I got up and left the cafe. I hailed a cab and went back to the Hilton. I checked the desk for messages. There were none. I bought a copy of
“Privacy is something that I’m beginning to put a very high premium on. What do you want, Burmser?”
Bill or Wilhelm, the dude with the wonderful smile, was with him.
Burmser crossed his long legs and frowned. The four wrinkles appeared in his forehead. It may have been a sign that he was thinking.
“You’re headed for trouble, McCorkle,” he said.
I nodded. “Good. It’s my trouble, not yours.”
“You’ve seen Maas,” he said accusingly, and named the cafe.
“I gave him your message. He wasn’t impressed.” I sat down on the bed.
Burmser got up and walked over to the window and stared out, his hands turned into fists that rested on his hips. “What does Padillo want from you?”
“None of your goddamned business,” I said. It came out pleasantly enough.
He turned from the window. “You’re out of your depth, McCorkle. You’re messing around in a potful of crap that’s going to spill all over you. You’d better take the next plane back to Bonn and run your saloon. Your only value to us is that you could put us on to Padillo before he gets himself into a jam he can’t get out of. But you tell me it’s none of my goddamned business. Let me tell you that we haven’t got time to nursemaid you—and God knows you need one.”
“They had a tail on him today,” Bill said.
Burmser waved a hand in disgust. “Christ, they’ve probably had someone on him since he left Bonn.”
“Is that all?” I asked.
“Not quite,” Burmser said. “Padillo has decided to play it cute, just like you. He knows better, and maybe he thinks he can take care of himself. He’s not bad, I’ll admit. In fact, he’s damn good. But not that good. Nobody is— not when he’s bucking both sides.” He got up. This time Bill-Wilhelm got up too. “When you see Padillo, tell him we’re looking for him,” Burmser went on, his voice harsh and scratchy. “Tell him he’s in too deep to get out.”
“In the potful of crap,” I offered.
“That’s right, McCorkle: in the potful of crap.”
I got up and walked over to Burmser. Bill-Wilhelm moved in quickly. I turned toward him. “Don’t worry, sonny. I’m not going to slug him. I’m just going to tell him something.” I tapped my finger against Burmser’s chest. “If anybody’s in trouble, you are. If anybody’s played it cute, you have. I’ll tell you the same thing I told your friend here, with just a little more detail. I’m in Berlin on a private matter that involves the partner of the business I run. As far as I’m concerned, I intend to preserve that business by being of whatever assistance I can to my partner.”
Burmser shook his head in disgust. “You’re dumb, McCorkle. A real dumb bastard. Let’s go, Bill.”
They left. I walked over to the phone and dialed a direct long-distance call to Bonn. It answered on the first ring.
“Sitting in your favorite chair sipping your favorite beverage, Cooky?”
“Hello, Mac. Where are you?”
“The Berlin Hilton, and I need five thousand bucks by eight o'clock tonight. Fifties and twenties.”
There was a silence. “I’m thinking,” Cooky said.
“You’re taking one straight from the bottle, you mean.”
“It helps. There are two possibilities: a pigeon at American Express or another one at Deutsche Bank downtown. I’ve got plenty in both accounts. I’m rich, you know.”
“I know. The bank’s closed, isn’t it?”
“I’m a big depositor. I’ll get it.”
“Can you get an evening flight up here?”
“Sure. I’ll tell New York I’ve got a touch of virus.”
“I’ll get you a room.”
“Make it a suite. I know a couple of pigeons in Berlin. We may need room to romp. By the way, my friend from Dusseldorf just left. Somebody had a tap on the phone at your apartment and at the saloon.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I’ll see you tonight. With the money.”
“I appreciate it, Cooky.”
“No sweat.”
My watch said it was four P.M. I had five hours before Weatherby was to pick me up. I looked at the Scotch bottle but decided against it. Instead I went down to the lobby and reserved a suite for Cooky and cashed a check for two thousand Marks. I went back up to my room, wrote out a check to Mr. Cook Baker for five thousand dollars, put it in an envelope, and sealed it. I took the .38 out of the suitcase and put it in my jacket pocket. Then I mixed a drink and hauled a chair around so that I could look out over the city. I sat there for a long time, watching the shadows deepen from gray into black. The grays and blacks matched my thoughts. It was a long, lonely afternoon.
