Stardust

by Kanon, Joseph

  “It’s enough. Head trauma—” She looked away.

  “It’s not the same. Not five stories.”

  “You still might have died,” she said, still not facing him, then turned and came over, brushing her hand against his forehead.

  “How about—whoever it was. Is he dead?”

  She nodded.

  “Any idea who?”

  “Some Schläger. Kelly knows.”

  “Kelly?”

  “He’s here. Outside. He won’t go until he sees you. First.”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t have to. You’ve been out. You should see the doctor first.”

  “No, I want to know.” He grabbed her wrist. “I’m fine. It’s the kind of thing you know about yourself, if something’s wrong.”

  Kelly came in tentatively, the usual jauntiness left outside. “Can you talk?”

  “You doing a story? ‘I didn’t know what hit me.’ Pretty lame, except I didn’t. Make something up, I don’t care. The police out there with you?”

  Kelly shook his head. “They want a statement, when you’re ready. Dot the i’s. They already took the witness’s.”

  “Who?”

  “Guy next door saw him punch you, try to throw you off. Day clerk thought he was in the building. Guy comes in, goes to the mailboxes, so the clerk figures he lives there. Of course, if he’d known it was Ray—”

  “Who’s Ray?”

  “The guy. Hired hand. If you need something done. People do, so he and the cops go way back. That’s why, when they saw it was him, you didn’t have to draw a map. He used to run with the pachucos, his mother’s a Mex. Then I guess he decided to put it to work, go freelance. He’s already been in once for armed robbery.”

  “That’s what they think this is?”

  “I have to tell you, don’t take this wrong, when I got the call the first thing I thought—I mean, same place.”

  “Monkey see. Maybe a better story.”

  “Don’t be like that. It’s what anybody would—”

  “If I’d been the one who went over? I know. That’s what he wanted you to think.”

  “Who? What are you saying?”

  “Whoever paid—what was it, Ray?” He looked at Kelly. “Want something better than robbery? First of all, there’s nothing to steal,” he said, feeling Ray’s hands in his pocket again, not something for Kelly. “The door wasn’t forced. I had to open it with a key. But he was already in.”

  “Door’s not a problem for guys like that.”

  “Especially if they have a key.”

  Kelly looked at him, waiting.

  “You know, I never saw his face. He hit me from behind. All he had to do was walk away. If he wanted to kill me, a few more head taps would have done it. So why go through all the trouble? Lugging me out there. Maybe so you’d say, ‘the first thing I thought.’ Anybody would. They’d think I’d been planning to do it.”

  “But how would he know?”

  “Well, Kelly, how would he?”

  “You think he did your brother?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Find out who paid him. But that’s how Danny was killed. I know it. For a few minutes there, I was him. Don’t worry,” he said, touching the head bandage, “I’m not going spooky on you. I just saw how it had to be. Find out who paid him. Work it from that side. Is he the kind who brags? Maybe there’s a girl. He get the money yet?”

  “You’re so sure about this.”

  “Fine, do it as a robbery. Maybe you get a column. The double jump would have been better, but I screwed that up for you. But a murder? Two? That the police never saw? Exclusive? That’s a ticket up.” He looked directly at him. “No more moonlighting.”

  Kelly said nothing for a minute.

  “Why don’t the police see it?” he said, biting.

  “Because they’re traffic cops. And they like robbery. Come on, Kelly, nobody was supposed to see it. Ask around. Who paid him?”

  Kelly picked up his hat to go. “And the pachucos will tell me. Swell.”

  “It’s a bigger story.”

  Kelly looked at him, a small, ironic smile. “Any studio connection?”

  After he’d gone, Liesl moved to the chair next to the bed. “Did you really think that? That you were Daniel?”

  “I just saw how it made sense.”

  “Imagine if you could do that. Know what somebody was thinking. He could tell you—well.”

  “But I know what he’d do. Maybe it took a knock on the head, but it’s clear now.”

  He began throwing back the covers.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I have to get out of here.”

