Big Shots and Bullet Holes

by B David Spicer

  “Underground? Like a basement?”

  “No, Norman, not like a basement. I mean would you do whatever you could do to support the Nazis, in secret? Last night Gottlieb mentioned a meeting, the one that he was supposed to pick Shultz up for. He and Braun are krauts, I know that because they thought I was the daughter of the leader of the New York Chapter of the Bund. They seemed a little starstruck at the notion.”

  Norman scratched behind his ear. “So, the Bund is still around?”

  “Yeah, I think it is, and I think Shultz was a member. He was supposed to go to a Bund meeting last night.”

  “Then why did they shoot him?”

  “That’s one of the things we need to find out.” I pointed into a drug store. “I’ll be right back.” I went inside and bought two packs of cigarettes and two fat Cuban cigars. I handed the cigars to Norman when I came back out with my cigarette already lit.

  “Thanks, Kissy. So, what do we do next?”

  “We catch a streetcar.”

  “A streetcar? Where are we going?”

  “Over-the Rhine.”

  “Why? Nothing to see there but poor people.”

  “Shultz had a note in his pocket with an Over-the Rhine address on it. Pleasant Street to be specific.”

  “So?”

  “So, we’re going to see who he was planning to meet today.”

  “Kissy, that’s crazy!” He threw up his hands. “You hear me? Crazy!”

  “I hear you, Norman. The whole street can hear you.”

  He lowered his voice. “We’re in over our heads! We could get killed, Kissy, just like Shultz.”

  I patted his cheek. “We sure could. I’ll go alone if you’re scared.” I trotted to catch the streetcar that would take us up Vine Street. When I turned around, Norman stood in the center of the sidewalk half a block away. I shrugged and waved at him. I could see his lips moving. Funny thing, curse words are easy to lipread.

  My destination, an address on Pleasant Street, turned out to be, of all things, an auction house. The warehouse building bustled with potential buyers and strewn with furniture, cookware, and a grand piano. The stuff looked high quality and expensive. I stopped an important looking man with a bald head and no hat.

  “Hey, Jack. When does this show get started?”

  He looked me up and down before hurling a frown in my direction. “Noon.”

  “Thanks.” One question answered. Now, what did Shultz want to buy? I wandered through the aisles of merchandise, toward the piano, a gorgeous Steinway. The wood glistened with polish; the ivory keys shone in unspoiled grandeur.

  A young man wearing a thick mustache approached me. “Good morning, uh, ma’am.” He smiled through his whiskers. “Are you interested in this piece?”

  I trailed my fingers over the keys. “Perhaps. What can you tell me about it?”

  The young man’s smiled faltered. “Well, it’s a Steinway, uh, model ...”

  “It’s a Model D.”

  “Yes, I believe it is. Do you play?”

  “I used to.” I tapped a few keys.

  “Would you like to give it a try? Maybe bang out a rendition of ‘Chopsticks’.” He chuckled, amused at the quality of his rapier wit.

  I sat on the bench and placed my hands on the keys. “It’s been a while, so don’t laugh.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “No, of course not.”

  I started with something simple, Mozart’s Piano Sonata #11, better known as Rondo Alla Turca. Halfway through the song I looked up at Mr. Whiskers. His mouth hung open, which made me laugh, though not so hard that I missed a key. I barely paused before shifting into Chopin’s Waltz #6, a personal favorite of mine. I hadn’t played in five years, but my fingers remembered what they were supposed to do. They danced up and down the keyboard without any direction from me. It felt good, but I stopped at the end of the song and pried my reluctant fingers from the ivory. About then, I noticed that a crowd had formed around me. They heartily applauded my performance.

  I stood up. “Thanks, but the show’s over, folks.”

  Mr. Whiskers shook my hand. “Thank you, miss. That was amazing. I think you just doubled the price this piano will bring.”

  “If you’d had it properly tuned, the price would have tripled. An instrument of this quality should never be allowed to go out of tune, and it should certainly never end up in a grubby auction house like this. Where did it come from?”

  Mr. Whiskers licked his lips. “This is an estate sale. A Mr. Hirsch, I believe.”

