Erich gasps at this. Since being woken up early by the fighting and banging he’s been running behind, letting surprise after surprise confuse him. After kidnapping a man, he thought to be Lou Fleener to catch this short impossibly skilled person, and finding that person standing here—where he can’t possibly be—taunting him... it’s all too much to deal with. It’s not helping that this person keeps talking.
“So, Erich; what are you guys up to? It can’t be just the bar, a get together with like-minded idiots...”
“Shut up,” says Erich.
“Cause, I don’t see you as the social type. You’re more of a mastermind, am I right? You’ve got some plan in mind, make the world aware of you...”
“Shut up,” Erich repeats. It’s hard to think with this prattle.
“So, what is it? Are you planning to invade Wisconsin? Take over the cheese for the fatherland?” He uses a thick comic German accent when he says, ‘the fatherland.’
“SHUT UP,” roars Erich. Enraged, goaded, he begins to punch at Lou, managing a couple of hard hits to the face before Lou, still smiling genially, kicks him in the leg.
Erich jerks back in pain and Lou is once again a whirlwind among them. He hits one man in the chest, ducks a couple of wild swings, spins and hits and never stops moving. It’s like watching a dancer, thinks Erich, watching from a short distance.
Lou, not even breathing hard, continues taunting. “You guys couldn’t beat up a girl scout troop.” He jerks his head back to let a fist sail by, kicks that man in the butt and whirls away.
His men look like scarecrows—straw men—as Lou Fleener dips and swirls, striking at will, occasionally getting hit but never slowing. Erich watches as Lou grabs the end of a garden hose, swinging it like a bolo, the heavy end causing curses and blood from the three men trying to fight him.
Lou says, “Hey Erich; I see you’re not helping. Are you afraid or something? You know, ‘cause I beat your ass the last two times?”
The screen door screeches open—these hinges haven’t been oiled either—and Erich’s two remaining men stumble out. Carlton the accountant and the last of Erich’s soldier’s; a lazy no-account named Marko who is always, like now, the last to arrive.
“Get him,” yells Erich, pointing at Lou, who’s bent over near the hose tap.
The two men pause on the step, comical expressions clearly suggesting, “Us? Get somebody?”
Lou stands up and starts spraying everyone with cold water from the hose. It’s not much of a weapon. Nor does Lou intend it to be. It’s just another of his unexpected moves to rattle and confuse people.
Smiling like he’s enjoying himself hugely, Lou dances among them, the hose either spewing water or swinging like a whip and his men are falling in the now slippery mud.
“Erich? Are you going to join the party or just stand there like a dummy getting wet?”
Erich ignores the taunting—it’s just another of Fleener’s tools—and takes a page from Lou. He does the unexpected.
He stands aside, soaking wet as Lou deliberately sprays him, hoping to drag him into this comedy of errors. But Erich waits, watching.
Eventually he begins to see a pattern forming in Lou’s movements. He usually goes left while rising and right when he’s ducking. He moves fast and never stops and as he uses one of the Nazis as a shield and a battering ram against the others, Erich steps slowly to the side—Lou’s left—and waits.
He drops very slowly to a squat and picks up a section of hose, always watching what Lou’s doing. Wait... wait... Erich grabs the hose and yanks.
Lou is suddenly stopped and Erich rises from his squat and throws a punch straight up under his chin. The force of the blow lifts Lou off his feet and he arcs up, landing flat on his back in the mud.
Erich and the rest of the Nazis gather around him in a circle, looking down, and Lou says, “Ow.”
Erich kicks Lou in the head and he finally shuts up.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
This Is a Plan?
––––––––
“We’ve got to go.” Bonnie’s running next to Monk, ducking under branches, moving way too fast for the dim pre-dawn light. A misstep or gopher hole would mean a broken ankle at best.
“We’ve got to go back.” Cassidy’s on Monk’s left, keeping up despite constantly looking back at the dark shape of the farmhouse.
“We will, dammit! Soon as we get to the car. We need the car!”
