Issue # 01
PULP: Vienna
The bittersweet End... by John Leake
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The bittersweet End of...
Inspector Andelko Ivanovic stood in the Madame Butterfly Suite of the Hotel Sacher and surveyed the scene‌
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Inspector Andelko Ivanovic stood in the Madame Butterfly Suite of the Hotel Sacher01) and surveyed the scene. That
spaghetti-eating songster was doing well for himself, he thought as he glanced around the 1,700 square foot room, as sumptuously furnished as an Emperor’s quarters. His eyes came to rest on a large oil portrait of a Japanese girl who he took to be Cio-Cio San, the Madame Butterfly of Puccini’s opera. Ivanovic recalled her final resolution “to die with honor.” He’d seen the opera a couple of times, as he often took the security detail at the State Opera. To die with honor. What exactly did that mean? Ivanovic didn’t 01)
Hotel Sacher (Page 66)
know, though he doubted that being poisoned by a strawberry cream cake qualified. The last few minutes of Ludovico Luisi’s life had been as painful and desperate as the most melodramatic scene in any of the operas he’d sung. And yet, up till the moment the first convulsion racked his body, the great baritone had enjoyed an exceptionally charmed life. How strange that Fortuna had given him so much, only to take it all away when he was only forty-six. After taking a final look at the Madame Butterfly Suite, Ivanovic went down to the hotel lounge, sat on a couch, and reviewed his growing file on the case.
The murder had happened the day before, a Tu-
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esday. Ludovico Luisi was in town for several performances of Don Giovanni at the State Opera. At about 14:00, his wife called the reception and said that her husband had become ill after eating a strawberry cream cake sent by a fan. The receptionist called an ambulance and dispatched the hotel doctor to the suite. The doctor arrived and found Maestro Luisi on the verge of death, apparently from poisoning. Chemical analysis of the remaining cake and the contents of his stomach revealed that the cake had indeed been laced with sodium cyanide. The doctor, a handsome man of about forty, had an open, sympathetic face and fine hands with no wedding ring. Though naturally pompous, he could doubtless have a winning bedside manner when it
served him.
Ivanovic reread his in-
terview transcript. “When I arrived at the suite, I saw that Maestro Luisi had the symptoms of acute poisoning. Mrs. Luisi said he had just eaten a large piece of cake. She had also taken a bite, and was also feeling ill, though she was in none of the danger of her husband. His blood pressure was precariously low and did not respond to an epinephrine injection. By the time the paramedics arrived, Ludovico Luisi was dead.” “How is his wife doing?” “Physically stable, but her emotional distress is extreme. I have never seen a woman so overwhelmed with grief. I wish I could have saved her husband’s life.” “Had you ever treated Mr.
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or Mrs. Luisi before?” “With Ludovico Luisi’s frequent engagements at the opera, they have often stayed at the Sacher. He was a robust man, but his wife had a delicate constitution. She sometimes summoned me about minor complaints.” “What sort of complaints?” “Headaches, fatigue, trouble with her digestion. I sensed she had a nervous disposition.” Why, Ivanovic wondered, did so many of the rich and famous have a “nervous disposition?” Must be tough living in grand hotels and having your ass kissed, he thought as he glanced around the Sacher lounge. Since 1873, most of the world’s prominent and powerful had passed through it, though the hotel
is most strongly associated with opera stars. Enrico Caruso, Maria Callas, and Luciano Pavarotti had been frequent guests. The place was legendary for its privacy and discretion, and its management kept the reporters away. To protect the hotel’s reputation, the Vienna police gave a press conference and repeatedly stated that Ludovico Luisi had received the poisoned cake from a person outside of the hotel. The outside person—a young woman carrying a shopping bag from Café Demel—had approached the hotel’s bellhop on the sidewalk in front of the entrance and said (in a foreign accent) that the bag was a delivery for Ludovico Luisi. She was about twenty-five, tall and slender with long red
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hair and pale skin. She was wearing a stylish hat and a large pair of Robert La Roche sunglasses that concealed her eyes and upper face. The bellhop took the bag to the reception, from which it was delivered to the Madame Butterfly Suite. Mrs. Luisi answered the door and said she would give it to her husband. It wasn’t the first time that someone had left a gift for Luisi, though most of his admirers sent things in the mail. According to the mailroom attendant, he had lately been anxious to receive something. Every day he had appeared at the mailroom at delivery time, and if the postman hadn’t yet arrived, he waited. An odd coincidence, Ivanovic thought. At the same time that Luisi is anxiously awaiting a package 02)
Albertina (Page 67)
03)
State Opera (Page 68)
in the mail, he receives a hand-delivered package that kills him. Connection?
Leaving the Hotel Sa-
cher, he walked across the Albertinaplatz, stood on the sidewalk in front of the Albertina Museum02), and looked back at the hotel and the State Opera03). Together they had comprised Ludovico Luisi’s home in Vienna. What a life he’d led—an endless train of luxury, triumph and excitement, every day receiving gifts from adoring fans. Ivanovic wondered if his own girlfriend—a Russian beauty named Christina— was among Luisi’s admirers. He’d once observed her gazing at a photo of the Maestro in a Vienna fashion magazine. Christina seemed to desire everyone and everything,
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which only added to her mysterious charm. If it weren’t for his share of his family’s successful restaurant in Dubrovnik, he never could have afforded her, and even then he struggled. Suddenly he remembered it was her birthday and was horrified by the realization that he’d neither bought her a gift nor reserved a table for dinner. He glanced at his watch: 4:40 P.M.—still enough time to go shopping.
The sun had already set
and the air hanging over Vienna had an autumnal dampness and smell—the perfect atmosphere for a stroll through town. With its numerous pedestrian zones and heavy restrictions on car traffic, the inner city (First District) of Vienna is a walker’s
04)
Burgkino (Page 69)
dream. Ivanovic loved to wander its streets, glancing at monuments and shops, his train of thought never intruded by noise or traffic. From the Albertinaplatz he walked past the austere St. Augustin’s Church, where the hearts of fifty-four Habsburg rulers are still kept in silver urns, and proceeded to the JosefsPlatz, where he stopped in front of the equestrian statue of Emperor Joseph II and looked at the grand apartment building directly across the street— the building where Harry Lime lived in The Third Man, a film noir masterpiece set in bombed out Vienna right after the war. Ivanovic had watched it many times at the Burgkino04), where it still plays every Sunday. On the street between the statue
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and building was where Harry Lime had (according to his accomplices) been fatally struck by a car. In fact his death had been staged. Ivanvovic smiled, thinking about how little the elaborate plots of pulp fiction novels resemble true crimes. He continued past the Spanish Riding School, where snow white Lipizzaner stallions still prance and dance for tourist spectators every day, and then past St. Michael’s Church, where Mozart’s death mask (a tiny face with a giant nose) is on display. Down the Kohlmarkt he walked, glancing into the windows of the designer boutiques, until he came to Café Demel05). Formerly the official confectioner to the Habsburg Court, the pastry shop and café 05)
Café Demel (Page 70)
has retained its imperial splendor, though its aristocratic respectability was blemished in 1977 when its then owner—a charismatic con-man named Udo Proksch—committed insurance fraud and mass murder by blowing up a freighter loaded with a phony uranium enrichment mill in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Ivanovic popped in and looked at the dizzying array of pastries, all made on the premises. The cream cakes looked damn good, and he would have eaten one if he weren’t saving his appetite for dinner. Presented in the pretty Demel pastry box with a ribbon, it would be a charming little gift. All a killer had to do was add a bit of cyanide and presto— what was lovely and delicious became positively deadly.
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From Café Demel
it was a two minute walk to Agent Provocateur06), a cutting edge lingerie shop in the Tuchlauben. “Hello Andie,” said the salesgirl. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying. “What’s wrong Sabine?” She lifted a newspaper from the counter and showed him the front page. Maestro Ludovico Luisi Dead: Poison Suspected read the headline. “I just can’t believe it,” she said. “Who would poison such a wonderful man?” “You knew him?” “Of course! He was our best customer. He bought a gift for his wife almost every week.” “This job will never be the same without him,” said Katharina, another salesgirl whose mascara was also streaked with 06)
Agent Provocateur (Page 71)
07)
The Loos Bar (Page 72)
tears. “Whenever he was here, his happiness filled the room.” “Sometimes he sang to us,” said Sabina. The memory caused both women to cry again.
He needed a drink, so
he left Agent Provocateur and headed for the Loos Bar07)—a marble, onyx, and wood paneled cocktail temple designed by Adolf Loos. Though some of its regular customers are not as cool as they think they are, Ivanovic couldn’t imagine a more stylish place to drink. “Hello Andelko,” said the bartender, a fellow Croatian. “Hello Roberto.” “The usual?” “Indeed.” At 18:00, before the evening crowd, Ivanovic had a table to himself. Roberto served him his
Shot! Michael D端rr Photography (81x140mm)
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favorite drink, a Maker’s Mark Manhattan. Ivanovic had never been to Manhattan before but he’d seen pictures of it. They flashed through his mind as he took the first sip of the cocktail and savored the bourbon.
He pulled out his iPhone
TM
booked a table at Pizza Mari08), and then texted Christina. Happy birthday, Divinity! Dinner at Pizza Mari at 20:00. He pressed the send button and hoped she would be satisfied with the best pizza in Vienna (its fresh ingredients flown in every day from Naples) and not insist on something vastly more expensive.
