“So, Greene got paid too.”
Wexler swallowed another slug of bourbon. “Yeah. What I got was chicken feed next to the Colonel's cut.”
“Fine, so what went wrong?”
“Hirsch.”
“What about Hirsch?”
“He’d been working with the Feds, on the sly, feeding them anything he could about the Bund and anything he heard about what the Reich was up to. Hirsch probably didn’t ever know much, but the Feds took everything he said as gospel truth, and they acted on what he told them. They shut down more than one active operation here in the States. I heard he even had a stupid code name.” Wexler frowned and shook his head slowly.
“Wulf.”
He chuckled. “Was that it? Wulf. German for wolf, right? He wanted to be a wolf in Bund clothing? We became suspicious when the Feds started leaning on us harder than usual, figured we had a rat. That’s when Braun called in his buddy Richter. When he got to town everything fell apart.” He poured more whiskey into his glass. “Richter started feeding false information to various people within the group, and when a certain warehouse in Chattanooga got raided by the Feds, by a process of elimination, he knew Hirsch was the rat.”
“So, Richter shot Hirsch.”
“Yeah.”
“All right, who shot Richter?”
Wexler shrugged. “Got me. Maybe Shultz? I can’t figure why Richter would be in Shultz’s house, unless Shultz was working with Hirsch.”
“What was in the safe?”
“The safe? What safe?”
“Hirsch’s safe, the one Gottlieb and Braun were bidding on in the auction on Saturday.”
He leaned back in his chair, staring at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, little lady.”
“Oh, come on. I saw Gottlieb and Braun at an auction in Over-the-Rhine, an auction that was selling off Hirsch’s things. Gottlieb said he was there to buy Hirsch’s safe.”
Wexler blinked at me for a few seconds before tossing back another ounce of bourbon. “First I’ve heard of it. Makes sense though.”
I frowned. “How so?”
“We figured Gottlieb must be up to something when he vouched for you. Now, that could have just been a stupid mistake on his part, but Gottlieb isn’t the sort of man to make stupid mistakes. If he was in it with Hirsch, he might believe there was something in Hirsch’s safe that would get him killed.”
I tugged at my lip again. “Would Colonel Greene want what was in that safe? Could Hirsch have found out about Greene’s treachery? Maybe he was trying to bleed him for a payout?”
“Got me. I can tell you that something is gonna happen real soon. Something big. The Reich is smuggling men into the country. Hell, they might already be here.” He swallowed more whiskey. “I didn’t sign up for that. I want out.”
I watched his jowls shake. “Saboteurs? Where are they going?”
Before he could answer I saw his jaw drop and his body tense. The first bullet shattered the whiskey decanter on its way to Wexler’s heart. I dove for the floor just as a second round crackled through the air above my head. Wexler sloughed off his chair and onto the floor, his lips wetly red. His mouth moved as he tried to speak. “Trin ... Trinidad Hotel ... Gottlieb ...” His breathing stopped and his eyes glazed over.
Marlene Wexler ran into the room. “Daddy!” I heard a laugh from outside the window and I threw myself at the child. I covered her head with my hand as machine-gun fire tore the room apart. The bookshelves behind Wexler’s desk exploded in a blizzard of shredded paper and splintered wood. The barrage seemed to go on forever, but it finally stopped and I heard Braun’s voice calling out. “So long, Wexler!” Then I heard screeching tires on the street. I sat up and probed Marlene’s body for bullet holes. Finding none, I raced to the window, but the car was too far away for me to note the make, model or license plate. It almost flew down the hill.
Marlene clutched her father’s hand, moaning. “Daddy! Daddy, get up!” Her older sister came into the room and also fell to the floor, weeping. When their mother appeared, a willowy redhead, she started screaming and pulling at her hair.
I held the .38 in my hand and climbed out of the room through the shattered window. I paused for a moment, turning to meet Wexler’s wife’s pleading gaze. “It was Braun. Get your girls out of here before he comes back!” Her slack jaw tightened and she nodded, then herded her children out of the room.
