Perfect Payback, page 10
“You’re handsome, big, and smart. Every woman’s dream.” She took a sip from her glass. “Adding to the mystique, I know very little about you.”
She was the mystery. I was a former boxer and a dull engineer. “I can solve that problem, but I need to see you more often.”
“Oh, by all means, it would be my pleasure.”
We toasted.
“Anna, time spent with you is the best part of my day.” I thought true love was a lie, but I was beginning to change my mind.
She set her drink down on the end table and cupped her hands over my ears.
I grimaced and pulled back.
“Is something wrong?” She sounded hurt.
I chuckled. “Nein, but I must tell you a stupid thing that happened.”
She leaned back, resting against the sofa arm. “Tell me.”
“Well…” I touched the top of my head. “I slipped getting out of the shower and hit my head on the sink.”
Anna’s eyes widened, and she touched her mouth. “Oh, my, did you need stitches?”
“Probably, but head wounds bleed a lot, and it looks worse than it really is. I just wanted to let you know the gash is still very tender.”
A slight grin appeared through her parted fingers. “I’ll be careful. I promise.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “The flatbread should be ready. Let’s go to the table.”
I helped her off the couch. The food smelled wonderful, and the drink had sharpened my appetite.
Anna pulled down the oven door, removed the round meat pie with two potholders, and set it on the counter, cutting it into wedges. “Would you bring the plates from the table?”
I carried the white porcelain plates trimmed in green to the kitchen.
“One or two slices?” she asked.
“Three.”
The corners of her mouth peaked upward. “Three it is.”
She took two slices.
I pulled a chair out for her and laid a white linen napkin on her lap, then took my place across from her at the small rectangular table.
The string quartet music set the stage for the evening, and the stout drink did its part. We were obviously hungry because the conversation stopped.
Halfway through dinner, I grinned at the glob of red sauce clinging to her lip.
She looked at me. “What?”
I tapped the corner of my lip with my index finger.
Anna dabbed the tomato sauce with her napkin and gave me a half-smile of embarrassment.
“Do you want to know what I like about you?” I asked.
Chewing, she nodded.
“I love the way your eyes smile.”
She swallowed and leaned back in her chair. “That’s one of the most beautiful things anyone has ever said to me.”
“It’s true. I love every minute I’m with you.”
The night got better the longer we talked, drank, and laughed. I was falling for this woman, and I hoped the feeling was mutual.
About midnight Anna grabbed my hand and led me to the bedroom.
Except for the thin veil of light coming through the curtains, I sat in complete darkness at the foot of the bed.
She went to the window and pulled the curtains back.
The storm had moved. A full moon shone through the gnarled branches of a leafless tree.
She spun slowly in my direction.
All I could see was a perfect silhouette. But I felt her gaze on me as she kicked off her shoes, crossed her arms, and pulled the sweater over her head.
Her trousers fell to the floor next as she padded toward me.
She took my breath. And the breath after that. And the one after that.
Chapter 23
der 1. März 1937
Augsburg, Germany
Saturday night with Anna took my mind off the attack at my office. My head is not as sore today but aches enough to remind me not to run a comb through my hair. I called Hoermann early this morning. After work, he is taking me to a location out of my element and into his. He chose the Boar’s Head Club, north of the downtown area…
Hoermann had asked that I meet him five blocks up Volkhartstr at 8:00 p.m. The streets were mostly empty. The night air hung heavy, reaching deep into my core with its numbing cold. I didn’t know if I was ready to face the dangers associated with Hoermann and his spies. But I must step up for my country, be willing to take the risk.
At least, I didn’t have to wait for him. He was right on time, and I quickly opened the car door and slid in—to a pleasant surprise. The disagreeable smell of body odor had been replaced with the agreeable musk scent of cologne. Wondering why the change, I wanted to ask. But what could I say that wouldn’t be offensive?
Hoermann looked both ways before driving through the intersection.
I tapped him on the upper arm. “I’m not familiar with the Boar’s Head Club.”
With one hand resting on the top of the steering wheel, he gave a sheepish grin that forced a crease in his fleshy cheeks. “It’s a comedy club. A burlesque show. I’ve been there a couple of times. There shouldn’t be too many people on a Monday night. We can talk and not be disturbed.”
The clandestine thing with spies? I could never get used to that type of work.
He drove by a sleazy, dark gray stone building where flashing red neon lights spelled out Boar’s Head Club. He parked the car on a side street, and we got out and walked a short distance to a heavy steel door. One big floodlight glowed brightly overhead.
I must have looked hesitant because he said, “This club is a throwback to the speakeasy establishments during prohibition time in America.” He knocked three times, then turned to me and shrugged. “Part of the ambiance to make it appear real.”
Someone opened a peep hole, shut it, and opened the door. “Ah, Herr Hoermann, how good to see you. Come in.”
For him to have been to this place only a couple of times, he must’ve made a big impression.
Shutting the door behind us, the man asked, “Your usual table, Herr Hoermann?”
They knew his favorite table. He’d been feeding me a line of horse scheisse.