While waiting for her
reply, he scrolled through some pictures he’d taken
08)
Pizza Mari (Page 73)
,
of the crime scene until he came to close-ups of his most obvious lead. While searching the hotel suite, investigators had noticed Ludovico Luisi’s sports jacket draped over a chair at the dining table. One of its inner pockets contained a postcard. On the front was a reproduction of a Gustav Klimt painting of a nude, redhaired woman, glancing back over her shoulder at the viewer. On the back of the card was written in Italian: I watched your performance. Your immortal voice still resonates in my heart, soul, and loins. Please think of me when you eat this cake. Your, Strawberries & Cream Handwriting and language experts had already analyzed the note and concluded
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that Italian was probably not the writer’s native language. Most notable was the mistaken use of the word lombi. In Italian, lombi (the plural of lombo) strictly refers to the loin cuts of meat, whereas the English word “loins” is also polite usage for “genitals.” That suggested that the author had better knowledge of English than Italian. So the note appeared to have been written by a former lover of Ludovico Luisi who, for some reason, wanted to kill him. Did she resemble the redheaded woman in the Klimt painting? Surely the killer isn’t that reckless, Ivanovic thought. Another clue was an interview that Luisi had given to Vienna’s biggest news and gossip rag the week before his death. Ivanovic
had already studied it; the elegant art deco lamps of the Loos Bar gave him just enough light to read it again. In the interview Maestro Luisi came off as a bon vivant who was determined to piss off everyone in the opera business. On the Vienna State Opera: “A great institution, though we should always remember that it is not the director, but the passionate audience which makes opera in Vienna so special.” On Recording: “I do it strictly for my fans. If it weren’t for them, I would have nothing to do with greedy recording executives.” On Vienna: “The most civilized city in Europe. I love my Viennese fans, and I love cream cakes. I can’t get enough of
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either!” The interview was illustrated with a photograph of Maestro Luisi sitting in Café Demel, about to dig into a cream cake, flashing his famous Don Giovanni grin. At the end of the interview he dropped a bombshell. “To tell you the truth, I’m thinking about quitting opera to pursue my other great passion, which is cooking. Like Rossini in Paris, I’d like to open my own restaurant here in Vienna. Watch out Fabio!” “Are you serious?” asked the interviewer. “As serious as I can be. My manager will probably have a heart attack when he reads this, but not even the pain of death could rival the pain he has been in my ass.” Luisi’s devil may care 09)
Fabios (Page 74)
attitude was admirable, though it had probably earned him a lot of enemies.
Ivanovic’s iPhone
TM
beeped with an incoming message. It was from Christina. Fabio’s! Let it be Fabio’s! Naturally she wanted to go to Fabios09). The sleek and chic Italian restaurant was the place to see and be seen in Vienna, and it charged for the privilege. At least the food is good, Ivanovic thought.
In fact it was fantastic,
though the portions were a bit small for his appetite. “I’m ready for the second half of my risotto,” he said jokingly to the waiter. Christina seemed more interested in the crowd than in her Bistecca alla Fiorentina. After din-
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ner, while she lingered over a glass of wine and looked around, hoping to see a celebrity, Ivanovic asked the waiter if he could speak with the owner. “He’s very busy right now.” “So am I,” Ivanovic said, and flashed his police I.D. A few minutes later he was sitting in Fabio Giacobello’s office. “Did you enjoy your dinner?” the restaurateur asked. “Very much.” “It’s on the house.” “Thanks for offering. I’m not allowed to accept gifts, though my girlfriend, who is celebrating her 27th birthday, is never one to turn them down.” “Very well. Is there anything else I can help you with?” “Just answer a few questions about the late
Ludovico Luisi.” “Okay.” “Did he ever dine here?” “Occasionally.” “Have you ever seen him with a woman who looked like this?” Ivanovic said, and showed him the image of the redheaded woman from the postcard. Fabio laughed. “I’ve heard he had a taste for redheads, but no, I’ve only seen him with his wife.” “Where did you hear he liked redheads?” “Just gossip.” “What other gossip have you heard about him?” “That he liked to spend evenings in the back room at Santo Spirito.” The next morning Ivanovic went flower shopping for Ludovico Luisi’s widow. He had a 13:00 appointment to visit her
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at the Rudolfinum hospital, and he wanted to win her over right off the bat. Making favorable impressions—gaining peoples’ trust—was something he was good at. The essence of his gift was, in a word, duplicity. To succeed in Austria he’d had to get rid of all the characteristics that marked him as a Tschusch—that is, someone from the countries of former Yugoslavia. Sometimes he resented Austrian prejudices against the Balkans, sometimes he understood them. After all, he himself didn’t much care for Bosniaks and Albanians, and he would never forgive the Serbs for shelling Dubrovnik. As he’d assimilated into Austrian society, he’d learned to see both the Austrians and the Croati-
ans as they really are, and not as they see themselves. In his own presentation he could be as Croatian or as Austrian as he pleased. He occasionally played football with a group of fellow ex-pats, and to his teammates, he might as well have just arrived from Dubrovnik. Likewise, at lunch with his fellow cops, he could drink beer and banter in Viennese dialect as though he’d been born and raised in the city. The older he became, the more he felt that he didn’t belong to any nation, culture, or social class. Often his lack of an identity made him lonely, but he understood it was the price of knowledge. He didn’t have the comfort of people who belonged to something, but nor did he have their illusions. Flatter them, stroke their egos, make them feel
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important, and they would completely open up.
Philippines, where she’d been overseeing a project.
To prepare for his inter-
At Blumenkraft10), a tony florist in the fourth district, he asked the salesmen which kind of flowers he should buy for a woman who’d just lost her husband. “I recommend a bouquet of snowdrops. They symbolize consolation and hope.” “Sounds good. What about the vase?” Ivanovic looked around at the vast selection of glassware. “Do you have any made in Venice?” “From Murano to be precise. How about this blue one?” “Looks terrific. How much for the whole shebang?” The salesman calculated the price—way too big-ticket for Ivanovic’s purposes.
view with Mrs. Luisi, he studied a file on her that he’d just received from the Interpol office in Rome. Thirty-four year-old Chiara Luisi was born in Venice. Unlike most of the old merchant families of her city, who had been in a terminal decline for centuries, hers had maintained a modest fortune. In 1996 she graduated from the University of Milan and about a year later she married Ludovico Luisi. By all accounts it was a happy marriage. She was supportive of his opera career, but also kept herself busy as the head of a charity that did development work in poor countries. The day before her husband died, she had returned from the 10)
Blumenkraft (Page 75)
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“I forgot to tell you that I’m a cop, and like all people who do something useful for society, I am poorly paid.” “I’m sorry to hear that” the salesmen replied.
Thankfully Blumen-
kraft was just a few blocks away from the Naschmarkt, the largest open air fruit, vegetable, and flower market in Europe, where Ivanovic knew a Turk with a good flower stand and an unpronounceable name. “Hey Temizkanoglu,” he said, for the first time almost pronouncing it correctly. “Do you have any snowdrops?” “Of course, my friend, for you I have the most beautiful snowdrops in the entire Naschmarkt” he said, and handed Ivanovic a bouquet of gardenias. “Who do you think
you’re bullshitting? These aren’t snowdrops. I ought to arrest you on the spot for consumer fraud.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Inspector. Sometimes I mix up the German and Turkish names.” “So the German name Schneetropfen sounds like the Turkish name for gardenias?” “Exactly.” “What is the Turkish name for gardenia?” Fear spread across Temizkanoglu’s face and he tried to avoid eye contact with Ivanovic. “Well, what is it?” “Gardenya.” “Wow, that’s really confusing. I tell you what Temizi, just make me a very good deal on the gardenias and I’ll let it slide.” Whenever the wealthy of Central and Eastern
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Europe get seriously ill, they go to the Rudolfinum hospital in Vienna. The clinic made international headlines in the autumn of 2004 when it treated the Ukrainian President Viktor Yushchenko for dioxin poisoning. Ivanovic had heard it was a nice place, but he was amazed by how nice it was. It looked more like a tasteful old villa than a modern hospital. According to Signora Luisi’s treating physician, she had ingested a relatively small amount of sodium cyanide—enough to make her sick, but not enough to kill her. She was responding well to treatment and could expect a full recovery. “Her emotional distress is a different story though,” he said. “Please do not say anything that will further upset her.”
The flowers went over well. “Gardenias! My favorite flower.” “I started to get you snowdrops, but somehow I just knew you love gardenias.” “So thoughtful of you.” Though physically weak and emotionally drained, she quickly opened up to Ivanovic and seemed eager to help with his investigation. “It won’t bring back my husband, but I would like to see justice done,” she said in flawless German. He asked her why she spoke it so well. “As a child, I had an Austrian nanny. My father admires the Austrians. He always says they were the last people to run Venice properly.” “That’s funny,” Ivanovic
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replied. “My father always says it was the Venetians, and not the Austrians, who made the Dalmatian coast so beautiful.” It was a rank lie, but he thought it sounded good. After a few minutes of small talk, he asked her to recount what happened on the day her husband died. “I guess it was about 11:00 when the bellhop brought the delivery. Ludovico was out, so I took it. He constantly received gifts, so I didn’t think anything of it.” “Did you look at the contents of the package?” “No. When I saw the Café Demel bag, I just assumed it was some kind of pastry. When Ludovico returned around 13:00, I mentioned it to him.” “Did you see him open it?” “No, I was reading a
book on the couch, though I do remember him saying that it was a strawberry cream cake. A little while later he ordered coffee from room service and ate a big slice of it. He said it was wonderful and that I had to taste it. He came over to the couch and held a forkful to my mouth, which I ate. A few minutes later we both began feeling ill.” Her voice quivered and a tear rolled down her face. “Ludovico suddenly seemed very weak and confused, and I remember he said, “What is this strangeness?” That’s when I called the doctor.” “I’m sorry to upset you with my questions.” “It’s okay,” she sobbed. “I know you’re just doing your job.” He waited a moment for her to regain her composure and then he continued.
