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Orange blossom
Lemon
Rosewood
Heart Notes 
Lavender
Pine
Rose
Base Notes 
Oakmoss
Peru balsam
Animalic notes
Leather
Musk
Chizza
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22
Whether Bristol or Bavaria...
Wensker had just returned from a weekend trip to his old homeland when a new case awaited him in Bavaria. The crime scene was the well-known Bristol Club, famous in the city primarily because it was the only club in town. This club was generally regarded as a refuge for many older and wealthy gentlemen from outside, who indulged in cigars, fine whiskey, and other pleasures. Here, the unthinkable happened; one of their members was kidnapped, and only a note was left behind: “M._T., that’s written together!”
“What could that mean, Chief? Am I at McDonald's?”
“Schaller...when did you actually graduate from school? We don’t know what it means yet, but I’ve seen it before...that was many years ago, and I had pushed it aside...take notes on everything here, I need to make a call!”
It rang: “Cravachski, JVA Herne, please? Aha....well, alright, Mr. Commissioner. I’ll bring him over!”
A cell door opened.
“Mr. Wollny? You are wanted!”
A little later:
“Wolle, how are you doing in prison?”
“Well, no beer and you can’t wash yourself here either.”
A shout from the back: “Oh yes, and we all wish you would finally wash yourself!”
“At least I don’t have to see my wife; I don’t even remember if her name was Ilse or Pamela Anderson. Or Bill. But enough, why are we on the phone?”
“Well, do you remember the mysterious letters you received when your biker club was briefly called Bristol Club? Didn’t a few of your novices disappear then?”
“Without beer, my brain doesn’t work so well, but that’s how it was. You never caught the culprit!”
“Uh, yes, it was the gardener.”
“Oh...right, Berthold Flavius von Testerolus Monsieur-Burgeck the gardener, or as his friends call him: Monsieur Test.”
“MonsieurTest, you mean.”
“But it can also be Monsieur_Test.”
“Okay, thanks Wolle, I’ll smuggle you a beer cake, I’ll get back to you!”
There it was, the hot lead! Now he had to get back to the Bristol Club!
As Wensker entered the club, he immediately noticed the freshly polished leather shoes - Goodyear welted, of course? - of the gentlemen. Also, the little bottle with which one of the employees was polishing the shoes. “It smells a bit too much like orange, I must say. A bit sweet.”
“Mr. Commissioner, just wait. It will unfold into a waxy scent, but it remains citrusy and refreshing. At least for the moment.”
“It also seems a bit spicy to me. Well, I didn’t say anything.”
So Wensker continued and inspected the rooms when he saw Rubert and Schaller in one room: “Colleagues, is it? You’re supposed to secure evidence, not smoke pipes with the newspaper and cognac in hand!”
“Undercover investigation, Chief. Become one with your environment.”
“You know that your police uniform is of little help in that regard, right?”
“Oh....uh.....”
Wensker followed the honey trail with added orange blossom, noticing that lavender was mixed in. “It comes off very herbaceous, I’ve never smelled lavender like this before. But no wonder, with Monsieur Gardener!”
He then stopped at the adjacent pine grove. The wind howled through the branches, the sky was gray and dreary. The scent of the pines was blown over to Wensker; it was a very ethereal, powerful, spicy-olive green scent. The mixture of all these olfactory impressions projected a green-animalistic image; rough, hard, bitter, and uncompromising.
As he kept repeating this in his head, it became clear to him! The novices had wanted to turn Wolle’s clubhouse into a kind of fetish pleasure house; he had only been shown the areas that the older gentlemen wanted to show! Surely there couldn’t be...more behind it? Besides: M_T couldn’t just kidnap two people! Here in the sticks! And anyway: where was that moaning and rustling in the bushes coming from? As if bound individuals were hidden there...but quiet! Quiet, Wensker admonished himself, don’t get distracted, not even by the clothing in front of the bushes and the strange masked man who went into the bushes, seeming to maltreat something a few times only to then stop that strange rustling.
That was enough! He had to get back to the Bristol Club! Here it smelled mossy-green, rather relaxing, the pine intermezzo was over.
“Okay, the game is up, this is such a special place, just admit it!”
“Mr. Wensker, no one has denied that, and didn’t you notice with our lacquer and leather clothing?”
“Oh, now that you mention it...Rubert, why are you wearing such a getup? Schaller....?”
“Become one with the environment,” both whispered.
“Okay, but where is Monsieur-Test now?”
“MonsieurTest,” the officers corrected the commissioner in unison.
“Yes, exactly him.”
“Left earlier. He thought you would figure it out sooner, he’s in Ede’s tavern in the village.”
“Rubert and Schaller, didn’t you arrest him?”
“We were supposed to inspect, Chief. We only have two hands.”
Wensker left the club, exasperated, and took one last look into the valley before getting into the car. “Two hands.....two brains would be nice....,” he muttered to himself.
