When we got to Berlin, I understood why Lucky liked das Stue.  For one thing, the room was gorgeous.  Better still, from her perspective, the hotel had a fine gym with able trainers.  Lucky liked being, and was used to being, pushed when exercising.  She kept herself lean and mean.

Our suite’s bed was a King.  Who doesn’t prefer that?  You have room to move about at night.  And I liked the combination of muted and bright colours in the penthouse suite, as well as the framed photographs.  

My chief complaint when traveling with Lucky, if ignore the danger of it, was her terrifying her staff out of playing Go for money with me.  Why wouldn’t I want to play if she refused to let my opponents collect what I owe them, but insists that they pay what they owe me. Her rules on payment create a gambler’s paradise.  I admit this system is a gambler’s hell if you’re not fortunate enough to be me.  The suite also had a nice terrasse for me to lounge on. I could even hear the screams of the caged animals at the zoo.

Lucky kept her word.  I got a plate of eels and sturgeon sliced into kitty-sized bits for me.  Once I got going on it, she left me with a bodyguard.  She took herself to the Susanne Kaufman Hotel for a rubdown with other fancy services.  Despite it being a breach of custom, she had one of her bodyguards keep an eye on her naked body whilst she was in the spa.  Lucky did not view Berlin as a safe city, especially with Wiredu lurking.

It must have been around 21.00 when Lucky scooped me into a large purse.  In minutes we were heading to the Adlon in a Genesis car that came with the room.  Lucky used somebody I knew carried more weapons than a Secret Serviceman on presidential detail to drive.  A couple of other guys had already installed themselves in the Lobby of the Adlon.

I like the Adlon.  It’s very old school.  If you’re a retired Nazi, perhaps it calls forth many happy memories of drinking to Adolf or the Reich whilst describing your collection of human skin lampshades.  

Lucky walked from the lobby up to the Adlon’s second floor to the Esszimmer.  Walking by the Maitre d’, she went straight to the table where Mr Wiredu was sitting.  

To me it looked as if she had summoned a hat pin out of nothing.  She shoved it into Mr Wiredu’s lower left thigh whilst making small talk.  
“Why, Mohammed, how kind of you to get us a table in the Esszimmer. If only you were going to feel well  enough to stay.  I think that puncture wound on your thing will be most troubling.  Some mean people put poison on their hatpins, don’t they, darling?” as she stroked the crown of my head.  “Please let one of my friends, get you a ride to the hospital.” She snapped her fingers.  A chap that looked like a bigger version of Goliath walked over.  He was dress lie Odd Job.  The giant pulled Mr Wiredu from his chair, and then, I assume, got him a cab to the hospital. Poor Wiredu did look unwell.  His left thigh was leaking blood.  His eyes appeared likely to drop out of their sockets.

Lucky was relaxed about the scene.  When the waiter came, she told him that Mr Wiredu was holding the table for her.  The next thing I knew, I had a nice chunk of lobster sitting in a dish on the floor for me.  “You’ll love it, darling.  The chef here is a genius.  And keep your eyes open.  Soon, my love, we’ll see old friends.”

I’ll confess to irritation when Lucky took the one quail egg for herself rather than giving it to me.  She redeemed herself when I got some mozzarella sticks.  Trust me.  They’re wonderful in the Esszimmer.  Lucky got a bread presentation on hot stones.  Bread isn’t my thing, but then I heard Lucky coo, “Darling, you must try the butter.”  I’m grateful for that guidance to this very day.  This Wonder Woman of butters had chives and flowers in it.  It was god worthy.  I gobbled it up, lest somebody steal it from me.

By now, I should have noticed that Wolverine, Peregrine, and Lord Caligula had entered the room.  Peregrine was walking a wee oddly, as if his bottom was bothering him.  Wolverine was beaming. His Lordship snickered every time Peregrine took a step.  I heard His Lordship sneer, leering joking. “Out of practice from Eton. boy.  Should I order you a rubber doughnut?”  Then I realised Constance was at the table, as I heard her giggle.  When she looked at Peregrine, she assured him “how nice it is to have another lady at the table.”  

When I looked up, I could see Lucky rolling her eyes.  She then stopped rolling them to fix a predatory gaze on Constance and her table.  You’d have thought Lucky was sitting in a hunting blind, not a 2-star Michelin restaurant.  

Nothing ever seems to bother Constance.  After a minute or so, she invited Lucky and me to join her table, promising “Cliggy will pay.”  His Lordship did not smile when he heard that. Lucky drew a waiters attention to tell him what she wanted.  In a jiffy, the waiter had joined our table to Lord Caligula’s table.  Constance looked at Lucky, looked at Peregrine, and then bragged about “How marvellous to have 3 ladies at the table.  Isn’t that right, Peregrine?  Three happy couples: Me and Cliggy, Wolverine and his girl, and you and Crocky.”  

Once Constance starts talking, it’s hard to shut her up.  She thanked Lucky profusely for handling Mr Wiredu.  “I thought I must kill him myself, but Ms Ming skewered his thigh for me.  Such a deft touch you have, Ms Ming. His having the cheek to show his face after kidnapping me from Switzerland set my mind on murder.  You were merciful. Confinement in a hospital rather than a morgue is always what rogues prefer.  Did I mention he took me to a nudist colony?  I must say you, Ms Ming, if I believe what I hear, you’d have liked chewing on his Peego.  Wiredu sausage, it’s a handsome, meaty, ebony beauty.”

Lucky shrugged.  “You musn’t confuse what you lie for what I likem Constance. I prefer pretty-faced men with thick wallets.”   

I was so glad when the waiter brought another bread platter.  Lucky commanded more of the butter, including a separate small bowl of it for me.  

Without waiting, Lucky told His Lordship that she had heard rumours that Munitions Galore was having trouble keeping tabs on its customers.  For example, lots of the Mr Cleaners were being used by small time buyers for assassinations.  Then, some other rumours claimed a very small-fry buyer was planning an attack in a cold climate with Ice-10.  Leaning forward, Lucky whispered to His Lordship, “I dare say you have sold not only to the rich and reasonable but to the rich and stupid.”  

While stroking his chin with his long, long fingers, Lord Caligula spoke, “You’re a worrywart Ms Ming.  Every businessman faces challenges from devious clients.  Don’t suppose I come to Berlin for the sheer pleasure of it.  I know a peace powwow is a necessity.”  

My hair raised when I heard Constance mutter, “Fuck that.” Constance was no peacenik.  

“Pay my lady no mind, Ms Ming.  She is upset that you have prevented her from having Mr Wiredu for dessert.  Did he try to talk you into killing us.”  

Lucky took this to be a reference to the Mr Clean deathbot that had rolled to the door of the Esszimmer where it stood in his Lordships line of sight.  “I’m not on my home turf, Your Lordship.  Imprudent women have abbreviated.  Hence my mechanical bodyguard. We all need one another here.  And don’t look so surprised.  You neither could nor did know my Mr Clean was here because I prefer a model without listening, video bugs, and spyware on it.  Again, I’m a prudent woman.”  As she picked me up, she stroked my chest with her now green fingernails, and added, “Aren’t I, darling.”

The fingernails looked great on my black fur.  Lucky had style.  I was wondering where she had stashed her weapons, as she looked well tailored.

Anyway, with the preliminaries behind them, they turned to eating well whilst scheming a better future for themselves. There was a lot to talk about.