They slipped out of the barn when Lou made a distraction, swatting the three Nazis like they were toys to be played with. Monk knew Lou would play things out for as long as possible. If he was outdoors and had room to maneuver, Lou Fleener was unbeatable.
But what would happen once he deliberately threw the fight. These were Nazis after all, meaner than snakes and far deadlier. Would Lou be able to keep them talking until he found out something?
Probably not. Most likely he’d annoy the hell out of them and risk having them shoot him in the face.
They come out of the trees at the back of the burned-out bar and Cassidy leads them to his Bel Air, hidden in the shade of the trees and bushes. She’s almost dancing with nervous energy and keeps saying, “We’ve got to go back,” as she throws the keys to Monk and waits for him to open the trunk.
Bonnie crowds in from the other side as Monk starts handing out weapons. He gives Cassidy a rifle—she’s already proven herself on that—and pauses with a heavy pistol, wondering if Bonnie can handle it. Cassidy has already backed away to test-sight the rifle and Bonnie holds out her hand. Monk hesitates a moment too long and she snaps it out of his hand with a muttered, “Gimme that!”
She pulls back the slide to eject a shell from the chamber, slides the magazine out of the butt, checking and sliding it back expertly. Monk stares.
“What? Didn’t think I knew guns? Monk, my father’s a hunter and I’m his only kid. He may have wanted a son but he was fine with teaching a daughter. I can shoot.”
“But can you kill people?”
“Doubt it,’ she said calmly. “But I can scare the hell out of them and hurt them a lot.”
“I love you,” he says. “Marry me.”
“You wish,” Bonnie says, but she’s grinning.
Monk takes a short .38 pistol, checks it and slams the trunk.
“Everybody ready.”
“Yep.”
“We’ve got to go back,” adds Cassidy. She’s already around the side of the car, jerking open the passenger door. As Monk climbs in to drive she tells him, “There’s a county road half a mile that way,” she points west. “Gravel. It goes back to the farms. Let’s go!”
Monk points the car the way Cassidy’s pointing and turns left on a gravel road. The suns peaking over the trees behind them, glinting off the chrome, and the tires keep up a rattling roar as they spray loose rocks.
“There,” Cassidy yells. “Over there.”
The farmhouse is on the right. They’re still too far away to see anything and it looks like a typical pastoral scene. A couple of cows raise their heads as they go by and go back to grazing.
Monk fishtails as he makes the turn into the long drive to the farmhouse at thirty, straightens and shoots forward.
“I don’t see anything,” cries Cassidy. “Monk, what if we’re too late?”
“Relax Cass. Lou can handle these guys. Stop worrying.”
“Sure Monk, I’ll stop worrying.” Her voice is calm and Monk glances over to see her staring through the windshield. “But if Lou’s dead, I’ll kill you myself.”
“Seriously?” Monk says. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Try me.”
Monk speeds up.
Erich looks down at Lou Fleener, unconscious at his feet and smiles. This is how it should be. He feels elated and superior and justified and... worried. The worry comes suddenly and gnaws at him like a rat trying to escape a cage. Erich feels the tension grow.
His men are standing around waiting for him to take command and a
ll Erich can think of is I beat him. I should be feeling great but instead I feel... what? Dread, like something, somehow is about to go very wrong.
Angry with himself for this he snaps at two of his men.
“Pick him up. Take him inside.”
One of them—Marko, the lazy one—says, “Where—?”
Erich slaps him, feeling the anger take over for worry. “Inside. On the floor in the kitchen or in the parlor. I don’t care. Just take him!”
“Yes sir.” Marko and Rudi, another less than perfect example of superior Aryan genes, bend and grab Lou’s arms and the drag him, not gently, up the stairs.
Everyone is wet and muddy and there are bruises and limping, all caused by Lou Fleener and Erich wonders again how he does it. Erich watched him fight, knows that the movements were instinctual, not planned, but still... how?
“Aldo,” he says softly, remembering. Fleener said he killed him. Stabbed him, what had he said? Many times.
Erich decides he must see for himself. He can’t let the others find Aldo if he truly is dead. They were all shaken enough after the fight with Fleener and seeing their strongest, most feared member killed might be too much. Erich feels things are already getting out of hand.
