ONE DEGREE OF SEPARATION By Peter Nolan Smith

John Guare in his play SIX DEGREES OF SEPARATION contended that everyone in the world was connected to everyone in the world by six people.

Sometimes even less.

My sister-in-law had worked at the CIA for George Bush, whose father met Hitler, so I’m connected to Der Fuhrer by four degrees of separation.

The distance to Osama Bin Laden is even less, since in 1983 I met from a beautiful girl in London, who married OBL’s brother.

From me to Carrie Carey to Ahmed Bin Laden to Osama Bin Laden, which means seven degrees of separation from OBL to GW Bush.

Somehow I think that span might be closer than Americans would like to know, but in some cases more than six degrees of separation are desirable, especially if at the end of the line is a sadistic blonde pimp named SS Tommy.

In 1982 I was working at a nightclub in Hamburg. The delightful harbor city of summer was transformed to a dark dangerous industrial wasteland by the cold wet winter. BSIR’s was fronted by Jurgen, a playboy. The actual owner was the black German/American leader of the GMbH, a ruthless gang of pimps.

Black Cali’s right-hand claw was SS Tommy and this zuhalter resembled a pit bull on steroids. This enforcer was rumored to have buried several men alive for non-payment of debts. A bitter rival was bathed in acid. SS Tommy had his own table in BSIRs. I smiled every night, as he ordered bottles of sekt. He never paid the bill.

“We’ll get the money one way or another.” Jurgen was a native to Hamburg. He knew how things were done.

“As you like.” My percentage of the profits was 5%. SS Tommy’s rechtung was over 20,000 DMs. I figured that he owed me 1000 DMs and joked about it with the girl I took home twice a week. Astrid was a beautiful lingerie model. She laughed at the idea of SS Tommy in my debt.

“But never say this to him.” Her body was paradise. She did everything.

“Never.” I knew my place in the feeding chain and managed to keep my distance from the monster. It seemed the best thing to do.

A week before Christmas SS Tommy slapped a bill on the bar.

“What’s this?” It was written in German and the sum of 20,000 Deutschmarks was about $13,000, which was $11,000 more than was in my bank account.

“For having sex with Astrid.” Tommy smiled, as if he had told the punchline of a long joke.

“Astrid?” The ephemerally stunning blonde was supposedly studying German literature at university while not posing her divinely sculpted body for catalogue photographers. “She works for you?”

“This is Hamburg. Everyone works for someone.” SS Tommy ran over two hundred girls on his string.

“She never said anything about paying.” Astrid had been coming over my Mittelweg apartment for over four months. I thought that she liked me.

“I guess she needs a little extra money for Christmas gifts.” SS Tommy smiled at his sense of humor.

“20,000 isn’t so little.” The list was itemized by sex act. “I didn’t know 69 cost 200 DMs.”

“And that is cheap.” SS Tommy pointed out several more costly sexual feats. “I discounted the rechtung by 20% since you work for Nigger Cali.

“Thanks.” 20% extra was a bargain, if you had the money for the full amount.