“You didn’t have to hit me!”
My voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “I’m going to find Heloise Kendall, alone if you don’t want to help me, but I am going to find her. I’m also going to find out what all these krauts are up to if I can.” I snatched his collar and slammed his back into the wall again. “So, now you have to decide if you’re going to stick around for the fun, or if you’re gonna run and hide.” I thumped him again. “I don’t really care one way or the other. Stay or go, but decide now.” I let him go and started up the street. I needed to find a drugstore in a bad way, and fortunately I found one on the next corner.
While the pimply clerk fetched my cigarettes for me, I saw Norman standing outside the window, on the street. He wiped his nose intermittently, but it looked to have stopped bleeding. I couldn’t hold back a smile. I bought two Cubans and a nickel’s worth of black licorice for him, though the smell of licorice always made me gag. Pimples managed to package up the licorice even though he eyed me up and down a mile a minute. He noticed me noticing and his pockmarked cheeks flushed a deep red. I gave him a knowing grin and stepped through the door. Norman shuffled his feet with his hands in his pockets.
I set fire to a smoke and took a deep drag. “Decided to stay?”
He studied his shuffling toes intently. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Good.” I handed him the cigars and licorice. “Enjoy.”
He showed all his teeth when he smiled. “Thanks. So, what do we do next?”
“Good question.” I tugged at my lip. “Mrs. McKnight said Shultz and Kendall were arguing about when to leave. Why did Kendall want to get away so badly?”
“Because somebody scared her. One of the krauts maybe.”
“You’re probably right, since her boyfriend got himself killed a day later.”
“He should have gone with her when she wanted to go. I can’t imagine what would have kept him here with all those damned krauts running around and waving guns. Had to have been money.”
“Money! Einstein! Yes! It had to be money!”
“Huh? What about money?”
I rummaged around in my jacket until I found the marker that I’d found under Shultz’s bed. “He didn’t leave because he needed to redeem this!” I unfolded the paper and handed it to Norman.
His lips moved as he read it. “Holy moly! A thousand bucks! No wonder he stuck around.”
I wore out a six-foot long path on the sidewalk, pacing back and forth. “So, Shultz and Kendall got tangled up with the krauts in the Friends of Teutonia or the German-American Bund, or whatever they’re calling themselves this week. Kendall got scared by something or someone and wanted to bolt, but Shultz wanted to wait until he could redeem the marker before they ran. So, they stayed.”
“Yeah, and Shultz got shot dead.”
I nodded and put the folded marker back into my pocket. “Right, but whoever killed him wasn’t interested in money. Shultz had two hundred dollars in his pocket when I found him, and the marker wasn’t exactly hidden. Anyone who wanted to find it wouldn’t have had to look very hard. If they shot him over a matter of money, they’d have at least taken the cash out of his pockets.”
“Makes sense.” He gnawed a sprig of licorice. “All right, why kill him then?”
“That’s what we need to find out.” I stomped the fire out of my cigarette.
The licorice turned Norman’s teeth a nasty shade of gray. “Maybe the girl shot him.”
“Kendall? It’s possible, but I think she’d have taken the cash and probably the marker as well. I’m willing to rule her out, at least for now.”
He grinned a gray grin. “Why? Don’t you think a woman can kill a man?”
I watched him finish the licorice sprig before I answered him. “I absolutely know a woman can kill a man. I just think, in this case, the evidence points to someone else. Someone well-heeled, someone who didn’t need Shultz’s thousand-dollar marker. Someone who needed to bump off Shultz for some other reason.”
“Why else kill somebody?” He lit one of the Cubans and fell to coughing.
“Could be one of any number of reasons, really, but to keep him quiet seems the most likely.” I plodded my way through the possibilities. “Yeah, seems likely he knew too much, so they had to shut him up.”
“What do you figure he knew?”
I threw up my hands. “That’s just what I can’t figure. I know how to find out, but I can’t find Bremen Street. It doesn’t exist.” I spat out my exasperation.
