I parked under the roof of an abandoned filling station and pulled my raincoat from the trunk. As I buttoned it up, I watched a car creep through the slop toward the garage. It shut off its lights and I lost it in the gloom. I patted my coat pocket, reassured by the Colt’s hard presence. The .38 I kept in my hand as I galloped across the street, dodging puddles and leaping over impromptu tributaries of the Ohio. A row of trucks, all of them old and most of them reduced to broken down heaps, decayed between the garage and Carr Street. I squatted behind one of these behemoths as I peered through the rain.
Two men sloshed from the car and through the open garage door. One of them had the build of a silverback gorilla, and the other one, though smaller, moved with a familiar cocksure swagger. “Braun.” The hiss of falling water ate the name even as it hissed through my teeth. They stood just inside the garage, twisting their heads to enjoy the view. An icy finger of water found its way down my back, causing me to shiver. I scanned the exterior of the garage and found a man-door and the end farthest away from Braun’s rusting vehicle. I took a quick peek in either direction, then made a run for it.
The doorknob turned, but the door wouldn’t open. I gave it a hard tug, but it held firm. I peered through the glass window of the door but could only make out the vague outlines of a desk or table inside. I put my shoulder into the door, which served to slap a deep bruise onto my skin but didn’t move the door. “Deadbolt.” I could either break the glass, or drown where I stood, so I took off my hat, balled my fist around the revolver, and punched out the window.
From where I stood the shattering glass sounded like a freight train barreling into a mountain of beer bottles, but the constant wheeze of the rain must have beat the sound into the ground because nobody came running. I felt inside the door and unlatched the deadbolt. Water streamed off me and pattered on the bare concrete floor. I found the desk and snapped on a little lamp that lurked on top of it. The room looked worse in light: a greasy, cluttered mass of paper and the guts of engines.
A door to my left led out of the room, creaking like a coffin lid when I opened it. A single row of lights burned high above the floor on the far side of the cavernous garage. I snaked my way to the back wall and moved on cat-feet toward the arc of sodium light that fell from above. As I got closer to them, I could hear Braun and his associate arguing.
“Listen, Braun. The police were crawling all over the lawyer’s office. I’m tellin’ ya, they got him all buttoned up in a cell downtown.”
“You don’t know anything, Affen, so just shut up.”
The big guy bristled. “Maybe I ought to just pop you one for being a mouthy cuss.” He balled up one fist and showed it to Braun. “You ain’t nobody to me, Braun. I work for Richter.”
Braun glanced at his wristwatch, then deigned to regard the other man. “Bring that meathook any closer and I might decide to be less than friendly with you, Affen. Richter’s gone. Either the Feds got him or he’s floatin’ face down on his way to New Orleans. Either way, if you want paid, you do what I say. Right now, I say stand there and shut up. Got it?”
Affen’s simian brows fell over his eyes. “Yeah, I got it.” He clenched and unclenched his fists, and I could see on his mug what he wanted to do to Braun. I could almost smell it. I felt a smile stretch across my face as I imagined Affen taking Braun apart an inch at a time.
Braun checked his watch again. “He’s late though.”
“Yeah, I figure that makes sense.”
“I’m gonna call him. Wait here, Affen.” Braun steamed his way toward the office, passing close enough that had he turned his head to his left, he’d have found my bones shivering behind a stack of tires. His pace didn’t allow for sightseeing, though, and he didn’t see me. I hunkered lower, knowing he’d be headed in the opposite direction in only a minute or two.
“Braun!” Affen’s voice boomed through the building.
I heard Braun cursing, then he slammed open the office door. He cursed all the way back to the open garage door. “Martingdale isn’t answering his telephone. What are you bellowing about?” He hoofed his way toward Affen. “Well?”
Affen gestured out the door where a figure in a broad-brimmed hat and gray raincoat approached. Braun put his hands on his hips. “Well, it’s about time, Martingdale.”
The man whisked off his hat. “I am not Herr Martingdale.”
“Gottlieb? What the hell are you doing here? Where is Martingdale?”
“Herr Martingdale is dead.”
