The Bitch Ain't Dead

By Van Dimi

History is full of “black pages” that no one seems to remember anymore or has deliberately decided to forget albeit in most cases this oblivion has been imposed. Somewhere in the book, a character, Mr. Fournier who’s the one referring to the “bitch” first, says: “We have some great MONUMENTS in France but we don’t seem to get along well with MEMORY”
The cause to make me write this one has been an event that showed up once in the news and was forgotten the next day albeit Marine Le Pen had praised it a lot. Some high-ranked military generals and others have signed a letter to the President of the French republic, showing their concern and indignation about the current situation in France concerning the emigrant policy and the delinquency problems connected. THIS was a fact, it happened. Now, why no one has ever said or done anything about it afterward remains something surpassing anyone’s imagination.
The other current event that has ‘tickled’ me was the upcoming elections in 2022 and the spectacular uprising of a new guy into the extreme-right turf who himself as well as Donald Trump claims “I’m not a politician”! A best-selling author of libels and a ‘journalist’ bearing the title of “polemiste” which I’m not very certain whether the French using it are aware of its Greek root “polemos=war, polemistis=warrior”. Achilles, Ulysses, etc. were warriors, not Eric Zemmour, that’s his name, with his plume and libels neither has he the genius of Oscar Wilde for that.
The guy goes galloping on his white horse or, to be more accurate, the Media ran him galloping by offering rather willingly more than a couple of hours daily in their program, a podium for him to express all his hate and racism albeit he has been condemned by the Justice in the past for this! What is more surprising though is that the guy, each time he shows up he’s yelling “I’m not a politician and/or I’m not a presidential candidate.” To the upcoming election in spring 2022!!!!!!
According to the previous polls, before this ...warrior appeared, Marine Le Pen was given an equal 25% with Macron and a face-to-face duel in the second round. The traditional left- or right-wing parties are both moribunds. It’s October 2021 I’m writing this and it has been around a couple of months ago when this Media bombardment with Zemmour has started resulting in the polls turning up totally in a mess!!! Well, it’s commonplace nowadays that the polls and the Media elect presidents. Le Pen from 25% has fallen to 15% the same as much, 15%, Zemmour is credited with, and a very serious prevision that after Le Pen’s fall within the next six months, the ‘polemist’ non-candidate to show face to face to Macron in the second round! Despite the polls, Zemmour still goes “no politician, no candidate” and the whole situation looks like an absurd pre-electoral circus. Macron, another Media product, who had buried into the same tomb both the traditional left and right, a new Media Messiah Nazi-like showed up to save the Republic, which remains monarchic regardless of the title. A mouse-faced half-portion little man without the square mustache under his nose that dominates screens and front pages and him, of course, he opens champagnes declaring still “non-politician, non-candidate!!!!!
In the gossip pages of the papers, it has been stated that in a friendly gathering he was heard to ask “what would you have done if you were into my shoes?” which of course, is a very plausible question. When they all give you as a potential winner, you cannot remain forever hidden behind the “non-politician, non-candidate”. Neither was Donald Tramp and we all have seen what happened when too much money was invested in the elections. With the moribund traditional right-wing shamelessly declaring that in case of a Macron-Zemmour second round they will ally Zemmour, looks like we are all fucked up.

How do you expect someone not to get scared that the bitch in heat will not turn pregnant again??

• Language: English
• Publisher: Van Dimi
• Release date: Oct 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005075699

