The Past Sucks, page 3
Nonetheless, it was a salient detail that she possessed a multitude of curved surfaces of intense interest to me, and all of them were feminine.
She twisted around to look at the wall behind her. As she moved, her body presented fresh surfaces arranged in subtly different geometries, every one as delectable as the last.
So, yeah. I’m going with feminine curves.
The blood began flowing back to the more boring parts of my mind and I realized the Ox had been scanning the room for potential threats. To my eye, it appeared safe and secure, hidden from observation by the curtains. Two sets of period attire were hanging near the door.
Satisfied with the room, she returned her attention to me. She rolled a kink out of her back, which had the effect of pushing out her front.
Once more, the blood ebbed away from the relatively sensible parts of my brain.
“You got a problem, Caldwell?”
“Not from where I’m looking.”
She arched an eyebrow.
Damnit! She was mocking me.
I snapped. “Oh, for the Devil! Come on, you demon binta. You could have warned me about the naked thing.”
“I could have.” She grinned, deepening the dimples beneath her cheek ridges. “But then I wouldn’t have enjoyed the shock on your smug face.”
I laughed. The Ox had me. The moment of friskiness had passed, and I was now all business. Well, nearly all. I was still curious about one intimate detail of my partner. I moved close and with my fingertip an inch from her flesh, I traced one of her many scars. This one slanted up from just above her navel. It disappeared beneath a breast before reappearing on the side of her ribs.
It was far from her only old wound, but it was in the most interesting location.
“Been in the wars, Oxala?”
“You know I have. You’re looking at a bayonet thrust I took at the Battle of Waterloo. Or rather, the night after. I think the soldier who gave me that memento thought I was robbing his dead comrades of their coins and ripping gold teeth from their mouths. I’ve never blamed him. There were plenty of ghouls robbing the fallen that night.”
“And how did he fare? The man with the bayonet?”
“It was his last mistake.”
“And the dying man he thought you were robbing?”
“Is now a Time Dog. If you survive Düsseldorf, I’ll introduce you to him.”
A short pause hung between us. The Ox had enjoyed playing her little games, but I saw the moment when she drew back her shoulders and set a whiff of tension in her jaw. Her game face was on.
“Show’s over, Caldwell. Get dressed.”
“Oh, and for your information,” she said a few moments later as she was stepping into complicated satin undergarments. “It is possible to transport equipment, such as clothing. But it’s expensive. Time Dogz is a profit-maximizing operation. Our lives are expendable. Our blushes don’t even rate as a concern. So get used to showing yourself off to your other team members. In fact, maybe you should work out a little more.”
“Hey! I was recently dead, remember?”
I looked down at myself.
Ox did too.
I licked my lips. Subtlety’s for losers. I gave her my best smile. “We have a few minutes before we’re on the clock, don’t we?”
She sucked in a breath then shook her head. “Put on those pants and keep it in there. If you live, we’ll revisit that conversation when we’re done and home.”
Hanging on my peg was a cotton bag containing reassuringly normal briefs and socks, also strange sock garters and suspenders. Pants, shirt, tie, jacket: the other clothes were familiar from my era, if a little formal. And I’d worn something like the broad brimmed hat at a party once.
The Ox’s clothes were weird.
“What the hell are you wearing?” I wasn’t completely ignorant of women’s underthings. I knew bras and panties. And how to remove them. The Ox’s garment was something altogether more confusing, a one-piece sheer dress with lace, embroidery, and elasticated straps.
“Why?” she teased. “Do you want to try it on? Androgyny is the hot thing in Weimar Germany.”
I snorted. “Another time, blondie.”
She unconsciously touched her hair, which had been dyed a lustrous blonde for the operation and severely cut into a short bob that she called a bubikopf style.
“For your information, I’m wearing peach rayon cami-bloomers. Just the thing for a lower-middle-class New Woman.”
“Yeah, but you’re a Time Dog. Hey, do I get to call you a Time Bitch?”
“You do not.”
I shrugged. “What I meant is that you’re a Dog on business. You’re not here to show off your underthings with all the stretchy bits and window dressing. So why bother?”
“Firm foundations help to make the act convincing. Even though in the case of my undergarments, the foundations are invisible, they are still critical. Bravo, by the way, for playing your part so well.”
I sensed a trap but blundered on regardless. “Huh?”
“A man telling a woman what is and is not appropriate for her to wear. Yes, you’ll fit right into this time period.”
I decided to stop talking and reached for the pants.
They turned out to be more complicated than I had expected. Instead of a belt, I had to keep them up with suspenders that buttoned onto the inside of the waistband. I was still fiddling with the buttons when someone knocked on the door.
Chapter 06
A woman followed the knock into the room, her calf length scarlet jacket billowing out behind her as if she were at the prow of a boat steaming into the wind.
The aggressive red of her jacket contrasted with the soft cream of her flowing pants and blouse that had a kind of built-in scarf.
My interest returned to her jacket. Not only did she wear it open, but it didn’t seem to have buttons. I decided the garment’s function was to flap open at the merest provocation.
It also matched her lipstick. I liked that.