The room was maybe a quarter filled with patrons, mostly men. A row of empty stools covered in black leather ran along the long marble-topped bar. Dusty, half-empty liquor bottles lined shelves in front of a mirror. How long had it been since the supply had been restocked? Obviously, cleaning was not a priority.
Up on stage, a man and a woman told lewd jokes to an audience that wasn’t listening. The girl, scantily dressed, wore heavy makeup, dramatic false eyelashes, and a huge red wig. The man wore a brown pinstriped suit with a watch fob that hung to his knees.
Some ladies came from a side entrance next to the stage and cuddled up to the men in the audience.
Minutes later, the men and women got up from the tables in couples and walked back through the same door.
This was a brothel pretending to be a nightclub. “Hoermann, you devil,” I whispered.
But mesmerized by the long-legged woman on stage, he didn’t hear me.
His attention strayed only when a generously hipped waitress asked, “Would you gentlemen like to order?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tobacco pouch, unzipped it, and filled his pipe. He huffed several times on the pipe until it was lit and exhaled a large, gray billow of smoke
I smelled the same cherry aroma as before. I tapped his large arm. “That tobacco has a unique smell. Tell me about it.”
He removed the pipe from his mouth. “A cherry blend. My pipe is a Yello Bole I picked up on a trip to New York City and is a popular brand in America.”
“I’ve only seen you smoke a pipe a few times.” I was beginning to really like this man.
“It’s a bad habit, but I enjoy a good smoke from time to time.” He sucked in a large breath with his pipe in his mouth. Red embers burned in the pipe bowl. He exhaled a billow of smoke twice as big as the first. “Hans, what would you like?” His attention returned to the woman on the stage.
“Weisse bier.” I smiled at the rotund intelligence officer’s infatuation with the long-legged performer.
The waitress shifted her weight, waiting on Hoermann to decide.
“Hmm… a weisse bier for me too.”
She turned and walked back to the bar.
He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the stressed collar. “Hans, when you called me, I noticed urgency in your voice about this meeting. What’s going on?”
The waitress brought our biers.
Hoermann took a large drink before setting the mug down.
“Last Friday I worked late at the aircraft factory. Around 11:00 p.m., someone tried to enter my office. I went to see who was there. When I stepped into the hallway, I was hit over the head and knocked out.”
He snapped to attention. “Did you see who it was?”
“Nein. Ernst Fischer, one of the engineers at the plant, found me on the floor.”
“Ernst Fischer?” He lowered his gaze and raised his voice. “Why was he at the factory at that time of night?”
The way he said Fischer’s name made me think he knew him. “It’s a long story, but he was hurt by the same person who knocked me out. He didn’t get a look at the individual either.”
“Have you told anyone what happened?” He took another drink, finishing off his bier.
“I was going to tell Messerschmitt this morning, but he was out of the office today.”
Hoermann leaned over the table. “Don’t mention this to anyone. I will talk with Messerschmitt tomorrow. What about Fischer? He must keep this quiet also.” His voice was barely audible.
“I told him not to say anything.”
Hoermann had a far-off look in his eyes as he tapped the ends of his fingers together.
He knew something. Something he had no intention of telling me.
Chapter 24
der 18. März 1937
Augsburg, Germany
A couple of weeks have passed since the meeting with Hoermann at the Boar’s Head Club. Messerschmitt is aware of the attack on Fischer and me. Pressure is being placed on Messerschmitt and Germany’s armament production. Twelve-hour days are not uncommon at the factory. Something is going on politically, and many people at work feel war is inevitable. I hope they are wrong. Messerschmitt has called a special meeting this morning. I better get going…
By 7:30 a.m., the hallway leading to the cafeteria was already jammed with employees.
“Hans, wait up.” Ernst muscled his way through the workers. “What’s this meeting about?” he asked, half out of breath.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” I was lucky to find two empty chairs for us midway to the podium. In meetings like this, everyone wanted to sit at the back of the room.
Messerschmitt, accompanied by Hoermann, entered from a side door.
The noisy room quieted almost immediately, the silence a symbol of the respect Messerschmitt had from the factory workers.
Fischer nudged me with his elbow. “Who’s that fat fellow with the Hitler mustache?” His words were muffled.
I shrugged. Hoermann had stressed that I couldn’t let anyone find out I was an undercover agent with the military intelligence—even though he’d seemed to recognize Fischer’s name when I’d mentioned it at the Boar’s Head Club. Fischer didn’t seem to know Hoermann, but did Hoermann know of Fischer? And why?
Messerschmitt adjusted the height of the microphone stand and tapped the mic to see if it was turned on. “Good morning.” He turned his head and cigarette coughed. “I want to introduce Otto Hoermann of the Abwehr Military Intelligence Service. His message is important. Please pay attention.” He sat, crossed his legs, and turned sideways in the chair, looking very uneasy.