I looked around and saw curious neighbors peeking from behind their blinds and curtains. I dashed to my car and fired up the engine, stomped on the accelerator and sped down the street in the direction they had gone. Cross streets blurred by as I descended the hill toward downtown, but I couldn’t find Braun’s car. I pounded the steering wheel with a clenched fist. “Damn you, Braun. You’ve got a lot to answer for.”
I stopped at a drug store and bought two packs of cigarettes and a bottle of gut-fire. The clerk watched my hand shake and looked up at me. “Guess you need a drink pretty bad, huh?”
“Guess so.” I stopped in the public telephone booth and opened the directory, found the Trinidad Hotel, and wrote down the address. The clerk tossed me a smirk as I left. I told him what he could do with himself.
I sat in my car, sipping the rye out of the bottle. I thought of Wexler’s wife, now a widow, and her two daughters. I thought of Norman, clinging to life in a hospital bed. Then I thought of Paolo, rotting in an FBI holding cell.
I spoke to the bottle. “Gottlieb, you’re gonna get a visitor, and I’m gonna get some answers. Otherwise, one of us is gonna die.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The Trinidad Hotel turned out to be one of those garish theme motels that cling to the edges of towns like barnacles on a garbage scow. The walls sported pink flamingoes, painted by someone who’d never seen a pink flamingo, and a sickly yellow sunset that peeled off the brick in strips. Despite its down-at-the-heel appearance, the parking lot beside it had very few empty spots. More than one of the cars in the lot rocked like seasick ocean waves.
I parked next to a rusty chain-link fence and stood leaning against the car, smoking a Camel. I pulled out the .38 caliber and spun the chamber, then I slipped the magazine out of my Colt; both full. I snapped it back in and dropped it into my trousers pocket. I held the .38 tightly, watching the streetlights glint up and down its barrel. Even as an instrument of death, you couldn’t deny its elegance, its coldly expressive beauty. I slid it into my jacket pocket and started toward the flamingo-clad front door.
A redhead with too much makeup on her leathery face smiled broadly as I approached the desk. “Hello, welcome to the Trinidad. How can I help you?” Her speech held quite a dollop of backwoods Kentucky in it.
“I’m looking for a friend of mine, but he’s with a group and I don’t know which name he’s registered under.”
She opened the register and flipped to the current page. “That shouldn’t be a problem. What’s his name? We’ll start looking there.”
“Gottlieb.”
Her flame-red fingernail traced its way down the page. “No Gottlieb registered. Do you know another member of his party?”
“Yeah, Ruger.”
The fingernail slid down the page again. “No, sorry.”
I pounded the desktop. “Dammit.”
The redhead frowned until I worried that her lipstick would smear her dress. “Do you know another name?”
My brows knit and I tried the only other name I could think of. “Kendall?”
“Hmm, aha! Here we go, Kendall, Heloise.”
“Yes! That’s her. My friend is her uncle.”
“Room two-oh-three. Upstairs.” Her lips pulled back in a horsey smile that looked anything but genuine.
“Thanks.” I started for the stairs, climbing slowly and listening for any footfalls other than my own. I stopped on the second-floor landing and pressed my ear to the door. I didn’t hear anything, so I turned the doorknob and opened the door a crack, just enough to peek through. I watched for
a couple of minutes, seeing only the dusty concrete floor and gaudy teal paint flaking off the walls. I pulled the .38 out of my pocket, gripped it tightly and opened the door.
I didn’t see anybody, so I trod the concrete on cat-feet until I stood outside the door of room 203. I strained to hear anything in the room, but silence reigned. I knocked on the door, three swift raps. “Who is it?” Ruger’s voice.
I sprinkled some Kentucky into my own voice. “This is Charlene from the desk, I have a telegram for Miss Kendall.”
“A what?”
“A telegram, sir.”
I heard him cursing as he approached the door. I held the .38 up and watched for the doorknob to turn. When it did, I shoved the door inward with my shoulder. It crunched into Ruger’s face, knocking him to the floor. He looked up at me, dazed and bleeding from his lips and nose. I saw his eyes drift away from me and onto something behind me. I spun around just in time for Heloise Kendall, the woman I’d been searching all over creation to find, to take a swing at me with a wooden stool. I managed to duck it, but I dropped the gun.
