Looking for Garbo

by Jon James Miller

  “Seth Moseley,” I said by way of introduction.

  I’ll be damned if the abominable who had tumbled me like so much dirty laundry didn’t reach down and shake my hand. His paw was easily twice the size of mine and felt like it was made of sweaty, cold granite. His handshake wasn’t firm, but gentle. Told me I had guessed right. This guy had no personal beef with me. And if I did my job right, I might even elicit some sympathy from him before it was all over. If his master didn’t intervene, that is.

  Now came the tough part. I never went anywhere without a reserve of silver dollars in my pocket. I knew I had transferred them from my trousers to my constricting porter’s pants before I’d embarked on my rendezvous with Garbo. As tight as the porter pants were, I felt naked and ungrounded without some jingle next to the family jewels. Naked and vulnerable like I felt now. I knew Heinrich had lifted my stack of silver while I was under. And that was a good thing.

  “You mind if I get up?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer, not aloud. But when he took a step back without kicking me in the face, I got the impression it was okay. Slowly, I sat, then stood up. My sore bones creaked as I came to stand opposite Heinrich, who was easily a foot taller than me. His nose hair could’ve used a trim. But I’d see how the evening went before I shared that with him.

  We scrutinized each other, and I could tell I’d thrown him for a loop. I was guessing he’d never met an American before. Lucky for me, I knew plenty of Germans, ones that had emigrated to America and made the slums of New York their new home. But even the nice ones had been standoffish. Standoffish yet polite when faced with authority. I figured the new breed wreaking havoc in Europe wasn’t much different. To get the upper hand, I had to show confidence, moral and mental superiority. In short, I had to fake it.

  “I seem to be missing my coins,” I said in the most nonconfrontational voice I could muster. Good ole Heinrich, I could tell, instantly knew what I was talking about. But before he got the wrong idea, I put both my open palms up in surrender.

  “Not saying you took them.” I put on a smile. “Just wondering if you might have come across them.”

  Further confusion clouded his vision. Heinrich furrowed his brow, looked down at his shoes instead of me. He had momentarily forgotten what his mission had been. Namely, kicking my ass. Now I hoped I had a fighting chance. And here came the kicker.

  “I’d sure like the opportunity to win them back.”

  Heinrich shifted his gaze and then met my eyes. His facial expression wide open. The mug’s mug was so wide and flat I imagined you could land a plane on it. Land or take off.

  “Win?” he said.

  Thanks for playing along, buddy. Now it was up to me to keep the ball rolling. Timing was everything when dealing with primates. Distraction and misdirection kept them off balance and therefore malleable and open to manipulation. I’d saved myself from enough beatings to know that placing an idea in their head was as powerful as landing a punch to the jaw. Put them together, and you were all but invincible.

  “Now, if you’d be kind enough to show me some coins,” I said, “I’ll show you something I guarantee you’ve never seen before.”

  Heinrich hesitated. Even if he only got every third word of what I was saying, it had been enough to captivate his imagination. I was breaking new ground for the fella. Talking to him like a human being. Putting on a private show just for him. If he’d been cautioned not to consort with the enemy, his master wasn’t around to remind him. Curiosity got the better of good, ol’ Heinrich.

  I no longer feared for my life when he reached into his trouser pocket. This time he brought out a pile of my silver dollars into the open palm of his massive hand and held them up in the dim light. They sparkled between us while I watched his eyes grow wider watching them.

  “May I?” I motioned to pick one up.

  Heinrich acquiesced. Nodded his head silently while I carefully selected a coin from the top of the silver pile. I took the silver dollar and cascaded it down my row of knuckles so it twinkled underneath the incandescent bulb suspended by a wire between us. The coin’s large silver surface shimmered in Kong’s face. Flashed again and again in his eyes until he was mesmerized.

  Heinrich’s mouth began to water as if I’d whipped out a bratwurst and waved it around. We all had our appetites in life, and I had whetted his. Big Nazi Monkey wasn’t greedy. If he was, he simply would have kept the coins for himself. No, his nature was similar to mine, in that he wanted to win. Be a winner. Who didn’t?

  “I’m pretty handy with these things.” I kept the coin dancing in the light. “I can show you how to do this, too.”