He tugs open the old door which screams a loud unoiled protest that’s enough to wake up Aldo even if he is dead.
Erich fumbles for the light switch—where was the damn thing? —and blinks at the light when he clicks it. He grimaces as he sees the lump on the floor, recognizing Aldo’s clothes from twenty feet away. As he gets closer he sees the blood and recalls Fleener’s many times again.
Damn him, he thinks, about Fleener and about Aldo. What the hell was he doing out here so early? Erich remembers his fights with Aldo, holding the sadistic fool in check by force of will and the power of command. Evidently it wasn’t enough and Aldo had disobeyed.
Well, he thought, kneeling over the cold corpse, it wouldn’t happen again.
How had Fleener found them here? What possible trail could there be from the kidnapping—of the wrong person, Erich thinks bitterly—to this remote farmhouse? Tracked from the bar somehow, though Erich can’t imagine how.
Time to find out.
Striding back to farmhouse, filled with resolve not to delay any longer, Erich yanks open the screen, cringes at the noise for a second and enters the kitchen.
Three of his men are standing near the door, one near the sink, leaning against the counter. All of them have gotten their pistols out, except Marko, the useless lout. All are watching the man sitting at ease.
Lou Fleener, rumpled and muddy, showing blood at his temple and several bruises, is sitting at the small table eating toast. He has a cup steaming next to his elbow and a lit cigarette nestled in a red tin ashtray. The smoke mixes with the steam. Erich stops short at the sight.
“Good grub,” says Fleener, gesturing with the toast. “Have some?”
Despite Cassidy’s constant nagging to go faster, Monk stops the car on the road next to a worn down once-white fence. He turns the key and Cassidy says, “The hell?”
“We’ve got to see what’s happening.”
“Fine.” Harsh and angry, but she gets out of the car and leans over the fence. They’re far enough away that they can see the barn and the back of the house. There doesn’t seem to be any movement. Cassidy takes the rifle, leans it on the fence and looks through the scope.
Nothing.
Wait.
It’s killing her to wait.
She scans the scope and goes past a large man standing and moves it back to get a clear look. It’s him; Erich. But he’s alone in the yard, staring at the barn. Cassidy backs away and gestures for Monk to look.
“Yeah; that’s him,” says Monk, squinting through the scope.
“What’s he doing? He’s just standing there. Where’s Lou? Shouldn’t Lou be with him?”
“Cass; I don’t know. I don’t see Lou and yes; Erich should be with him. Wait; he’s heading to the barn.” Monk swivels the rifle to keep it trained on Erich.
“He’s going in. He’ll see the body. He’ll know we escaped, even if Lou hasn’t told him yet.” Hi voice trails off as he continues watching. Beside him Monk can feel the tension in the two women, how the waiting is making them anxious.
“He’s coming out. Heading back to the house.”
“Monk,” says Bonnie. He looks up from the scope, sees she’s leaning on the fence watching. She has the automatic in her right hand. “What do we do?”
“We go rescue Lou,” announces Cassidy, sounding very much like she’ll do it alone if needed, and soon.
“Yeah,” agrees Monk. “We do.”
Erich is both furious and amused, a hard combination to maintain. He’s also hungry and the sight of the buttered warm bread is enticing. So, he goes to the counter where an old battered percolator is keeping coffee warm, if not pleasant, and pours some into a white ceramic mug he pulls from the second cupboard he opens. He takes his time, adding milk from a glass pitcher, then sits down at the table.
As if he’s the host, Lou smiles amiably and offers a cigarette. He gestures at the pack. “Marlboros. Filtered.” He shrugs. “They taste like burning cardboard, but what are ya gonna do?”
Erich takes a piece of toast and spreads thick red raspberry jam on it. The knife is made for butter and has no edge and it scrapes against the charred bread with a faint rasping sound, the jam looks like blood.
Lou says, “So, Erich; what is it you guys are up to?”
“Up to?” says Erich. “What makes you think we are ‘up to’ something?”