She lunged at me, tackling me to the floor. She pounded her fists onto my face as if she were kneading dough. I walloped her twice across the chops with my knuckles and the fight went out of her. I rolled out from underneath, scrambled to my feet, and aimed a kick into her guts. She grunted and didn’t move.
Ruger had gotten to his feet and bent to pick up my revolver. I slammed my knee into his face, and he fell to the floor. I snatched up the .38 to cover them both, but they weren’t moving. I checked the bedroom, bathroom and the kitchenette, but didn’t find Gottlieb. I dragged Kendall across the room and dumped her into an easy chair. I sat on the bed, with Ruger’s motionless form on the floor between us. I fished out a cigarette and stuck it between my swelling lips. Kendall’s eyes opened as I lit my smoke. “Who are you?”
“That doesn’t matter. I know who you are, Miss Kendall.”
Her eyes widened. “What do you want?”
That made me laugh. “Well, at first I only wanted to find you. Now, things are complicated, and, darn it, I just hate when things are complicated.” I pointed my revolver at her. “So, here’s what’s gonna happen, I’m gonna ask you questions, and you’re gonna tell me the truth. Got it, sweetheart?”
She stared at the gun for a minute, then tossed me an angry scowl. “Go to hell.”
I chuckled. “Your poor wrinkled mother would be horrified to hear that kind of language come out of your mouth. She’d sniff and thump her purse in her lap.”
Her mouth hung open. “You know my mother?”
“Yeah.” I probed at the nascent shiner under each of my eyes. “She paid me to find you, to stop you from marrying Shultz.” I pointed to Ruger with the barrel of the gun. “I guess this is Shultz?”
“There is no Shultz. That was just a name Joe used with our boss.”
I nodded. “So I’ve heard. Ruger carted messages from Hirsch to Martingdale, right? Gottlieb arranged it all, and everybody got a fat payday from the Feds? That sound about right?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and remained silent.
“You don’t have to confirm it; I don’t care. Helping the Feds root out Nazi spies during wartime sounds as patriotic as hell, but it doesn’t add up. Gottlieb wanted Hirsch’s safe, and he was at the auction with Braun. That tells me that Braun knew about the safe too, and he also wanted what was in it. Braun called in Richter to kill Hirsch, then Richter ends up dead. Want to know what I think? I think Gottlieb and Braun were working together, and they had Richter kill Hirsch, then they bumped off Richter so they could split what was in that safe. So, that means the paper in the safe was the spendable kind. Cash. I think there must have been a boatload of it. How close am I?”
Kendall smirked. “Close.”
“I thought so. How is Gottlieb in it with Greene?”
“Who?” Her brow furrowed. “Who’s Greene?”
I blew smoke out of my nostrils. “He’s Army, but now he’s running all the Feds in town too. He’s deep in this mess, but he’s cleaning things up fast. Wexler’s dead. So’s Martingdale.”
She pressed her hands to her mouth. “You’re lying! Tell me you’re lying!”
I shook my head. “Sorry pumpkin, but I’m not lying.”
She covered her ears with both hands. “My God, no! John was such a good man!”
“I would almost believe that, except that he had his finger in the pie, too. He got his cut from the Feds. Or was it the Army? Maybe both?” I nudged Ruger with my foot. “Either way, he got his final payment in lead. Your boyfriend here could be next.”
She started. “What do you mean?”
I mashed out my smoke in the ashtray on the nightstand. “Look, Gottlieb will use Ruger for a scapegoat, or install some new ventilation in his ribcage. Either way, you and he won’t be sipping martinis in Miami when this is all over.”
“Joe is Gottlieb’s nephew! He wouldn’t do that to family!”
I chuckled. “I wouldn’t put it past him, but let’s suppose for a minute you’re right. You’d still have to deal with Braun. Do you think he’d shy away from plugging your precious Joe? I just saw Braun cut down Dewitt Wexler with a Tommy gun, right in front of his daughter. He’d drill you both and then order ice cream from room service.”
She bit her knuckle and drew her knees to her chest. In that pose, she lost a decade and looked almost as young as Marlene Wexler. “What should I do?”