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“Fingerprints were found on the cake box, and we need to figure out who left them. Would you mind if I take your fingerprints?” “Not at all,” she said. He pulled an electronic scanner out of his briefcase and took her prints—not without noticing her pretty hands. “Did you have a happy marriage?” he asked. “Very.” “Where did you meet him?” “At a reception hosted by The Friends of La Scala. I joined it while I was at university in Milan because opera is something that well-bred girls are supposed to like, though I always found it boring. Then I saw Ludovico in Le Nozze di Figaro, and I remember thinking it was fun because he seemed to be having fun. His smile when
he sang “Non piu andrai” made me smile, and when he taunted Cherubino I laughed out loud. By the end of the aria I had fallen in love with him, though I concealed it well when I met him at the reception afterwards. He asked me for my number and about a year later we got married.” “Did you ever have a crisis in your marriage?” “Ups and downs, but never a crisis.” “You say he received a lot of gifts. Were you jealous?” “I wasn’t thrilled about his female admirers, but I knew about them before I married him.” “Was he ever unfaithful?” Ivanovic asked, expecting an angry response. “He never gave me any reason to suspect it, though I know a lot of women
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threw themselves at him. I tried not to think about it.” “Did he have enemies?” “He was always sparring with business people, and he had a love-hate relationship with his manager, but most of the time he was only half serious. I can’t imagine why someone in the orchestra would want to kill him.” “Why do you say someone in the orchestra?” Ivanovic asked, genuinely surprised. “Because Ludovico said that someone in the orchestra had sent the cake. Didn’t you find a card?” Ivanovic remembered the words of the doctor. Please say nothing that will further upset her. “No,” he replied. “Did you see one?” “No, but how else could he have known it was from someone in the orchest11)
Santo Spirito (Page 76)
ra?” “I don’t know. Did he mention a name?” “I think he said Donata.”
Santo Spirito11) is a
cozy little wine bar in the Kumpfergasse—a narrow pedestrian alley flanked by some of Vienna’s grandest baroque apartment buildings. Its signature background music—baroque operas and oratorios played at a relatively high volume—gives it an unusually sensuous atmosphere. In the semi-privacy of its back room, Ivanovic sat at a table with its friendly waiter. “The Maestro liked to sit at this table, drink wine, and listen to music,” he said. “Speaking of wine, would you like to try a glass of his favorite?” “Sure, why not?” said Ivanovic. The waiter left
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the room and came back a couple of minutes later with a bottle and two glasses. “Big John is one of Burgenland’s finest and one of my favorites too” he said as he poured the dark, heavy red. “Sometimes after a few glasses of Big John, when it was late and we had the right crowd, Ludovico sang a few arias for us. Such a beautiful and talented man—I can’t believe he’s dead.” Ivanovic raised his glass. “To the memory of Ludovico Luisi.” “And to catching the asshole who killed him,” said the waiter. Ivanovic took a long sip of the wine, which was indeed excellent, and then pulled out a copy of the postcard, which he’d found at the Reisser print shop. “Did you ever see him with
a woman who looked like this?” The waiter looked at the image and smiled. “Same face, though Ludovico’s friend had a much smaller ass. Amazing how much taste in asses has changed since Klimt’s day. She’s from the painting Goldfish, isn’t she?” “Correct. Do you know who she is?” “No.” “How would you describe her?” “She spoke good English, though not with an American or British accent. She had the most beautiful skin I have ever seen—like glowing alabaster. I got the impression she’s from somewhere in the Baltic area.” “Singer, actress, model?” “I’ll be perfectly frank with you—not because you
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are a cop, but because I like you,” the waiter said with a mischievous smile. “I heard she’s a Babylon girl.”
Gossip, Ivanovic thought
as he left Santo Spirito and headed towards Babylon, just two minutes away. There was always plenty of it to go around in Vienna. Austria’s strict privacy laws protected famous men like Luisi from paparazzi, but they didn’t keep people from seeing him and talking about him. Fortunately for Ivanovic, he’d been spotted in Santo Spirito with a girl who resembled the girl in the Klimt painting. Was it the same girl who had delivered the cake to Hotel Sacher? Did she really work at Babylon? It seemed likely that she was a red herring. The
woman who delivered the cake probably knew about Luisi’s relationship with another redhead who resembled a Gustav Klimt muse. It was a clever trick, but in the end it wouldn’t work because other investigators in Austria and Italy were busy interviewing everyone associated with Ludovico Luisi. Only Ivanovic was looking for “Strawberries and Cream.”
Walking down the
Kumpferstraße, his heels clicking on the granite flagstones, he glanced up to his right and saw the illuminated tower of St. Stephen’s Cathedral, soaring over the city. It struck him as odd that Vienna’s greatest church was located only five minutes way from its greatest brothel.
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Babylon12) may be the
greatest cathouse in the entire world. Located in the Coburg Palace (which once belonged to relatives of the British Queen Victoria) its Philippe Starck interior has every kind of luxury and amenity imaginable, including a full kitchen that serves excellent food and wine. Ivanovic sat at a table by himself, eating one of the best meals of his life, watching the lingerie-clad girls float by. They came from all over the world, but especially from central and eastern Europe. Alone among Vienna’s many knocking shops, Babylon is protected from police raids (carried out to enforce various regulations). Somewhere in the city’s murky power structure an unofficial deal had been made: Babylon would
12)
Babylon (Page 77)
stay clean and the police would stay away. Ivanovic figured that flashing his police I.D. would only get him tossed out, and so he decided to stay undercover. “Have you worked here for awhile?” he asked his semi-naked waitress. “About six months,” she answered with a Czech accent. “Do you have a colleague who looks like this?” He showed her the postcard. “I don’t recognize her, but maybe my manager will. I’ll get him for you.” A little later the girl returned with a man who almost could have passed for a bank manager. “You are looking for a particular girl?” he said. “I don’t know her name, but I’ve heard she looks like a woman in a Klimt painting, like this one here,” Ivanovic said, show-
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ing the manager the postcard. “From her face I would say you are looking for Audra.” “Does she work here?” “Not any more, unfortunately. She left over a year ago.” “Any idea where I can find her?” “I’m sorry, I don’t. She was very special and I understand why you have your heart set on her, but if you look around, you may find another girl you like.” “You’re right. As a matter of fact, I like this lady here,” he said, indicating the waitress. “May she join me for dessert?” “Of course!” After dessert and another bottle of red, Ivanovic and his waitress went upstairs to one of Babylon’s splendid rooms, where they had a shower, drank a bottle of cham-
pagne, and fucked like crazed weasels. He then dressed, went downstairs, and settled his bill. Of all the establishment’s nice little touches, he particularly liked the basket of Snickers on the cashier’s desk. After the exertions of the last hour, the chocolate bar was especially tasty and invigorating.
“Sepp is probably the
only honest man in this city” said Niko Arkulin, Vienna’s undisputed redlight boss. “You see how he cooks in front of us, only using fresh and natural ingredients.” Ivanovic glanced at the counter where Sepp Hausberger, owner and chef of Kokoro13), was preparing their lunch. The big Tyrolean, like his restaurant, is about as forthright and unpretentious as they come.
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Kokoro is all about the food, and the food is astonishing.
It was Friday, the day after
Ivanovic’s romp in Babylon, and he felt a lingering post-coital sense of well being. Dreamy images of the pretty Czech girl drifted in and out of his consciousness as he half listened to Arkulin’s brash talk. “I would eat here every day if I had more time,” he continued, “but Sepp never does things in a hurry.” In spite of his tough guy reputation (underscored by his chiseled face and muscular physique) he had taken over the Vienna red-light district mostly through brains and discipline. He maintained good—some might even say cozy—relations with the police who were assigned to regulate him. 13)
Kokoro (Page 78)
14)
Knize (Page 79)
Like Ivanovic, he bore no outward traces of his Croatian ancestry and could speak Viennese dialect or High German like a native. Once, in a rare press interview, he’d boasted of his asceticism (no alcohol or drugs) and high-brow reading habits (Nietzsche and Schopenhauer). Though Ivanovic admired his black Maserati Quattroporte, his sporty girlfriends, and his Knize14) suits, he regarded the man himself as insufferably vain. “Hey Sepp, after being chef in all those grand hotels in Asia, how can you be satisfied with this little place?” he shouted. “Because I am God and that’s enough for me,” Sepp shouted back. Arkulin laughed. “See what I mean about honest!” The jocular banter continued through the first course—
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Sepp’s famous “Pirate Soup,” a distinctly Asian variation of bouillabaisse. Finally, during the main course of Tournedos Rossini, the talk turned to business. “Andelko my boy, what can I do for you?” “Have you ever heard of a high-end girl called Audra, used to work at Babylon, looks like the woman in this picture?” Ivanovic said, showing Arkulin the postcard. He studied it second and then replied, “Have you ever heard of a horse called Better than Honour?” “No.” “Better than Honour is probably the best thoroughbred mare of all time. She just sold for $14 million in the States. Audra is the Better than Honour of call girls. I offered her protection when she
left Babylon, but she chose instead to work for an arrogant twit who calls himself Leo.” “What do you know about him?” “His real name is Reinhard Todt and he’s a medical doctor.” “You’re joking, aren’t you?” “I’m deadly serious,” Arkulin said, and laughed at his own pun. “Dr. Todt specializes in urology and has good social connections. If you’re prominent and have prostate trouble, he’s your man. God only knows how he got into business with Audra. I wanted to encourage him to concentrate on urology, but I’ve been told by your people to leave him alone.” “He’s got friends in my organization as well?” Ivanovic asked. A thoughtful look appeared on Arkulin’s
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face, as though he were trying to decide if he wanted to say something. He then spoke in Croatian. “Like I said, Leo has good connections. I have been strongly advised to stay away from him and his girl unless I want to a lot of trouble. By the way, this is the second time in a week that someone has asked me about him. Just a few days ago some heavyweight shitkickers from Italy showed up at my office. They said they wanted to pay their respects and to ask me one question.” “Which was?” “If I have any business or social contact with Leo. I said no, and they thanked me and left.” “What do you think they’re up to?” “I don’t know, and as long as they respect my interests, I don’t want to 15)
Walter Weiss (Page 80)
know.” “But you have a hunch.” “All I can say is that they were very tough looking.” “Do you know where I can find Audra?” “In the Kirchengasse. I’ll send you her exact address this afternoon.” They finished lunch and Ivanovic insisted on paying the bill. “You really are an angel,” Arkulin said. “This reminds me, the last time I saw you I noticed that your hands were looking a little worse for the wear, so I bought you a gift.” Out of his briefcase he pulled a calf leather manicure kit. “It’s from Walter Weiss15), that old school grooming shop in the Mariahilferstrasse.” “I am not allowed to accept gifts,” Ivanovic said loudly so that Sepp could hear him, “but I will give
Page 32 / PULP: Vienna
it to my girlfriend on your behalf.”
