Lisbon Crossing, The

by Tom Gabbay

  “Please, Captain,” Lili said, puncturing his bubble. “This will be a very long dinner if you’re going to gush all the way through it. Let’s have a drink while you tell me how you can help me find Eva Lange.” She withdrew a cigarette from her sparkling bag, tapped it a couple of times, then placed it between bright red lipstick lips.

  Catela sat there for a beat with a silly grin on his face before fumbling for a light. He probably expected a couple of hours of flirting before getting down to business. Lili wasn’t in the mood for flirting.

  “Yes,” he finally said, clearing his throat a couple of times. “Yes, of course. I hope we can find this woman…”

  “Eva Lange,” Lili repeated.

  “Yes, Eva Lange. I hope we can find her. But, as I have said this morning to Senhor Teller, these things can be very difficult in Lisbon at this time. I’m sure you understand that there are many—”

  “You’ve checked the records?” she interrupted coolly.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” he said, making it obvious that he hadn’t even considered it. “I’m afraid there is no information that anyone of that name—”

  “Eva Lange,” Lili reiterated. “Her name is Eva Lange.”

  “Yes. Eva Lange. No information that she has ever entered or departed from Lisbon.” He shrugged sympathetically. “It is possible, of course, that your information is incorrect and your friend has never been here.”

  “She was here,” Lili said emphatically, exhaling smoke. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Is it not possible that your employee, Mr. Grimes, has made an identification error? There is a great deal of confusion in our city at the moment…”

  “That’s why I need your help,” Lili said flatly, before abruptly changing gears. “Surely a man of your importance can cut through all the confusion.”

  Catela basked in the compliment. “Let me assure you that I will do all that is in my power. If she is in Lisbon, I promise you, she will be found. In the meantime, I hope you will allow me to be your host.” The captain seemed to think that he could palm us off with French champagne and double-talk.

  “It would help if we could see Eddie Grimes’s notebook,” I interjected, seeing my opening.

  Catela smiled patronizingly. “As I told you, Senhor Teller, we have found no notebook.”

  “I’d like to have a look in the car,” I said.

  He looked at me like I was nuts. “Even if you are correct, this car has been in o Boca do Inferno for more than two weeks. Do you really believe these papers will be worth something?”

  “You never know,” I said, realizing how feeble it sounded, adding, “We’d be happy to pay whatever cost is involved, if that’s the problem.”

  “Cost is not a concern,” he said, dismissing my bribery attempt with a sneer.

  Lili frowned. “What the hell is ‘o Boca do Inferno’?”

  “Eddie Grimes drove off a cliff, a couple of miles up the road,” I said. “A place called o Boca do Inferno.”

  “The Mouth of Hell,” Catela helpfully translated.

  “And you want to get the car out?”

  “We don’t have much else to go on.” I shrugged.

  Lili swung around on Catela. “Can you arrange it, Captain?”

  “Of course,” he said without a hint of hesitation. “I will be most happy to have it done, as a service to you. You see? I am your servant. You must only ask, and I will do.”

  That kind of treatment was nothing new to Lili. She thanked him, then picked over her food while we listened to a long-winded account of the captain’s fascinating and inevitable rise to power and influence. I excused myself after the main course, to Catela’s obvious delight and Lili’s look of betrayal. The captain informed me that if I wanted to see Grimes’s car come out of the water, I should be at the cliffs at dawn when the tide was at its lowest point. I told Lili that I’d check it out and return directly to the hotel to let her know what, if anything, we’d found.

  The Estoril Casino seemed to be the after-dinner spot, so I went along to mingle with the money and soak up the atmosphere. Located just across from the Palacio, the large, modern building was perched atop a small hill, facing the sea, its clean white walls bathed in a spectrum of soft-colored lights. It was a fine, balmy evening, and I enjoyed the taste of the salt air as I wandered up the slope.