  While he stood transfixed by the silver piece dancing in my hand, I took note of the door located behind him. Calculated the distance in my head. Kong’s arm span was such that I’d never get to the door before he got to me. Not if he was conscious and upright.

  “Ever been to America?” I tossed Lady Liberty into the air. I was hedging my bets that it was Kong’s identical twin who’d fallen off the Empire State Building and not him.

  “Nein,” he said.

  Yeah, that wasn’t hard to figure. But was he a history fan? Only one way to find out.

  “Well, this here’s what they call a Peace Dollar,” I informed him. Heinrich didn’t look up. Maybe he didn’t know what peace meant in English. Maybe in any language.

  True to its name, the back of the 1935 mint read Peace, commemorating the end of World War I. An American bald eagle perched majestically above the word. I didn’t feel the need to share that the coin was struck as a shining symbol of having beaten their Kraut asses. Plenty of time for Heinrich to read up on the details later. On his time, not mine.

  “Let me borrow a few more,” I said in a friendly manner, “And we can begin the coin toss.”

  I caressed Lady Liberty’s face in my hand while Heinrich watched. She never failed to bring me luck before. Actually, she’d let me down on numerous occasions, but I was willing to make amends if she was. Heinrich nodded again and smiled. I prayed she’d be right on the money this time.

  Heinrich was busy watching my hand while I picked up five more silver pieces from his open hand. Dropped them one-by-one into my open palm. They made a metal popping sound when each reed-edged silver coin struck another. Like a semi-automatic going off in the distance.

  Heinrich didn’t see me brace myself. Planted my feet firmly on the grated floor beneath us. Put my weight on the balls of my feet and prepared myself to spring into action when needed. All there was left to do was aim high and shoot the devil with a parlor trick I’d previously perfected to win me pints.

  “All you do”—I sounded pious as a Sunday morning preacher—“is raise a bent elbow up”—I curled my hand back until the elbow pointed level with monkey’s big face before me—“and balance the stack on the flat top of your forearm.”

  In the blink of an eye, I whipped my bent arm down and out. The coins stayed put, suspended in air for a split second between Heinrich and me, until I snatched the entire stack with the same hand. His eyes fixated around the empty space.

  I could tell by the look on his face the precious metal stack was still hanging there in his mind’s eye. Heinrich had fallen for the illusion completely. Victory was within the gorilla’s grasp. He need only reach out and grab for it.

  “Kinder play,” he said then looked at me with a broad smile. I surrendered the coins, dropped them back into the pile in his open palm.

  The big brute scrunched his furry brow, still staring in concentration at the point in space where the coins used to be. He raised a massive forearm and practiced the move, minus the coins. He might not have had a lot going on upstairs, but he was coordinated for his size. I’d give him that.

  I watched while he repeated the movement, this time with the five-stack of coins. In a split second, he had grabbed the entire bundle and burst forth a proud smile. One could even have said he possessed a certain grace when he snapped the coins from the a
ir, though I wouldn’t. Heinrich beamed with pride.

  “Excellent.” I brandished a toothy grin. “But can you handle ten?”

  I raised the stakes. I was betting Heinrich and his Nazi buddies hadn’t had many poker nights. Didn’t hang around smoking cigars, yucking it up over how many people they massacred that day. What did murderers do in their off-hours?

  He nodded his consent again. Good boy. I slowly counted out ten silver dollars from his open hand. Stacked those sweet Lady Liberties on the flat surface of my upright elbow and gave good ol’ Heinrich a nod.

  “Are you watching closely?” I said.

  It was time to play my only hand. I wouldn’t get another shot at this. My short life flashed before my eyes. They rested on Garbo. She was my jackpot for winning this hand. She was my biggest bet ever, and I was all-in, about to call. Meanwhile, Kong looked lovingly at the remaining coins in his hand. Like gazing at Fay Wray herself.

  “Heinrich,” I said, now with a stronger intonation than I had ever dared with him before.

  “Jawohl,” he said and snapped to attention.

  I needed all eyes forward. Needed him to see how the trick was done. He stared at my forearm with intense concentration. The height of the vertical column of silver on my forearm now equaled the width of my fist, which was exactly the point.