“Well, not anymore, anyway.” He shook his head sadly and puffed at his cigar.
“Norman, what do you mean?”
“Bremen Street. It’s not called that anymore. They changed it during the War, the first one I mean.” He shook his head again. “Some people just don’t like Germans. Or German names.”
I had to dig my fingernails into my palms to keep from hitting him again. “So, what’s it called now?”
“Republic Street, it’s in Over-the-Rhine.”
“Where the auction was this morning?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “Only a block or two away from it.”
“We need to find a streetcar.” I looked around but didn’t see one. “Forget the streetcar, let’s take a cab.”
“Are we going there now?”
“Nope. We’re going home.”
“Home? Why are we going home?”
“I need to change into my other suit. And I want to get my gun.”
He coughed so hard he dropped his cigar.
Chapter Nine
Norman owned exactly one suit, a threadbare brown number that he’d bought for a dollar. The trousers dangled above his knobby ankles, and the jacket sleeves petered out two inches above his wrists. Slap a floppy hat on him and he’d look like an underfed scarecrow, but in his own mind he looked more than a little like Clark Gable. He mis-knotted his ragged yellow tie and tried on a suave smile. “Why, hello there, Miss Lisbon.”
I gave him a quick once-over. “I’d fire your tailor if I were you.” I went back to pinning up my brown tangle of hair. “Close the door before Mama Jose sees you in here. I don’t need her dying of apoplexy today.” My hair put up a more strenuous fight than usual, causing me to frown at my reflection in the mirror. I spoke through a mouthful of hairpins. “I’m gonna get it all cut off, every single strand, I swear.”
Norman leaned against the wall, watching my struggle with no small amount of amusement. “I feel like we’re going out on a date.”
“We’re not.”
“I know, but it feels like it. I think you should wear that dress you had on the other day.”
I made a face at his reflection in the mirror. “Is that what you think? I’m so relieved you told me that. Now when I call you a ninny, I won’t feel bad about it at all.” I gave up the war, spat out my hairpins and slipped into my black suit jacket. I put the marker in one pocket, and my pistol in another. “Guess I’m ready. Hand me my hat.” I perched it on my head at a rakish angle. “Let’s go.”
Norman stood behind me as I locked my room door. “How will we find this ‘Bremen Street Club’? We know which street it’s on, but not what building its in. There must be a hundred buildings, maybe more, on that street.”
I started down the stairs. “It’ll be the only building with lots of people going in and out. It’s Saturday night, so this unless this ‘club’ is extremely different from other social clubs, it’ll be busy. We’ll just look for the long line of krauts waiting to get inside.” I opened the exterior door and stepped into the chill evening air. “Since they issued a marker to Shultz, there must be gambling of some sort. Do krauts gamble?”
He shrugged. “I guess they must.”
I flagged down a cab, and we slid into the back seat. The cabbie couldn’t have been much younger than seventy-five, so I decided to try something. “Bremen Street.”
The cabbie’s bushy eyebrows rose to his hairline. “You sure?”
I nodded. “You know
the place I mean?”
His eyes narrowed. “It’s called Republic Street now.”
“Yeah, but I want to go to a specific place on Bremen Street, but I’m not sure where it is.” I held up a ten-dollar bill. “I know you know the place I’m talking about.”
“Yeah. I do.” He snatched the bill with his gnarled fingers. “You’ll still pay the fare.”
“Of course.” I smiled and patted Norman’s knee. “See, we’re on our way.”
The cab careened through downtown Cincinnati at a speed just short of suicide, crossed into Over-the-Rhine, finally stopping outside an attractive, five-story Colonial building. A tobacconist shop, a haberdasher, and a store selling watches and clocks occupied the storefronts on the ground floor, but not a soul was in sight. The cabbie turned around and gave us an award-winning frown. “There’s the place, go through that door there.” He jabbed one stubby finger to a door between the clock shop and the haberdasher.
I handed him a dollar. “This cover the fare?”
