“I am saying that. It would cost a lot, though, depending on the person incarcerated. Plus, you would have to know exactly whom to bribe or you might end up in there with them.”
“How much?”
“Who is it?”
“A scientist. A brilliant physicist. Name is…” She hesitated. “…Lazarus. I met his daughter.”
“A Jew?”
Aubrey nodded.
“Ahhh, I see. Our short-sighted Führer doesn’t want the help of a Jewish scientist, even one that might help him win the coming war.”
“It frightens me to hear you say that.”
“What, ‘the coming war’? Have you ever seen as many people in uniform as there are here in Berlin, or in all of Germany? I haven’t. Not since 1918. All those uniforms can only mean one thing. Hitler laid it all out in his book, apparently. I tried to read it once, but it was damned hard to get through; the man is a raving lunatic.”
Aubrey got to her feet. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Fantastic! I know a great little bar.”
“I can’t stay out long; I have a commitment later tonight.”
“With the dashing count?”
“Yes,” she said. She dished out the Reichsmarks for the coffees. Fuchs didn’t bother to reach for his wallet. It was the custom in Berlin; there was no stigma attached to a woman paying the bill. Or doing almost anything else, for that matter. She’d stopped into a pharmacy the day before and had been amazed to see a woman in a white pharmacist’s coat doling out medication. And the hotel night manager was a woman. As chauvinistic as this society appeared, with all the uniforms and the lantern-jawed men strutting around, Germany seemed to be far more advanced than the States when it came to gender roles.
When they stepped outside, it became apparent that Fuchs was intoxicated; he stumbled against Aubrey, and she grabbed him to keep him from tumbling to the pavement.
“You’re loaded. Where were you?”
“In a bar, across from where I work. A long lunch. And it hasn’t ended.”
“I think it has. I should get you home. Where do you live?”
“Can’t go there. Not advisable at the moment. I went back to grab my things from the office; that’s when you called. As I was leaving, one of our crime beat reporters informed me that they have a warrant out for my arrest.”
“Why? What on earth have you done?”
“Written. Things I’ve written in the past—yesterday, last year. The things that have yet to be written. I’m a disgrace, not worthy of the heavy mantle that has been handed to me.” Fuchs chuckled wetly.
“You think quite highly of yourself.”
“I don’t mean that—you don’t understand. I know a quiet place we can get a drink. Come on.”
“I’m not going for any drinks; I have a date tonight that I don’t intend to be late for. I’m taking you somewhere. Another coffee shop. Just stop shooting your mouth off about the government.”
They were walking into a seedier area of Berlin; that was apparent. There were seductively-dressed women standing in dark alcoves talking to men, their hands caressing the men’s shirt fronts. Some played the part of seductress well. Others stood back from their conquests, frightened, their clothes simple dresses that might be worn to the market. They looked like scared children. Aubrey recognized them: street walkers. The newcomers to the game and the old hands.
There were also a few shops; Aubrey recognized the outlines of Yiddish writing, signage that had been scraped off to try and save a pane of glass. There were Jewish men in the centre of the street talking. The merchants and the prostitutes, merchants of a different kind, coexisted.
Richard said, “These women, ladies of the night, have recently set up shop here. The security forces are quartering in all undesirables on top of each other. It will make it easier to contain them, and finally crush them.”
“We should turn back.”
“No. I have friends here. They can help me. I need a place to hide.”
There was the sound of glass breaking and shouts back and forth. The men who were talking to the prostitutes looked around wildly and ran off in different directions. The women stood their ground, perhaps realizing there was nowhere else to go. Not for them, at least.
“It’s started,” Fuchs said. “The revolution. Or counter-revolution!” he shouted drunkenly.
A surge of people came around the corner. All men, heavily built and wearing not the brown shirts and swastika armbands of the SA but workmen’s clothes. They sported the same shaved heads as the SA, though, and wore military boots. They carried stout clubs and pickaxe handles. Their disguises were as pathetic as their attitude.
“The SA,” Fuchs said. “I’d recognize them anywhere. Stirring up trouble again.”
The group of Jewish men were quickly surrounded. There was no hesitation on the part of the SA agents provocateurs. A hideous scene unfolded as the clubs slammed down, again and again, onto the heads of the surrounded men. Aubrey felt weak at the knees.
Richard grabbed her and held her up. “This is serious,” he said. “We must get out of here.”
“Shouldn’t we witness this? You could write about it. So could I.”
For the first time since her foray into the German Reich under her phony cover, Aubrey realized her responsibility, journalistic credentials or no. She could see the power of the words she could write about what was going on here. If only she had a camera.
“If we don’t move, we’re going to get caught up in it,” Fuchs said. He started to drag her away, but more men rounded a corner from the opposite direction, cutting off their escape. Aubrey saw a stream of bright red blood flowing into the gutter as the victims tried to crawl away. Clubs rained down on their backs.
“Aubrey, move—now.” He tugged her toward a narrow passageway between two buildings. There was the sound of breaking glass and the dull thuds of bricks being hurled after them.
“What is this happening? Why are those men attacking the others?”
“Because they are Jews—it’s the only explanation. There
