The Resourceful Mr Goldfarb

'Nothing to look at, nothing to see. Move on, move on, please.'

The green uniform must have been saying something like that. Goldfarb didn't 'sprechen sie Deutsch'. Cops said that kind of thing, when stuff happened, didn't they? He was way more polite than Hoboken's Finest would have been, for sure. Goldfarb was sticking around anyway, just to see. Another thing; just one cop. So the ghouls were gathering, natch. Because whatever the Polizei was saying, there was something to see – right there on the sidewalk. On the Kurfurstendamm, within sight of the ruined church. The Blue Church, according to Goldfarb's guidebook.

Sirens wailed. Reinforcements . Two meaty-cops on their meaty-cycles. Noisy German crap. No way as comfortable as a Harley D. A Mercedes paddy wagon laid rubber coming to a stop behind them. A funny thing happened with the crowd; the locals started to drift away, the tourists continued rubber-necking. Goldfarb lit up a Marlboro, bought local: didn't taste the same.

The medicos arrived. Goldfarb waited to see the thing on the sidewalk covered with a blanket. Okay then. It was a long way down from the top of the Mercedes Building, still, you had to make sure.