  Another dramatic pause. I made it look like I was sweating it for a second. Looked at Heinrich. Gave him a beat to lean his face in closer. Just enough to be in range and … POW! I snapped my arm down, twisted my hand forward, grabbed the flying stack and popped Big Nazi Monkey right in the kisser with a fistful of metal. So hard I felt my own knees buckle. A sickening crunch of cartilage resonated from Big Nazi Monkey’s nose.

  It all happened so fast, Heinrich barely had time to reach his arms out to me while he fell backward. I avoided his clutches easily. But it was the expression of shock and hurt that played out on his bloodied expanse of face that hit me hard. I felt for him in that moment, even as I opened my bloodied fist and let go of the coins. No time to return them to my skin-tight pants pocket.

  The coins fell through the slots of the grated floor. Clinked and clattered as I scrambled for the door and freedom. Heinrich’s dead weight hit the floor and shook the entire room. I rode the shockwave while I hotfooted over him, used his belly as a springboard to launch myself clear over his head to the hatch. It was all insult to injury at that point. I hoped Heinrich’s master wouldn’t hold it against the big fella. We were both playing for keeps, after all.

  I reached the door, opened it, and passed into the hallway, then slammed the door behind me, all in virtually one fluid motion. Cut myself off from the trail of carnage I’d left behind me.

  I found myself standing in the hallway, surprised I’d pulled off the escape. Now what? I hadn’t thought through my next move. All I knew was that I had to keep moving. Moving targets were harder to hit.

  I wasn’t in any shape to go calling on a beautiful lady, but I needed to warn Garbo that in addition to one besotted tabloid reporter, her stable of onboard fans now included one supremely pissed-off Nazi the size of a gorilla. And I couldn’t forget the aforementioned gorilla’s mysterious master.

  I needed dear Ingrid’s help now more than ever. Would she excuse my betrayal of her with Garbo or would I be up shit’s creek without a paddle? Hard to know, but I was determined to live one more day and find out.

  14. EYE OF THE STORM OF THE CENTURY SETH

  First, I ran to Garbo’s suite and rattled the handle. The door had been secured since my good friend Heinrich had dragged me through it. I leaned in to listen, no sound emanated from within. I couldn’t afford to loiter. I’d have to find Garbo another time, another way.

  Next up, Ingrid. I stuck to the early morning shadows en route to her room, praying that she’d let me in. I didn’t want to imagine what would happen to me if she didn’t. Couldn’t blame her if she wouldn’t. I’d no doubt broken her heart. But I’d feel shitty about it later, once my adrenaline slowed down. If I wasn’t murdered first.

  “Who is it?” Ingrid said from the other side of the door after I’d given it a couple of soft raps.

  “Me,” I said. Rotten traitor Seth Moseley.

  Ingrid unlocked and opened the door quickly. I barely had time to offer up a pathetic-looking smile before she reached out a gorgeous hand and grasped my collar. She dragged me inside like so much dead weight, shut and locked the door behind me.

  I was a traitor. By rights I should have been in the ninth circle of hell, waiting my turn while Satan’s three faces chewed on Judas, Brutus and Cassius. Instead, I was in the bedroom of a beautiful Swede who didn’t deserve to hear the painful truth I was about to tell her. Poor kid. Did Swedes read Dante?

  “Listen, my sweet Ingrid.” I started. “There’s something I need to explain.”

  Dressed only in a robe, Ingrid let it drop and stood in front of me completely naked. I stared at her beautiful body as she attacked my porter’s uniform, unbuttoning my vest. This was going to be a lot harder than I’d thought.

  “I was with Garbo,” I blurted out and put my hands up in surrender.

  Ingrid kept unbuttoning my vest. Hadn’t the girl heard what I said?

  “Did you hear me?”

  Ingrid looked up with an almost maniacal look on her face as she ripped the unbuttoned vest off my body.

  “Don’t just stand there,” she ordered. “Help me get your clothes off.”

  What the hell? This wasn’t the reception I’d expected. Ingrid worked frantically on the buttons to undo my trousers while I stared down at her in horrified fascination. She took rejection a lot harder than I had imagined. She pulled me towards her bed while she manhandled me.

  “Ingrid,” I said. “I’m sorry, but, but … I don’t love you. I love her.”