“Yeah.” He yanked the dollar out of my fingers. “Now, get out of my cab.”
Norman flipped the cabbie’s cap up with a finger. “You be polite to the lady, old-timer.”
“Lady? All I see are a couple of lousy krauts. Get out of my cab.”
I had to laugh. “Jack, we’re not krauts. We’re just here to collect some money we’re owed by a kraut.”
He eyed us for a minute or two. “No foolin’?”
“No foolin’.”
He started the cab and pulled away from the curb. “In that case, I’ll take you to the real place.”
Norman and I looked at one another and then at the laughing cabbie. “I hate krauts, so I just took you there to make it harder on you!” He tore his way further up the street until he stopped in front of a rather shabby four-story building of crumbling Italianate architecture. The single storefront had the windows soaped over and a large sign proclaimed it to be for rent. An enclosed wooden staircase clung to the side of the building. A dozen men and half as many women meandered about on the sidewalk, smoking, talking, and kissing.
Norman craned his neck to get a better view of the place. “Doesn’t look like much, does it?”
“Not really, but this is the place.”
“Thanks for the ride.” I offered him another buck, but he shooed us out of the car and tore the cab away from the curb.
“That old man is gonna kill himself.”
I lit a cigarette. “Come on, let’s go up.” I led Norman up the stairs. We could hear voices before we got to the top. “Sounds like the right place.”
An elderly doorman stopped us at the landing. “Wer da?”
Norman surprised me by speaking up. “Ich heisse Bauer. Das ist Fräulein Weber.” He started forward, but the doorman stopped him with an upraised hand.
“Warten Sie einen Augenblick.” He turned and picked up a telephone. After a few seconds pause, he spoke rapidly in German.
I nudged Norman. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure. He says to wait. At least I think that’s what he said.” He tilted his head and aimed an ear toward the conversation. “He’s speaking too fast now, I can’t understand what he’s saying.”
A few seconds later the doorman hung up the receiver and opened the door. “Voran!”
We passed through a short hallway before stepping into a smoky casino. Fat German men lost their money playing blackjack, craps and at least a dozen other games. Lean German women tittered over martinis and clung to their men as they lost their money. A group of musicians played music of a decidedly American sort. The singer was a young, sultry, well-built Negro woman who obviously had no idea who she was performing for. Conversation and laughter twisted gaily through the air, giving the place a lively sense of joviality.
Norman pointed across the room. “There’s the bar!” He swam through the crowd without waiting for me. He had a stein of beer in his hand before I caught up with him. “Willst du ein bier? Ja, ich werde!” He laughed at his own joke, then tipped his head back and poured the dark brew down his neck.
“Slow down, Norman. We’re not here to get drunk.”
He displayed his teeth. “Come on, fräulein, it’s a party.”
I leaned close to his ear. “If you’re drunk, I’ll leave you here when the shooting starts.” His smile died a quick, painful death. “Remember that, Herr Bauer.” His Adam's apple bobbed below his ratty tie.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to find Braun’s scowl. “What are you doing here, Weber?”
“Enjoying the party. You should try it, Braun.”
“Well, if that’s the case, let me buy you a drink!” He leaned against the bar. “I don’t care for beer though, how about something a little stronger?”
I sensed the challenge in his grin. “Sure, make it a double.”
“Very good! Two double bourbons.” He held onto his smug smirk as he handed me the glass. “What shall we drink to? The Reich? The Führer?”
“To Victory, may it be swift and brutal.”
“Oh, it will be. Count on it.” He tapped the rim of his glass to my own. “Count on it.”
I raised my glass in a jaunty salute, then swallowed the whiskey in a single gulp. I plopped the glass on the bar. “That was refreshing. Another?”
Braun looked at his own glass uncertainly, then chugged it down. He tried not to cough but didn’t quite make it.