“What? Who shot him?”
“That is a good question, Herr Braun. Herr Wexler is dead as vell. You wouldn’t know anything about that vould you?”
Braun waved that away. “Wexler was a bean-counter. He said he wanted out, so we let him out.” He snorted at his own humor. “Ask and ye shall receive, right?”
“This vas not supposed to end this vay.”
Braun shook his head. “Who the hell cares, Gottlieb? The Bund is scattering like rats, and you know why. I just want my money so I can get out of the way before everything blows up.”
“Who told you to kill Herr Wexler?”
“Look here, Gottlieb. I don’t answer to you anymore. The Bund said to shut Wexler up, so I shut him up. No big deal. One last job for old times’ sake, and I have to tell ya, I enjoyed it. Wexler was a gutless slug. I never liked him.”
Gottlieb ran his hand over his bald pate. “He had a family.”
Braun laughed. “So he’ll have someone show up at his funeral, good for him.” He stepped closer to Affen. “So, if Martingdale is dead, where is my money?”
“I do not know, Herr Braun. Martingdale vas eager to get the list, und I suspect whoever killed him vanted the list as vell. They vill vant it still, ja?”
Braun spat out a long sigh. “They’d better come. If I don’t get my money, Gottlieb, I’ll just have to take yours. I’m damned well gonna get paid, and I don’t much care where the cash comes from.”
Gottlieb’s hand darted into his coat and came up with a Luger just like that, but Braun moved just a second faster. His .45 roared and Gottlieb fell to the ground clutching at the newly plowed tunnel in his shoulder. Braun kicked the Luger across the room and loomed over Gottlieb’s face.
“Gonna plug me, Gottlieb? Gotta be faster than that, you kraut bastard!” He kicked him in the guts. “You’re just like Wexler, a useless sack of sauerkraut.” He latched on to Gottlieb’s lapels and dragged him over to the wall, where he propped him up. “I think I’m gonna take your money even if the buyer does show up. How do you like that, Gottlieb?” He laughed.
I crept closer to them, crouching behind a partially disassembled engine block. I held the gun in both hands and lined the barrel up with Braun’s head. Pull the trigger, that’s all it’d take, and the open wound of Braun’s existence would be stitched up nicely. Squeeze, pop, and then oh-so-red blood running all over the floor. My grip tightened, but not enough.
Braun knelt to face Gottlieb. “Hey, does that hurt?” He balled up a fist and socked Gottlieb in the shoulder, causing him to howl like a dying cat and fall on his side. “I guess it does.” He propped Gottlieb up again. “All right, enough fun. Where is your half of the money? Tell me and I’ll call an ambulance for you. Otherwise you’ll bleed out. You hear me Gottlieb?” He grasped the bald man’s face and gave it a shake. “You hear me, Gottlieb?”
“He’s done for.” Affen lit a cigarettes. “Don’t waste your time.”
Braun stood up, looking down at Gottlieb with his hands on his hips. “What a shame. Hear that, Gottlieb? Affen thinks you’re worm-meat. You should tell me where your money is. What good is money to worm-meat?”
Gottlieb coughed and looked up at Braun. “Geh zum Teufel.”
“What?” Braun looked at Affen. “What did he say?”
Affen grinned. “He told you to go to the devil.”
“Oh yeah?” He aimed a pair of savage kicks into Gottlieb’s stomach.
Amazingly Gottlieb laughed. He sucked
in a long slow breath and spat it out at Braun. “Geh zum Teufel!”
Braun snapped off a pair of shots into Gottlieb’s chest. His back arched once, then he lay still.
“Say hello to the devil for me, Gottlieb.” Braun threw his head back and tossed out an evil screech that seemed to be his version of a laugh. He went through Gottlieb’s pockets then, taking his watch, his checkbook and even his pocket change.
The throbbing hum of an engine approached the building, and Affen went to peer through the rain. “Car.”
Braun sauntered away from Gottlieb’s body to stand directly under the sodium light. “Who is it?”
“I dunno, but they’re coming in.” He stepped away from the door and pulled his gat out of his jacket pocket.
