by Jim Reeves
So here it was. The death threat was real again. After the rumpus Joe had caused and the attention he had attracted in those last few minutes, Braun would probably abandon his plans for a discreet send-off in the snow and let Bruno pump a couple of bullets into him before dumping his body in some remote faraway spot.
As Meat Loaf got close he stopped and beckoned Joe towards him. He looked to be in his early twenties. Joe decided to make use of some of the few words of German he knew. ‘Sprechen Sie Englisch?’ he asked.
Meat Loaf smiled almost shyly. ‘A little,’ he answered in English.
‘You know what fuck off means?’ Joe asked.
Meat Loaf’s expression changed. He flinched slightly. ‘Yes.’
‘Then do it,’ Joe told him.
Mean Loaf stopped smiling. His face darkened. He crouched slightly and moved threateningly towards Joe. Bruno and Karl were closing in behind him.
For the last few hours, Joe had been living his life from minute to minute. There must have been at least a dozen good reasons why he shouldn’t do what he was about to do, but he knew he would survive at least one more minute if he did it. He would die, for sure, if he didn’t. Given the two choices it seemed like a pretty easy decision to make. He reached for the snow covered top of the handrail and with one last effort, hooked a weary leg over the rail and heaved himself upwards. Bruno shouted as he realised what was about to happen. Joe’s new found thug, Meat Loaf, lumbered desperately towards him, arms outstretched.
Too late. Joe rolled over the top of the handrail and let go. He tumbled, with arms flailing, into the river twenty feet below. The water was only three or four feet deep. He hit the bottom feet first and jack-knifed forward. His face scraped the bottom of the river then broke the surface a second later. The shock of entering the glacial water forced a gasp that drove the air from his lungs. He was gasping and spluttering, relieved to have left Bruno’s band of merry men behind but immediately concerned about a new threat. He remembered, now, one of the many reasons why he shouldn’t have jumped. It was fiendishly cold in the water, much worse than he had expected. The intensity of the cold frightened him. He wondered how water could be that cold without actually turning to ice. His body tensed and he was having serious trouble dragging air back into his lungs. His coughing reared up again. He knew that if he was to survive through to the next minute, he had to leave the water very soon. Otherwise, his survival time could be counted in seconds.
Shouts rang out from the bridge behind him. He managed to twist around and look back as the fast flowing river carried him along. Nobody had followed him into the water. Even they weren’t that stupid. But they were running in both directions off the bridge to pursue him along the river banks.
He caught sight of several startled faces on the river bank as people stopped to stare. He was moving quickly, scrambling along in the shallow water but probably travelling a lot faster than those chasing him, which was good news. He saw the next bridge ahead and more people watching him from above. The river curved to the right just beyond the bridge. He kicked hard and tried to change direction towards the bank on the left side of the river. The bend would help him reach the side if he could just get a few more feet to the left. His feet dragged along the bottom. He was running as much as swimming. The river was flowing too fast for him to stop but he was able to gradually steer himself in the right direction by digging his feet into the river bed. He cracked his feet and shins on rocks several times but hardly noticed the pain. He was too intent on reaching the river bank. If he didn’t get out of the icy water within seconds, the river would do the job that Braun and his men had failed to do the previous night. He would probably be written off as a drunk who had had one too many and fallen into the river.
He passed under the bridge. Just five or six feet separated him from the bank. A rock wall had been built along the bank, presumably to prevent erosion. The rocks looked icy and were capped with snow in places. Vicious looking but better than the water.
The bank was only three feet way. The water was shallower and he suddenly had more control. He dug his heels in, waded towards the bank and grabbed hold of one of the large rocks. Several ducks darted from cover and scurried across the river as he clung to the rock. He raised a foot to step onto the rock and immediately slipped and lost his grip. He fell face down into the water and scrambled along several yards before managing to stand upright again. He grabbed another rock, at the same time, wondering how far behind his pursuers were. He thought he must have travelled several hundred yards in not too many seconds but his judgment of time and distance could be completely awry in his present condition. Even so, he probably had a pretty good start, he guessed. He pulled hard on the rock and dug his foot onto another ledge. In another second he hoisted himself clear of the water and pulling himself up the rock wall towards a tarmac road above. Behind him, on the bridge, a small crowd had gathered to witness his exit from the river. He heard shouts of encouragement and a smattering of applause but decided to skip an encore.
He reached the top of the rock wall and climbed over the low rail that ran between the road and the river. Water escaped from every crevice in his clothing and formed a dirty puddle in the snow around him. He was soaked to the skin. His clothes would soon freeze in the current sub-zero temperatures but his first priority had to be to get clear of Bruno’s gang. He saw the entrance to a Chinese restaurant across the narrow street. He ran for the entrance, pushed the door open and ran down an aisle between several tables and deeper into the restaurant, looking for another way out or some place to hide. The prospects didn’t look good. The restaurant opened into a wider area. The place was windowless, with maybe twenty tables, several of which were occupied. There were no obvious places to hide and Joe guessed that he had just used the only exit. A Chinese lady appeared. Her smile faded as she took in Joe’s bedraggled appearance. She said something in German.