I turned to the bartender. “Two more.” I clapped Braun on the back. “Don’t worry, Herr Braun, this round’s on me.” I shoved the glass into his hand. “To the strong, may they forever conquer the weak.” I tossed back the second drink without blinking, then watched Braun force the second round down his gullet and splutter his way through the act of breathing.
“I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. How about one more?”
Norman, who stood behind me, leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “What happened to being sober when the shooting starts?”
I mumbled my reply. “The shooting’s already started.”
Braun stared at the fresh bourbon on the bar, then at the one in my hand, and finally at my unwavering gaze. “Of course, Weber. It is a party, after all.”
I raised my glass. “To the defeated enemy, may they all get what they deserve.” I poured the third whiskey into myself and watched Braun struggle to swallow. It took him two tries to get it all down.
“Shall we have another, Herr Braun?” I trotted out my sweetest smile, but the inferno in my guts promised to incinerate me if I had any more alcohol.
Braun rubbed his forehead spastically. “Later, maybe. I have important things to do.”
“Of course, you do, of course.” I clapped him on the shoulder as he staggered away from the bar. “Enjoy the party, Braun.”
I fished the marker out of my pocket and waved over the bartender. “Hey Jack, I need to cash this in, but I forget where I need to go. Too much bourbon, maybe.” My words slurred a little, and I added some inane giggling into the mix. The bartender directed us to one of the side-rooms and to look for a fat man with a mustache, name of Dewitt Wexler. I tipped him a buck and tore Norman away from his second, but half-finished beer.
The room only rolled a little as I crossed it. I’m not sure what I expected Wexler to look like, one of those thickly built men with whiskers like a scrub brush maybe. Instead I found a rotund Texan with a broad smile and a long handlebar mustache. He looked me over as I approached. “My goodness! What have we here?” He raised one eyebrow and looked confused. “It’s a woman!” He brayed like only a Texan can. “Look a’ here boys! It’s a woman in a suit!”
Several men stopped their conversations to take a peek. I offered them an unsteady little curtsy. “Thanks for noticing. You Wexler?”
He nodded. “What can ah do for you, little lady?” They all had a chuckle at that.
I held up the marker for him to see. “I just want to cash this in. They said you’d take care of that for me.”
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He read the paper and then held his gut as he laughed. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Yeah. Is that a problem?”
He tossed off the last of his whiskey. “Of course not, but you’ll have to come with me to my office. I don’t keep that kind of cash in my back pocket!” He jiggled his belly again. “Follow me.”
The three of us went through a door and up a short flight of stairs. He took a key out of his pocket and unlocked a heavy mahogany door. “Right this way, little lady.” He chuckled as he opened the door.
The room smelled musty but was well stocked with heavy Victorian furniture. He waved toward the chairs that faced a massive desk. “Have a seat.” He plunked his heavy frame into a creaking swivel chair behind the desk, huffing as if he was out of breath. “I’m getting too old to be climbing those damned stairs.”
I lit a cigarette and blew a double jet of smoke out of my nose. “That’s a shame.”
He stared at the desk for a moment, as if he forgot why he’d come here. He frowned for a moment, then brightened. “Ah! Yes, may I please have the marker?”
I handed it to him.
“We don’t issue many notes of this size.” He smiled as he waved it at me.
“Is that so?”
“Oh yes. As a matter of fact, this is the only one we’ve ever issued.”
I took a long drag. “That a fact?”
He opened a drawer and rummaged around for a moment. He casually tossed a random assortment of bills on the table, twenties, fifties, hundreds. “So, that places me in a most awkward position.” He continued burrowing in the drawer.
“Does it?”
“Yes, because this note was issued to a specific person.” He raised his hand from the drawer and stabbed the barrel of a revolver in my direction. “And you, little lady, are not that person.”
Chapter Ten
I’ve stared down the barrel of a gun when I hadn’t had a drink in days, so now, with a snootful of fine Kentucky bourbon, I found the whole idea of being threatened ludicrous. I laughed, a fine, rich, honest-to-goodness belly laugh, and after a moment Wexler joined in, though he kept the gun in my face.
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