I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

"I... I don’t know him..."

"Don’t lie," Anna interrupted her. "You were with him just now. I saw you."

Eva hugged her son tighter, not knowing what to say.

Anna tilted her head, studying her. "Do you know what he does?"

Eva shook her head.

"He’s a black marketeer, a smuggler, a profiteer," Anna said. "By rights, people like him should be arrested. But..."

She paused, a knowing smile touching the corners of her mouth. "But he’s very clever, very useful. So for now, we’re not touching him. However, I need someone to help me keep an eye on him—to see what he’s up to, who he’s meeting, and what plans he has. Do you understand what I mean?"

Eva understood.

Anna wanted her to spy on Werner.

"I... I can’t do it..." she said.

"You can," Anna said, taking a step closer. "And you’d better. Otherwise, it would be very easy for me to find out that you attempted to cross the border illegally tonight, which is a serious crime. What would happen to your son? Who would take care of him?"

Eva’s breathing grew ragged.

Anna pulled a slip of paper from her pocket and shoved it into Eva’s hand. "This is my contact information. Once a week, you will report Werner’s movements to me. Remember, every single detail."

With that, she turned and went downstairs, quickly disappearing into the stairwell.

Eva stood frozen to the spot, clutching the slip of paper in her hand. ’I’ve fallen into another trap.’

’I just escaped from the border, thinking I was safe, but now I find myself caught in an even more complex web.’

Outside the window, the sky was growing brighter.

A new day had begun, but for many, it was the darkest day of their lives.

The Berlin Wall was up, not only splitting the city in two but also tearing the fates of countless people to shreds.

And Eva Honer realized in that moment that her life was no longer her own.

She couldn’t leave the protection of Werner, yet she was being forced to spy on him.

She didn’t know what would happen next, nor what she should do.

She only knew that from this day forward, her life would never be the same again.

******************

After leaving Eva, Werner didn’t go back to his own place.

’I won’t be able to sleep now anyway,’ he thought. ’And there are more important things to do—I need to check out the Black Market.’

’I need to see how others are reacting, to get a handle on the new situation.’

The Old Oak Tavern in the Prenzlauer Berg District was a known haunt for black marketeers.

On the surface, the tavern was just an ordinary working-class bar, but a small room in the back was where the black marketeers exchanged information and negotiated deals.

The owner, Fritz, was a war veteran who had lost a leg in the fighting. He barely scraped by running the tavern.

When Werner pushed open the tavern door, quite a few people were already inside.

But unlike the usual lively atmosphere, the mood today was terrifyingly oppressive.

A dozen or so black marketeers were scattered in various corners, their faces grim. No one was talking.

Half-finished beers sat on the tables, and the ashtrays were overflowing with cigarette butts. The air was thick with the mixed smell of cheap tobacco and sweat.

"Werner," Fritz called out, poking his head up from behind the bar and waving him over. "Beer?"

"One, please," Werner said, walking up to the bar and taking a seat.

Fritz poured him a large glass of beer and said in a low voice, "It’s been chaos since this morning. Look at them. Every one of them looks like their parents just died."

Werner scanned the room, recognizing a few familiar faces.

Fatty Wolf sat against the wall, several empty bottles in front of him. Next to him was Helmut, a small-time peddler who specialized in cigarettes from West Germany. He was currently holding his head in his hands, looking like it was the end of the world.

By the window sat Red-bearded Meier, who dealt in jeans and had deep connections with suppliers in West Berlin. He had taken off his glasses and was wiping them with a handkerchief, but his hand wouldn’t stop shaking.

"What’s wrong with everyone?" Werner asked.

"You don’t know yet?" Fritz gave a wry smile. "The wall’s up. The border’s completely sealed. All their supply lines have been cut."

Werner raised his beer and took a sip, saying nothing.

"Helmut has it the worst," Fritz continued. "He just placed a huge order, but now he can’t get in touch with his supplier in the west. His deposit is probably gone for good."

"Red Beard’s not doing much better. He ordered a batch of jeans last week, delivery was scheduled for today. Now the goods can’t get through, and his customers are probably going to give him hell."

