Lindemann Auto is the Swiss version of one of those places where they take street cars and turn them into race cars. They will put skis under your running boards so you can drive your SLK across a lake. They will turn your Bentley into a boat they will—they will secret agent your shit right up. But they will also just maintain your nice car for a lot of money. Hans Eiger brings his car here because it is the best engine place in Europe and only Magnus Lindemann himself is permitted to work on it.

Turns out Magnus has a son and the son is called Otto and Otto is a solo cellist.

And by end of day Otto has just been booked to play a single concert in Beijing but there is a requirement that his father personally introduce him on the stage.

Magnus doesn’t have to be asked twice because family.

Gosh this would just be an awful time for Hans Eiger’s car to break down.

“Hello Mr. Telemark welcome to the Commodore how can we assist you?”

“Well to be honest—to be honest I have been sleeping in the Black House and at an agricultural building I have recently acquired and it feels—how can I put this—it feels obvious.”

“I see.”

“It is obvious because I am a countercultural person. I am an Ambiguitionist I specialize in tearing down the world’s certainty.”

“Yes quite so.”

“I am concerned that I have—to be candid—that I have allowed people to become comfortable with who I am to think that they know me by my dress and style by my very disrespectability. And so…I am going to change my mode.”

“And you wish—”

“I wish to stay here at the Commodore for the next two weeks. I will require accommodations for five persons two of whom will share a suite.”

“That is quite in order—”

“I also have some vehicles we will need to park here and—how are your relationships with local restaurants?”

“They are excellent—all this is quite—perhaps you could provide me with—”

“Ah of course let us say a cash payment in advance and of course here is a credit card for your security—”

“Oh I note that it is—”

“Yes indeed there is in fact no limit on that one.”

“Welcome to the Commodore, Herr Doktor Telemark, and may I say I have always admired your unique and penetrating formulation of the artistic experience please inform the staff of any requirement you may have.”

“Herr Telemark?”

“Yes what can I—oh.”

“Herr Banjo Telemark of Valletta, presently resident at the Black House and the Bauernhof Müller?”

“Well gosh you gentlemen are strikingly official.”

From behind me Agent Hannah says: “That is because they work for me Mr. Telemark.”

“How excellent madame but I do not believe we have—oh wait you are friends with the mother of the sex-pervert child?”