I loosened his tie and opened the top button of his shirt. He kept gripping his chest. I tried to pull his hand down. He was in the throes of a heart attack, and the best I could do was to help straighten out his arm so his circulation would improve. That's what I'd been taught in the Navy, at least.
I called out, "Mike!" as loud as I could. I yelled his name several more times as I wiped my handkerchief across the man's sweating forehead.
I heard a door open behind me. A groggy male voice said, "Keep it down. Some of us—"
Right then, I heard Mike say, "What's going on?"
"Heart attack."
The other man asked, "Is it that French guy?"
Ignoring him, I said to Mike, "Let's carry him down to the car. Maybe we can get him over to Saint Francis in time."
"There's a doctor around the corner on Leavenworth," added the other man.
Mike said, "Thanks," as he leaned down at the man's feet. We picked the guy up and, with Mike walking backward down the steps, we managed to get him down to the street and in the back of the Roadmaster.
Right then, a police car pulled up right where the other one had been. A sergeant and a patrolman jumped out.
I got behind the wheel of the car as Sam jumped in the passenger side. Mike stepped back onto the sidewalk and made a forward motion with his hand. I pulled around the police car and headed down Eddy to the hospital.
. . .
"Mr. Williams?" I looked up. It was Lieutenant Rostenkowski from North Station. He wasn't happy.
I was sitting in the waiting area in the hospital. Razzie had been with the doctors for about an hour. Sam was sitting next to me, going through a crossword book he'd picked up at the newsstand. He was about a third of the way through, that's how smart he was.
I smiled. "How are you, Lieutenant?"
He didn't smile back. He was holding his hat in his hand. Pulling a chair over, he sat down across from me, leaned in, and quietly asked, "Why shouldn't I book you for breaking and entering?"
I shrugged. "What breaking and entering?"
He frowned. "You know you went into that apartment. Why else were you there?"
I shrugged. "We were concerned that Mrs. Boudier might be trying to—"
Rostenkowski put up a meaty hand. "Save it. Look, the only reason I'm not booking you is because you likely saved the man's life. But,"—he shook his head—"you are always a major pain in my ass and I wish—"
Right then, the doctor walked up and asked, "Mr. Williams?"
I stood up and nodded.
"Your friend is doing better. We're going to need to keep him here for at least a week."
I nodded. "I'll take care of whatever he needs."
He frowned at me. "Was your friend in the war?"
"Why?"
"Well, he has torture scars all over his chest and along his back. It's the sort of thing we only see with men who were prisoners of war and usually in Japan. But he seems to be European."
I nodded. "French."
The doctor frowned again. "I see. Maybe the Gestapo worked him over."
Rostenkowski stood, pulled out his badge, and said, "I'm Lieutenant Daniel Rostenkowski from the North Station. That man is a war criminal, and he's going to be deported back to France as soon as you can patch him up."
The doctor turned his frown on the lieutenant. "That could be weeks or months. Once he's done here, he's going to need convalescent care."
Rostenkowski shook his head. "There's a deportation order coming from Washington in a few days. It's already arranged."
The doctor shook his head. "He's in no condition to travel, not even by train or ship. He must have bed rest and be cared for by a nurse at all times. He's had a massive heart attack and a minor stroke. I'm not even sure he'll be able to speak when he comes to." Turning back to me, he asked, "Are you sure you're willing to cover his expenses? From what I've been told, he's practically indigent."
I nodded as Rostenkowski chuckled.
"What?" asked the doctor impatiently.
"You don't know who this is?"
The doctor shook his head. "No." He looked at me quizzically.
I put out my hand and offered it. As he shook it, I said, "My name is Nicholas Williams. You might have seen my picture in the newspaper."
The doctor leaned forward and looked at me for a long moment. As a look of recognition passed over his face, he withdrew his hand quickly, and smiled tightly. "Of course. I'm familiar with your foundation and its work with polio victims."