  “Hirsch? He didn’t live in Over-the-Rhine, did he?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but it seems unlikely given the quality of his furniture. And the piano, of course. Excuse me.” He tottered off into the crowd.

  “A fine performance, Fräulein Weber, wonderful.”

  I turned and found Gottlieb and Braun smiling at me.

  Chapter Six

  I tipped my hat back and looked them over. Two lousy krauts, in cheap off-the-rack suits. “Well, good morning, boys. Fancy meeting you here.”

  Braun looked as happy a drowning cat. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m thinking about buying the piano. Why are you here?”

  Braun frowned. “To buy a safe. No harm in you knowin’ that.”

  I smiled as sweetly as I could. “I know what I know, and I know enough to keep what I know to myself.”

  Gottlieb spoke up while Braun’s brain tried to untangle what I’d just said. “Fräulein Weber, I must compliment you on your extraordinary ability with the piano.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You are quite skilled. You haff been playing for many years?”

  “Something like that.” I yawned and stretched my arms above my head.

  “I also took the liberty of sending a vire to your father, apologizing most strongly for the misunderstanding last night.”

  I shook out a cigarette for myself but didn’t offer one to either of them. “Oh yeah? What did dear old Dad have to say?” Nothing, or I’d have been on my way to the morgue already.

  “He hass not responded yet. I understand, of course, that he is a busy man. I hope, most sincerely to hear from him soon. I vass in an agony all the night. I slept only very little.”

  “That’s a shame. All right boys, why don’t you show me this safe?” Now that I knew what they were after, I wanted to see it. “Lead on, Macduff.”

  Braun frowned. “Huh?”

  “It’s a misquote that means, ‘Show me where it’s at, Jack.’” I puffed smoke at him. “Sometime before they sell it would be preferable, gentlemen.”

  They finally started moving. We crossed most of the cavernous brewery before we found it. “That’s it?”

  “Ja, Fräulein Weber, that is it.”

  “Well now, it’s not exactly much to look at, is it?” It really wasn’t. Just a tall a black box made of steel, with a combination lock. “A lot of trouble for such a dumpy thing.”

  Gottlieb chortled. “It is much like Herr Hirsch himself, squat and ugly.”

  Braun crammed his meathooks into his pockets. “We don’t even know for sure what’s inside the damned thing.”

  “Truly so, but it is vhat could be inside that is important. That is vhy ve buy it, yes?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Braun shook his head. “Probably just a waste of money.”

  “Or what’s in there could save your life, Braun.” I flicked my cigarette at his feet. “How much is your life worth to you?”

  “Not so much that I’m gonna take much more lip from you, sister. I don’t care who your father is.”

  I smiled at him and took a step closer. “Anytime you’re ready, Jack. I got your number.” I slid my hand into my jacket, even though my gun slept peacefully, at home, in my trunk.

  Gottlieb put a hand on Braun’s shoulder. “Forgive my friend, Fräulein Weber. He is not yet fully domesticated.”

  Braun tore his shoulder from Gottlieb’s grasp. “Don’t ever put your hands on me, Gott
lieb.”

  I lit another cigarette. “Take a hike. Me and your boss have grown-up things to talk about.” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder.

  Braun took a step toward me, but Gottlieb stepped between us. “Herr Braun, I think you are in need of some fresh air. Perhaps a cup of coffee, yes? I think you need to step away, now.”

  Braun’s eyes never left mine, but he finally backed away from me. He stood a few feet off, his face a mottled purple. Finally, he jabbed a finger at me. “Make your peace with the Almighty, lady.” He turned toward Gottlieb. “I’m going to try to find Richter again.” He aimed his finger at me again. “Your time is coming.”

  “Whenever you’re ready, Braun.” I leaned back against the safe. “I’ll be waiting for you to drum up the nerve. I guess that’ll take you a while, but I got nothing better to do.” I smiled sweetly. “Have a nice day, pumpkin.”

  Braun stomped out the nearest door. I had to smile as we watched him go. Gottlieb wiped his lenses with a handkerchief. “Fräulein Weber, vith respect, I do not understand vhy you treat Herr Braun vith such contempt.”

