The Notorious Pagan Jones

by Nina Berry

  Pagan moved toward the mantel, where another vase of roses had been placed, close to the windows.

  “What beautiful flowers!” She looked out at the street below. The black car was still there. That was odd. Was Devin still sitting inside?

  “Come sit with me for a minute and I’ll read a little to you.” She plopped down in the chair and patted the cushion beside her. “It will help your English.”

  Karin came over willingly, but her mouth had turned down. “They want us to learn Russian in school instead.”

  “Here.” As Karin sat next to her, Pagan took off her gloves and put her arm around her to help hold the comic. The bright blond hair under her chin smelled clean, and it was good to hold a little girl again. “Wonder Woman is a warrior princess, born to a race called the Amazons, where the women rule.”

  She began reading the comic out loud, throwing glances out the window whenever she could. About three pages in, the door of the limo opened and a very different Devin emerged. His hair was combed forward now, messier, and instead of his jacket and tie, he wore a battered high-collared peacoat that wouldn’t have been out of place on a dock worker. He was barely recognizable, looking now more like a downtrodden handyman than a privileged Western capitalist. He stuck a cigarette between his lips, looked up and down the street, then trotted down the sidewalk, out of view.

  Pagan put the comic onto Karin’s lap and extricated herself from the girl. “Keep reading, honey. I forgot something in the car. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay,” said Karin, eyes glued to the pages of the comic.

  Pagan half ran down the hallway, shouted, “Just getting something from the car!” toward the kitchen, and bolted out the door before anyone could yell back.

  What the hell was Devin doing? Was he just trying to fit into less fashionable East Berlin to meet a friend? Or a girlfriend?

  Or was he in disguise? That was what it looked like. Otherwise, why not take the car? There was only one reason she could think of for Devin Black to don a disguise in East Berlin for an hour on a Friday afternoon.

  Once a thief, always a thief. Pagan had no idea what art treasures might lie in this part of the city, but stealing one of them might be a good reason to change your clothes and skip a lunch at the Krugers’.

  She slipped quietly out of the building and sped down the sidewalk, away from the limo. Fortunately, the driver was snoozing with the paper on his chest.

  Sleep tight, Pagan thought, scanning the street. Devin was not in sight, so she trotted as fast as she could down the pitted pavement in her gray-blue kitten heels. Her gold-and-blue Balmain dress was a bit tight around the knees, forcing her to take many smaller steps. French fashion was perfect for a day party, but counterproductive for skullduggery.

  Not that she was up to no good, of course. She was just curious.

  She neared the corner and slowed, lowering her hat brim to cover her face as she peered down the cross street, first right and left.

  No sign of Devin, just a large brownish patch of a park to the left, which she remembered seeing through the window of the Mercedes. Near the street, women were seated on benches, wearily watching as their children fought over marbles and played hopscotch. Farther inside the park, a gray stagnant pool of water that might once have been a pond lay, collecting algae.

  When she first spotted the back of Devin’s head above his bulky peacoat the silhouette seemed wrong. She was used to his long, elegant look. But that was him, walking away from her rapidly on the other side of the park.

  She glanced back at the Kruger’s empty street. She really ought to go back. They’d start to worry soon.

  They’ll live, she thought, and jogged across the street, past the warring children, into the park. Her heart was beating fast, and not just from the running. Every cell in her body was alive, excited, alert. Was Devin casing a museum or maybe a jewelry store today? Did they even have those things here in East Berlin?

  Or maybe he was actually going to steal something this afternoon.

  She had to know.

  As she cantered past them, the women in the park stopped speaking to each other and stared. Pagan ignored them, hauled up the hem of her skirt past her knees, and picked up the pace. She jogged past the would-be lake in time to see Devin angle down a narrow street.

  She skirted two girls playing jump rope and found herself face-to-face with two members of the uniformed volkspolizei.