I nodded. "That's me. And, yes, I'm fine with whatever Mr..." I looked down at Sam, who said the man's name the right way. "Whatever he needs, I'll take care of it." Turning to the lieutenant, I continued, "And I'll get my lawyer to look at the deportation order. He did his time, Lieutenant."
"I'd think you, of all people, wouldn't want anything to do with a war criminal and a collaborator. The Nazis didn't treat your kind very well."
I shrugged. "This ain't Germany. We don't do what they did, do we?"
. . .
As we drove back to the office, Sam said, "The lieutenant was right."
"About what?"
"About what the Nazis did to us after Hitler took over."
I nodded. "I know. Or, at least, that's what I've heard."
"And the West Germans are making all those men serve out their terms even after they'd been in the camps."
That was news. "Really?" I looked over at Sam. It was the first time I'd seen him upset since his lover, Ike, had been in jail for a murder he didn't commit. "Wanna tell me about it?" I asked.
"I know a couple of guys from Czechoslovakia who died in the camps. And another one who's still in jail outside of Frankfurt."
I pulled the car over and killed the engine. "What do you think I should do?"
Sam asked, "Gotta cigarette?"
I pulled my pack of Camels out of my coat and offered him the first one that presented itself. He took it and then held my hand as I offered him my lighter. Taking a deep drag, he exhaled out the window.
I took a cigarette myself and lit it. I was trying to cut back, but there was nothing quite like a Camel when I was tense. It didn't calm me down, but it seemed to even things out.
As he picked out a tobacco leaf from between his teeth, Sam said, "I'd like to kick the shit outta the guy, personally. But if he's been tortured, he's already living through hell. That kinda pain never stops. The nerves fire off even when there's nothing there to make them."
I nodded as I took another deep drag on my Camel.
"But, I agree with what you said. This ain't Nazi Germany and, thank God, it ain't Russia. Or Czechoslovakia. Those poor kids." He was talking about Gustav, Ferdinand, Ida, and Nora. All four of them had been in a psychiatric hospital so they could be cured of their homosexuality. It hadn't taken. They'd managed to escape and make their way here. Sam had taken them all under his wing. He was as much a part of their family as were Ike and Mrs. Kopek.
"So, you think I should help this guy stay in the country?"
Sam sighed. "Yeah. Where would he even go in France? Annie is his only family."
"Does she know that you're in love with and living with Ike?"
Sam took one last puff on his cigarette and then threw it out the window. "No." He turned and looked at me. I held his gaze. He scooted over and sat right next to me. Taking my right hand in his thickly calloused left one, he said, "Nick, the 20s and 30s were a kind of hell that no one really talks about. The first war wrecked havoc on everyone in Europe and brought us the Communists on one side and the Fascists on the other. And, yeah, I went to Moscow to see what it was all about and to fuck all the pretty boys but I got out as soon as I saw that it wasn't ever gonna be a workers' paradise."
He sighed and thought for a long moment. "I could talk about this until the sun sets and rises again, but you gotta understand that those of us who lived through it... We have a kind of bond that I can't really explain. Anna"—that was Ike's mother and a childhood frie
nd of Sam's—"and myself, we were lucky enough to be here when the Germans took Austria and then Czechoslovakia and then everywhere. But Annie wasn't so lucky. We don't sit and talk about it, but there's a kind of connection that we have that's special. It's love but it ain't sex. I think she knows I'm bent the other direction but she's lonely and it's good to have a friend your own age. When you get to be in your 50s, you'll know what I mean."
Chapter 11
1198 Sacramento Street
Monday, January 17, 1955
Just past 8 in the evening
"Mr. Nick?"
I was sitting at my father's old desk in my office and looked up to see Gustav standing in the doorway.
"Yeah?"
"May I come speak with you?"
"Sure, kid. Have a seat."
He walked in and sat on the edge of the Chesterfield sofa that Carter had insisted we put in the office.
"What's up?"
He looked down at the floor. "I think Ferdinand is in love with someone else."
I nodded and waited.