‘It’s all right,’ Joe said in English. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’ He only wished that was true.
‘You will frighten my customers,’ the woman said, switching immediately to perfect English.
Joe hesitated, not sure what to do. If he retreated he would probably run into Braun’s people but, it seemed that he couldn’t stay here.
The woman called out something in Chinese and a large man, presumably her husband, appeared from behind a counter. He was holding some kind of truncheon which he raised threateningly. Joe held up a restraining hand. ‘No need for that mate.’
The Chinaman didn’t seem convinced. He looked and Joe and snarled something in what sounded like Chinese. Joe didn’t understand a word but guessed a rough translation might be something like: ‘Get the fuck out of here!’
Joe was happy to oblige but not by the way he had just come in. To the right, behind the Chinaman, he saw the door to the gents’ toilets. It was time for another life-saving decision that might get him through the next sixty seconds. He ran for the toilet door, pushing the startled Chinaman aside as he went. The Chinaman fell across a vacant table, tipping it over and sending crockery and cutlery clattering to the floor. The man sat down hard amongst the debris. His wife screamed. Inside the gents toilet there were two urinals to the right and a cubicle to the left. Straight ahead was a wash basin with a frosted glass window above it. The top half of the window was open outwards. Joe put a foot in the wash basin and hoisted himself towards the opening. It didn’t look big enough but he had to try. He put his head outside and tried to ease his way through the gap. His shoulders wedged on either side of the opening. He would never make it. He stepped back onto the floor and tore off his sodden raincoat and jacket. He bundled them up and pushed them through the open window. Then he stepped up again for another try. Behind him he heard the door crash open. A very irate Chinaman was coming after him. He heard angry shrieks as the Chinese lady followed her husband into the toilet.
He pushed the window all the way open and forced himself headfirst out into the cold air. His s
houlders wedged tight again but he pushed harder on the wash basin and suddenly moved forward slightly. His feet left the basin and kicked thin air as he wriggled and squirmed. Behind him, the truncheon whacked his legs. The first blow hit his calf and didn’t hurt too much. The second blow cracked against his ankle and hurt a lot. The pain caused him to jerk sharply forward and probably helped his efforts to squeeze himself through a window that was far too small for a man of his size. The blows and curses continued behind him as he slid out into what looked like a narrow alley. His kicking feet, maybe mistaken for retaliatory action, seemed to attract more blows from the truncheon. Finally when most of his weight was outside, he eased his hips through the aperture and tumbled headlong onto snow covered cobbles. The snow cushioned his fall but he landed awkwardly and was slightly winded. In normal circumstances he would have lain there until he got his breath back. But what was normal about leaving a Chinese restaurant via a toilet window? He grabbed his jacket and raincoat and forced himself painfully to his feet. He had taken several nasty blows to his legs and he became more aware of the pain as he leaned against the wall. The Chinaman’s face appeared at the window behind him. Fortunately, he made no attempt to follow Joe and just settled for hurling a tirade of abuse in his direction. Immediately opposite across the alley was a hotel entrance. An expensively dressed middle-aged woman was staring curiously at him.
‘I didn’t leave a tip,’ Joe explained, nodding up at the enraged Chinaman. Joe pulled on his jacket and raincoat. They didn’t offer much protection in their water logged state but, if they ever got dry, they might be of some use later. Also, he hoped to blend into the background. He was unlikely to manage that if he strolled around without a coat in what felt like near Artic conditions.
The hotel across the alley looked warm and inviting but Joe realised he would probably get the same reaction he had just got at the Chinese restaurant. Better to put some distance between himself and Bruno before warming up. Down the alley to the right Joe could see the fast flowing ice cold river. He’s had enough of cold water for one day so he turned left and hurried up a slight gradient towards what looked like a busy street. Behind him, the Chinaman finally stopped spitting expletives and slammed the toilet window shut.
Joe looked left as he stepped out of the alley onto the street. That way led back to the river and the bridge that he had past under just a couple of minutes previously. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets and turned and hurried in the opposite direction along the snow caked pavement. He didn’t run. He didn’t want to attract attention. A couple of cars passed him by but the street was reasonably quiet with few pedestrians. Despite his wet clothes, nobody paid him much attention. He saw a narrow alley to the left and hurried across the street. The more twists and turns he could put between himself and Bruno the better he would like it. So far, nobody seemed to be following him. He resisted the temptation to look back but there were no shouts or cries of alarm as he entered the alley. He increased his pace a little, wondering if Bruno and his boys had reached the Chinese restaurant yet. Maybe they would pass it by. Why would they think he’d gone in there? If they saw the trail of water he had left, they would know for sure that he had. Joe felt bad about upsetting the Chinaman and his wife but knew he would feel a good deal worse if Bruno caught up with him. He didn’t know where he was heading, just somewhere as far away as possible from Bruno would be good. He would worry about his next move then.