Bristol Club closes with an increasingly cool-mossy scent, the animalistic notes, for me a kind of juniper combination, vary in intensity. Here and there, you find balsamic elements, overall a very varied scent. Overall, Matos has created something beautiful here, changeable and successful in its rough, direct way. Still, it doesn’t quite reach more because it lacks that certain something.
“What could that mean, Chief? Am I at McDonald's?”
“Schaller...when did you actually graduate from school? We don’t know what it means yet, but I’ve seen it before...that was many years ago, and I had pushed it aside...take notes on everything here, I need to make a call!”
It rang: “Cravachski, JVA Herne, please? Aha....well, alright, Mr. Commissioner. I’ll bring him over!”
A cell door opened.
“Mr. Wollny? You are wanted!”
A little later:
“Wolle, how are you doing in prison?”
“Well, no beer and you can’t wash yourself here either.”
A shout from the back: “Oh yes, and we all wish you would finally wash yourself!”
“At least I don’t have to see my wife; I don’t even remember if her name was Ilse or Pamela Anderson. Or Bill. But enough, why are we on the phone?”
“Well, do you remember the mysterious letters you received when your biker club was briefly called Bristol Club? Didn’t a few of your novices disappear then?”
“Without beer, my brain doesn’t work so well, but that’s how it was. You never caught the culprit!”
“Uh, yes, it was the gardener.”
“Oh...right, Berthold Flavius von Testerolus Monsieur-Burgeck the gardener, or as his friends call him: Monsieur Test.”
“MonsieurTest, you mean.”
“But it can also be Monsieur_Test.”
“Okay, thanks Wolle, I’ll smuggle you a beer cake, I’ll get back to you!”
There it was, the hot lead! Now he had to get back to the Bristol Club!
As Wensker entered the club, he immediately noticed the freshly polished leather shoes - Goodyear welted, of course? - of the gentlemen. Also, the little bottle with which one of the employees was polishing the shoes. “It smells a bit too much like orange, I must say. A bit sweet.”
“Mr. Commissioner, just wait. It will unfold into a waxy scent, but it remains citrusy and refreshing. At least for the moment.”
“It also seems a bit spicy to me. Well, I didn’t say anything.”
So Wensker continued and inspected the rooms when he saw Rubert and Schaller in one room: “Colleagues, is it? You’re supposed to secure evidence, not smoke pipes with the newspaper and cognac in hand!”
“Undercover investigation, Chief. Become one with your environment.”
“You know that your police uniform is of little help in that regard, right?”
“Oh....uh.....”
Wensker followed the honey trail with added orange blossom, noticing that lavender was mixed in. “It comes off very herbaceous, I’ve never smelled lavender like this before. But no wonder, with Monsieur Gardener!”
He then stopped at the adjacent pine grove. The wind howled through the branches, the sky was gray and dreary. The scent of the pines was blown over to Wensker; it was a very ethereal, powerful, spicy-olive green scent. The mixture of all these olfactory impressions projected a green-animalistic image; rough, hard, bitter, and uncompromising.
As he kept repeating this in his head, it became clear to him! The novices had wanted to turn Wolle’s clubhouse into a kind of fetish pleasure house; he had only been shown the areas that the older gentlemen wanted to show! Surely there couldn’t be...more behind it? Besides: M_T couldn’t just kidnap two people! Here in the sticks! And anyway: where was that moaning and rustling in the bushes coming from? As if bound individuals were hidden there...but quiet! Quiet, Wensker admonished himself, don’t get distracted, not even by the clothing in front of the bushes and the strange masked man who went into the bushes, seeming to maltreat something a few times only to then stop that strange rustling.
That was enough! He had to get back to the Bristol Club! Here it smelled mossy-green, rather relaxing, the pine intermezzo was over.
“Okay, the game is up, this is such a special place, just admit it!”
“Mr. Wensker, no one has denied that, and didn’t you notice with our lacquer and leather clothing?”
“Oh, now that you mention it...Rubert, why are you wearing such a getup? Schaller....?”
“Become one with the environment,” both whispered.
“Okay, but where is Monsieur-Test now?”
“MonsieurTest,” the officers corrected the commissioner in unison.
“Yes, exactly him.”
“Left earlier. He thought you would figure it out sooner, he’s in Ede’s tavern in the village.”
“Rubert and Schaller, didn’t you arrest him?”
“We were supposed to inspect, Chief. We only have two hands.”
Wensker left the club, exasperated, and took one last look into the valley before getting into the car. “Two hands.....two brains would be nice....,” he muttered to himself.
Bristol Club closes with an increasingly cool-mossy scent, the animalistic notes, for me a kind of juniper combination, vary in intensity. Here and there, you find balsamic elements, overall a very varied scent. Overall, Matos has created something beautiful here, changeable and successful in its rough, direct way. Still, it doesn’t quite reach more because it lacks that certain something.
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