  “Oh!” She jerked backward, hand on her hat to keep it from flying off. “I beg your pardon,” she said in German, and made to go around them.

  But one of them, the older one, narrowed his eyes and stepped in her way. “Papers,” he said, also in German, and held out his hand.

  “Papers?” she repeated, favoring him with a blank stare to disguise the sudden acceleration of her pulse. Despite the warm summer day, both policemen were wearing double-breasted coats in olive wool with matching visored caps that had the red, yellow, and black compass emblem of the People’s Police on the front.

  The other policeman, taller and with the gauntness of a young man who’d just reached his full height, raised his eyebrows and unslung the rifle from his shoulder in what could only be a move to intimidate her.

  “Yes,” said the older man slowly as if speaking to an infant. “I need to see your papers.”

  She opened her gloved hands and then ran them over her hips to show she had no pockets. “I don’t have identification on me at the moment. Sorry.”

  The younger one watched her hands slide over the bright fabric with interest. The older one smacked him in the shoulder with the back of his hand to focus his attention and said to her, “You must carry identification papers on your person at all times. That’s the law. Here, we obey the law.”

  “We could arrest you for not having the right papers with you,” the younger one said, a juvenile sneer distorting his face.

  Pagan laughed and favored him with a dazzling smile accompanied with the barest hint of an eyelash flutter. “Oh, but you wouldn’t do that to little me, would you?” She stumbled a bit with the German phrasing, agitation tangling her tongue, and could only hope her fluster was charming. “I’m a visitor from the West, as I’m sure you can tell, and I had no idea I needed to keep my identification with me. I should’ve known better, shouldn’t I?”

  “Well, perhaps this time…” began the young policeman.

  “What are you doing here? What is your name?” the older one said, interrupting. “We must monitor all activity in this area.”

  This one wasn’t caving in to her charms. She looked over their heads. No sign of Devin.

  She caught sight of herself in a dirty window across the street. In her gold-and-blue dress, blue leather gloves, and blue straw hat in her hand, she vibrated with color against the gray stone like a peacock. Even the sunlight on her platinum hair was a beacon in this drab, dreary landscape.

  She didn’t want to go back to the Krugers’, but she’d better. She was an alien in this dreary place, flown in from some frivolous planet faraway.

  Time to bring out the big guns. She straightened and lowered a more astringent gaze upon the older policeman. “I’m getting a breath of air before I have a meal with Thomas Kruger and his family,” she said. “You may have heard of his father. I believe he was high up in the Party.”

  “Thomas Kruger?” The older one’s eyebrows shot up. He recognized the name.

  The younger one was nodding. “The Krugers live just down the street,” he said.

  “What are your names and ranks, please?” Pagan asked with severe politeness. “In case I need to make a report.”

  The blood drained from the faces of both men. The younger one shouldered his rifle and wiped a sheen of sweat off his upper lip. “There is no need to make a report, Fraulein.”

  “No, no, no n
eed,” the older one said, backing away from her. “We’re sorry to have troubled you.”

  She prevented herself from cackling like a Disney villain in triumph and kept up the hard, inquiring stare. “If you’re sure. I thought you needed to see my papers.”

  They were nearly ten feet away from her now, fading fast. “Have a good day, Fraulein,” the older one said, and as one they turned and marched away.

  “Danke,” she said, glancing past them one last time to make sure Devin wasn’t on his way back. That dark head and peacoat were nowhere to be seen. Dang it. She’d never catch up to him now or find out what he was up to. Best to look for other opportunities to uncover his secrets. She used her best confident model walk to stride across the street and back down the Kruger’s road.

  Inside their building on the ground floor, she leaned against the door, smiling, a strange feeling of elation taking hold. The looks on those soldiers’ faces as they’d slunk away was more spine tingling than getting the Golden Globe.