Braun rubbed his hands together. “Must be the buyer.”
Two men in pinstriped suits rushed into the room, each one packing a Thompson sub-machine gun with a drum magazine. They aimed their bean-shooters at Braun and Affen. “Nobody moves!”
Braun scowled. “What the hell is this?”
One of them drove the butt of their Tommy gun into Braun’s liver, doubling him over. “I said nobody move! Are you deaf?”
Braun gasped and struggled to remain standing. “I’m Braun. I’m here to sell ...”
“Shut up! I don’t give a good goddam who you are!”
Affen dropped his heater and raised his ham-hocks into the air. He stood stock still in an effort to keep his hide in one piece.
Braun seemed to adhere to a different school of thought. He stood upright, gasping for breath, but still tried to take control of the situation. “Tell him I have it.”
The Tommy gun crashed into his guts again, and this time he fell to his hands and knees. From my hiding spot I could hear him laboring to breath, and I can’t tell you how I enjoyed every second of his agony. He fought his way to his feet and held his hands level with his shoulders. This time he stayed mute.
One of the men jabbed Affen with the barrel of his gun, forcing him to stand next to Braun, who still sucked air like a man with broken ribs. Maybe they were broken. He looked up when the car door slammed shut outside. I heard the splish-splash of approaching footsteps and there he stood. The buyer sauntered into the garage with a smirk on his face and a cigar in his hands.
It was Colonel Greene.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Greene took off his hat, flung the water off it, and crammed it back on his head. He offered Braun a smile. “Don’t ya just love Ohio weather? It’s either raining, snowing, or it’s hotter than hell.” He chuckled and as he lit a cigarette, he noticed Gottlieb’s leaking pelt. “What happened here?”
Braun kept his hands raised. “He drew on me, so I had to put him down.”
“Yeah, can’t have that nonsense going on, can we? Who was he?”
“Karl Gottlieb.”
“Gottlieb? That’s Gottlieb?” Greene’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead.
“Yeah. So what?”
“I can’t tell you how slippery that son of a gun was.” He took a last drag from his snipe and flicked it toward Gottlieb. “We tried for years to get ahold of him.”
“Who are you?”
“Who am I?” He stepped and faced Braun. “Why Mr. Braun, I’m hurt that you don’t recognize me. I’m Colonel Alfred Greene. I’ve made you a rich man these last few years.”
“Not rich enough. Are you here to buy the list?”
An oily smile stretched across Greene’s mug. “First thing’s first, Mr. Braun.” He took a couple of steps away from Braun and looked Affen up and down. “Who is this?”
“My name’s Affen.”
“Oh, is it?”
“Yeah. It is.” Affen stared the Colonel down. “Who the hell are you?”
Greene took a deep breath and sighed. “I’ve already introduced myself. Clearly, you weren’t paying attention. If you were one of my soldiers, I’d have you flogged.”
Affen snorted. “Try it, little man.”
Greene waved that away and he returned to Braun. “Is he anyone to you?”
Braun licked his lips. “No. Not really.”
Greene raised a hand and wiggled a finger toward Affen. One of Greene’s men took a step forward and unloaded fifty or sixty rounds from his machine gun into Affen’s apelike frame. He stumbled backward into a truck’s fender as he got blown apart, blood, bone, and flesh flying away from him in a gory red cloud. He squelched when his bulk hit the floor. That’s a sound I drink to forget.
Greene turned his grin toward Braun. “How do you like that?”
“He had it coming.” Braun shrugged.
Greene brayed out a laugh. “I like you, Mr. Braun. You’re made of stern stuff. I think I can do business with you.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Put your hands down, dammit. You look ridiculous.”
Braun did. “So, you do want the list?”
“I do.”
“You have the money?”
“Of course.”
“Then let’s do it. I’m a busy man.”
Greene snapped his fingers, and one of his men ran out of the garage. “So am I, Mr. Braun. I have a plane to catch. On a good day it takes thirty minutes to get there, but in this downpour, it’ll probably take an hour or more just to find the airport.”
“Maybe you should have taken a boat instead.”