Werner nodded and continued to drink.

Just then, Fatty Wolf looked up and saw Werner.

He paused for a moment, then exhaled a cloud of smoke and waved him over. "Werner, come sit."

Werner carried his glass over and sat down opposite Fatty Wolf.

"You’re here early, kid," Fatty Wolf’s voice was a bit hoarse, clear evidence of a sleepless night. "You heard about what happened last night, right?"

"I heard," Werner said. "The border’s sealed."

"Sealed doesn’t even cover it. It’s sealed up tight," Fatty Wolf said, taking a hard drag from his cigarette. "I just came from Bulnauer Street. They’ve stretched barbed wire down the entire street, and they’re adding concrete posts behind it. Looks like they’re planning to cut off East and West Berlin for good."

He paused, then looked at Werner. "That stock you hoarded a while back... it’s worth a fortune now."

Werner didn’t respond, just took a sip of his drink.

"I always said you had a good nose for this stuff, kid." Fatty Wolf chuckled, but the smile was bitter. "Back then, we all laughed at you, said you were crazy for betting all your money on stock. Look at us now. You were the one who saw it coming."

"Just lucky, that’s all," Werner said calmly.

"Luck?" Fatty Wolf shook his head. "Kid, you haven’t made a single wrong move since you got into this business. That last batch of coffee beans, you said the price would go up, and it did. This time, you hoarded stock in advance. If that’s luck, I’d rather just throw my twenty years of experience in the trash."

He flicked the ash from his cigarette. "Honestly, how much is the stock you’re holding worth now?"

"Not much," Werner said. "Enough to last me a while."

"Enough to last you a while is enough to make us envious for a lifetime," Helmut chimed in from the side with a bitter laugh. "Werner, if you’re willing to sell, can you think of us first? After all, we all came up together in this business."

Werner glanced at him and nodded. "We’ll see when the time comes."

"Don’t wait until then!" Helmut said, a little desperate. "If you wait a few more days, we small-timers will all be starving."

"You won’t be the first one to starve," Red-bearded Meier suddenly spoke up. "I hear Krupp still has stock."

The tavern went quiet for a moment.

"Krupp?" Fatty Wolf frowned. "Aren’t his suppliers in West Berlin too? How could he still have stock?"

"That’s just what I heard," Meier said, lowering his voice. "Someone saw Krupp’s men moving goods this morning. Said it was for some big client."

"So he still has inventory?"

"Or he could just be putting up a front," Helmut interjected. "I know Krupp. He’s all about saving face. Even if he’s out of stock, he’ll pretend he has plenty."

"But I heard it’s not like that," said another merchant from the corner, a man named Thomas who dealt in fabrics. "I have a friend who works as a gofer for Krupp. I ran into him this morning, and he told me Krupp has a big client who’s a government official. The guy wanted a batch of coffee beans from Brazil, and Krupp slapped his chest and said it was no problem right on the spot."

"Doesn’t that mean he still has a channel?"

"Not necessarily," Helmut shook his head. "He could’ve just agreed first and planned to figure it out later. After all, that’s a big client, an official. You can’t afford to offend him."

"Well, I heard a different story," Fatty Wolf said, flicking his ash. "Someone said a big client was demanding a delivery this morning, but Krupp couldn’t produce the goods, and the client flew into a rage."

"For real?"

"Who knows," Fatty Wolf shrugged. "Right now, rumors are flying everywhere. It’s impossible to tell what’s true and what’s not."

"But one thing’s for sure," Helmut said. "None of Krupp’s men have shown up today, and that’s not normal. It means something’s definitely wrong over there."

"Trouble doesn’t mean he’s finished," Red-bearded Meier retorted. "Krupp’s been in this business for over twenty years. What kind of storm hasn’t he weathered? The connections and channels he has are more than all of ours combined."

The crowd fell silent.

It was true. Krupp was the kingpin of the Black Market; he hadn’t gotten there for nothing. His network and resources were far beyond what small-time peddlers like them could ever hope to match.

"But then again," Fatty Wolf said, suddenly looking at Werner. "This kid Werner isn’t so simple himself these days, is he?"