  And she had some ammunition against Devin Black in her arsenal now. He was here in Berlin for some reason that had nothing to do with her movie. Maybe it was all a cover so he could pull off a heist of some kind. Or maybe he’d used his abilities as a thief to gain power at the studio, pilfering personal information on powerful people to get what he wanted. Whatever that was. The studio job had given him a plausible cover story to get him here to Berlin, and even into East Berlin. Given his insistence on coming today, and now the disguise and the skulking around, he had his eye on something on the Communist side of the border. Once she had proof of some bad behavior, she’d have leverage over him and their power dynamic would change, dramatically.

  She couldn’t stall a second longer. She walked up the stairs to the Krugers’ apartment with no idea what she was going to say to them. When telling a lie, it was best to stick to some version of the truth.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said as she opened the door, removing her hat and fanning herself. “I didn’t mean to be so long.”

  “But…” Karin started to say something, and Frau Kruger put her hand on her shoulder and the girl stopped speaking. Thomas walked in from the kitchen, eyes wide, holding a bowl full of greens.

  As if nothing was even slightly odd about her absence, she sailed over to the table, where a platter of delicious-­smelling sauerbraten was waiting, along with cheesy potatoes and the French-looking salad Thomas was holding. “Everything looks delicious.”

  Thomas said, “We were beginning to get worried.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry.” Pagan removed her gloves and set them on a side table with her hat, speaking with breezy ease. “But a woman on the corner of your street recognized me. Very surprising. And then she asked me to come meet her daughter, who was playing over at that little park around the corner. I played a game of hopscotch with her and her friends. It seemed to mean a lot to them. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Thomas set his bowl down, visibly relaxing. “It’s not surprising at all,” he said. “Before they cracked down on travel, many over here would cross over to West Berlin and see the latest Hollywood movies.”

  “Young Annie Oakley was my favorite!” Karin said, and they all sat down to lunch and that was that.

  Pagan had to pretend she was in a domestic scene in a movie to keep herself focused on the Krugers instead of drifting off into speculation about Devin. She kept wondering if he’d brought his gun. Most of all—how had an art thief become the legal guardian of Pagan Jones, disgraced teen movie star? Not knowing the answer was like having an itch in a place she couldn’t reach.

  As they came to the end of the meal and the chocolates were passed around, Pagan remembered the other reason she’d wanted to come here.

  “Oh, Frau Kruger, I wanted to ask you something.” She couldn’t believe she’d almost forgotten. “I hope you don’t mind, but Thomas said you might know where this is. Or was.”

  She pulled the photo out of her purse and handed it to Frau Kruger. The woman took it with careful fingers, peering at it closely.

  “That’s my grandmother,” Pagan explained, pointing to the blonde smiling woman in the picture. “She’s holding my mother, who was born in Berlin just the year before.”

  “Ja,” Frau Kruger said. “It looks familiar.”

  “It does?” Pagan asked, goose bumps rising on her arms. “Is the building still here?”

  “Yes,” she said, looking at Pagan with bright green eyes so like her son’s. “If this is the building I’m thinking of, it’s only a few blocks from here.”

  Pagan opened her mouth, but no words came out. The blood was dancing in her veins, her mind a thrilled sea of confusion. After so long, would she finally really be able to stand in the place where her grandmother had been?

  “We should go!” Thomas said. “Can you guide us there, Mother?”

  “Now?” Frau Kruger looked mildly surprised, but not unhappily so. “Why not? It’s good to take a little walk after the meal.”

  “Oh, would you?” Pagan held her chair as the woman got up. “There’s no guarantee that they lived there, of course, but I would love to see it.”

  “And you never know,” Thomas said, grabbing his hat and jacket. “Karin, put on some shoes, Liebling. If you want to come with us.”

  “Hurra!” Karin skittered down the hall to her room as Pagan hastily helped her mother heap the dishes in the sink.

  Within a few minutes, they were walking down the street, past the limo. Pagan waved to the driver as he craned his neck out the window at her. “We’ll be back soon!” she shouted.