“You could be right.” Greene took a satchel from his lackey and opened it up. Braun peered inside, his lips drawing back in a toothy grin.
“That looks about right.”
Greene closed the satchel. “Not so fast, Braun. The list, if you please.”
“Right.” He dug around in his jacket pocket and finally scrounged up a slip of paper. “Here ya go, Colonel.”
Greene pulled out his own slip of paper, took Braun’s, and examined them both. Each of them had one ragged edge, which Greene held close together. He spent a couple of minutes comparing them, then he smiled at Braun. “Looks like the genuine article.”
Braun grunted. “Sure, it is. I’m not gonna cheat ya. I’ve been called a lot of things, but cheat ain’t one of them.”
“Not every man has as much integrity as you.” Greene kept a straight face somehow.
“I guess not.” Braun gestured to the list in Greene’s fingers. “You gonna arrest those men? Keep them from blowing something up? They’re bringing explosives with them. They’re coming ashore on Long Island. Some of them anyway.”
Greene’s eyebrow raised. “Are they?”
“Yeah. They’ll have explosives, blasting caps, timers. The whole show.”
“How do you know that?”
“Hirsch told Gottlieb. He told me.”
Greene shook his head and scowled. “Hirsch talked too much. He told the Feds too much, told Martingdale too much, and he told you too much. It got him killed.” A feral grin stretched across Greene’s face. “He begged me not to kill him.”
“No kidding?” Braun shifted his weight from one foot to another.
“Yeah, who’d have thought an iron-willed lawyer like Martingdale could turn out be such a yellow-bellied coward? Not that I mind killing cowards, you see. The way I figure it, when a man swears an oath to someone unworthy of his loyalty, a coward for instance, he dishonors himself and becomes less than a man. He becomes an animal. Even worse, he’s infected by that dishonor, so he’s like a rabid dog. And where I come from, we put rabid dogs down. Just like you put Mr. Gottlieb down. Right?”
Braun nodded, with evident reluctance. “Yeah.”
“Your man, Affen, I had to put him down, too.”
“But Martingdale?”
Greene spread out his hands. “It had to be done. He knew too much and suspected more.”
“Well, now you have the list. You can arrest the spies when the submarine gets there.”
“This list?” Greene held the two halves of the paper in his hand and lit them with a match. They curled into black wisps and floated to the floor. “No, I have other plans, Mr. Brau
n. I just wanted to make sure nobody else got the list.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Nor are you supposed to.” Greene reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a snub-nose .38, the same caliber of slug they pulled out of Norman’s guts. Braun started to take a step back, but Greene didn’t hesitate. He put two rounds in each of Braun’s kneecaps.
Braun collapsed to the greasy floor, clutching manically at his knees. “Aaah! Stop! I didn’t do anything!”
Greene stood smiling over him. “That doesn’t matter. You’re just a rabid dog, Braun.”
“No! I’m a man! I’m not a Nazi!”
“Oh? Really? Perhaps I’ve made a mistake.” He glanced around the garage, his eyes finally stopping on an enormous tank of gasoline. He motioned to one of his men, who immediately ran over to it and opened a valve. I could smell it immediately and watched it spatter across the floor.
Greene lit a smoke and bent to tuck the butt in a crack on the floor. “If you’re not a dog, Braun, I have no need to put you down clean. Don’t worry though, when that gas tank goes up I’m betting you’ll be blown to bits and won’t even feel a thing.” He snatched up the satchel of cash and started to walk out the door.
Braun pulled a smaller gun, it looked like a Derringer, from the pocket of his red-spattered trousers. He fired it twice, hitting one of Greene’s goons in the back of the neck. He went down like he’d been poleaxed.
Greene whirled and fired another round into Braun, this time into his right shoulder. He fell back, groaning. Green tilted his head and watched his man writhe on the floor for a few seconds, before putting a round between his eyes. He scowled at Braun. “When you get to hell, say hello to Hirsch and Martingdale for me.” He and his remaining man left through the garage door. I heard a car fire up and splash away through the rain.
Big Shots and Bullet Holes Page 18