The investigation see-
med to be going well. Just four days after the murder, Ivanovic appeared to be hot on the trail of “Strawberries and Cream.” Using the exact address he got from Arkulin, he found Audra’s police registration. Her real name was Danuta Jogaila, born in Vilnius on October 23, 1983. He entered her building in the Kirchengasse and took the elevator to the top floor, where he found apartment 24. He rang the bell, waited for a couple of minutes, and then rang again. No answer. He looked around and noticed a brass plaque on her neighbor’s entrance. Dr. Reinhard Todt, Doctor of Urology Office Hours: Tues. and Thurs., 9–12 and 14–18
It was Saturday. The clank of the elevator startled Ivanovic and he turned around just as the car dropped out of sight. Down it went to the ground floor where someone got into it and began to ascend. As it headed back up, Ivanovic felt nervous, as though something sinister were approaching. The car halted and the door opened to reveal a man around fifty years old wearing a grey flannel suit. His face had regular features, but there was something cold and expressionless about it. Sitting at his heal, looking very alert, was the largest German shepherd Ivanovic had ever seen. “Are you looking for someone?” he asked. “For a girl named Audra.” “She doesn’t live here anymore.” “Do you know where she
Page 33 / PULP: Vienna
went?” “No.” “Are you a friend or relative?” “Who wants to know?” “Inspector Andelko Ivanovic, police,” he said, and flashed his I.D. “An interesting name for a Vienna cop,” the man said humorlessly. “And what is your name?” “Doctor Reinhard Todt.” “An interesting name for a medical doctor. What is your relation to Audra?” “She was my girlfriend until she moved out five days ago.” The day before Ludovico Luisi was murdered, Ivanovic thought. “In that case I’d like to ask you a few questions about her.” “I don’t have time.” “You’d better find it or I’ll have to take you down to the station.” The German shepherd growled a deep,
menacing snarl as if to say “watch your tone.” “Quiet Wotan,” the doctor said, and the dog was quiet. “What’s this about?” “Murder.” “I see,” he said, showing no surprise.
Two minutes later they
were sitting in Dr. Todt’s office. Like many doctor’s offices in Vienna, it was essentially an apartment with a couple of rooms fitted out with medical equipment. From his desk, where he sat stroking Wotan’s head, he could look out the window for a spectacular view of St. Ulrich church. Hanging on the wall behind him was a large oil painting of a lion hunt gone badly wrong. Men on horseback had killed and wounded a few cats with long spears, but other lions had leaped onto
Page 34 / PULP: Vienna
the horses and were fighting back. None of the men or beasts appeared likely to come out of it alive. Ivanovic looked back at Dr. Todt and got an eerie feeling that he and his dog were sizing him up, looking for weaknesses. He knew that the doctor only had to give the word and the dog would be on him. “Reliable sources have told me that Audra was a call girl who worked under your protection,” Ivanovic said. “Excuse me, Inspector. Didn’t you just see the sign on my door that says Doctor of Urology?” “Let’s cut the crap, doc,” Ivanovic said (in a soft tone to avoid provoking Wotan). “I’m investigating a murder and I frankly don’t care if you’ve been running a little call girl operation on the side. If you cooperate
with me, I’ll make sure that no one investigates your business.” “Very well,” the doctor said. “I met Audra at Babylon and was deeply impressed by her, so I offered to help her arrange a more exclusive clientele.” “So she left Babylon and went to work for you.” “She worked for herself with complete security. Anytime she had a problem, she called me and I sorted it out.” “You and Wotan.” “Fortunately for her associates, I have never had to put Wotan to work.” “What did you get in return?” “None of your business, though I assure you it was her proposal.” “Why did she leave?” “I don’t know. Ten days ago she said she was quitting and getting a new
Page 35 / PULP: Vienna
place where her clients couldn’t find her.” “And you accepted that?” “It’s a free country.” “Have you ever heard of Ludovico Luisi?” Ivanovic asked, watching carefully for the doctor’s reaction. “The opera singer who was recently poisoned?” “Yeah, him. Was he one of Audra’s clients?” “I can’t answer that question.” “You may eventually have to answer it before a judge.” “Until then I will remain silent.” “Do you know any of Audra’s friends?” “I do,” he said, and pulled a mobile phone out of his jacket to look at its address book. “Her best friend is an American girl who works at Babylon. Her name is Jennifer Roberts; her number is 0611 1275 16)
Café Drechsler (Page 81)
1568.” “Thanks.”
Jennifer answered her
phone on the second ring and said she hadn’t heard from Audra in a week. “Is she in some kind of trouble?” “I hope not,” said Ivanovic. “But she’s definitely missing. Have you tried calling her?” “I did a couple of days ago, but her number is no longer active.” “Would you mind discussing this over coffee?” “Where and when?” “Café Drechsler, ten o’clock tomorrow, and please bring a photo of Audra.” Drechsler16) was his favorite place for interviewing the friends of suspects. Formerly a grungy, open-all-night diner with
Page 36 / PULP: Vienna
a heavily alcoholic crowd, even with its recent, genteel renovation, it still has a laid back atmosphere— the opposite of a police interrogation room. Ivanovic strategically selected a booth by the windows overlooking the Naschmarkt, out of earshot of the other visitors. By day Jennifer studied for a business degree at Webster University; by night she worked at Babylon. At Café Drechsler, wearing blue jeans and a sweater, she looked like many young American tourists who pass through Vienna. She’d known Audra for two years. “I met her at Babylon and we’ve stayed friends ever since,” she said. “At first I didn’t understand why she went to work for Dr. Todt. All she told was that he had put together an exclu-
sive clientele. She never mentioned names—she was far too professional for that—but I think it was a very high-paying group.” “Why did she quit if she was making so much money?” “I don’t know. The last time we spoke, she just said she’d had enough and wanted to start a new life.” “Did she ever say anything to you about the opera singer Ludovico Luisi?” No. Why?” “I’m investigating his murder, and— “You don’t think she had something to do with it, do you?” “Per standard procedure, I’m questioning everyone who had contact with him.” “So he was one of Audra’s clients, was he?” “Possibly.” “Whatever, there’s no way
be
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she had anything to do with his death.” Fuck is this frustrating, Ivanovic thought. The search for “Strawberries and Cream” was yielding nothing but dead ends, and he’d be damned if he went back to asking people if they’d seen a girl from a Gustav Klimt painting. “Did you bring a photo of her?” “Yeah, here it is,” Jennifer said, and handed Ivanovic a snapshot of a young woman sitting in a restaurant. Good Lord, he thought. She really is an angel.
After Jennifer left Drechs-
ler, he sat looking at the photograph and contemplating his next move. More and more it appeared that Audra had left the country, and he knew the proper next step was to find her 17)
Delia‘s (Page 82)
parents in Lithuania to see if they’d heard from her. On the other hand, now he had a good photo of her as well as a list of her favorite spots (according to Jennifer). Before going international with his search, he would spend two more days looking for her in Vienna. He glanced at the list: Skopik & Lohn (restaurant) Passage (nightclub) First Floor (cocktail bar) Flex (dance club) Delia’s (café) Duft & Kultur (perfume shop) Mühlbauer (hat shop) Museum of Natural History and decided to start with Delia’s17) because he badly needed another coffee.
Often he had pondered
the irony that in a city of 500 cafes, it was almost
Page 39 / PULP: Vienna
impossible to get a good coffee in Vienna. Though most places serve brown water ranging from dreadful to undrinkable, Delia’s is a notable exception. With its own high-quality roast and well-trained baristas, its coffee is as good as any in Italy, and every cup is served with a strawberry and dollop of whipped cream. Unfortunately, none of Delia’s staff had seen Audra in over a week. Ivanovic knocked down his double-espresso and was about to eat the strawberry and cream when his phone rang.
It was the head of the ho-
micide division. “Hello Ernst.” “Hello Andie. Looks like someone’s been shot in the Kirchengasse, Seventh District. You need to get there and figure out what
happened.” “What do you know so far?” “Not much. A big and pissed off German shepherd has cornered someone in the building’s elevator, and a couple of our guys at the scene think he may be the killer.” “What are they doing?” “They won’t go in because they’re afraid of the dog, so I just dispatched a Cobra unit to deal with it. You need to get there and figure out what’s happened.”