  The walk should have been pleasant, with sun dappling them through the trees, no traffic except for the occasional bicycle, and neighbors who nodded and smiled as they passed. But after her brush with the police, and now, each step bringing her closer to her family’s history, Pagan was jumpy. She wouldn’t get her hopes up, no. It’s not as if the answer to her mother’s suicide would be waiting for her outside the griffin building. If she got any kind of information, it would be one step down a long road.

  Three blocks later, Pagan spotted the stone griffin carving rearing over a doorway, and she broke into a run, holding her hat on with one hand. A young woman with a shopping bag was emerging from the building, closing the door below the griffin, and she stared as Pagan came to an abrupt halt before her.

  “Guten Tag,” Pagan said, her eyes a little wild, continuing in German. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Guten Tag,” the woman replied, puzzled. “May I be of help?”

  “Do you live here?” she asked.

  “Ja,” said the woman, eyeing Frau Kruger, Thomas, and Karin as they walked up. “Are you English?”

  “American, actually,” Pagan said.

  “Guten Tag,” Thomas said, walking up to the woman and shaking her hand as she slowly came down the steps.

  “Thomas Kruger!” the woman said, her eyes widening in recognition.

  He bowed. “We live in the neighborhood and my friend here…” He gestured at Pagan and went on to explain that she wanted to see the building where her grandmother had once lived.

  Frau Kruger came up to stand beside Pagan as Thomas smiled his way into the woman’s good graces. Given the woman’s blushes and smiles, he must indeed be quite famous on this side of the border.

  “She might wish to talk to Frau Nagel,” the young woman was saying. “She has lived here since the first Great War.” She reached back and opened the big wooden door leading into the building and smiled down at Pagan. “Come on in.”

  “Danke,” Pagan said, moving slowly up the steps. She wanted to burst in, to find answers now now now. At the same time, she didn’t want to rush the moment. She might never come here again.

  “We will stay out here,” Frau Kruger said, taking Karin’s hand, “so that we don’t overwhelm the
old woman.”

  Karin pouted at her mother while Thomas held open the door for Pagan with a comic flourish. They stepped through, into a large entryway with a high arched ceiling splotched with large patches of missing plaster.

  The echoing space smelled of damp stone and dust. It was cooler than outside. A smaller version of the griffin had been carved over the doors to the left and the right. The stone banisters of the wide central staircase, going up, were intact except for where they began, where someone had broken off what might have been statues. The shallow steps sagged in the center, as if many decades of feet had tired them out.

  Pagan gazed around, trying to absorb it all. The building must have been beautiful before the war. But like everything else in Berlin, it seemed weary, broken, melancholy. So much had happened here, so much death and pain. Even the buildings could take no more.

  Fate was buzzing in her ear, and history, and hope. But as Devin had said, hope was dangerous. Don’t be a chump. This might not be the building where Mama had lived. Grandmama might simply have been standing outside it when someone­—who?—had taken her photograph.

  “Frau Nagel lives there,” the young woman said, pointing through the doorway at the door on the right. “Just knock and introduce yourselves. She’s sure to be home.” And she went back outside.

  Thomas bowed slightly and swept his arm forward, inviting Pagan to go first.

  “No, please,” she said. “You are the famous one, the one fluent in German. If you don’t mind…”

  He considered her, his eyes crinkling with concern at the corners. She felt like, for the first time, Thomas was really seeing her. Not just the film star he’d heard about or the actress he worked with, but Pagan herself.

  She blinked and gave him a little smile.

  “You have anxiety,” he said.

  Pagan nodded. “There’s something here. Maybe it’s something good, maybe something terrible.”

  The single overhead light backlit Thomas’s golden head, casting his normally bright eyes into shadow. Behind him, the stone staircase swept upward, almost like wings from this angle, and for a moment he seemed almost divine, like an angel—a weary angel who had seen too much.