Van Dimi

ABOUT ME. Retired from the grind. Reflecting on successes, failures, and regrets. Exploring new aspects of self, writing that book which will get me an Oscar, staying out of trouble - well, small amounts of trouble are OK. Alone in blessed singleness. Wicked sense of humor, enjoy my own company, glad I'm not young any longer. I do miss the intimacy of being in love. A good catch . . . at least. I love Intelligent conversation: hard to come by these days, though no one agrees with me, a good listener, intuitive, a good conversationalist, avoid boredom and boring people at all costs - that's a career all by itself.I am not a writer. I am a cooking chef. An educated cooking chef though. I’ve done my studies, got a University degree but instead of entering into the “system”, I’ve chosen to do what pleases me and not join the sheep -flock searching for a shepherd. A Greek old man living in France the last 20years,Vangelis Dimitroglou is my real name. Cinéphile and melomane confirmé, not un faux-cul. Here in France, they call the connoisseurs “pretentious” and the intelligent “arrogant”. I don’t care anymore.As a movie-music-literature lover I have a sweet spot for Jazz and the so-called Noir, films and books, not only the top class rated but al-so the B-movies and the pulp-fiction best sellers. Now, there are some great authors in that category like Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chan-dler, Jim Thompson (the greatest), just to name a few from the past and some excellent new ones like Philip Kerr, Jo Nesbo, Michael Dibdin, again just to name a few. “writers” who at the age of 35 have al-ready produced 50 novels and are still writing a book once or twice a year aiming to sell books, commercialize the product, make money. They are largely different to those great ones that are/were AUTHORS, producing literature. I don’t care entering into either category, I honestly could use some huge money. No intention whatsoever to be-come immortal. An author writes a book expecting to be read, he writes for his readers with or without the intention to make money or glory. He-she has a target. I write books for myself! Fill up empty time. I don't expect anything from them and that's why they are FREE -and always be - The ones in Greek are the same under my real name(in GR) Βαγγέλης Δημητρογλου.I have not only watched but studied almost all the films-Noir and Neo-Noir if it matters, plus all the great movies the 7th art has produced, in decline nowadays thank you very much Netflix. As for music, my other passion, after classical music and Jazz all the rest is chill-out ambience sounds. And yes, I love aphorisms.World History has been my secondary passion. I believe we will never learn everything about our past and definitely never the truth. This “truth” has been suffering through centuries, it is not a modern invention. The fast-growing technology has created the terms “fake news” or “alternative truth” as if the truth is and always will be one and only. “The truth is rarely pure and never simple” said the great Os-car. Don’t ask Oscar, who? There was only one.History and crime, two things that go together like Siamese twins, let it be then. And a hard-boiled sleuth, not much different than the old, and new, famous ones. I’m a huge fan of Bernie Gunther, I confess.The East Roman-Byzantine empire has a history of 1000+ years, drowned in blood, intrigue, debauchery, violence and misery all at once, that led to its destruction, better known as Dark ages. Not at all a dull place for a sleuth!! They say that historic fiction is a difficult gen-re. Well, almost nothing in life comes easy. Otherwise, we would have nothing to be proud of every time we accomplice successfully a tough task, achieve an exploit, win a challenge.This is my first attempt to write a novel, to write anything. I definitely don’t want to insult your intelligence. I simply intend to challenge your ignorance and provoke your curiosity. The field is vast and intriguing and there might be more Theo Vardas adventures to come. I am getting older and older though every day, like you all, but I’m already 66y.o.OCTOBER 2020 EDIT: I think my Byzantine period is over, all old books removed to be re edited and republished...eventually, hopefully before I die. Not that I care about neither, republish or death. Yet, last time i talked with that hooded type with the scythe, he reassured me i still have time for more wicked Noir stories so, here i come with a new sleuth, Isidore Ducasse, transferring the action where i live in SW France. first book already out the next one's cooking in the oven. Considering I have some old Byzantine books to edit, re-write, enrich and republish ...i might live another 50 years and see grandchildren arriving. My twins, to whom I dedicate all books, are 22 now.

Book preview

VAN DIMI

THE BITCH AIN’T DEAD

A Novel

For the twins, Melina and Odysseas

OTHER BOOKS OF VAN DIMI

1 Byzantine Requiem Noir series (1 & 2)

2 Isidore Ducasse P.I series (4 books)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1 Zurich

2 Isabelle

3 The grandfather

4 The will

5 McGee (Bobby McGee)

6 Georges-Picot

7 Anton Hoberman

8 McGee II

9 Xavier de Laurent

10 The horse-headed cuckold

11 Association de Vieux Combattants

12 Toulouse

13 Secret Services (DGSI)

14 The Church

15 Revelations

16 Bodyguard

17 Blood Diamonds

18 Nadine

19 Face to face

20 The End???

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Don't yet rejoice in his defeat, you men!

Although the world stood up and stopped the bastard,

The bitch that bore him is in heat again." (and ready to get pregnant)

Bertolt Brecht, The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui

1. Zurich

1945

The sparkling Mercedes limo with the two little red flags waving against the freezing cold wind was driving through the snow-covered dead streets on Zurich at late midnight. In its driver’s seat, Otto. The General’s right-hand man and loyal watchdog for the last 20 years was driving emotionless with all his attention on the slippery asphalt. He knew their destination after that had picked un Baron Hoberman and his son Anton from their family castle. The count General von Kleist, his boss, and his two distinguished guests were sitting comfortably on the leather back seat of the limo. The general, expressionless and imperious, was smoking his cigar looking out of the window at the snow-covered Zurich sidewalks completely empty at this hour but he definitely looked exhausted. The other two, father and son, were awkwardly looking at one another. They had no idea where they were heading. They were about to find out.

Otto took a left turn on a little dark street and stopped the limo on the curb in front of an impressive grey stone building similar to all the other buildings on the street. You had to climb up the six stairs to the stout oak entrance to read the small bronze tag at its right. It read

Leman Bros – Private Banking

Otto went out first to open up the general’s door removing his hat and followed the three men up the stairs. He was to be with them, the general needed him as a witness.

They didn’t have to knock, they were expected and punctual with their rendezvous and probably watched from the within. The first sound heard was metallic and sliding, an inside steel door it seemed. Then the heavy wooden door opened and the Leman brothers showed up in their immaculate 3-piece costumes with a bow tie. The general immediately cut into the chase.

‘Let’s finish it the soonest possible, please. An airplane is waiting for me at the airport to take me to Berlin’

The general wished to spend the rest of his days next to his beloved Führer.