  “Don’t be—”

  “Listen to me. Heinrich’s in trouble. There isn’t much time.”

  “Trouble?”

  “I’ll explain later. Where did they put my clothes? Help me, Liesl. I’m all right. See?” he said, getting out of bed and standing. “Not even dizzy.”

  But then he was, weaving slightly, putting his hand on the bed to steady himself.

  “Get back into bed,” she said, taking his elbow.

  “It’s my fault, understand? My fault. I have to help.” He took a breath, exhaled. “There. I just got winded for a second.” He looked down at the adhesive tape on his lower chest. “The rib makes it hard to breathe, that’s all. Here, help me with this shirt.”

  “You can’t just walk out. The doctor has to release you.”

  “What would Danny have done? Would he have waited?”

  She looked at him. “That was different.”

  He walked over to the closet, Liesl trailing him.

  “We can’t go back to the Cherokee, the cops’ll still be there, so we’ll have to use your car. My wallet’s here. I can use my military ID, they’re not going to say no to that. He’ll need his passport, though.”

  “Passport? What are you talking about?”

  He took her arm. “I have to get him out. I can do it. But I need you to help me.”

  “Get him out,” she said, looking at his head.

  “I’m all right. I’m not crazy.”

  “No, excited,” she said quietly, looking at him.

  “Drop me at the house. Then you go to Heinrich’s alone, in case anybody’s watching,” he said, pulling on his pants.

  “Why would anyone be watching?” she said nervously.

  “Don’t pack. His landlady sees a suitcase, she’ll start—but anything he really wants. Take a grocery bag, so it looks like stuff for dinner. And the passport, don’t forget. I’ll explain everything to him when you get back. If he doesn’t want to, fine, we give him dinner and drive him home. But he will.”

  “With a grocery bag,” she said. “Like a knapsack. And then what? We cross the mountain?”

  “No,” he said, buttoning his shirt, too busy to hear her tone. “I get him to Mexico.”

  “Mexico.”

  “It’s just a drive.” Why the movie people came in the first place, dodging Edison’s patents, sun, and a convenient border. According to Sol anyway. “Where’s my hat? I’m going to need a hat to cover this,” he said, fingering the bandage. “Your father’s in touch with the Germans there. Some of them will know Heinrich. He’ll need help. How much cash do you keep at home?”

  “Some. It’s something you learn, in case.”

  “Okay, shoes.” He stood up.

  “Stop. A minute. Listen to me. You’re in no condition to drive. You’ll both be killed and then what?”

  “I have to.”

  “Oh, have to. So pigheaded. Just like—” She stopped, looking away. “It’s serious? His trouble?”

  He nodded.

  “All right, I’ll drive. Don’t,” she said, holding up a hand. “Anyway, it’s my car.”

  “You’re sure?” he said, pleased, as if he were extending a hand.

  She shrugged, a pretend indifference. “You can’t go alone. It’s breaking the law?”

  “Not yet. In a few days it woul
d, but he’ll be gone.”

  “Over the border,” she said. “I thought it was finished, all that business.”

  KALTENBACH GRASPED the situation right away. Ben had expected indecision, an arguing back and forth, but the urgency had jolted him into an oddly calm self-assurance, all his usual dithering put away like bits of stage business.

  “A political trial,” he said. “Now here.”

  “No, it’s a hearing. Closed at first. It’s not the Nazis,” Ben said. “It would be a mistake to think that. To decide that way. It’s not camps or—”

  “But a political trial all the same,” Kaltenbach said evenly. “I know what it means.”

  “There’s no danger to you. You’re not being charged with anything. Not even being a Communist.”

  “Just politically unreliable. So no work at the studios.”

  “You’re not working there now,” Ostermann said. They were drinking coffee near the end of the pool terrace, the city below, lights coming on in the dusk.

  “No, not for a long time,” Kaltenbach said. “Now longer.”

  “I want you to understand,” Ben said. “If you leave, you won’t be able to come back. They’d make sure of that.”