Never in my life had I paid so much attention to a woman’s outfit, a habitual lack of interest that has been pointed out to me on many an occasion.
This was different because the way she dressed made this all seem so real. Time travel, I mean. The kind of coveralls we wore at the Time Dogz base could have been issued to janitors or vehicle mechanics across history, but this was different. She wasn’t playing at fancy dress or wearing a disguise. She was dressed in this strange ensemble because it was fashionable.
This wasn’t history to her. It was today.
She caught my attention and briefly returned my frank stare, but it was to the Ox that she handed a sheet of paper and a pencil.
“Please forgive the intrusion, Frau Oxala,” she said in German, “but I wanted to warn you to be cautious. Not only do I have other guests at this time, but they insist on using the bathroom on your floor, despite my admonishments.”
I ceased my contemplation of ladies fashionwear and remembered the few words of briefing the Ox had given me.
This must be Frau Kinz, and we were in her boarding house.
The advantage of 1930s Germany being such a popular destination for time travelers was that safe houses and supply caches had been established.
Travelers from the future appearing naked in the middle of the street might have led to a little awkwardness. Better to arrive at the third floor of Frau Kinz’s boarding house, which was supposed to be ours alone.
“Our arrangement was for a dedicated floor and no interruptions.” The Ox’s voice was like sharpened steel. She clearly did not suffer disappointments easily.
Frau Kinz flinched and lowered her gaze to the floor. “I didn’t know what to do, Frau Oxala. One of them picked the bathroom lock and now they are habituated to its use. It is difficult to tell them to stop. They defy me.”
She looked up and flashed her dark eyes at me. “What I need is a man about the house.”
The Ox chortled. “Trust me, Frau Kinz. I doubt this one will be of much use to you.”
I let the Ox’s little dig pass because the German woman from the distant past gave me a wink and left.
My eyes stared blankly at the wooden door, my mind flooding to the brim with the notion that a little mutual pleasure with a woman from another era was a new experience I desperately needed to try.
The Ox tutted. “Don’t even think about it, Caldwell.”
I grunted. “You might as well stand on the shoreline and order the tide not to come in.”
“Just zip it up and get on with your job.”
I nodded, feeling foolish. I was on probation, after all.
“If I think you are a danger to the mission or to me,” she said, “you won’t be returning to the Kennel.”
The Kennel, the Time Dogz base in the future. Even the people of the 34th century hadn’t learned much originality.
Her words suddenly caught in my mind. Why would I want to return to the Kennel?
With that thing they’d put in my head giving me all those languages, maybe Frau Kinz’s boarding house wasn’t a bad place to live. She did say she wanted a man, after all.
“I see I have to spell this out,” she said. “If I decide you’re not coming back, then I will execute you. I can’t have you running around this time period mouthing dangerous time spoilers. And if by some miracle you killed me, another team would come back and end you. Painfully.”
“Got it, boss. So what do we do now?”
Her answer was to lead me out into the hallway. It was a miniature hotel floor. A little threadbare but I’d seen a lot worse. “You’re in room 9. Stay there until I come for you. My room is number 10 and I shall be liaising with Frau Kinz.”
“Roger that,” I responded, trying to deflect my earlier indiscretions by sounding professional.
The key was in the lock, and I let myself in and settled into the comfortable chair. The place was so cheap I couldn’t see a TV, and I was pretty sure there was no internet in the 1930s.
So I switched on the radio and sat listening to scratchy German songs until something interesting happened.
It took about forty minutes.
* * *
It must be tough running a coordinated team when its two parts are separated by fourteen centuries. Only so much could be anticipated and prepared in advance.
That had been the purpose of the paper and pencil the landlady had provided. The Ox wrote down a list of items for Frau Kinz to discreetly acquire that we would need for our mission that evening.
She can’t have obtained them entirely in person because those forty minutes later, the landlady came into my room carrying a silver tray bearing a pot of coffee, cups, two shot glasses and a half bottle of brandy.
“I thought you might be lonely,” she said. In case that wasn’t explanation enough, she sent me a very naughty look with her eyes and flicked her dark, bubikopf hair.
No one has ever accused me of being a subtle observer of humankind, but I got the hint. For the Devil, though, I couldn’t do as nature and Frau Kinz intended.
As inviting as this German woman was, the Ox had been very clear. I didn’t want my landlady to be the last thing I enjoyed in my resurrected life.
In a neutral voice I responded, “I would enjoy a coffee, thank you.”
She smiled and began pouring two cups. She probably thought I was shy.
If only she knew.
She told me her name was Mizzi. She had married young and her dear husband’s father had owned the boarding house. Both father-in-law and husband had died during the war.
I told her how sorry I was, that I’d fought in a big war too and understood something of its horror. She downed a glass of brandy, looked me in the eye, and told me how lonely she was now that she had been fifteen years widowed.
Those sad eyes overwhelmed me. I capitulated, explaining that while I could never make up for the loss in her life, I could make her less lonely for a brief while. Perhaps half an hour while the Ox was busy. Best that Frau Oxala didn’t know.
She turned away and stared mournfully at the drawn curtains, loss clouding her face.