Hoermann stood, buttoned his belly-strained coat, and stepped to the microphone. “Danke, Herr Messerschmitt. I want to thank each of you for your contributions to the Fatherland. Your work is top secret and other countries want our technology. Be alert. If you notice anything suspicious, inform your supervisor immediately.” Hoermann’s physical appearance might be lacking, but his baritone voice commanded respect, and all eyes in the room seemed focused on him.
Fischer leaned toward me. “You did tell Messerschmitt about what happened to us?”
I nodded. “He knows.”
He leaned in again. “That happened weeks ago. Why is that Hoermann fellow just now telling us to be on the watch for suspicious things?”
I shrugged again.
Hoermann’s speech was filled with propaganda about the greater Germany. His oratory skill didn’t match Der Fuhrer’s but was close. Even so, the talk lasted too long.
Fischer was the first to rise from his chair. “Are we still on with the ladies for tomorrow night?”
I stood. “The Ratskeller restaurant on Friday night is going to be crowded. I hope Anna made reservations.”
Fischer cupped his hand over his mouth and yawned. “Why didn’t you make the reservations?”
“I offered, but she was adamant.” Anna’s strong personality drew me to her.
Fischer yawned again as though he hadn’t had enough sleep last night. “I bet she’ll want the same table and asks for the same waiter.”
What did that mean? And how would he know? Could Fischer and Anna have been more than friends at one time? I looked at him. I chuckled—not a chance.
Chapter 25
der 19. März 1937
Augsburg, Germany
The meeting yesterday with Messerschmitt and Hoermann at the aircraft factory left everyone a little paranoid. Little did they know just how on edge they should be. Fischer and I had paid the price for being at the right place at the wrong time. Our head wounds prove it.
Fischer will drive Anna and Heidi to the restaurant because they all live in the same Fuggerei housing project. I will meet them at 8:00 p.m. Anna dropped all sorts of hints that she had to leave Augsburg early tomorrow morning. No overnight for me…
I could walk from the Bauer Hotel to the Ratskeller, the distance only a few blocks. I pushed through the revolving door of the hotel lobby, a sharp blast of north wind stinging my face. Grasping the neck of my coat, I fastened the top button.
The breeze howled as it whipped around the corners of the building. Something different about the whistling sounds caught me off guard. The strong draft blew a clump of snow off the angled roof of a business, and it splattered on the ice-crystalled sidewalk. Streetlights highlighted my breath.
For no apparent reason, a cold chill gripped my body that made me feel as if I was being watched. I turned around, then looked across the street. No one.
I’d only walked half a block when two men exited from a nearby alley.
Their black fedoras were pulled down tight, the collars of their coats flush to their faces. One had a cigarette dangling from the corner of his lips. “Do you have a light?” The tobacco stick bounced up and down in his mouth with each word.
I shook my head, buying time to figure out which one was the biggest threat so I could take him out first.
The other inched closer. “So, what do you have? How about money? You got any money?”
I removed my hands from my coat pocket and raised them to the halt position. A gesture I hoped would indicate I didn’t want trouble.
They stepped closer, the man directly in front of me in position for a power right cross.
I extended my fist. Pow. A perfectly placed punch to the idiot’s nose.
He fell back, his body stiff as a department store mannequin.
The other joker looked at his friend lying on the ground, shocked.
I gave him a quick kick to the family jewels, and he went down into a fetal position, whimpering like a frightened rabbit.
I stepped around the moaning thug and headed to the restaurant. Flexing my right hand, I looked at my large knuckle. Hitting someone on a cold night, not a good idea, but I had no choice. I shook off the pain and kept walking.
What an odd encounter. The pair had been dressed too well for ordinary thieves. And if they weren’t thieves, who were they, and what had they wanted? Was I a random target or part of some plan? All this spy stuff was getting to me.
When I got to the restaurant, Anna, Heidi, and Ernst were seated next to the maître d’s podium. The smell of roasting pork from the kitchen piqued my appetite as I laughed to myself about the two pseudo-tough boys who’d tried to bully me tonight and ended up on the receiving end instead.
Fischer stood, tugging on his trousers, then buttoned his suit coat. “Why the big grin, Hans?”
I waved him off. “I’ll tell you later.”
Anna stepped forward and kissed my cheek.
I reciprocated, then reached one arm around Heidi’s shoulder and gave her a hug.
Anna turned to the maître d.’ “Reservations for Anna Beck.”
A young man flipped through pages. “Yes. We have your table ready in the center of the dining room.”
Anna put her palm down on the stand. “Excuse me. I did not request a table at that location.”
The young man glanced down at the seating arrangement. “I’m sorry. There must be a mistake. Someone wrote down a table in the center of the room.”
Anna inhaled and exhaled in obvious frustration. “I requested the table in the corner next to the fireplace and for my waiter to be Frederick.”
The nervous young man adjusted his black bow tie and cleared his throat. “Let me check to see if the table by the fireplace is available.” He quickly walked to the doorway entrance, looked inside, then returned a lot less enthusiastically. “I’m so sorry, fräulein, but the table you requested is occupied. To make it up to you, your meal will be on the Ratskeller.” He looked at Anna through sheepish eyes.