  I’d been surprised at how quickly Catela had folded, but I shouldn’t have been, not after spending time in Hollywood. Something about being up there on that silver screen transformed everyday flesh and blood into modern-day deities, immortals who constantly found, and came to expect, humble offerings being laid at their feet. I guess they didn’t call them matinee idols for nothing. Still, I felt kind of sorry for Lili. It looked like our story was heading for a sad ending and it was obvious that her childhood friend meant something to her. As far as I could tell, aside from her star status, she didn’t have much else that did.

  I entered the casino and was stopped by a thin rake of a man with a beak for a nose and thick glasses that made his eyes look like they were bulging out of his head. He was standing behind a counter that ran the length of the lobby.

  “Excuse me, senhor…”

  “Me?” I said, even though it was obvious who he was addressing.

  “Yes, senhor. If you please…” He gestured me over. “May I see your membership card, please.”

  “I haven’t got one.”

  “I’m afraid, then, that I cannot allow you to enter…”

  “Nobody else has one,” I noted, indicating the dozens of well-dressed heels that were passing through on their way to the tables.

  “I know them,” he said with a smirk.

  “All of them?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I see,” I said. “Do I look that scruffy?”

  “Excuse me, senhor?”

  “Never mind.” The only reason I’d been going in was to pass the time, but now I was determined. “How do I get a membership card?”

  “I will need to see your identification documents…” I reached for my passport. “And you must pay five hundred dollars.”

  “Five hundred dollars?” I repeated.

  “Yes, senhor.”

  “Five hundred American dollars?” I said, just to be sure.

  “That’s correct. Five hundred American dollars.”

  I was about to swallow my pride and beat a retreat when a voice came up behind me—

  “Este é Senhor Teller, Luis! Está viajando com Senhorita Lili Sterne e teve apenas o jantar com capitão Catela…”

  I turned to see the grinning face of a slightly rumpled middle-aged man, late thirties, I guessed. He was a portly fellow with a twinkle in his eye and an unmistakable English accent, even when he was speaking Portuguese. He winked at me.

  “I just told him who you are.”

  “Desculpel, senhor,” the rake pleaded. “Please forgive me, I have not known…Please, you must accept my apology…” I thought I’d better let him off the hook before he got down on his knees.

  “Forget it,” I said. “No harm done.”

  “É muito zangado!” the smiling Englishman said as he led me away. “I just told him you’re furious. Won’t sleep a wink tonight, the bastard. Quite right, too. Harry K. Thompson, the Times. You’ve seen my byline. Happy to be of service.”

  “Jack Teller,” I said.

  “That’s right,” he confirmed. “Bit of luck, really, isn’t it? Now you can give me an exclusive on what the devil Lili Sterne is doing in Lisbon when Europe’s on the verge of collapse. Just kidding, of course. I mean about the exclusive, not about Europe being on the verge of collapse. It is. What is she doing in Lisbon, anyway?”

  “What makes you think she’s in Lisbon?”

  “Don’t blame you, old chap,” he laughed. “Not a bit. I wouldn’t trust me either.” He led me into the main gaming room and to a long circular bar in front of the roulette tables. The sound of the wheel turning, diamonds clinking, and money chang
ing hands was accompanied by a lonely pianist playing Rachmaninoff on a baby grand in the far corner.

  “What are you having?” Thompson, asked and I ordered scotch, neat. He ordered brandy and ginger. “Well, here’s to the fiddlers on the Titanic. If you’re going down, you might as well have background music.”

  “To Nero,” I said.

  “Quite!” We downed them in one and I called for another round.

  “So…” Harry smiled mischievously. “What’s my lead, then?”

  “How about ‘Englishman Fiddles About While Europe Collapses’?”

  “Don’t like that one much,” he sneered. “How about Hollywood Star with German Origins in Clandestine Meeting with Gestapo Major’?”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it,” I said. “Besides, I thought the Times was a serious newspaper.”

  “Freelance, actually,” he confessed. “I’ll be anybody’s whore. And that includes Variety.”

  “That sounds like a threat, Harry.”