  “It’s not like before,” Ostermann said. “What choice did we have? Now there’s a choice. You can’t take this lightly.”

  “That’s why you came over? To talk me out of it?”

  “No. I talked to Anna in Mexico City. Seghers, you remember. It’s not easy to make a call there. An hour to get through. But I thought she would know somebody. Or somebody who—so, here’s an address in Tijuana. Who can help with arrangements. I said you’d be there tomorrow. If you go.”

  “No, tonight,” Kaltenbach said firmly.

  “Then I came to say good-bye,” Ostermann said. “If you’re sure.”

  Kaltenbach turned away, too emotional to face him. “Look at it,” he said, nodding to the city. “A mirage. Maybe it’s the palm trees that suggest it. But sometimes I think there’s nothing really there. Blink—just sand again. Was I here? You and Dieter, all milk and honey, blue skies. But I wonder, even for you.”

  “Almost ready?” Liesl said, coming out of the house. She had changed into cream-colored slacks and a blouse, resort wear. “Was it big enough?” She pointed to one of Danny’s old suitcases, now filled with Heinrich’s few changes of clothes.

  Kaltenbach turned back to Ostermann. “I know it’s different there now.” He held his gaze for a second, a silent conversation, then stuck out his hand. “So good-bye, my friend.”

  But Ostermann, tearing up, took him in his arms, a fierce hug, and Ben saw in his posture that he had done it before, one more leave-taking. When he finally pulled away, he took some money out of his pocket. “Here.”

  “No,” Kaltenbach said, covering his hand.

  “You’ll need it.”

  Kaltenbach shook his head. “But Frau Schneider, my landlady. There’s rent owing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Keep my good name,” he said, smiling sadly. “I’ll pay you back.” A ritual phrase.

  Ostermann took one of the bills from his hand. “Here. For cake at the Romanische.”

  Kaltenbach took the money. “Mohnkuchen. Like nowhere else.” He touched Ostermann on the shoulder, starting to turn away, then stopped and looked at him again. “If you read that I’ve said something—something, you know, that doesn’t sound—you’ll know it’s not me, yes? You’ll remember that?”

  “Of course.”

  “Even if my name is attached. I may have to— But you know the books. They can’t change those. The rest, don’t listen. Just the books.”

  “We should go,” Liesl said. “They look all right,” she said to Ben, now in Danny’s borrowed clothes. “How do you feel?”

  “Ready. This all?” He lifted her bag.

  “I have to be back. I’m in the scene.”

  “They can shoot around you for one day.” He turned to Ostermann. “Have Iris call in sick for her. Doctor’s orders.”

  “They won’t like that.”

  “We can’t just drop him at the border. One day.”

  They started across the terrace, then froze as the phone rang.

  “Don’t answer,” Ben said. “That’ll be the hospital, wondering if I ended up here in my nightgown. What did you say at the nurses’ station?” he said to Liesl.

  “That you were sleeping. I’d be back tomorrow.”

  “Good. So I’m the only one missing. Walking around somewhere near Vine.”

  “You’ll be in trouble for this?” Kaltenbach said.

  “Not unless they catch us.”

  They followed Ostermann’s car down the hill and stayed behind until he veered off with a small wave. Kaltenbach waved back, his eyes fixed on the featureless boulevard, a last look before it shimmered away. By the time they turned on Sepulveda, heading down the coast, he seemed to have lost interest, letting his head rest on the backseat, eyes closed, like someone on a long railroad trip.

  “Don’t go too fast,” Ben said. “We don’t want to get stopped.”

  “Why are you so nervous? Nobody has any idea. Why are we supposed to be going, if anyone asks?”

  “The races. Everybody goes down for the races. Fishing in Ensenada. I don’t know, why does anyone go?”

  “Your brother used to say, don’t think about anything,” Kaltenbach said. “Pretend it’s the most natural thing in the world. If you worry at all, they sense it. Like dogs.”

  “And did you worry?”

