“The world will celebrate for days when he’s hanged.”
“If I had a choice,” Honey said, “Hitler or Himmler? I’d pick Himmler. Kick him in the nuts as hard as I can before I shoot him.”
Honey lowered the pistol again. This time she jammed it straight down between the sofa cushion she was sitting on and Jurgen’s.
“Boy, am I tired.”
“Why don’t you take a nap?”
“I have to go get booze. I think Vera likes to get smashed. Especially the way things are going.”
“I think she handles it well.”
“I hope so. I’d hate to see her fall apart.”
“You mean get drunk?”
“No, the way she’s worried about Bo.”
“You believe he’s missing?”
“Why would she lie about it?”
“What did you tell me Carl said? He can see her wringing her hands?”
“He’s a smart-ass.”
“He has different poses,” Jurgen said. “One time he looks like a farmhand with a jaw full of Beech-Nut chewing tobacco.”
“Scrap,” Honey said.
“The next time-this one’s my favorite-he’s looking at something miles away that no one else can see, and you believe he actually can. I think he’s himself, though, when you’re talking to him. He’s straight with you.”
“He can stop you in your tracks,” Honey said. “You have to think fast to come back at him. He’s more fun than he looks.”
“You like him,” Jurgen said.
“I like him as a man, but he’s taken. If he wasn’t, you’d have competition breathing down your neck. He told his wife, Louly, on the altar, he’d stay pure as the driven snow, and he believes he means to keep his word. But then if he happens to get horny, as we all do at times, and he wants some action right now? Something happens. Dumb luck sets in and saves Carl, gnashing his teeth, from going back on his word. I might’ve told him it was his guardian angel fucking with his life.”
“You know him well.”
“I learned that about him in less’n two minutes. You know what he is, he’s lucky. And there is nothing in the world like going with a guy you know is lucky.”
“I think several times in his shooting situations,” Jurgen said, “Carl, yes, has been lucky. The bank robber coming out to the street, the sidewalk, with a woman in front of him, and tells Carl and the few police in this small town, ‘Lay down your guns.’ Carl told me he could see part of the bank robber’s face over the woman’s left shoulder. Carl’s in the street, thirty feet away. The policemen drop their guns, Carl raises his and shoots the bank robber in the middle of his forehead. I said to Carl, ‘You were risking the woman’s life.’ Carl said, ‘I hit him where I aimed.’”
“He knows what he’s doing,” Honey said. “Did he tell you the woman fainted? Carl said something like, ‘Yeah, she slumped over, I was afraid I’d hit her.’ Then shows just a speck of a grin.”
“He told you that?”
“No, it was in the ‘Hot Kid’ book about him. Kevin loaned me his copy. I haven’t told Carl I read it. I’ve been comparing him to the one in the book.”
“Are they the same person?”
“Identical. He’s the only guy I know who can brag about something he did without sounding like he’s bragging. You accuse him of risking the woman’s life and he tells you he hit where he’d aimed. In the book he says, ‘Dead center.’ He’s still lucky.”
“I was in tanks almost four years,” Jurgen said, “and I’m still alive.”
Honey said, “I know you are, Hun. I spotted you as Mr. Lucky in Vera’s kitchen, the first time I laid eyes on my Kraut,” patting his thigh.
“Yes, but if you had to choose between us right now, at this moment-”
“I’d pick you,” Honey said, “because you love me. I’m getting there with you, Hun, all I have are tender feelings. I don’t see why we won’t make it. Right now I gotta go get the booze.”
“I’ll get it,” Jurgen said. “Go to bed and I’ll come looking for you.”
Twenty-eight
Walter arrived downstairs at twenty to eight, surprising Honey. She buzzed him in and opened the door to the apartment. In the kitchen, Jurgen sipped his martini and raised the glass to Honey coming in with an empty one.
“To the love of my life. Who was that?”
“Walter-”
“I thought he was in Georgia.”
“Hun, you may have to protect me from him. Walter gets horny at strange times, okay? Shoot him if you have to.”
“With the Luger, it would be poetic melodrama.”
She said, “Talk to him while I cut the cheese,” and grinned. “As you learn more of our slang, don’t ever say, ‘Who cut the cheese?’ in polite company.”
He didn’t know what she was talking about, but paused as he was walking out. “How many of those have you had?”
“This is my second,” Honey said, pouring herself one.
Jurgen came in the living room looking at the sofa, the last place he saw the Luger, Honey holding it, aiming at Himmler after kicking him in the nuts, and turns as Walter said, “May I come in?”
Walter standing in the doorway.
Jurgen gestured. “Yes, please.”
Now Honey was in the room with her martini.
“Walter, you didn’t go to Georgia.”
“No, this time I didn’t have to. But he is dead, isn’t he?”
Honey glanced at Jurgen.
“The president of the United States,” Walter said. “You didn’t hear he’s dead?”
“Oh, right, the president. We were shocked,” Honey said. “Where were you, Walter, when you heard?”
He said, “I was at home,” and after a moment, “awaiting the news.”
“Have a martini,” Honey said, handing him her glass. She started for the kitchen saying, “You were waiting for the news to come on?” and kept going.
Walter turned to Jurgen. “She’s like an impulsive child. As I said, I was awaiting the news of his death.”
Jurgen waited a moment for Honey, back again with a martini. “His radio must have been on. Walter says he was waiting for the report of the president’s death.”
Honey said, “You knew he was gonna die? What’d you have, a vision?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Walter said.
“Why not?”
“I prefer not to talk about it.”
“He wants us to believe,” Jurgen said, “he had something to do with the president’s death.”
“Did I say that?”
“It sounds to me that’s what you’re saying.”
“Believe what you want,” Walter said, raised the stemware and downed his martini.
