Jesso couldn’t see well enough to put his shot where he wanted. For a man in his underwear, Fritz certainly had guts. He rushed to the side of the ambulance, and while Jesso blinked blindly the shovel came into view and slammed down at Jesso. It missed the head but glanced across Jesso’s hand so that the gun flew down. Fritz stooped to reach for it, which was fine with Jesso. The sand trick could work both ways, and the cloud hit Fritz straight in the face. But Fritz fired just the same. With his eyes burning blind he shot way off the mark, so that nothing happened except that Jesso got mad. A flying tackle took him under the firing line into Fritz’s middle. One hand tore at the gun and then the two men rolled on the ground. There was one more shot, which tore through Fritz’s own foot, and then Jesso let fly. Fritz was never going to look the same. He was screaming and burbling now, and when Jesso jumped up he was out of breath.
“Enough?”
“Genug! Genug!”
“All right, Schmeling. Sit up.”
While Fritz sat up, Jesso found the gun in the sand. He also found the one that Hans had dropped. One was an automatic; the other was a revolver. The sand interfered with the action of both of them, but Jesso was able to work the revolver free. The automatic was useless. He took the clip out, ejected the shell in the chamber, then tossed the gun far into the brush. There were shells for the revolver in the trench-coat pocket and Jesso reloaded.
All this had taken time, and Jesso figured that Fritz was ready now.
“Fritz, can you see me?”
“Yes.”
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s Kator?”
“Ich verstehe — “ He didn’t get any farther because Jesso’s fist caught him where it hurt. The broken nose started to bleed again.
“Where’s Kator?”
“He goes home. Home.”
“Where’s home?”
“He lives in Hannover.”
“Fritz boy, this is like pulling teeth. Give me all of it, and all at once.”
“Hannover on the Leine. You drive the same road we came on and go south. Perhaps six hours’ driving. In Hannover he lives in the von Lohe villa. The house is on the Herrenhauser Allee.”
“He lives there, or it’s his place of business?”
“He lives there and also has his business. He has his business all over.”
“Fine. Get up and turn around.”
He did and Jesso stepped close. The gun butt came down hard and Jesso caught the man before he hit the ground. He dragged him to the tree where Hans was, tied him up with the same webbed belt, and went back to the ambulance. After he’d slammed the back doors shut he picked up the shovel and turned to the men.
“While you’re waiting for me to come back, Fritz, dig yourself something,” and he tossed the shovel toward the tree.
It landed close to Hans’s leg and he moved his foot over, dragging the shovel along. Jesso saw it. He was grinning when he walked over to the tree. Hans wasn’t so stupid, after all. The shovel had a sharp edge and with a few gymnastics the blade could be worked against the strap. Jesso picked up the shovel and tossed it far into the brush.
“Dig this,” he said to Hans, but Hans didn’t.
Jesso figured that Hannover was probably a fair-sized town. There were road markers after every little village he passed. Except for the villages, there wasn’t much variety on the drive. The land was flat and wet-looking, with wide potato fields and pastures where fat Holsteins were grazing. And along the road the eternal apple trees. By Jesso’s habits, it was a slow drive. The highway was narrow and there were a lot of potholes. When he met a car or one of the slow teams of horses that dragged heavy wooden wagons, it helped to be driving an ambulance. Jesso cut loose with the siren and the road was his.
Still it was nighttime before he was even close to Hannover. There had been money in Fritz’s pants, so Jesso stopped at a bakery in one of the towns and bought a square loaf of dark bread. He couldn’t find a place that sold milk. He finally bought a bottle of beer where a sign said, “Gasthof,” and took it into the cab. He drove into the country and parked behind a barn in the middle of nowhere. After beer and bread he got into the back, let the ambulance bed down, and went to sleep.
It was maybe nine in the morning when Jesso hit the town. The sun had come up cold and white, never quite making it through the wet haze in the air. He drove through empty streets with bombed-out shells of houses on both sides, neat straight ruins, because the Germans were such tidy people. After a while it got busier. The streets got narrower, traffic was a mess of bicycles and tiny cars, and after several crazy corners and intersections Jesso figured he was in the heart of town. He pulled the ambulance to a curb and left it there. Let Kator worry about the ticket.
Jesso walked around the corner and found a restaurant. He would have liked a place with a counter and grill, but there didn’t seem to be such a thing. The place had tables, waiters, and a sign that said “English Spoken.”
The breakfast was good. There was no orange juice, but the rest was good. He had fried eggs with sausages, some thick, soft bread, a dish of cottage cheese, and coffee afterward. While he had his second cup of coffee he told the waiter to call a taxi. When it came he paid and left.
He told the hackie, “Herrenhauser Allee, von Lohe Villa.” He had to pronounce it several times. Then the cabbie tried different versions. Finally they recognized each other and the taxi took off. The ambulance was right around the corner and Jesso saw there was a ticket on the windshield.
Traffic got less hectic after a while. The Allee was a broad, dark road, an open iron gate at the entrance and the branches of double rows of ancient trees forming a dim green arch over-head. It was a show place, left over from the time when the King’s carriage came this way, traveling the miles to the other end, where his summerhouse was hidden in a walled park.
The taxi swung left, then followed the quiet street that paralleled the boulevard. At intervals there were large villas. They stopped at the largest.
When the taxi had left and Jesso walked through the iron gate, he thought for a moment that nobody was living there. The empty drive curved around a high-grown lawn and the rows of tall windows in the building were heavily draped. The house was as big as it was ugly. Two Atlases grew out of palm fronds to hold the porte- cochere, the house was dripping with stone ornaments.
There was a cool, watery smell in the air. Jesso looked back at the row of trees, then at the villa again. He didn’t often feel like this, but suddenly it was as if he were out of place. Jesso hunched his shoulders. It sure didn’t feel like home territory. Hell, there was no more home territory There was nothing but Jesso with a two-day beard, his stolen clothes, and a half-crazy scheme that hadn’t even begun to take shape. He rubbed his face and then he made a noise as if he meant to laugh but thought better of it. Christ, a real one-man operation. He always wanted a one-man operation, and now he had it; right in the neck he had it. Or it had him. A free hand and nobody underfoot. It had come true so completely that he didn’t know whether to laugh or to swear. And the right kind of woman would be the next thought. At a time like this, for Christ’s sake, he was going to start thinking about women.
Jesso jumped off the drive that swung under the villa’s porte-cochere and stumbled over the low curbing. The long car, built like a ballroom, made just the merest hum and then stopped by the door. A chauffeur jumped out, moving as if he too were powered by a Daimler motor, and then it looked as if he were going to throw himself right up those stairs. Jesso too thought he might want to throw himself right up those stairs.
She wasn’t big or sharp or anything, but she had presence. The heart-shaped face almost spoiled the impression of coolness and grace. The heart-shaped face had a full mouth and wide, light eyes that had a waiting look; and all that with live lights moving on the silk that stretched over her breasts, a blue raw silk, and hips that made a waltz out of the way she walked down those stairs. She stopped halfway down and looked at Jesso. At least, her eyes were turned in his direction. She massaged white gloves over her hands and wrists, and when she was through she got into the car. And that was that.
He stood a while, thinking about it. There are women like that. That was all that came to him. Or, anyway,