His wet clothes weighed heavily on him. Surprisingly, he seemed to have lost most of the surplus water and the dripping had almost stopped. Still, his breathing was raw and ragged and he felt like he was breathing broken glass. He was walking at a fast pace, looking like somebody in a hurry but, hopefully, not like a fugitive. A woman in a shop doorway frowned at his sodden state as he walked by. He ignored her and hurried on his way.
The alley was about four hundred yards long and he had covered about half that distance when he heard a loud shout of triumph from far behind. He looked back the way he had come. Bruno and the other two were at the far end of the alley running towards him. He turned and started to run. His running was little more than a painful shuffle. That was all he could manage in his fraught state. He was soon gasping for air again as his raddled lungs struggled to cope. He looked back. They were rapidly closing the gap. He turned and tried to run faster. His wet shoes slapped down hard on the snow covered surface. He was slipping and sliding again and slowed down slightly to stay on his feet as he neared the end of the alley. Which way to go? He turned right. The street stretched out ahead and was wide, with shops on both sides he staggered forward a few feet. If he continued to run down the street, he would still be in full view when Bruno and his mates reached the end of the alley. At the speed they were running they would have him in less than a minute. He could see a cinema about a hundred yards down the street on the right but they would be here, and see him before he could reach it. There was a bank much closer but he’d never be able to get past the counter. He’d be a sitting duck if Bruno saw him in there. He was standing outside a men’s clothing store. Maybe there would be a changing room he could hide in. There was no more time to consider the options. They were running out with every second that passed. He had to make another choice that might see him through the next sixty seconds. He turned and tottered unsteadily towards the shop door.
Chapter 24
Joe staggered against the door and fell through it. It crashed open with a loud bang. The noisy entrance didn’t seem like such a good idea for somebody who didn’t want to be noticed. It occurred to him that he had probably just walked into a dead end but it didn’t make much difference. He had all but given up the ghost by then. Bruno would be there within seconds. He was a sitting duck, soon to die.
The shop was empty of customers and no one else was in view. The place was warm but Joe didn’t have time to appreciate it right then. He sank to his knees, still breathing heavily, looking around desperately for a place to hide. A door opened and a startled looking sales woman came out of a back-room. She stared at Joe in open mouthed disbelief. He returned her startled gaze. ‘Betine,’ he gasped.
‘What are you doing here?’ She blurted the words. Not quite believing what she was seeing.
Joe didn’t have time for explanations. They could come later if he was still able. ‘I need someplace to hide.’ His eyes were pleading, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘Some very bad people are after me.’
‘Come.’ Betine stepped forward quickly and helped Joe to his feet. Then she led him towards the back-room. ‘Wait in there,’ she said as she pulled the door closed. She walked back towards the front of the store and busied herself sorting through some sweaters hanging on a rack near the front door. She was still doing that when Bruno crashed through the door and looked wildly around the store. She smiled and raised her eyebrows. ‘Grusse Gott.’
In the back-room Joe shivered violently as he listened to Bruno’s angry voice. He said he was sure a man must have entered the store in the last few moments. An Englishman in wet clothes. Surely she must have seen him. Betine said that she would have seen if anybody had entered and told Bruno he must be mistaken. Joe guessed that Karl and Meat Loaf were checking other places further down the street. Whatever Bruno might say, he clearly didn’t know where Joe was, but he must know he couldn’t have got very far. They would probably just sit tight outside and wait for him to eventually pop out of his hidey-hole.
Joe sank, trembling, onto a seat. His exertions had left him exhausted, weak and nauseous. But what was Betine doing here? She had told him she lived an hour away from Salzburg and that she worked in a clothing store. This must be the place. Betine returned to the back-room as soon as Bruno had left.
‘What is going on?’ she asked tersely. ‘Why are they looking for you?’
She eyed him warily, almost suspiciously, and Joe couldn’t really blame her. She had been in his company on the plane for less than two hours. In reality, she knew very little about him. ‘
It’s a long story,’ Joe told her.
‘I think you should tell it,’ she said. ‘I just lied for you and I’d like to know why it was necessary. That man seemed very angry.’
‘He’s more than angry,’ Joe said. ‘He’ll kill me if he gets hold of me.’
‘This is Eichl,’ said Betine disbelievingly. ‘It is a quiet town. People don’t get killed here.’
‘If only you knew,’ Joe whispered hoarsely.
‘So tell me.’ Betine sat on a chair close to Joe.
‘Can I have something to drink first?’ he asked. ‘I’ve been running the streets for a while.’
‘Of course.’ Betine poured a steaming mug of coffee from a ready-made pot. ‘Be careful. It is very hot.’
Joe took the mug gratefully, letting it warm his hands as he sipped slowly.
Then he slowly recounted the tale of the last two days. Almost every detail of what had
happened to him since they had parted company at the airport. He excluded the meeting with Magda, the visit to her flat and the manner of his departure from his account. He was still feeling guilty about hitting her and he didn’t want to cause Betine any undue concern. Betine had to break off twice to serve customers who entered the store. Each time she took the opportunity to look out of the window but she could see no sign of Bruno.