“I helped.”
“So it’s all on your shoulders. All the problems of the world.” She looked out the window, quiet. “You and Daniel.”
“What do I do? Just sit there?” He looked at her. “It’s not much, considering.”
“They’re turning off,” Kaltenbach said, looking out the back.
After La Jolla there were more lights, the hilly outskirts of San Diego. Liesl was fiddling with the radio, Kaltenbach keeping watch for cars.
“In the movies they always hear about themselves on the radio,” Liesl said. “But listen, just music. So we’re safe.” She turned the dial, picking up a Spanish-language station. “We must be close. What will they think of us? Different passports.”
“They don’t care much going out. It’s getting back in. It’ll be easier, just the two of us.”
“With a bandage on your head.” She was quiet for a minute. “Why did he want to kill you? You never told me that part. Why?”
“He was paid.”
“The one who paid him.”
“Maybe I’m getting close.”
“Close,” she said, not following.
“Who killed Danny.”
“Why do you think that? There’s something you’re not telling me.”
He shook his head, dodging. “But I must be.”
“Then he’ll try again,” she said flatly. “You have to go to the police.”
“With what? Tell them Danny was a snitch for Minot? I have to stay close to Minot. That’s the connection.”
She looked down. “He wasn’t that. I still don’t believe it.”
“Maybe he thought he had a reason,” Ben said, letting it go.
“We’re coming to the border,” Kaltenbach said, his voice nervous and melodramatic, as if he had seen guard dogs and soldiers with guns. In fact it was only a string of lighted booths under an arched sign.
“Go to sleep,” Ben said to him. “I don’t want to use a Czech passport if we don’t have to. He’d remember. He’s probably never seen one.”
“I don’t have to show it?”
“We can try. Close your eyes.”
He pulled up to the booth, holding his ID out the open window. A uniform like a state trooper, with a broad- brimmed hat.
“Driving late,” the guard said, checking the ID.
“Want to be early for the races.”
“Not tomorrow you won’t. No races. You didn’t know?”
Ben could feel Liesl tense beside him. “I guess we’ll have to find something else to do,” he said, the suggestion of a leer in his voice.
The officer glanced at Liesl. “I guess.”
She began to hand over her passport, but he ignored it.
“Who’s that?”
“My old man. He likes the ponies. And the tequila.” He nodded to the back. “Got a head start.”
“He’ll feel it, that stuff. Careful tonight. You know where you’re going?”
“We’ve been before.”
“Then I don’t have to tell you. Watch the car. They’ll steal the tires while you’re still in it.”
He stepped back, waving them on, and they drove through the noman’s stretch to the Mexican booth, another bored officer who just looked at them and said “ Bienvenidos ” and then they were over, suddenly in Tijuana.
“It’s done?” Kaltenbach said, almost deflated, cheated out of an expected drama.
“You’re free,” Ben said, stumbling on the word, an unintended irony. “No subpoenas.”
The city was noisy even at this hour, bright with strings of bare incandescent bulbs. San Diego had been asleep, but here there were still crowds, peddlers and shoe-shine kids and Americans in Hawaiian shirts, the smell of frying food, makeshift buildings as dingy as carnival flats. Men with mustaches idled on corners waiting for something to happen, like extras, their eyes following the car. Kaltenbach kept staring out the window, expecting it to get better, but the blocks streamed into each other, the same glare and sinister languor, and for a second Ben wanted to turn around, take him back, make some deal with Minot. But now he was here, even more displaced.
They went to the biggest hotel they saw, with a guarded parking lot, and Ben paid for the rooms in dollars. The desk clerk, a Mexican Joel, barely lifted his eyes as he handed out the keys. There was a restaurant two doors down and they sat in a booth, exhausted, and drank beer, picking at the chiles rellenos the waiter had brought, all that was left before closing.
“How long do you think I will have to stay here?” Kaltenbach said.
“We’ll see Broch tomorrow. I think there’s an airport. Maybe we can get you on a plane for Mexico City.”
“A plane?” Kaltenbach said timidly.
“You don’t like to fly? Oh, such a baby,” Liesl said fondly. “It’s like a bus.”
“In the air.”
“A man who crosses borders. An escape artist.”
Kaltenbach smiled weakly. “Not so difficult. Find a Kohler.” He looked at Ben. “‘My old man.’“
Ben tipped his glass in a toast.
“The other time it was sherry. Your brother found a place, after we got through, and we all drank sherry. It’s what they have there, Spain.” He glanced around the room. “It’s the same language, but this-”
There was a shout from the street, a bar argument that had moved outside.
“Border towns are like this. It’ll be different in Mexico City,” Ben said, wondering if it were true.
“Better food,” Kaltenbach said, looking at it. “Imagine living in such a place. Stealing tires.”
Ben stared at the scarred table top, remembering a wrecked Horch abandoned in Jagerstrasse, tires gone, gold on the black market. Children selling K-rations, as slippery as the kids outside. Where he was sending Kaltenbach. But where Kaltenbach wanted to go.
“It’s an odd feeling,” he was saying. “No one knows I’m here.”
“None of us,” Liesl said. “You could disappear here.” She met Ben’s eyes. “If someone were looking for you. You could-just go. Anywhere. Be safe.”
“Unless you wanted him to find you,” Ben said, looking back at her.
“You could stop.”
“Not now. He won’t stop. I’d always be looking over my shoulder. You can’t live that way.” He touched her hand. “And there’s Danny. Do you want me to walk away from that?”
She raised her head, her eyes wider, as if she were startled to find him there.
“What are you saying?” Kaltenbach said, not following their English.
“Nothing,” she said quickly, sitting up. “Just how it’s like before. When we got out.”
“This place?”
“Yes, everything. How worried I was. What if they turn us back? And then at the border, how easy and you thought, it’s a trick.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Kaltenbach said.
“Then a drink to celebrate. Like this. Everything,” she said, facing Ben again.
“And how calm he was, your brother. Well, and you. ‘My old man.’” He grinned. “But not this,” he said, gesturing to the beer. “Do you think they have schnapps?”
“They may call it that, but it won’t-”
“You can’t celebrate with beer. Not something like this.”
They were another hour, sipping a harsh, burning brandy with a Mexican label, Kaltenbach getting sentimental but not yet maudlin, Liesl smiling to herself as he talked.
“And you’ll come to see me. How far is Berlin? Imagine the neighbors. A movie star. In old Kaltenbach’s flat. Everyone looking, just behind the curtains. You remember the courtyards, how everyone knew your business?