Arriving at Dr. Todt’s
building, Ivanovic found a bunch of cops and cobra (paramilitary) troopers standing around laughing, taking turns peering through the window into the entrance hall, where a dog was barking furiously. He took a turn and saw Wotan going berserk,
Page 40 / PULP: Vienna
biting the elevator door handle, trying to rip it open. “What’s going on here?” he asked, and a patrolman filled him in. “We got a call that a dog is going crazy in this building. Then someone from the top floor called and said that his neighbor— the doctor who owns the dog—had left his office door open. The neighbor looked in and saw the doctor lying on the ground, covered with blood, shot several times in the chest and head. We don’t know who’s in the elevator, but we think it’s the shooter. He’s tried to get out on different floors, but that dog runs up and down with the elevator.” “Are you going to shoot the mutt or wait for him to starve?” “We can’t shoot him. Re-
porters are on their way.” “Right,” Ivanovic said, remembering that Austrians, including the owner of the country’s largest circulation tabloid, love dogs more than children. “So what are you going to do?” “We’re waiting for a tranquilizer dart gun.”
After Wotan was tranqui-
lized, the Cobra troopers surrounded the elevator, and a big Italian came out with his hands on his head. His coat pocket contained a Beretta 9 millimeter pistol with a silencer and empty magazine. Though he refused to talk, it was easy enough to figure out what had happened. After shooting Dr. Todt through the wooden door of his office, the assassin had gotten into the elevator and would have escaped if the doctor hadn’t,
Page 41 / PULP: Vienna
just before he died, managed to open the door and release Wotan. Seeing the elevator descending, the dog had run down the stairs and intercepted it on the ground floor. The assassin would have presumably shot the dog if he hadn’t emptied his magazine through Dr. Todt’s door.
The murder of Dr. Rein-
hard Todt was widely reported, and a day later the editorial offices of newspapers in Austria and Germany received DHL packages of photographs and DVDs. The images showed several Austrian politicians from every party, as well as captains of finance and industry, in bed with a beautiful redheaded girl. “Entire Austrian Establishment Caught in Honey Trap!” screamed the head-
line on every newsstand.
A search of Audra’s apart-
ment revealed a video camera mounted behind a two-way mirror in her bedroom. In police interviews, all of the blackmail victims told the same story. A few weeks earlier, Dr. Todt had told each of them that Audra was quitting, which meant that times would soon get tough for him. He needed donations for his retirement and if he didn’t get them he would be forced to sell “interesting images” to the press. With surprising accuracy he had calculated the maximum amount that each of his victims could pay, and he said that if anyone ever tried to make a move against him, he would— even beyond the grave— take the entire “rotten establishment” down with
Page 42 / PULP: Vienna
him. In other words, he had given someone instructions to deliver the incriminating material in the event of his death.
Following the “Sex Doctor” scandal, as it came to be known in the press, Ivanovic filed a report about Audra, concluding with the statement: “So far the entire investigation of her person strongly indicates that she has left the country.” Interpol took over the search for her, while Ivanovic was tasked with figuring out who was behind the murder of Dr. Todt. Given the trigger man’s absolute silence, it seemed like a hopeless job. “I don’t need to identify him in a fucking lineup!” Niko Arkulin’s voice roared through Ivanovic’s iPhone . “I’m sure he’s one of the guys who visiTM
ted me, and I’ve already told you people that he has ZERO contact with the Vienna milieu. If I were you I’d turn it over to the Carabinieri and let them deal with it.” “But why were you so accommodating?” Ivanovic asked. “You know the rules in this town. Everybody can have their fun so long as there is no violence, and yet you let those spaghettieaters just waltz in and blast a medical doctor in his own office.” “First of all, he was more pimp than doctor. Secondly, I have no desire to get into a pissing contest with the Italian mafia. Finally, last time I checked, it’s YOUR job to police this city, not mine!” Of course Arkulin was right. Besides, it seemed obvious that Dr. Todt’s death was connected with
Page 43 / PULP: Vienna
Ludovico Luisi’s, which brought Ivanovic back to Audra. He could speculate day and night about how they were connected, but the only way to find out was to find her. She had probably left the country, but given the small chance that she was still in Vienna, he quietly resumed his search.
Wednesday night, that
time of the week again to take Christina out to dinner, so Ivanovic booked a table at Audra’s favorite restaurant, Skopik & Lohn18). Located in the downscale but highly atmospheric Second District, it’s one of the great gems of the Vienna restaurant scene. Stylish and elegant without a hint of pretentiousness, it serves exquisite food and wine at reasonable prices. Accordingly it draws a cul18)
Skopik & Lohn (Page 83)
19)
Flex (Page 84)
tivated crowd. “Oh yes, I recognize her,” said the waiter as he looked at the photograph, “but I’ve not— “Seen her in week,” Ivanovic finished his sentence. “Exactly.” “Who is this woman you are looking for?” asked Christina while she picked at her zander filet. “A call girl,” he answered. “Why are you looking for her?” “Because I hear she’s very good.” “Don’t I satisfy you?” she said, for once understanding his irony. “Most of the time, but I’m greedy. I’m sure you understand.”
Thursday night, and
the always popular DJ Hell was scheduled to play at Flex19)—Audra’s favorite dance club, located on the
Page 44 / PULP: Vienna
Danube Canal. Well known all over the world for its live band and DJ program, its high-octane party scene is pumped by the best sound system in Europe. Situated on the quay, far away from any apartments, the bands or DJs could play loud all night without disturbing anyone. Though Ivanovic was a young-looking thirty-six year-old, he still felt long in the tooth as he walked into the bar filled with lithe twenty-somethings. He ordered a beer and showed the bartender Audra’s picture. “I recognize her but I haven’t seen her in over a week,” he said. Ivanovic drank his beer and then entered the packed dance hall and threaded his way through the undulating crowd, looking for the tall and slender redhead with
glowing alabaster skin. He didn’t see her. Leaving Flex, he continued searching for her in the crowd waiting to get in, and accidentally bumped into someone. “Watch where you’re going, dipshit,” a big boy in his early twenties said in Serbian. His friends standing next to him in line laughed. Ivanovic glared at them. “Yeah, and what are you going to do?” the big boy said in German. “You Tschuschen puppies better watch yourselves unless you want me to wring your fucking necks and throw you into the canal,” Ivanovic answered. They were obviously drunk, and their aggressive posture was more youthful bravado than real menace. The big boy
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started to make a move, but Ivanovic stopped him dead in his tracks with a punch to the throat. Down he went onto the concrete, while his two friends stared in shocked silence. They seemed all the more surprised when he spoke to them in Serbo-Croatian. “You Serbian pigs ever fuck with me again and I’ll kill you.” I must be really frustrated he thought as he walked up the Danube Canal, the stately Vienna Police headquarters looming above him on his left. Wooooosh-BOOM the sound of artillery shells coming down and exploding on old town Dubrovnik. “The city has no strategic value and they know it!” his father’s best friend screamed. “They have no
reason for doing this!” “I’m sure they have their reasons. Such assholes always do,” his father said.
Ivanovic awoke from
the recurring dream and glanced around his bedroom to reorient himself. The clock said 7:20—early enough to lie in bed for a few minutes and meditate. For a long time he hadn’t understood exactly what his father had meant, but after becoming a cop in Vienna, he figured it out. Most people believe they have reasons for committing crimes, even if the crimes seem foolish and bloody-minded to everyone else. He’d had his reasons for punching the big Serbian boy, but they didn’t justify the assault. Not that he’d lost any sleep over it… Setting aside sexual offen-
Page 46 / PULP: Vienna
ders and child abusers, he rarely felt any personal antagonism towards the criminals he investigated. Sometimes he figured he would have done the same in similar circumstances. But that in no way changed his conviction that civilization cannot exist without laws, and that laws have no effect unless they are enforced, regardless of the circumstances. “We must make it to Austria,” his mom had said after an artillery shell exploded on their house and killed his father and younger brother. “In Austria we will be safe.” And so they had taken a European Community relief ship from Dubrovnik to Trieste and from there a train to Vienna, where they had been granted asylum. His mom was right; in Austria they were safe.
Though he sometimes found the people narrowminded and grumpy, he could only admire their extraordinary talent for creating order. Crime was rare, even in their relatively poor neighborhood. In December 1993, exactly two years after they arrived, he read in the newspapers about a Catholic priest named August Janisch—a tireless helper of refugees to Austria— who had been badly injured by an anonymous letter bomber. In the days and months that followed, many public persons, including the Mayor of Vienna, were severely wounded by letter bombs from the same technically gifted terrorist. In September 1994 the terrorist sent a normal letter to a former Slovenian foreign minister, stating that his
Page 47 / PULP: Vienna
bombing campaign was aimed at foreigners and the Austrians who helped them. He had his reasons for blowing the hands off or killing people he’d never met, even if only he understood them. More letter bombs and improvised explosive devices followed. Why can’t they catch the nut? Ivanovic had wondered. He read everything he could find about the case and realized that the Austrian Federal Police were doing everything imaginable to track down the cunning and ruthless criminal. The more he learned about their work, the more fascinated he became by it, and at the end of 1995 he resolved to become a cop.