‘Right away, Her General’, the Leman brothers said in an echo slightly bowing.

In the elevator to the third basement, first went in the older Leman with the general and the Baron and when the elevator returned, the younger Leman entered with Otto and young Hoberman. The elevator arrived in a large hall with obvious steel walls, luxuriously decorated with velvet couches in its three walls, the Leman bros opened a door on the fourth wall and came out pushing a table on wheels. On it, there was a large wooden box chained with two heavy padlocks bearing the Nazi insignia, the eagle with a swastika on its nails. With all the ritual seriousness imposed by the situation, the older Leman unlocked one and the general the other. Then, discretely, the Lemans disappeared leaving them alone. They already knew what was about to happen.

‘Gentlemen’, said the general in a grave tone, ‘the end is near. The barbarians have won. Into this box, there is the gold that will help the rise of the 4th Reich and I will entrust you with it for the future when the Phoenix will be reborn from his ashes. The Leman Bros will liquidate it, minus their commission of course, and the substantial amount remaining will be at your disposal to administrate it until the right moment arrives. The barbarians might have won today but humanity will not stand their barbarism for too long and then a New Order will show up to eliminate them again. The estimated amount in today’s rates is 500 million Swiss Francs and I would suggest being divided into ten or more parts and placed accordingly to reappear in due time in the future. Baron Hoberman and son, with the loyalty and secrecy that characterizes you so far, I’m asking you to administrate this sum along with your entrusted collaborators and finance with it the raise of the 4th Reich when the right time comes based on the principles of our Nazi-National socialism. Here are all the relevant documents already signed by the bankers that will transfer to you any amount to any beneficiary of your choice. I count upon your intelligence, your efficiency, and your loyalty to our ideals, gentlemen. The future raise of the 4th Reich is on your hands. Do not disappoint me and our great leader, Adolf Hitler.

After this patriotic burst out and with the moment’s demanding formality, they all signed with Otto as a witness.

‘I’m afraid, gentlemen that I Have no time to drive you back to your castle, the Fuhrer is expecting me. I am certain that the Lemans will take care of your return back’ said the general nodding to Otto and hastily walking to the exit.

Driving the general in his limo to the airport, Otto started crying. The general had been a bachelor and a great womanizer all his life but occasionally he lusted some male butt and Otto had always been disposed of. That’s how he had become something close to a slave. After the first time when he was 18 the general had used and abused him, he had deeply fallen in love with him and never left his side. He never felt any jealousy for the general’s occasional mistresses, Otto was always there come rain or shine to serve his drinks and meals, polish his boots, drive his limo, or even getting into the way of bullets targeting him. He had been there next to him for all these years and he, himself, could see the end arriving in gallop, especially from the East. His master had chosen a glorious death next to his leader. Glorious as it could have been it was death nevertheless, with no return. How couldn’t he help crying?

‘Do not cry, dearest Otto. I’ve taken care of you. You will not disappear after me, on the contrary. I have assured a pleasant and rich life for you.’

This remark, instead of soothing him from his grief made things harder. Otto went on crying louder with tears. The general frowned.

‘Otto, my boy, when we arrive at the airplane staircase, please, do not get out opening the door for me, I’ll do it myself and I’ll wave to you before I enter the plane. Then, we won’t see each other again I’m afraid. You will be on your own.’

The general was afraid of the melodrama and the ridicule with it in the airport lane with that lovebird Otto in his situation and he was taking his precautions.

‘Yawol herr General. Sieg heil’

Into the black Packard sedan with a driver in livery that the Lemans had provided for the Hoberman's return, Anton, the son, looked worried and uneasy asking his father.

‘What are we going to do with all this money, father?’

‘I don’t know yet, my boy. One thing only I am sure of. We are not going to keep it for ourselves. We must, and we will find a way to fulfill the last request of our benefactor and old-times friend.

Baron Hoberman was a Jew and only himself and the general were aware of it. He had paid dearly, extremely dearly to buy that title. His family never had an attachment with the aristocracy. And those assigned to the purge have never thought to check upon a baron, let alone a close friend to general von Kleist who has not denounced him. And maybe the baron Hoberman was already rich as a famous and important art dealer, but during the Nazi administration, he became ten times richer. This was due to his old friend the general von Kleist who, completely accidentally, was a close friend with the Reichmarshal Goering, a well-known arts-lover and looter. Birds of a feather as they say.

2. Isabelle

1980

Isabelle was driving her small Golf VW heading to Niort. Her grandfather had asked to see her because he was ill. She knew that this was a bullshit pretext. Pappy wanted his casual dose. And that made her mad on one hand, she had suffered a lot already for that inheritance. But on the other hand, she was almost happy to realize that this would be the last time. Anton was following her discretely a 100m behind in his Mercedes and he had arranged everything. She went through the iron gate of the baron’s castle and parked on the gravel in front of the entrance. Anton stayed behind and parked far from the castle’s perimeter. Nadine opened the door for her, the long-time loyal help for the baron and his moribund second wife.