“Damn my rotten luck!”
Dash jerked upright as Finn slammed his way into the bedroom again. He rubbed his throbbing head while Finn paced the floor, his hands a fury of gestures. What time was it? What day was it?
“What’s wrong now?” Dash asked his friend, who was wearing a copper-red vertical-striped suit, the coat unbuttoned to show a disheveled vest and crooked tie. A tan hat with an auburn band around the middle threatened to topple from his head, the way he was whipping and whirling about.
“My Valentino,” Finn said. “My poor, sweet, beautiful Valentino! What horrible news before the weekend!”
Friday. It was Friday. Dash’s brain was slowly starting like a hand-cranked Chrysler.
“Still goin’ on about that the actor bloke?” murmured Joe from beneath the bed covers.
It took Finn a few seconds to see Joe wasn’t on the cot but in the bed with Dash. He stopped pacing. His painted eyes squinted at the two nude men. “Well I never. Look at the two of you!”
Dash tried to intervene. “Finn—”
“Pray tell, when did this happen?”
Dash looked at Joe lying on his back, the covers just below his waistline, his hairy, freckled chest exposed. Joe held his arms laid above his head, the hair in his arm pits sticking out like bushes, his ruddy face fat with sleep.
Dash turned to Finn. “I had a scare last night and we—”
Finn held up a hand. “Say no more.”
Joe replied, “Ya ask’d, ya mug.”
“It’s what we call a rhetorical question, you stupid Mick.” Though the words were confrontational, the grin on Finn’s face was anything but. “I’m so happy for you two!”
Joe scoffed, “Happy fer what?”
Finn rolled his eyes. “If you have to ask—”
Dash interrupted before Finn told Joe how Dash really felt. “What happened with Valentino?”
The joy was immediately gone, and Finn’s hands clutched at his chest. “I heard he fell ill again. Fevers, nausea, yelling out because of the pain in his back. The poor man had trouble breathing. The doctors are trying everything they can to fight the infection. They think sepsis or something.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Finn.”
“Oh! My poor Valentino is once again knocking on death’s door.”
Joe muttered, “He isn’t your Valentino.”
Dash lightly jabbed an elbow into Joe’s ribs to silence him. “I’m sure he’ll be alright, Finn. Doctors have been known to work miracles.”
The little man reluctantly agreed. “There’s a vigil some of us are going to today. So many are just as distraught as I am.”
Joe once again muttered, “Bunch of Rudy fools.”
Dash pulled the covers over Joe’s head to muffle any more asides that might set Finn off on another tangent. They needed another topic, and there was only one he could think of.
“Finn, I know you’re upset right now, but did you follow Walter this morning?”
Finn blew his nose into a plaid handkerchief he pulled from his breast pocket. “Yes, dearest, I did; despite my grief, I went about my task as a professional.”
Finn composed himself, folding the handkerchief and returning it to its usual resting place.
“We know how the last two days, he followed the same routine, yes? Well, this morning, I decided to do something different. It’s always bothered me how his mother just stood there, making sure Walter left. As if she didn’t want Walter to know what she was really doing while he was out.”
Dash said, “What makes you think she has a secret?”
Finn rolled his eyes. “Everyone has a secret, dearie. Which is why this morning, I followed her instead of him.”
Dash was still sleepy, so it took a moment for him to register. “You followed Walter’s mother?”
Finn grinned, all traces of Valentino grief gone, for the man was entirely too pleased with himself. “Anyone want to guess where she went?”
A dramatic pause.
“A speak!” Finn was laughing now. “Momma Müller is a drunkard! She went to a speak under one of those vile little butcher shops. I followed her in and let me tell you, she put away those beers. There were so many dead soldiers piling up on the bar, it was like the trenches in the War.”
Dash remembered Mother’s shaky hands and pale skin. It wasn’t grief he saw. It was a hangover!
Joe sat up now, tossing the covers from his head. “We finally got something on them!”
“And not only did she attend a speak, dear boys, she also stopped by a baker and purchased something in a paper bag. Methinks ’twas not bread.”
Joe shook Dash’s shoulder. “A chink in the armor, lassie. A chink in his bloody armor!”
“We’ve finally got, oh what’s the term?”
Dash replied, “Leverage.” Despite not wanting to get his hopes high, he was grinning along with the other two. “Perhaps our luck is finally changing.”
Perhaps I don’t need to tell Fife about Walter at all.
“And that’s not all,” Finn continued. “I kept my disguise—a respectable businessman—and went to the Committee of Fourteen.”
“Finn!” Dash said. “I thought you said we shouldn’t go to the Lion’s Den?”
“As ourselves, dearie.”
“Finney,” Joe growled.
“Oh, all right, I was drunk with power—as it were. Do you two want to hear what I found out? Or do you want to sit and judge some more?”
Joe rolled his eyes while Dash said, “Apologies. Please continue.”
“Thank you,” Finn said. “Well, it turns out Walter Müller did indeed work at the Committee since 1924 in the finance department. One of the best record-keepers they had. However, he