His mobile phone rang,
piercing the silence of his bedroom. It was the head of the homicide depart-
ment. “Morning, Ernst. What you have got for me today?” “You’re going to love it. The computer guys just found an audio file on Dr. Todt’s computer, and guess what—it’s a recording of a conversation he had with Ludovico Luisi.” “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” It appeared that Dr. Todt had secretly recorded the conversation in his office, probably because he expected Luisi to respond with threats, which would be useful to have on tape. Dr. Todt opened the conversation in a polite, matter of fact way. “Signor Luisi, I don’t know if Audra has told you that she intends to quit her job.” “No, she hasn’t told
Page 48 / PULP: Vienna
me. What can I say? I will miss her very much.” “I will miss her too, partly for selfish reasons of course. Now that she’s quitting, I will have to go back to living on my income as a doctor.” “I’m sorry to hear that.” “I had rather hoped to retire early from medicine. Maybe you would be willing to contribute a million Euros to my early retirement.” “Excuse me?” “Please direct your attention to the television and bear in mind that I have multiple copies of the recording you are about to watch.” A few seconds later the distinct sounds of sex could be heard, and then Luisi’s baritone voice, rising above Audra’s moaning, “Oh my strawberries and cream, I can’t
get enough of you. In a thousand years I could never get enough of you.” A few seconds of silence, and then Luisi cursing in Italian, and then Wotan barking. “Quiet Wotan!” Dr. Todt yelled. “Please don’t take this personally, Signor Luisi. It’s just business.” “No, it’s not just business you miserable fucking pervert. How dare you!” “For money. Pay me a million and you’ll have nothing to worry about.” “I’m not the one who has something to worry about. You clearly have no idea who you’re fucking with. Mark my words, by the time I am finished with you, you will curse the day you left your urine samples and got into this business.” “Your anger is senseless. Unless you pay
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Page 50 / PULP: Vienna
me, copies of that DVD will be delivered to major newspapers and to your wife, even if I die. You could kill me right now and they would still be delivered.” “Then go ahead and deliver them. None of my fans and colleagues will hold it against me, and my wife will get over it. You, on the other hand, will NEVER recover from the pain I am going to inflict on you.” “Be reasonable, Signor Luisi, and think of your wife’s feelings. She has always been faithful and supportive. While you have never cared for anything other than your pleasure, she has spent years doing charity work, helping the poor children of this world. She has always wanted a child of her own, hasn’t she? You
couldn’t be bothered to give her that joy, but now, for a fraction of your net worth, you can at least spare her this pain.” “Dr. Todt, you are a dead man,” Luisi said, and the recording ended. “Bravo Maestro!” Ivanovic exclaimed. “At least one of that fucker’s victims had some backbone.” “I wonder why the doc was such a snake,” Geyer said. “Seems like he had it out for everyone.” “Because he loved the girl,” Ivanovic said. “Seeing her with all of those other men turned him into a monster.” So Ludovico Luisi was behind the murder of Dr. Todt. Was Dr. Todt behind the murder of Ludovico Luisi? One could
Page 51 / PULP: Vienna
imagine him paying Audra a fortune to deliver the poisoned cake to Luisi. She could have then fled to some banana republic with millions of Euros in an offshore bank account. Alternatively, Todt might have gotten a different redhead to deliver the cake so that the police would think it was Audra. Ivanovic looked at her photo for the hundredth time that day. Maybe the bellhop at Sacher will recognize her. “I’m sorry, Inspector,” the bellhop said. “I can’t say for sure if it’s the same girl. Like I said, the girl who handed me the package was wearing big sunglasses and a hat.” Shit, shit, shit. “That’s okay, I understand,” Ivanovic said. “Caution is better than a false identification.” She was wearing a 20)
Mühlbauer (Page 85)
21)
Schuppich (Page 86)
hat.
“Audra’s crazy about
Mühlbauer20) hats,” Jennifer had said. The handmade hat shop which has recently taken the international fashionista world by storm is only a few blocks away from the Hotel Sacher. “Of course I know Audra,” said the salesman. “No one on the planet looks more adorable in our hats than she, but I’ve not seen her for well over a week.” Leaving Mühlbauer, Ivanovic resolved to hit every other place on Jennifer’s list by midnight.
He started with lunch at
Schuppich21), a wonderful Triestine restaurant known for its Adriatic fish specialties. As Jennifer had explained, “Audra was re-
Page 52 / PULP: Vienna
ally into weird little fish dishes, I guess from growing up near the Baltic Sea.” No luck.
He left the fishy smell of
Schuppich and headed to the scent emporium Duft & Kultur22), which has every perfume, room fragrance, and scented candle known to man. No.
Time for another coffee, so he headed to Palmenhaus23), a magnificent café in the former Imperial palm house. No.
On to Elfenkleid
, a boutique with some of the most unusual and enchanting dresses Ivanovic had ever seen. He imagined Audra in one of them, like some exquisite fairy. No. 24)
To Babette’s25), a spice and
“Yes, she was here just yesterday buying some Ajwain,” the saleswoman said. “I almost didn’t recognize her because she’d cut her hair short and dyed it black. Such a pity—she had the most beautiful strawberry colored hair.” “Did she mention anything about having a new place?” “No.” “Did she say what she’s up to these days?” “Cooking fish amritsari.”
Not exactly what he wan-
ted to hear, but at least he’d established that she was still in Vienna.
That night he tried the
First Floor26)—a groovy cocktail bar with a huge aquarium behind the rows of bottles. No dice.
cookbook shop. Bingo. 22)
Duft & Kultur (Page 87)
23)
Palmenhaus (Page 88)
24)
Elfenkleid (Page 89)
25)
Babette‘s (Page 90)
26)
First Floor (Page 91)
Page 53 / PULP: Vienna
He ended the evening at
Passage , a cool nightclub located in an underground passage that formerly connected the Imperial Palace to the Art History Museum. “I haven’t seen that doll in a long time,” said the bartender. “I wish she’d come back.” 27)
The Natural History Museum28) was the last on his list because of all of the places that Jennifer had mentioned it struck him as the least likely to yield a positive result. Why would a call girl be interested in the magnificent temple of 19th century taxidermy?
At 11:00 on Sunday—twel-
ve days after the murder of Ludovico Luisi—he entered the gigantic building and wandered the seemingly endless exhibit halls. In
27)
Passage (Page 92)
28)
Naturhistorisches Museum (Page 93)
the Dinosaur Hall, staring at a clutch of fossilized dinosaur eggs was a tall and slender girl with a Louise Brooks haircut wearing an extraordinary dress and a small beautiful hat. Ivanovic silently approached her from behind and said “strawberries and cream.” She turned around, a look of surprise (and perhaps sadness) on her face. “Do I know you?” she said. “No, but I know you. Danuta Jogaila, correct?” “Yes.” “You’re under arrest.”
At headquarters he in-
terrogated her for an hour and then drafted everything she said into a unified statement. Ludovico Luisi was one of my best clients. Whenever he was in town for the opera, he visited me at my
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apartment or we met at the Hotel Orient29). I found him very attractive and I liked him a lot. It was during his most recent stay in Vienna that I decided to quit working as a call girl and to leave Dr. Todt. Dr. Todt was a great manager, but he had a big problem that ultimately ruined our relationship. Shortly after I left Babylon to work for him, he started having trouble with impotence. It got steadily worse, so that he could no longer sleep with me or anyone else. He told me he thought it was very cruel. For the first time in his life as a bachelor he had real money, but he couldn’t enjoy it. Ultimately he became so bitter about it that I could no longer stand to be around him. Shortly after Ludovico Luisi arrived in Vienna 29)
Hotel Orient (Page 94)
to play Don Giovanni, we met at the Hotel Orient and he gave me a ticket for one of the productions. I’d been to the opera a few times with clients and had always been bored by it, but I was really gripped by his performance. During the intermission I overheard people talking about him, and I remember one guy describing him as “a demonic natural talent.” The next morning I told Dr. Todt that I wanted to quit and find a new place. He was very calm and he seemed to accept it. A couple of days later I found a place in the Ninth District and moved out of the Kirchengasse, but because I had already paid the rent for November, I didn’t move all of my stuff immediately. When I read Luisi’s magazine interview and
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saw what he said about cream cakes, I decided to send him one. Right after I bought the cake at Demel, I remembered that I’d left my stationary at my old apartment, so I went straight there to get it. I wrote the card on my old desk and signed it “Strawberries and Cream” because it’s what Luisi always called me. That’s when I got the idea of adding strawberries. I went to the Naschmarkt because it’s the only place at this time of the year that has really sweet ones. I then went back to the apartment, grabbed the rest of my stuff, and left. The next morning I gave the cake to the Sacher bellhop, and the day after I read in the newspaper that Ludovico Luisi had been poisoned. I will swear under oath that I did not put
cyanide in the cake. After I learned of Luisi’s death, I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing—I neither went to the police nor did I try to run away. I changed my hair because I didn’t want to be recognized as the girl from the Sex Doctor scandal. After reviewing the statement with Audra, Ivanovic asked some follow-up questions. “You say you had the cream cake with you when you went to your old apartment to fetch your stationary?” “Yes.” “And you left it in the apartment while you went to the Naschmarkt to buy strawberries.” “Yes.” “Did anyone in your old building see you when you fetched your stationary?”
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“Yes, the building manager was cleaning the entrance hall when I arrived. She was surprised to see me because she’d thought I’d already moved out.” “Did she also see you going out and coming back from the Naschmarkt?” “Yes, I told her where I was going and asked her if she needed anything. She asked me to get her some lemongrass, which I did.” “Why didn’t you go to the police when you saw that Luisi had been poisoned?” “I told you, because I was afraid.” “Of what?” “That you wouldn’t believe me. I mean, how did cyanide get into the cake?” Ivanovic smiled. “You really have no idea?” “No.” You are either very clever, very dumb, or very inno-
cent, he thought. “Thank you Ms. Jogaila. That’s enough for today.” After the interrogation he went back to the Kirchengasse and confirmed Audra’s story with the house manager, who even remembered her carrying a Café Demel bag. Was it a bizarre stroke of luck or a brilliantly constructed alibi? He couldn’t say, but he knew that any defense attorney would persuasively argue that the cream cake had been out of Audra’s custody and accessible to Dr. Todt for almost an hour. He glanced at his watch: 17:40—too late to make anything happen at the DA’s office, which meant she would have to spend the night in jail. Poor little thing.