“That depends.” I winced as I poked at my swollen lower lip. “Is the money here?”
“Why does that matter?” Her eyes narrowed as she watched me.
“Because if you don’t have the money, they won’t be able to kill you. They’ll suspect that you know where it is, and that’ll keep you alive. That might be the only thing that keeps breath in your lungs, pumpkin.”
She sat up straighter. “What if we do have the money?”
“They’ll kill you both, split the money and take a powder.”
She chewed her lip as she mulled that over.
“Look, Heloise, your boyfriend is gonna wake up pretty soon, so you need to make a decision right now. Give me the money and live, or keep it and get shot by Braun. Choice is yours.”
Kendall popped up off the chair and went around to the far side of the bed, dropping to her knees. I stood as she moved, keeping my revolver aimed at the floor. She pulled a Gladstone bag from under the bed and heaved it onto the comforter. “Here, this is all of it.” She opened the bag and rooted through its contents.
I put a hand on her shoulder. “You did the right thing, Heloise. If I were you, I’d go on home. Take your mother to visit some distant relatives for a while.” I stared at the bag, which bulged with greenbacks. I exhaled slowly, then reached out my hand to take it.
She yanked her hand out of the bag and pointed a little .32 caliber revolver at me. “You must think I’m stupid!” She sneered and stepped closer to me until the barrel of her gun almost touched my ribs. “You’re not taking the money. You’re wrong about Gottlieb, too. He’d never turn on us.”
I threw her a crooked smile. “Maybe you’re right.” I took a step toward her and pressed the barrel of her gun into a spot between my breasts. My heart thumped, only a few inches away from the bullet in the .32’s chamber. “So, now what? Are you gonna pull the trigger? Put a hole in my chest and watch me bleed out on the floor of your hotel room? They have your name in the register at the desk. The police will certainly find that information useful when looking for the cold-blooded killer who murdered me.”
She jabbed me with the barrel. “Shut up!”
I shook my head slowly. “You asked me if I thought you were stupid. Right now, I’d have to say yes, I think you’re an empty-headed little twit.” I stepped closer and she retreated a pace. “I’m trying to save your worthless Nazi hide, but you’re complicating things. Like I said before, I really hate complications.” I moved forward again, and she stepped away from me until
her back found the wall.
She poked me with the heater again. “Stay back!” Her voice quavered almost as much as her chin.
“No. Either pull the trigger or drop the gun.” She stared at me, eyes wide and wet, but held the gun in place.
“Let me help you, Heloise.” I put my hand over hers and thumbed back the hammer. “You need to cock it before it’ll fire. There you go. Now you can murder me.” I watched her eyes, icy blue eyes, but found no killer in them.
I felt her tremble through the barrel of the gun, and I reached out and took it away from her. She didn’t resist. I uncocked the hammer, swung open the cylinder and emptied the bullets onto the floor. I snapped it closed and held it in my hand. “When will Gottlieb be back?”
Her chin quivered. “An hour, maybe two.”
“Fine, I’ll call him then. I need to talk to him, and I’m sure he’ll want to talk to me. One more thing; thank you for not killing me, Heloise.” I swung the gun at her face then, as hard as I could, and she fell onto the bed and didn’t move. I looked down at her and shook my head. “Twit.”
I heaved the bag across the room and out the door. I hurried down the stairs, through the lobby and out of the hotel. I staggered to my car, wrangled the bag into the passenger seat, and fired up the engine. I drove slowly across town, as I certainly didn’t want to get pulled over with a bag of cash in the car.
I parked outside the Aristocrat and tried to look nonchalant as I headed towards the elevator. Mikey smiled as I stepped inside. “Top floor, Mikey.” I dropped the bag on the floor as we rose.
Mikey looked up at me. “How is your friend? The one who was shot?”
“He’s holding his own. Thanks for asking.”
“I hope he heals up soon. He had a nice laugh; I’d like to hear it again.” He was silent for a minute before he spoke again. “Are you here to see Mr. Ruger, ma’am?”
“No, I have a room.” I looked down at him. “Anyway, Ruger checked out.”
Big Shots and Bullet Holes Page 15