“Innocent?” Lou mocks. “You’re going to play innocent on me? Erich, your men are pussies; we both know that. But you, and that sadist Aldo, are something else. You two are the real deal.” Lou takes a bite out of his toast, chews for a long time, smiles and sips at his coffee. He picks up his cigarette, taps the ash off and takes a deep drag. “Was,” I should say. Aldo isn’t with us anymore.” He doesn’t even try to hide his amusement at the idea.
Nor does Erich try to hide his anger any longer. He takes the butter knife, still sticky with red jam, and snaps it in two. The effort was harder than it seemed but he’s careful not to show it. Lou looks impressed.
Erich says, “I’m going to kill you, Mr. Fleener. Right now, and not pleasantly.”
“Sure,” says Lou. “Can’t blame you. I’ve been a pest.”
“You have,” agrees Erich, surprised that Lou’s not showing fear. He will, though; oh, how he will.
“Before you do though, and I’m only asking this because I’ve been asked to, what are you planning?”
“Do you think I’ll tell you?” Erich is amazed at the nerve of this person. He’s sitting in a room filled with angry men with guns, all of whom he’s recently been beating on, facing a Nazi prison guard with a fierce reputation who has just announced he’s going to kill him painfully. Yet he sits there eating toast as if he’s in a hotel restaurant about to order more coffee.
Lou says, “More coffee?” and holds up his own mug. Nobody moves. Everyone looks at Erich for direction. Lou says with an exasperated sigh. “Fine, I’ll get it myself.” He gets up, groaning a bit and smiles ruefully at Erich as he straightens his spine. “Got me a good one there, Erich. A nice hit.”
“I’ll do a lot more than that, Mr. Fleener.”
“Sure,” agrees Lou. He pours the last of the coffee from the percolator, sets it back on the stove and clicks off the burner. Holding the mug to his lips and blowing across it, he adds casually, “I could have taken out two of these clowns with that thing, you know.”
“Probably,” says Erich. Secretly he concurs; these men are less than useless. “But what would you do next?”
“Well,” says Lou, sitting back down. “I’d take that one by the counter; he’s the weakest...”
Marko, of course. Erich tries not to nod. It’s what he’d do if the situation was reversed.
“I’d take the two guys by the door so
I could get down the hall.”
“But then you’d be in a small room, Mr. Fleener. And you’d have to deal with me.”
“Ah; you figured out the small room thing.” He sucks more tar, stares at the butt with great disdain. “Who can smoke these things? The filter might let you live longer, but who’d want to?”
“Are you stalling,” Mr. Fleener? If so, why?”
“Time to let my friends get away.” Lou studies Erich, scratches his cheek, and says, “You figured out that if you send a lot of guys after me they’ll get in each other’s way and I’ll pick them off easy.”
Erich nods. He takes a drag of his own smoke and frowns. It is awful.
“And you’d come at me with a gun and shoot me in several places before I could get out of the room.”
“Or,” says Erich, getting into this, “I’d come at you alone, bare-handed and use my greater strength to beat you senseless.”
“Short trip,” says Lou. “So, let’s say we agree; you got me. What’s the harm in telling me what you’re doing?”
“Instead,” says Erich. “Why don’t I just start killing you now?”
He nods at Marko. “Light that front burner. Let’s see how Mr. Fleener reacts to heat. We’ll start by burning off the left side of his face.”
Marko obeys and twists the large ceramic knob on the front of the old gas stove. There’s a strong smell of gas and Carlton scratches a long wooden match on the counter top. It flares into a blue flame and he touches it to the burner, which ignites with a soft whoosh. Carefully Marko blows on the match and adjusts the burner flame to high.
“Mr. Fleener, shall we begin?”
Lou sighs and shakes his head. “I told Monk this wouldn’t work.”
Five bullets, fired in quick sequence, burst through the thin walls of the kitchen.
Monk says, “Can you hit it?” to Cassidy who is holding the rifle against the fence.
With withering scorn, she says, “Hit the broad side of a house? Really?”
Seriously? Page 20