  “We’ll discuss it later,” she said and stripped me of my pants. “Now get your arse on the bed if you want to live.”

  Arse? Either that Nazi gorilla had knocked me harder than I’d thought, or Ingrid’s voice now was laced with a distinctly British accent. She popped my shirt open like a sugar-starved kid opening a bag of hard candy. Buttons flew everywhere.

  “Down,” she commanded and threw my naked arse onto the bed, jumped on top, and straddled me. She took my hands, one of which was still bleeding from smashing Heinrich’s nose, and placed them on her shapely buttocks. Then she leaned forward, put her ample breasts in my face and started grinding away. I was afraid to tell her that, not only was this seduction not going to work, it was disturbing.

  “When they come through the door,” she instructed in a low octave, “act like you’re enjoying yourself, for God’s sake.”

  What? My mind spun. Who was coming through the door? Was this the best position to receive guests? I started to struggle out from under her when loud banging sounded on her door, and my anxiety went through the roof.

  “Who?” I said, trapped underneath her sexy death grip.

  “Who do you think?” she whispered and kissed my neck with all the sensuality of a starving vampire. Ingrid worked her way up to my ear and growled. “Moan, damn it.”

  Ingrid moaned in my ear. Loudly. I wanted to buck her off. Get the fuck away from her. But she dug her claws into me like a crazed hellcat. Then she pinched me on the side. Hard. I let out a yelp. She moaned even louder.

  The door exploded inward, and Heinrich goose-stepped into the room, then stopped short as if he’d seen a ghost. I could only see part of him as Ingrid’s bobbing breasts were squished against my face. But I caught enough of a glimpse of his bloodied mug, my handiwork, to see that whatever penny dreadful we’d been cast in, he was just as shocked as I was at the turn in the plot. It’s not every day one walks in on the sight of a naked woman going to town on a prostrate man.

  Honestly, part of me wanted him to come over and rip me out from under the crazy woman’s embrace like a sheet of paper from an Underwood typewriter. Instead, Heinrich unceremoniously retreated. He ex
ited, stage left as if ordered by an irate off-Broadway director. Even shut the door behind him. What a gentleman.

  “What in the hell just happened?” I said up on my elbows and shaking with fear.

  “Nazis are prudes,” Ingrid said as she sat up and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “They’re under strict orders not to ever interrupt a couple making love.”

  “Orders from who?”

  “Who else?” Ingrid said, her beautiful breasts gleaming with the sweat of her labor. “Hitler.”

  “Holy fuck-a-moley.” I stared up at the lovely woman poised above me. A woman I thought I knew. “Who the hell are you, and why do you have a British accent?”

  “That’s not important,” Ingrid said, a creepy little smile forming on her face. “What is important is that you never speak of what you have seen.”

  Ingrid put her right hand down to rest on my chest. My heart raced under her touch. Was she going to push her talons through my ribcage and rip my ticker out for an encore? That would be the surest way of making sure I didn’t talk, wouldn’t it?

  “Never. Speak. Of Garbo.”

  That British accent again. My mind reeled. I looked around the perfect stranger’s room in a feeble attempt for clues to her true identity. Anything to help me unravel the beautiful enigma perched atop me.

  Dear God. It hit me that Ingrid had been holding the reins the entire time we had been together. She’d steered me this way and that. Had known how I’d respond before I did. True, Ingrid obviously had secret knowledge I didn’t currently possess. But how did she know which buttons to push? And how long had I been part of the plan? A plan that must have been created long before I ever stepped onboard.

  Had Ingrid’s plan included putting me out to stud with Garbo? Were the two vixens in cahoots with one another? A secret league of femme fatales sharpening their fangs on me while en route to God knows where? What cockamamie cat-and-mouse game had I gotten myself into? Or had I just gone plain crazy?

  I found my answer, or at least one big-ass clue, behind her, just over her bare shoulder. On her shelf across the room, placed in plain sight among her other phony possessions like it had always belonged there, sat my Bell & Howell camera case. Everything snapped into sharper focus for me in that moment. I looked back at the woman formerly known to me as Ingrid, the beautiful, innocent Swedish barmaid. She stared back, straddled unabashedly naked on top of me. She had me dead to rights.