  I laughed. “He’s a chump, too stupid to do anything but what he’s told to do, but also too stupid to be trusted to do what he’s told to do. We don’t need his kind. We have too many like him already.” I took a drag and watched Gottlieb seat his spectacles on his nose. “Do you disagree?”

  “Not in principle, but ve must make use of vhat we haff available to us. No?”

  “He’ll get over it. Now, back to business.” I looked around us, but nobody stood within earshot of a whisper. “This safe. What do you think is inside of it?”

  “Ah, you mean specifically. Vell, financial records, meeting notes, membership lists and, ah, notes regarding other special activities.” He winked at me, which chilled my blood a little.

  I nodded. “So, every one of the things that we wouldn’t want to lose track of. Sloppy, very sloppy.”

  “I do not disagree. Herr Hirsch’s death hass proven most inconvenient for us all. Hiss daughter did not approve of, ah, her father’s friends. So, she did not allow us to open the safe. She put the brewery, the house and everything into the auction, so ve must buy vhat is rightfully ours already.” After a pause he cleared his throat meaningfully. “Ve are also hoping to find out the identity of the Wulf.” He stared intently at me.

  Wulf? Suddenly it felt like I was dancing with Gottlieb, dancing to his tune and I didn’t know any of the steps. So, I stared back at him long enough to take a few drags on my cigarette. “Really?” I tapped the top of the safe. “In here? Hirsch knew who the Wulf was?”

  Gottlieb smiled broadly. “Ve hope so, yes?”

  I sucked the last bit of life from my Camel and mashed it out on top of the safe. I looked at him but didn’t say anything. He was a slippery one, this guy. Everything he said meant at least two things. The problem was, I couldn’t ever figure out either of them.

  He took a long breath and exhaled slowly. “Vell, Fräulein Weber, I must register at the desk for a number so that I may bid on the safe.” He took my hand, squeezed it lightly, and gave me a long gander at his eyes. Something passed between us, but damned if I knew what it meant. “Auf Wiedersehen, Fräulein ... Weber.” As he walked away, I contemplated the emphasis he’d put on my ersatz surname.

  I strolled back across the room, toward the Steinway, and saw Norman from behind. He craned his neck and swiveled his head back and forth. I tapped him on the shoulder. “Your empty head is gonna fall off your neck if you don’t stop twisting is around like that.

  He turned and a grimace split his face. “Kissy! I found you! Thank God!”

  “I found you, so thank Kissy. God took the day off ...”

  Norman didn’t smile or laugh. Instead, he grabbed my shoulders and, in typical Norman style, said what he needed to say to me in a voice that allowed for no secrets or discretion. “Kissy! The cops are looking for you!”

  The general buzz of conversation that had filled the brewery suddenly died and dropped to the floor in a paroxysm of silence. I looked at the faces of the men who stood behind Norman, and they looked at me, curious, and no doubt making mental notes of my shifty appearance and nefarious demeanor in case they had the chance to be interviewed by the papers.

  “Well, that’s what happens when you have nineteen parking tickets.” I chuckled and patted Norman’s cheek. Some of our audience members grinned and resumed their perusal of items in the auction, more than a few, however, kept right on watching us. One nondescript fellow dressed in a nondescript gray suit, wearing a nondescript hat, leveled his nondescript blue eyes in our direction. The very nondescriptness of the man screamed “Fed!” in the most nondescript way, of course.

  “I’m serious, Kissy!”

  “I can see that, Norman. As serious as a gunshot wound.” I leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “I’m beginning to wish you’d gotten one this morning, so I’d be rid of your stupidity.” His ratlike face crumpled into a pout and he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “Jeez Kissy, I was just trying to warn you.” He kicked the ground with the toe of his shoe.

  I snatched his wrist and dragged him out of the building like a disobedient child. Once we were half a block from the auction I turned and gave him a shove. “How dumb are you? I’m really curious, I need to know.” I waited, but he didn’t answer. His eyes found a crack in the sidewalk and he held onto that crack for dear life.

  I fired up a cigarette and watched him staring down the ground. The soothing burn of the smoke filled my lungs and I exhaled slowly. After a few more drags I almost didn’t want to beat Norman to death with a crowbar. Almost.