  “I was terrified. You know what I think got us through? Alma. The way she’s in her own world. At the border she seemed surprised to see the guards, you know, anything in her way. They didn’t even question us. Of course your brother made a gift to them, but even so. They usually asked questions, to make a show. But not Alma. Sí, señora. Up goes the crossing bar. And all I could think was, don’t sweat, don’t let them smell it on you. And you know, if it had gone the other way—well, it was another time. I owe my life to him. Now you.”

  “No. This isn’t the same.”

  “It feels the same. All that climbing, I was afraid for my heart. Now look, a chauffeur. But the same.” He was quiet for a minute, watching the night landscape pass, dark houses and miles of streetlights stretching down to Long Beach. “I never said good-bye to Alma. I wonder if she’ll notice that I’m gone.”

  “Everybody will,” Ben said. “You’ll be in the papers.”

  “So. You have to leave to make an impression,” he said, playing with it.

  They drove past Huntington Beach, the lights getting fewer, Liesl sneaking glances at him.

  “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “Nothing,” she said, a little startled, unaware that he’d seen.

  “I’m all right, really.”

  “It’s not that. The jacket. I bought it. I was remembering when I bought it.”

  He fell asleep without realizing it, his head against the window, dreaming of the stars spilling across the sky on Mt. Wilson. Then he was at the Cherokee, watching blood spread in the alley, someone else’s blood, not his. Had Danny fought back? He woke when she stopped for gas, the station overly bright in the black landscape.

  “Where are we?”

  “Nowhere. Another twenty miles to La Jolla. Maybe we should stop there. It’s a long drive.”

  “No,” Kaltenbach said from the back, “it’s important not to stop.” Another lesson from the Pyrenees. “Even to rest. People notice you. You see that car? It’s been behind us. Now it stops, too.”

  “It’s the first station for miles,” Liesl said.

  “Go to the toilet,” Ben said. “See if they follow. I’ve got your back.”

  The attendant came over to start the pump.

  “You encourage him,” Liesl said.

  “He’s careful. Want a Coke?”

  He went over to the ice cooler and pulled out a bottle and opened it, glancing at the second car as he drank. Two men
on a Sunday night. Going where? Kaltenbach came out of the station, head low, his face shadowed by his hat.

  “They’re still there?”

  “Getting gas. I think it’s all right.”

  They paid and left, Ben driving now, one eye on the rearview mirror.

  “How would anybody know?” Liesl said to him, using English, Heinrich just a child in the backseat, swiveling his head from time to time. “You think they were watching his house?”

  “He’s not the only one in the car. You heard Kelly. The guy was a hired hand. And I’m still here.”

  She took this in, thinking for a minute. “And yet you do this. Out here. Where it’s easy for them.”

  He said nothing.

  “They were going to use Heinrich anyway. You didn’t make them.”

  “I helped.”

  “So it’s all on your shoulders. All the problems of the world.” She looked out the window, quiet. “You and Daniel.”

  “What do I do? Just sit there?” He looked at her. “It’s not much, considering.”

  “They’re turning off,” Kaltenbach said, looking out the back.

  After La Jolla there were more lights, the hilly outskirts of San Diego. Liesl was fiddling with the radio, Kaltenbach keeping watch for cars.

  “In the movies they always hear about themselves on the radio,” Liesl said. “But listen, just music. So we’re safe.” She turned the dial, picking up a Spanish-language station. “We must be close. What will they think of us? Different passports.”

  “They don’t care much going out. It’s getting back in. It’ll be easier, just the two of us.”

  “With a bandage on your head.” She was quiet for a minute. “Why did he want to kill you? You never told me that part. Why?”

  “He was paid.”

  “The one who paid him.”

  “Maybe I’m getting close.”

  “Close,” she said, not following.

  “Who killed Danny.”

  “Why do you think that? There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  He shook his head, dodging. “But I must be.”

  “Then he’ll try again,” she said flatly. “You have to go to the police.”

  “With what? Tell them Danny was a snitch for Minot? I have to stay close to Minot. That’s the connection.”

  She looked down. “He wasn’t that. I still don’t believe it.”