  “I wouldn’t do that to you, Jack. Not without pictures.” He took a healthy swallow of the incoming brandy. “The truth is I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about Lili Sterne, but I’m a bit desperate. This war-correspondent stuff doesn’t suit me. I’m more of a human-interest kind of guy.”

  “There are plenty of humans in Lisbon,” I said.

  “Debatable, old chap. Highly debatable. But let’s not get carried away with my troubles! Tell me about yours! What about this chap Eddie Grimes?”

  “Eddie Grimes?”

  “Come on, Jack, let’s not be silly. Everybody in Lisbon knows he was working for Lili Sterne. What was he up to?”

  “Off the record?”

  “Absolutely!”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Bastard!” He smiled. “All right. How about an exchange of information. It’s a popular pastime around here.”

  “What would you have that’d interest me?”

  “That’s it, you’ve got the hang of it already. How about the fact that your good friend Capitão Catela isn’t pulling that car out of the sea because you want him to. Not even because Lili Sterne wants him to.”

  “You’re well informed,” I said, genuinely impressed.

  “That’s the job, old boy.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Why’s Catela pulling the car out?”

  “You have to promise to give me something,” Harry said, popping his empty glass on the bar for a refill.

  “Like why Lili Sterne is in Lisbon?”

  “That’s how the game is played.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

  “Right! Captain Catela is pulling Eddie Grimes out of the drink because…” He leaned over and finished in a mock whisper. “Sturmbannführer Heinrich Ritter asked him to. Or should I say told him to?”

  “Ritter?”

  “That’s right. Your friendly neighborhood Gestapo officer.”

  “Why would Ritter care about Eddie Grimes?”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t. But he cares very much about Hans Kleinmann.”

  “Who’s Hans Kleinmann?”

  “Ah, ah, ah,” he scolded, collecting his third drink. “Your turn.”

  “Okay. Lili’s trying to locate a childhood friend, somebody she grew up with in Berlin. Eddie Grimes found her here, or thought he did, anyway. He was supposed to take her back to the States, but he drove off a cliff instead.”

  “And you’re taking his place?”

  “Up to a point,” I said. “I don’t plan on driving off any cliffs.”

  Thompson nodded thoughtfully. “Touching, but hardly front page, is it?”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “That it’s touching or that it’s not front page?”

  “If it got into print, I might end up going over that cliff, after all. What about this Kleinmann character?”

  “Ah, yes! Dr. Hans Kleinmann. He’s attached to the German embassy here. Some sort of state secretary, I think, whatever that means.”

  “What’s he got to do with Eddie Grimes?”

  “He disappeared a couple of weeks ago. Same night as your detective friend. That’s why Ritter’s here. To get to the bottom of it.” Harry swallowed the last of his brandy, but I could see that he was watching me over the lip of the glass.

  “Why would Ritter think this guy’s disappearance had anything to do with Grimes?”

  “Haven’t the slightest,” Harry said. “Care to hazard a guess?”

  “Not really.”

  “He’s probably just fishing—so to speak.” He slid off his chair, catching his balance on the bar. “You’ll have to let me know how it turns out. Nice talking to you, Jack, but I think I’ll go home now. I feel I’ll be falling over soon and I’d like to be near my bed when it happens.”

  “Don’t miss,” I said.

  “Ta-ta.” He winked and wove his way toward the exit. Likable guy, I thought. For a reporter.

  “Would you like to play, senhor?”

  I wasn’t sure that I’d understood the man in the elegant gray suit. He spoke in a polished, but almost inaudible baritone voice.

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “Would you like to draw chips?” he clarified. I was about to politely decline when he added, “You may sign for them on Miss Sterne’s account.”

  “In that case,” I said, “why not?”

  “Will one thousand be sufficient?”

  “A thousand?”

  “Yes, senhor. Will that be sufficient?”

  “I guess it’ll get me started,” I said.

  “Very well. What is your preference?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Your game. Which game do you prefer to play?”

  “Oh, I guess I’ll try my luck at the wheel.”

