Gunther was sitting in a thick haze of smoke at the end of the raised bar that ran along the side wall. Jake walked past a burst of laughter and a rattle of glasses as a small group of Russians banged the table for service. The band, without a pause, switched to “This Year’s Kisses.”
Gunther was huddled with another civilian and barely acknowledged Jake when he reached the bar, giving a quick nod and then a jerk of his head toward a table in the corner.
“He’s over there.”
Jake followed his eyes to the table. A young soldier, thin hair slicked straight back like Noel Coward’s, sat between two bottle blondes eating dinner, heads bent over their plates.
“But I have some news,” Jake said.
“Let me finish my business,” Gunther said. “I’ll join you. A moment.”
“The gun,” Jake continued. “It was American.”
Gunther looked at him directly, his eyes alert behind their brandy film. “So,” he said, noncommittal.
“Who’s this?” the other German said.
Gunther shrugged. “A new man from the Alex,” he said, the old headquarters. “I’m breaking him in.”
The other man found this funny. “From the Alex.” He laughed. “That’s good.”
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Gunther said, nodding again at the table with the blondes.
Jake squeezed between tables until he reached the English soldier. A kid, skinny and bright-eyed, not the grizzled thug he’d imagined.
“Alford?”
“Danny. You Gunther’s friend? Have a drink,” he said, pouring one. “Gunther said to fix you up. Anything you like.”
“Is it okay to talk?” Jake said, looking at the girls as he sat down.
“Who, them? Right as rain. The only word they know is fuck. Isn’t that right, Use?”
“Hello,” one of the girls said, evidently her other word, and went back to her plate. A piece of gray meat and two potatoes the size of golf balls. Danny must have eaten elsewhere; there was nothing in front of him but a bottle of scotch.
“Don’t know where she gets the appetite,” Danny said. “Does the heart good, doesn’t it, to see her go at it? Now, was there something special you like? Something a bit out of the way, or just straight up? You’re an officer, right?” he said, glancing at Jake’s shoulder patch. “They won’t go unless it’s an officer. But they’re all clean. I insist on that. Checked once a week. We don’t want to take any surprises home, do we? Was there something special?”
“No,” Jake said, embarrassed, “it’s not that. Not girls.”
“Right,” Danny said, picking up his glass but not missing a beat. “My mistake. Now, the boys are a bit more, you understand. They’re only out once a night. Get used up otherwise. You know.” He looked at Jake. “All Hitler Youth, every one of them. With uniforms, if you like.” Cheerful as a street vendor in Whitechapel.
Jake, flustered, shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. I’m looking for some information.”
“You a copper?” Danny said, wary.
“No.”
“Well, a friend of Gunther’s. You’d have to be all right, wouldn’t you?” He lit a cigarette, watching Jake while the end caught. “What sort of information?”
“A man made ten thousand dollars Monday. You hear about anything like that?”
“Ten thousand,” he said, impressed. “In one go? That’s very nice. Friend of yours?”
“An acquaintance.”
“Why not ask him, then?”
“He’s gone back to Frankfurt. I want to know where he made it.”
“Want to do a little business yourself, is that it? What are you selling?”
Jake shook his head again. “I want to know what he was selling.”
Behind them there was applause as the band stopped for a break the vacuum of the sudden quiet soon filling with louder talk.
“Why come to me? Ten thousand, that’s not girls, that isn’t.”
“Gunther said you’re a guy hears things.”
“Not this,” Danny said firmly, squashing his cigarette in the ashtray.
“Want to ask around? I could pay.”
Danny peered at him. “You could pick up a phone and get Frankfurt too.”
“No. He’s dead.”
Danny stared at him. “You might have said. Shows a want of trust. Maybe you’d better piss off. I don’t want any trouble.”
“No trouble. Look, let’s start over. Man I know came to Berlin Monday to do some business and got killed. I’m trying to find out who did it.”
“Gunther know him too?”
“No. He’s helping me. The man only spoke English. Gunther thought you might have heard something. A man gets killed, people talk.”
“Not to me they haven’t. Now piss off.”
“I just want to know if you’ve heard anything.”
“Now you know.” Danny took out another cigarette. “Look, I make a nice little living here. A bit of this, a bit of that. No trouble. I don’t have ten thousand dollars and I don’t shoot people. And I keep my nose to myself. You get all kinds here. Live and let live and you live longer. Isn’t that right, Use?”
The girl looked up and smiled blankly.
“If someone did have ten thousand dollars, what would he buy with it?” Jake said, switching tack.
“In one go? I don’t know, I never had that much.” But he was intrigued now. “The big stuff, that’s more of a swap, like. Friend of mine got hold of a factory shipment-lovely cloth, parachute qual-ity-and the next thing you know he’s got trucks coming in from Denmark. Tinned ham. Now he’s got something. You can sell that anywhere. But no money till it hits the street, if you see what I mean. Cash? Antiques, maybe. But, see, I wouldn’t know one from another, so I steer clear of that.“
“What else?”
“Medicine. They’d pay cash for that. But that’s a dirty business, medicine. I won’t touch that.”
Jake looked at him, fascinated. Ham but not penicillin, a new kind of hair-splitting.
“He was carrying it with him, whatever it was,” Jake said. “No truckloads, not even a box. Something small enough to carry.”
“Jewelry, then. Now that’s a specialty, of course,” Danny said, as if he were referring to one of his girls. “You have to know what you’re about.”
“Would you ask around?”
“I might. As a favor to Gunther, mind. Ah, here we go again,” he said, seeing the band come back on the stand. He poured Jake another drink, warming to the subject. “Small enough to carry? Not gold-too heavy. Paper maybe.”
“What kind of paper?”
The band had started in on “Elmer’s Tune,” causing a new rush to the dance floor. Jake felt his chair pushed from behind. A Russian maneuvered through with his hand stuck firmly on a girl’s behind. Another Russian now loomed over the table, smiling at Use and twirling his finger in the international sign language for dance.
“Piss off, mate. Can’t you see the lady’s eating?”
The Russian reared back, surprised.
“He didn’t realize she was with you,” a voice behind them said in accented English. “Apologies.” Jake turned. “Ah, Mr. Geismar.”
“General Sikorsky.”
“Yes, an excellent memory. Excuse my friend. He thought—”
“He’s a friend of yours?” Danny said to Jake. “Well, that’s all right, then. Use, give him a whirl, there’s a good girl.”
“You dance?” she said to the Russian, getting up and taking him by the arm.
“Thank you,” Sikorsky said. “Very kind.”
