copy of my dusty private investigator’s license, examine the photograph of my father, my tall heavy brother and our beagle dog Kaiser Wilhelm. I hated and loved that photograph and the ten-year-old kid in it who had been Tobias Leo Pevsner. My brother Phil’s arm was around my shoulder in the photograph, my father looked proud. My nose was already smashed flat by Phil, and Kaiser Wilhelm looked sad as he always did.
Shelly left just before six and I went down for three burgers from the stand at the corner and brought them back to my desk with a Pepsi. I put in a call to Hughes through Dean at the Romaine office and sat eating as I waited for Hughes to call me back and Trudi Gurstwald to get in touch. I listened to Shelly’s Silvertone radio while I munched and turned to KFI for a jolly night of Bums and Allen, Fibber McGee and Molly, Bob Hope and Red Skelton. By the time Bob Hope came around, Hughes had still not called. In the middle of Red Skelton, I heard someone come into the outer office. I wasn’t expecting trouble, but I didn’t feel like taking chances. I had left the light on in Shelly’s office and my small light off. I snapped off the radio and tiptoed to the door to open it a crack and peeked out.
I saw Trudi Gurstwald, her little yellow curls bobbing, in a fresh dress looking clean and fluffy. It contrasted with her pink and anxious face. She looked around the room nervously and made a turn to leave. I stepped out.
“Mrs. Gurstwald,” I said, and she turned, startled.
“Mr. Peters,” she said, her accent strong. “I thought I had missed you. I have only half an hour or so. Anton thinks I am shopping and I must meet him at 8:30. I have a cab waiting downstairs.”
She paced the room and I took a seat in the dental chair. The surroundings didn’t seem to surprise or bother her. She had something else on her mind.
“I don’t know what Anton would do if he knew I had come here,” she said, looking at me earnestly.
“I don’t either,” I said. “Why don’t we put it from our minds while you tell me what you wanted to tell me about that night at Hughes’ house.”
She bit both of her lips and turned to me with moist eyes.
“I’m really afraid,” she said taking a step toward me.
“Well, lady,” I came back, “you may very well have reason to be afraid. You have my sympathy, but I can’t give you anything more till you tell me what you know.”
She took another step toward me, almost crying.
“You can’t know what it is like living there with Anton and those people,” she said softly, her eyes searching mine. “He has such fear of the Nazis, the Americans, so many people. He can think of nothing else. And he has no strength left for me. He had such strength, Mr. Peters.”
I nodded knowingly, deciding to let her talk it out in the hope that she’d get to the point herself. After all, she was the one who had the cab waiting.
“When you came this morning,” she said, “it was the first life in that house in months. You said things no one says to Anton and you did to Rudy what I’ve wanted to do for years.”
The tears were overflowing, and she was standing over me in the chair. I half expected her to pick up one of Shelly’s contaminated instruments and go to work on me. Instead she leaned over and put her open mouth on mine. Her mouth was large and engulfed me to the point where I had trouble breathing.
She let me up for air and I caught some, but she wasn’t breathing hard.
“I haven’t even touched a man in years,” she whispered.
I felt sorry for her, but she didn’t give me much time to feel anything. She took my face in her hands and placed her mouth back on mine. I was in an awkward position for getting up, but I had the impression that even if we were on equal footing, Trudi Gurstwald was a match for me. Besides, I didn’t dislike what she was doing. I was just puzzled by it. I had learned to distrust the few women who had found me irresistible. There always seemed to be a price to pay for it. On the other hand, I never really had the will power to turn down the attention. It came too infrequently. So I didn’t try to stop Trudi Gurstwald and did my best to enjoy her kisses, while being curious about where they would lead to and wondering whether she was crazy and how long she’d let the cab wait.
Her hands moved down my chest to my legs and then between them, and I stopped being curious. She may have been desperate and distraught, but she was doing the work. I gave her some help, and she moaned loud enough to wake any of the bums who might have been sleeping in the halls.
We wrestled cooperatively around the dental chair getting my pants down and her dress up. At one point her breasts battered my head against the head rest and almost knocked me out. I had a fantasy of Trudi Gurstwald going up against Chief Little Wolf at the Eastside Arena and taking him in two falls.
Making love in a dental chair-if that was what we did-is definitely not recommended for someone with a bad back. It has its rewards, but it also has it consequences. I was exhausted when Trudi Gurstwald gave me a final smile through her tears, kissed my sore mouth and stood up.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely.
“My pleasure,” I said, trying to stand up and finding myself pushed back in the dental chair by the pain in my kidney. I pulled my pants on in a sitting position and tucked in my shirt. Trudi looked at me soulfully and I thought she was going to have another attack of emotion. I wasn’t sure I could survive it.
“Trudi,” I said, pushing myself from the chair and taking her hand before she could take mine or some other part of me. “What did you see at Hughes’ house that night?”
She looked at me in surprise and straightened her hair and then remembered one of the points of her visit.
“It was that Army major,” she said.
“Barton.”
“Yes, Barton. I went upstairs that night to the-how do you say it politely?”
“Toilet.”
“Yes, toilet. Someone was using the downstairs toilet and I saw this Major Barton coming out of a room. The door opened enough so I could see it was an office with papers and drawings. Major Barton was nervous and looked around both ways to see if anyone saw him coming from the room. I was in the …”
“Toilet.”
“Yes, I must remember that word. It is awkward to say Powder Room when one doesn’t mean Powder Room.”
“Major Barton,” I prodded.
“He looked both ways, closed the door and went down the steps. He had sweat on his head, and he wiped it with his sleeve, though the night was cool.”
She squeezed my hand and looked soulful again.
“Anton was afraid I should tell you and he would get involved,” she said. “I had told him. He said it would be the questionable word of two Germans against that of an American officer. But I had to tell you. If someone finds out we knew and said nothing, and it turned out to be important, we would be in even bigger trouble.”
“Right,” I said. Her eyes were growing moist again and I added, “You’ve been here about half an hour. You’ve got Anton and a cab waiting.”
“Again soon?” she asked.
This time I kissed her first.
“Again soon,” I said and guided her to the alcove, where she tripped against the once-leather-covered chair.
When she stepped into the hall, I locked the door behind her to keep her from a sudden change of mind. I wasn’t worried about her being attacked by any of the neighborhood bums. She could take care of herself.
I figured it was about nine and was about to turn on the radio to find out, when the phone rang.
“Peters,” I said.
“I say this once,” the voice said in sharp Germanic English. It was a man’s voice and it was not a patient voice. “You cease your current investigation. You cease or soon there will be no Toby Peters.”
“Shelly,” I said. “Is this your idea of a joke? Your Hitler is as bad as your Clark Gable.”
“This is no joke,” hissed the voice. “And you would be wise to heed my warning.”
“I don’t know who’s doing your dialogue, pal,” I said, “but it could use a rewrite.”
He hung up before I could. I knew it could have been a gag. But I also knew there was a chance that it wasn’t, so I calmly got my things together, put on my jacket, turned out the lights and decided to go home and sleep on it.