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Returning to his apart-
ment in the Servitengasse, he put on an Art Tatum record, popped his favorite beer (Stiegl, brewed in Salzburg) and went through the morning’s post, which included something from The Figaro Foundation. What the fuck is the Figaro Foundation? Suddenly he remembered calling Signora Luisi’s charity in Milan and requesting information about it. Judging by its brochure, it was an impressive outfit, with offices in Columbia, Nepal, Kenya, and the Philippines. It was strange to think of Signora Luisi going so deep into third world squalor while her husband traipsed around Europe bedding beautiful women. The foundation had just published its most recent newsletter, which
included a feature on its projects in the Philippines. A headline caught Ivanovic’s eye: “Poisoned Reefs: Poverty, Greed, and Ecological Tragedy” Connoisseurs of reef fish in Hong Hong’s luxury sushi bars say that the sweetest fish comes from the magnificent coral reefs of the Philippines. Because catching them with hook and line is difficult and time-consuming, the greedy overlords of the trade have supplied local fisherman with a far more efficient method: CYANIDE POISONING. The story was illustrated with photos of fishermen popping sodium cyanide tablets into plastic water bottles, diving on the shallow reefs, and squirting
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the solution into the faces of a fish hiding among the coral. Though most of the fish were merely stunned, the far more sensitive coral was being wiped out at an alarming rate. The feature continued: To stop this wanton destruction of natural resources, the Figaro Foundation is tackling poverty in the Philippines and encouraging local law enforcement agencies to clamp down on cyanide fishing. Another photo illustration showed a fisherman holding a large white tablet in the palm of his hand. The woman standing to his right was Chiara Luisi. Figaro Foundation head Chiara Luisi on the cyanide trail, read the caption.
Mrs. Luisi had fully re30)
Style Hotel (Page 95)
covered from her cyanide poisoning and checked out of the Rudolfinum, though she was still in Vienna, awaiting the release of her husband’s body from the coroner. Ivanovic found her at the Style Hotel30), a modern and trendy place that starkly contrasted with the Hotel Sacher. She agreed to talk with him in her room. “So good to see you again, Inspector” she said. Vitality had returned to her face, and she looked terrific in a light blue dress. “I brought you flowers,” he said, and handed her a bouquet of yellow hyacinths. “Thank you, they’re beautiful,” she said, pretending to miss the symbolism. “I bought something else that I want to show you,” he said, and showed her a crystal figurine of an owl.
Welcome to the hottest place in winter Berlinale (125x184mm)
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“Every time I solve a case, I buy one of these little Swarovski animals for myself.” “Did you say solve the case?” “I did.” “Who did it?” “You.” A look of genuine shock appeared on her face. “Dear God in heaven, I don’t believe my ears. How dare you say that I murdered my husband?” “You received a video of your husband in bed with another woman while you were in the Philippines, didn’t you?” “Yes.” “Why then did you tell me during our first interview that you’d never had any reason to suspect him of infidelity?” “I told you that he had never given me any reason to suspect it, which was
true.” “That sounds like something a lawyer would say.” “Please get to the point, Inspector.” “So you returned from the Philippines with a sodium cyanide tablet in your luggage. You planned to take it to a lab to figure out who manufactured it. You were still upset about the video, which made you unusually suspicious about gifts, and behold, the day after you arrived a strawberry cream cake was delivered to your husband from Strawberries and Cream— the same whore your husband couldn’t get enough of in a thousand years. So there you were with a cake delivered by the hussy herself, and in your luggage just twenty feet away was a sodium cyanide tablet. All you had to do was dissolve
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it in a glass of water and pour it on the cake and you would have your revenge against your philandering husband and his call girl. You didn’t resist the temptation, did you?” “Inspector Ivanovic, I really don’t understand why you just told me your sick theory.” “So you deny that you brought cyanide with you back to Vienna?” “I do.” “Then why did your office manager in the Philippines tell me that you took some back to Europe for testing?” “Because I told her I would, but later I thought about the dangers of taking it through customs, so I decided to mail it to a lab in Germany, which you can easily confirm.” “So you never had cyanide in your possession any-
where in the Hotel Sacher or in Vienna?” “Never.” “Then why were microtraces of it found in your luggage and in the bathroom sink of your suite at the Hotel Sacher?” It was a bluff, the biggest of Ivanovic’s career. He looked her straight in the eyes, waiting for her to answer. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Inspector. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other business to attend.” Ivanovic left the Style Hotel and walked down the Tiefer Graben, past the Hotel Orient, where Ludovico Luisi had spent so many blissful afternoons with Audra. At the Rudolfsplatz he turned right and walked through the park named after the
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Crown Prince who shot his seventeen year-old mistress and then himself in the head. At the Marc-Aurel-Strasse—named after the Roman Emperor who was poisoned in Vienna— he turned left, walked down to the Danube Canal, and threw the Swarovski crystal owl into the swirling grey water.
...to be continued.
Just as Ivanovic was about to return to headquarters, something in the Danube Canal caught his eye.
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White Page (155x225mm)
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Appendix/ 01) Hotel Sacher
17) Delia‘s
02) Albertina
18) Skopik & Lohn
03) State Opera House
19) Flex
04) Burgkino
20) Mühlbauer
05) Café Demel
21) Schuppich
06) Agent Provocateur
22) Duft & Kultur
07) The Loos Bar
23) Palmenhaus
08) Pizza Mari
24) Elfenkleid
09) Fabios
25) Babette‘s
10) Blumenkraft
26) First Floor
11) Santo Spirito
27) Passage
12) Babylon
28) Naturhistorisches Museum
13) Kokoro
29) Hotel Orient
14) Knize
30) Style Hotel
15) Walter Weiss 16) Café Drechsler
Through the intricate architecture of clubs, shops, restaurants, galleries, parks, museums unlike.net conveys the city‘s most treasured locations helping you feel at home wherever you are. unlike.net is the definitive city guide for the mobile generation, available whenever and wherever you need it.
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Hotel Sacher
* 01 Hotel Sacher Founded in 1876 by Eduard Sacher, the hotel quickly rose to aristocratic cult status after his widow, Anna Sacher, became manager. Hotel Sacher is part of the city like the Opera House, the Prater ferry wheel, the Fiaker horse carriages and the Lipizzaner horses. PhilharmonikerstraĂ&#x;e 4 1010 Vienna Phone + 43 1 51 45 60 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200472-Hotel-Sacher-Wien
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Albertina
* 02 Albertina The Albertina houses one of the world’s largest collections of graphic art (from Gothic to contemporary), a new photography collection and some 25,000 architectural drawings. Albertinaplatz 1 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 53 48 30 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200418-Albertina
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State Opera House
* 03 State Opera House Situated on Openring, the Vienna State Opera House embodies both the whimsical elements and traditional history of the city. The building, which dates back to 1869, boasts the original Renaissance arched style on its facade, complemented by playful notes like the two flying horses (harmony and the muse of poetry) designed by architect Ernst Julius H채hnel. Opernring 2 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 514 44 2250 http://vienna.unlike.net/locations/301823-State-Opera-House
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Burgkino
* 04 Burgkino This Viennese cinophile institution brings not only Harry Lime alive, but with almost weekly new releases, all in original versions—which is essential, unless you prefer strange German dubbed blockbuster and arthouse movies—you’ll be sure to find a movie that pairs perfectly with popcorn. Opernring 19 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 587 84 06 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/301545-Burg-Kino
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Café Demel
* 05 Café Demel The history of Demel, as it’s more commonly known, goes back 200 years when it was the official confectionery of Emperor Franz Josef. The former meeting point for the old royal high society, Demel still serves up the luxurious treats playing the opulent, pomp and fancy card to the hilt. Kohlmarkt 14 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 53 51 71 70 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/300601-Demel-K-u-K-Hofzuckerbaecker
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Agent Provocateur
* 06 Agent Provocateur In an effort to overturn the Anglophlic prudery that insists on categorizing anything to do with sex as sleazy or smutty, British founders Serena Rees and Joseph CorrĂŠ introduced a line of classy undergarments that celebrate the body, embrace the erotic, and hope to provoke. Tuchlauben 4 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 890 41 92 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200008-Agent-Provocateur
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The Loos Bar
* 07 The Loos Bar On most evenings, young media and arty types squeeze in to enjoy “American-style” cocktails (read: fancy and high potency). Loos referred to the bar as “American” after having resided in the United States. Many Americans, however, would be bewildered at the comparison after witnessing the cramped smoke-filled room. Kärnter Durchgang 10 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 512 32 83 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200478-American-Bar-The-Loos-Bar
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Pizza Mari
* 08 Pizza Mari With the 2nd District still in its “hipster-hood” infancy, the newly opened Pizza Mari marks a turning point in the area’s development. While most of the ingredients are imported from Naples—including the flour, mozzarella and canned tomatoes—they are occasionally married to special local additions like prosciutto from Burgenland to usher in the culinary novelty. Leopoldstraße 23a 1020 Vienna Phone +43 1 67 66 87 49 94 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/300351-Pizza-Mari
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Fabios
* 09 Fabios Cosmopolitan maitre’d Fabio Giacobello wanted to have the city’s consummate chichi restaurant catering to our little alpine republic’s rich, famous, and the want-to-be-seens. Done. Secondary is the food. Pity. Tuchlauben 6 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 532 22 22 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200500-Fabios
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Blumenkraft
* 10 Blumenkraft You might mistake Blumenkraft for a flower gallery as you stroll through Vienna’s artsy Freihausviertel. You’d be wrong. With its cool 170 sqm loft space, this store’s pared-down minimalism gives center stage to breathtaking floral displays. Schleifmühlgasse 4 1040 Vienna Phone +43 1 585 77 27 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200499-Blumenkraft