I began to doubt whether this was a good idea.
I’d also lost everyone I’d ever known. All dead. Or yet to be born. The difference was, I’d never much cared for anyone, but Mizzi obviously had.
It was only a moment’s reflection, though, for both of us. When she came back to me with a smile, her face was warm and hungry.
She walked over to the door and locked it.
Half an hour was all she needed.
Chapter 07
“How was Frau Kinz?”
I tried not to look startled. “How did you know?”
Evil didn’t begin to describe the Ox’s grin. “I didn’t. But I know now.”
We were waiting in the short queue to get in the Parkhotel where we were due to infiltrate the big event being held there that night. I didn’t want to appear suspicious.
According to our research, a security check at a hotel like this was not normal, but at least the pair guarding the entrance were hotel workers, not uniformed Nazis. Even so, although I don’t like to pass prejudiced judgement on people based on their appearance, I was guessing the 800-pound gorilla dragging his knuckles on the pretty tiles of the entrance step was the security part of the duo. I did not want to annoy that guy.
“If you’re going to kill me,” I whispered to my partner. “Do it someplace else.”
“So long as you perform your mission tasks, Frau Kinz won’t be a concern. She’s had half the Time Dogz in this era. But if keeping your dick in your pants is a problem for you, then I will cut it off and shove it down your throat until you choke to death. There are plenty more dying soldiers on a thousand more battlefields.”
I shushed her as a tram trundled down the center of the street.
It was early evening, but the streetlamps were effective illumination for the busy city.
There was more traffic than I had expected. Primitive yet gleaming motor cars were common, but not as common as bicycles. For freight transport, motor trucks were heavily outnumbered by horse-drawn carts.
At every street corner unemployed men gathered. Some drank, chatted, and gambled, as if their loafing were a pleasant social gathering. Most squatted or sat in morose silence or joined the mutilated victims of the war in begging.
Whenever a car parked, it would be swarmed by men with dirty smiles offering to wash and guard it.
The unemployed were thinner near the Parkhotel and a possible cause for their scarcity marched into view.
This was the Prussian state police. They marched in pairs, rifles slung over shoulders. Their bearing and their blue uniforms looked military, though not so much their weirdly shaped helmets fronted by an enormous star.
I wasn’t the only one troubled by the presence of militarized police. The smaller of the two men checking people entering the hotel sucked nervously at a thin cigarette as he stared their way. Then he waved me forward.
The hotel man looked me over, wary but not rudely.
I did the same. He had a gaunt face and a thin moustache that gave him a ratty quality only partially offset by the fancy gold trim on his peaked hat.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid the hotel facilities are closed for a private function today.”
“That’s all right,” said the Ox to the rat. “We’re here for the function.”
The sound of a commotion inside the hotel caused the doorman to turn around and crouch low, as if about to launch himself into the cover of the nearest shell hole. But that war was over, and the disturbance was only friendly banter between unruly bellhops.
I deployed my freshly tuned-up vision to study the table behind the rat man. On it were sheets of paper listing names. A list that we weren’t on.
“Sorry.” The doorman was sweating a little. He seemed disgusted with himself. “It is an important event, and these are troubled times.”
“I understand.”
“Your names, please.”
“Of course. But first, let me explain that my assistant misspoke. We have indeed traveled to Düsseldorf for a function, but it is not the one here at the Parkhotel.”
“Then I am sorry, but the facilities are unavailable, sir. Perhaps another time?”
“Unavailable even for residents?” I asked.
He took a last drag at his dwindling cigarette. “No.”
“Well, that’s why we came here to the finest hotel in Düsseldorf. We wish to stay for two nights.”
He looked over the two of us, his suspicion obvious. “Traveling light are we, sir?”
“Our baggage is at the train station. I’ll have it brought over later.”
He considered his options. I was sure he’d rather we had never darkened his doorway, but we didn’t look like communists or street fighters, and he couldn’t think of a valid way to get rid of us.
He stepped back and saluted me. “Welcome to the Parkhotel, sir. Madam. I trust you enjoy your stay.”
I smiled at the gorilla as I walked in. I was genuine too. Working security isn’t fun, and I know that from experience.
He gave me a growl in response.
Tough town, Düsseldorf.
Chapter 08
Two hours after we’d checked in, we returned to the Parkhotel, having acquired suitcases and the things to go in them. A nervous bellhop took them to our adjoining rooms.
When I tipped the man, I asked what was troubling him.
“The National Socialists, sir.” He gazed at the banknotes I’d slipped him with bulging eyes before stuffing them into a jacket pocket. I figured I’d given him too much. I could remember that after suffering hyperinflation a decade earlier, Germany was now suffering severe price deflation, but I couldn’t remember anything specific about numbers.
“What’s wrong with the National Socialists?” I asked.
As I spoke them, my words tasted dirty. There was plenty wrong with the Nazis, and they’d barely gotten started by January 1932. I was just trying to assess the lie of the land.
“I don’t get involved with politics,” he answered carefully. “But trouble always follows them around, especially when there’s Stormtroopers.” He shuddered. “I don’t want to arrive for work in the morning to see bloodstains on the carpet.”