  He nodded and placed a voucher and a gold pen on the bar.

  “Sign there and I will have the chips ready for you at this table.” He nodded toward a table in the far corner, and I signed on the dotted line.

  “I wish you good luck, senhor,” he said as he pocketed the chit and disappeared.

  I polished off my drink and wandered over to find an empty chair and two neat piles of fifty-dollar chips waiting for me. There were six players around the table. An old broad dolled up in a Victorian evening gown was the only one to acknowledge me with a nod and a wisp of a smile. She must’ve had ten grand sitting in front of her, and twice that decorating her earlobes. I guessed she was a local and a regular customer. Next to her was a banker type—bald, midfifties, fat, and boring. He had a sour look that said he was losing big-time. Not much of interest there, aside from the five-star bimbo he had waiting in the wings. On my left was a fidgety fellow who stayed on his feet, leaning across the board, dropping chips like they were too hot to handle. To my right was a man in sunglasses who was leaning back in his chair, ignoring the action. Asleep maybe, but I wasn’t sure. A more-than-middle-aged Russian countess, or so I imagined, rounded out the group.

  I lit a cigarette and dropped a couple of chips on numbers twenty-one and twelve, for no particular reason. I soon remembered why I never spent time at the wheel. It’s a guessing game, no better than playing the numbers. My chips started disappearing as quickly as they’d appeared, and by the time Lili snuck up behind me, I was down seven hundred and change.

  “First you abandon me to Don Juan, then you throw away my money like it’s pennies from heaven. Tell me again why I brought you with me.” She’d apparently consumed enough Dom Pérignon to get me out of that doghouse.

  “Must be my irresistible charm.”

  “I’m managing to resist.”

  “Lover boy go home?” I asked. Lili raised an eyebrow and tossed her head back over her shoulder to have a peek.

  “I think I lost him.” She ignored the man in sunglasses, who was awake now and ogling her.

  “Shall we go out the back way?” I suggested.

  “You’d know all about that, I suppose.”

&
nbsp; “It has its advantages.”

  She picked up a chip, fiddled with it. “What about Eva?”

  “Nothing definite,” I said. “I might know more tomorrow.” She gave me a look that I ignored, then handed me the chip.

  “Put it on twenty-seven,” she said, and I did.

  The croupier spun the wheel and gently released the ivory ball onto its track. There was some activity at the door—a party of six or so entering the casino, heralded by a discreet buzz of excitement that spread rapidly across the floor. I immediately recognized the couple at the center of the commotion. Three and a half years earlier he’d been king of England, Scotland, and Wales, crowned head of the British Empire, defender of the faith, and emperor of India. He had a reputation for being charming, urbane, witty, and he wasn’t half bad-looking, either. With those kind of credentials, it’s safe to assume there was no shortage of females flinging themselves at his feet, for marriage purposes and otherwise, but he fell head over heels for an American, of all things, and from Baltimore, of all places. Not exactly queen material, either, since she’d been married twice already. And not what you’d call a great beauty. More like one of the evil sisters than Cinderella. Who knows? Maybe that was the attraction. Anyway, she must’ve had something going for her because he gave it all up so he could marry her, and as a result he became one of the most admired men on the planet.

  Edward and Mrs. Simpson, love story of the century. I wondered what the hell they were doing in a casino in Portugal.

  “They’re waiting for a boat back to England,” Lili whispered in my ear, as if she’d read my mind. I noticed a look on her face that I’d never seen before. Even she was impressed.

  “Numero vinte-sete!” the croupier called out. “Twenty-seven black.”

  “What d’you know,” I said. “Looks like you’re a winner.”

  “Let it ride,” Lili purred.

  CHAPTER 5

  “It’s only money,” Lili shrugged as a small fortune in chips went back to the croupier’s side of the table. It wasn’t so much the stupidity of the comment that pissed me off as the stupidity of the bet. I’ve never had much sympathy for a loser who’s just thrown in a winning hand.