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Santo Spirito
* 11 Santo Spirito Situated on a narrow medieval street in the 1st district, Santo Spirito serves good wines and Italian antipasti. Kumpfgasse 7 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 512 99 98 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/300284-Santo-Spirito
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Babylon
* 12 Babylon The most dignified addresses for breathtaking sensual delights. This is where luxurious comfort and confidential cosiness meet ‌ One of the most exclusive nightclubs of the world. Seilerstätte 1 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 512 84 95 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/303807-Babylon
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Kokoro
* 13 Kokoro This small restaurant is a far cry from the glut of Vienna’s anemic ethno-fusion-Asian-mishmash houses. Kokoro claims to serve “spectacular world cuisine with Zen-inspired creations.” It’s even better than that— in reality, Kokoro dishes out heaping portions of voluptuousness and imagination. Rotenturmstraße 16–18 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 968 01 38 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/300257-Kokoro
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Knize
* 14 Knize This mecca for the traditional sartorialist lays claim as the world’s first menswear label. Josef Knize, bespoke fitter to the Habsburg archdukes, established the store in 1858. Ernst Dryden, who would later become Coco Chanel’s designer and a renowned Hollywood costumer, developed Knize’s fashion label for the stylish man in 1922. Two years later, Knize Ten, the world’s first men’s fragrance, was also launched. Graben 13 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 512 21 19 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200512-Knize
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Walter Weiss
* 15 Walter Weiss Ever use a shaving brush? Aerosol shaving foams get the job done, but the issue here is style. The traditional store Walter Weiss is a bastion of old-school personal care. Here is a treasure trove of Old World brushes, combs, sponges, mirrors and other grooming implements of exquisite quality that can’t be found in your neighborhood drug store/chemist. Mariahilfer StraĂ&#x;e 33 1060 Vienna Phone +43 1 587 93 91 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/301077-Walter-Weiss
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CafĂŠ Drechsler
* 16 Drechsler Cafes are a dime a dozen in Vienna, but Cafe Drechsler stands out. Open 23 hours daily, Drechsler serves traditional Viennese cuisine and assortment of coffees with a prolification similar to 24-7 diners. With its central location facing the Naschmarkt on Wienzeile, Drechsler attracts a diverse crowd of night clubbers, market stallholders and yuppie families. Linke Wienzeile 22 1060 Vienna Phone +43 1 587 18 51 80 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200394-Cafe-Drechsler
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Delia‘s
* 17 Delia‘s Fresh raspberries come chilled in a glass with ice cubes, a small bowl of whipped cream accompanies a cafe latte—and make it clear that it’s the little things that charms the jet-setting crowd here. Tuchlauben 8 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 699 19 69 20 01 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200085-Delia-s
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Skopik & Lohn
* 18 Skopik & Lohn Owner Horst Scheuer, a worldfamous-in-Vienna waiter who knows every creative and freak in town, opened this great restaurant after returning from Berlin and New York. a fine blend of Viennese, Mediterranean and French cuisine are some of the reasons why Skopik & Lohn is one of the most popular restaurants of the Karmeliter Quarter. Leopoldsgasse 17 1020 Vienna Phone +43 1 219 89 77 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200280-Skopik-Lohn
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Flex
* 19 Flex Located along the the Danube, this once squatters and alterna-cats paradise, has matured into slick and well run club. An incredible soundsystem, which has been rumoured as being one of the best in Europe. The new Flex Cafe extension is clean and modern, though some people miss the old bench and beer hang outs. Franz Josefs Kai 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 533 75 25 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200118-Flex
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M端hlbauer
* 20 M端hlbauer If you could have only one accessory from Vienna, it must be a M端hlbauer hat. Seilergasse 10 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 512 22 41 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200210-Muehlbauer-Headwear
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Schuppich
* 21 Schuppich The service may lag occasionally but the Friulian wines served with herb-infused antipasti alone are worth the visit. Recommended for hangovers: the 3-course prix fixe menu on Sundays for â‚Ź11 till 16:00. Who needs brunch? Rotensterngasse 18 1020 Vienna Phone +43 1 212 43 40 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/300267-Schuppich
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Duft & Kultur
* 22 Duft & Kultur Soaps, room fragrances, pomanders and scented candles—Dipthyque, of course, is very well represented— fill every nook and cranny. Tuchlauben 17 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 532 39 60 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200098-Duft-Kultur
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Palmenhaus
* 23 Palmenhaus The Palmenhaus serves as a cafe, a gourmet restaurant and a cocktail bar with DJs. The mezzanine platform works as a catwalk or as a private dining room, and the outdoor dining space can seat up to 500 people. Burggarten (entrance at the Albertina side) 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 533 10 33 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/300003-Palmenhaus
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Elfenkleid
* 24 Elfenkleid Designers Annette Prechtl and Sandra Thaler’s label Elfenkleid (“elf dress”) has a name as evocative as its distinctive style. No, the two are not clothiers for the vertically-challenged. Rather, the duo’s beautiful creations are wearable avant-garde apparel. Margeretenstraße 39/3–4 1040 Vienna Phone +43 1 208 52 41 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200516-Elfenkleid
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Babette‘s
* 25 Babette‘s With Babette’s, Natalie Pernstich has brought to life an unusual establishment: half lunch kitchen, half bookstore. Here you can dig through over 2500 cookbooks from around the world, food-related novels and popular science volumes covering culinary phenomena. Schleifmühlgasse 17 (corner Mühlgasse 9) 1040 Vienna Phone +43 1 585 51 65 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/300214-Babette-s
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First Floor
* 26 First Floor One of the only places in Vienna to get an authentic, expertly mixed cocktail, First Floor sets the tone for intimate meetings, happy hours and night caps, all backed by a smooth mix of jazz and soul. Seitenstettengasse 5 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 533 78 66 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200501-First-Floor
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Passage
* 27 Passage On the “Ring” at the corner of Babenbergerstraße is the posh Passage nightclub which is located in a former underground pedestrian walkway that once connected the Hofburg Palace to the Kunsthistorisches Museum. The state of the art sound system can match any in the world; mainly spinning house, r’n’b, and dancefloor-classics. Burgring 3 (corner Babenbergerstraße) 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 961 88 00 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200503-Passage
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Naturhistorisches Museum
* 28 Naturhistorisches Museum Vienna’s museum of natural history works like a cabinet of worldly curiosities. Major renovations— its exhibition halls were only equipped with electrical lighting in the late 1990s—helped the revered institution shed much its former Old World patina. It now prides itself with a handsome gift shop and new cafe Nautilus. Burgring 7 1040 Vienna Phone +43 1 52 17 70 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/301918-Naturhistorisches-Museum
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Hotel Orient
* 29 Hotel Orient Rich in history, this hotel was first documented as a tavern in the 17th century. A river at the foot of the Maria am Gestade church had connected to the Danube, allowing the dinghies of large ships to unload goods fresh from the Orient. As such, the tavern was quickly coined “The Orient”, a name it retained when it became a hostel in 1896.According to time’s aesthetic, the hotel was furnished in purest fin de siècle, the Viennese opulent Makart style. Tiefer Graben 30 1010 Vienna Phone +43 1 533 73 07 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200152-Hotel-Orient
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Style Hotel
* 30 Style Hotel By now, it should be clear: The Radisson SAS hotels around the world boast a modern and reliable class. But some are better than others, as is the case with the Style Hotel in Vienna. All 78 designer rooms and boutiques have been carefully curated, lending an intimate feel, and are equipped with techie perks as standards: free wi-fi, flat-panel LCD televisions, CD and DVD players and climate control—and that’s in the hotel’s most basic rooms. Style Hotel’s close proximity to three bustling districts—Kohlmarkt, Graben and Freyung— means that much of Vienna’s historical flavors are just a stone’s throw away: St. Stephen’s Cathedral, State Opera and Imperial Hofburg Palace, among others. Herrengasse 12 1010 Vienna Phone + 43 1 227 80 www.vienna.unlike.net/locations/200575-Radisson-SAS-Style-Hotel
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Imprint/ Halle34 wants to thank: Germaine Cap de Ville - we work together with her and she is a daily inspiration for us, Constantin Peyfuss who met with us on a Sunday and proved our cooperation by handshake, Waltraud Wolf from the Vienna Tourist Board who decided within 15 minutes to support this project, Sigi Mayer who teaches us every day to believe in ideas, last but not least John Leake who wrote the story and stayed calm when we wanted more. To all of you, thank you - you are TOLL!
Concept & Idea: Halle34 OG fĂźr zeitgenĂśssische Kommunikation 1060 Wien, Liniengasse 25/P-A office@halle34.com Editor: Halle34 / Marcus Arige
Creative Directors: Sigi Mayer & Halle34
Co-Editor: Unlike Media Ltd. / Constantin Peyfuss
Art Director: Emanuela Sarac
Publisher: Unlike Media Ltd. 2 Landsdowne Row, Berkeley Square London W1J 6HL Distribution: Unlike Media Ltd. Chausseestrasse 116 10115 Berlin
Graphics: Theresa Holstege Pre-Press: Erika Metal Illustration: Thomas Paster Writer: John Leake
Advertising Offices: Berlin: Unlike Media Ltd. Stefan Liske sl@unlike.net Vienna: Halle34 Marcus Arige pulp@halle34.com
Print: Paul Gerin Druckerei
C L IN IC A L L Y TESTED
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When desire to have children remains unfulfilled.
C L IN IC A L L Y TESTED
Patentnr.: 503.219
Vital substances in support of male fertility Improves volume, concentration and motility of sperm cells. Further information can be found at www.profertil.at or at your doctor of confidence.
When desire to have children remains unfulfilled.