this Krupp is a ruthless man. They say even the Stasi gives him face..."
"No." Werner shook his head firmly. "Laying low will only make others think I’m weak and an easy target."
Eva nodded. She was still worried, but she understood his choice.
In this dog-eat-dog world, backing down often ant death.
"So what are you going to do?" Eva asked.
Werner walked to the window, drew back the curtain, and gazed out at the streets of East Berlin. In the distance, factory smokestacks puffed out white smoke, and the occasional rumble of a military truck engine drifted up from the street. The city was calm on the surface, but turbulent undercurrents churned below.
"If Hoffman wants a challenge, then let him co," Werner’s voice sounded exceptionally calm in the darkness. "We’ll see who cos out on top—his powerful backer, or my own skills."
**********************
「Spree River Pier, East Berlin.」
At five in the morning, the pier was shrouded in mist. The steel arms of the cranes looked like the skeletons of ancient behemoths. Dressed in a thick work coat, Werner followed the dock foreman, Richter, his feet treading the wet, slippery flagstones.
"The goods are in Warehouse 3. The usual arrangent," Richter said in a low voice, glancing around.
Werner nodded, handing him a pack of Cal cigarettes.
"Thanks for your hard work, Richter," Werner said as they walked, his mind already running calculations.
In addition to the few long-term warehouses he had through John—where he was hoarding massive amounts of goods to make a fortune after the Berlin Wall went up—he also rented a few temporary warehouses here at the pier.
Goods like today’s shipnt of coffee and perfu, smuggled from West Berlin, were hot commodities that he could move quickly.
This kind of short-term trade didn’t require long-term storage; renting a temporary spot for a few days was enough. It was cheaper and more flexible.
"Heh, working with you is easy," Richter said, taking the cigarettes with a grin. "Not like that Joseph. He has to haggle over every little thing. Drives crazy."
Werner was in a good mood as they walked to Warehouse 3. This shipnt would net him a clean eight hundred Marks, and Eva had already lined up the buyers—several managers from state-run stores who had placed secret orders, planning to "distribute as employee benefits."
He pushed open the warehouse’s iron door, and froze.
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