  “Now, Norman, what do you have to tell me?”

  His eyes met mine for a single second before tumbling back to the sidewalk. “Uh, I’m sorry?”

  I gave him a swat on the shoulder. “No, dolt! What about the police?”

  “Oh yeah!” His eyes brightened. “After you left on the streetcar, I went into that little bar that happened to be there ...”

  “Of course you did.” I twirled a finger to hurry his story along.

  “Well, I sat at the bar and ordered a beer ...”

  More twirling. “Yeah, go on.”

  “They have a radio on the end of the bar. The newscast said there’d been a murder in Mt. Washington! They said an ‘unidentified’ man had been found shot to death!”

  I took one last drag on my smoke and flicked the butt at Norman. “I’m waiting to hear what that has to do with the police being after me.”

  “But Kissy! It was Shultz! They found him! You were there last night!”

  “Sure I was, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

  His jaw worked slowly, and I could almost hear the rusty gears between his ears grinding together. “But ...”

  “But nothing. You humiliated me in front of all those people for this?” I threw my hands up and started down the block. “Someday I might put you out of your misery. Unfortunately, your body would be dead a week before your brain decided something was wrong.” A streetcar clanged its way toward us.

  “Kissy! Where are you going?” He scrambled to catch the streetcar as I climbed aboard.

  He took a seat next to me. The streetcar was mostly empty. “Mount Washington.”

  “What?”

  I spoke slowly, deliberately. “I said I’m going to Mount Washington.”

  He watched me press my eyes to the window as we passed the brewery building where the auction was being held. “Why are we going there?”

  “To find out what we can about the murder.” I wiped at the window glass with the sleeve of my jacket and peered through the smudge.

  “Kissy, that’s crazy!” He watched me for a few seconds. “What are you trying to see?” He squinted up his eyes and tried to see through the grime and dead bugs that plastered the window. “Is somebody out there?”

  “Yeah.” The nondescript fellow in the nondescript gray suit stood on the sidewalk. He glanced at his pock
et-watch for a second, snapped it shut and watched the streetcar trundle past. His eyes met mine; they wrestled one another until the streetcar finally carried me out of sight.

  Norman tapped me on the shoulder. “Who are you looking for? Who’s out of the fray?”

  I turned away from the window, tugging my lip. “I’m not sure.” I dropped my voice to a tiny whisper. “It’s either a Fed, a cop, or another kraut.” I jabbed a thumb toward the window. “It’s almost certainly one of the three, but I can’t say one way or another which it is.”

  He smiled weakly. “Maybe he just thinks you’re pretty. Lots of guys think you are.”

  I harrumphed that one away. “Not this time. He’s watching me.”

  “How do you know that? Maybe he’s watching me!” Norman thumped his chest.

  That made me smile, just a little. “You could be right, maybe he’s a swish. Maybe he thinks you’re pretty.”

  Norman’s face melted into a scowl. “I meant maybe he’s a fed.”

  “If he is, I hope he arrests you before I get around to killing you.”

  He held his scowl in place until we reached the end of the streetcar line.

  Chapter Seven

  Shultz’s house crawled with vermin in blue uniforms and long tan trench coats. The neighborhood looked, if possible, even worse in daylight. The afternoon sunshine, so cheery a few blocks away, here seemed sickly and pale, almost gasping for life. I lit a cigarette as we stood in a clot of gawkers behind a wooden barrier on the sidewalk at the end of the block. I nudged Norman. “Look at that. Isn’t that an awful lot of blue for one dead nobody?”

  He shrugged. “Guy was murdered.”

  “So he was.” For a while I watched the blue do what they do, then I saw an old woman sitting on a milk can on her ramshackle porch. I snatched Norman by the collar and started in her direction. “Come on, Norman.”

  A rookie cop stopped us at the barricade on the sidewalk. “Sorry folks, you can’t go any further.”

  I pointed to the old woman. “See that lady? She’s my mother! She telephoned to tell me she was terrified, who can blame her what with a killer on the loose! Such a nice, quiet neighborhood too. I’m terribly worried about her, officer.”