Gustav looked up at the ceiling, which was a very interesting thing to gawk at but I didn't think he had any interest in the intricately carved woodwork that my grandfather had had designed specifically for the room. After a very long moment, he said, "I think he loves Mr. Carter." I noticed he was avoiding my gaze.
"What makes you say that?"
"They spend so much time together in the basement."
I nodded.
"And then Ferdinand, he—"
Right at the moment, the man himself came charging into the office. He was shirtless and wearing a pair of draw-string pants that were covered in sweat. "Gustav!" he said and then followed that by a string of Czech words.
I stood up. "English only. Remember?"
Ferdinand turned and glared at me. "This is your fault."
I laughed. "How so?" I had no idea what was really going on.
"Yes. Why do you have so many secret talks with my love?"
I looked over at Gustav who was on his feet and looking pretty steamed. A string of Czech words came out of his mouth. I walked around my desk and made my way through the kitchen. As I opened the door to the garage, I could still hear them yelling at each other.
I jogged down the stairs and crossed the garage to Carter's gym. He was dancing around and giving the punching bag a pummeling to beat the band.
I walked up and said, "Chief!"
He stopped, turned, and smiled down at me. He was covered in sweat and looking as handsome as ever.
I picked up a towel and handed it to him. "We have a crisis upstairs. Come on." Without waiting for a reply, I turned and walked back into the garage.
. . .
A small crowd had gathered outside the office. Ida, Nora, and Mrs. Strakova were standing in the hallway, chatting nervously in Czech. As we walked around them, I saw Mrs. Kopek standing over the two kids. They were both on the far ends of the Chesterfield. She was in the middle. She was giving them a piece of her mind in Czech.
I looked up at Carter who did his hog-calling whistle. Everyone stopped talking.
Like Ferdinand, Carter wasn't wearing a shirt and had on the oldest and thinnest pair of draw-string pants that he owned. I felt faintly embarrassed for a moment and then remembered it was my own fucking house.
Carter crossed his massive arms and said, "Mrs. Kopek. We'll take care of this."
She looked up at him gratefully and nodded. As she walked out of the office, she began to talk to the gals in the hall. They made their way back to the kitchen while I closed the door to the office.
I had a sudden flash of seeing my father standing in the middle of that mess and just shaking his head at me in disgust. I mentally told him to fuck off. I was perfectly happy to mediate that kind of domestic dispute instead of having everyone tip-toe around us, afraid of being too noisy. That's how I'd been raised in that pile of rocks. I wasn't gonna do the same to anyone else. It didn't matter if they worked for me or not.
Carter said, "OK, you two. What the hell is going on?"
Ferdinand stood. "Mr. Carter, your husband is making love to mine. I think you should know."
Gustav shook his head vehemently as he tightly gripped the side of the Chesterfield. "Mr. Nick is my friend. He is helping me. It is you who are making love to Mr. Carter."
Carter turned around and looked at me. He winked and then turned back. "You two clowns need to kiss and make up. This is ridiculous."
Ferdinand puffed up like he did when he felt that he'd been insulted. "We are not clowns. We are men."
I walked over, stood next to my husband, and said, "It's just an expression. But, if you're really a man, then act like one."
Ferdinand crossed his arms and glared at me.
Gustav stood up. "Do you see, Mr. Nick? He is impossible."
Carter got right to the point. "When was the last time you two fucked?"
That angered Ferdinand. His face darkened and, in a low voice, he said, "That is not your business. I quit."
I rolled my eyes. "No, you don't. Look. It's as obvious as the nose on your face that all of this is sexual tension. But, I have the same question, when did you last do it?" I looked over at Gustav, who's face was wet with tears.
"Well?" asked Carter.
Quietly, Gustav said, "A month."
Both Carter and I looked at Ferdinand and started talking at the same time.
"Jesus!" was my reply.
"Dammit, Ferdinand! What did I tell you about that diet? It's all bullshit!"
All of a sudden, Carter moved over and picked Gustav in the same way that he did with me sometimes. He walked over to the door, kicked it open, and left the office with Gustav in his arms.
Ferdinand let out a string of what were quite likely Czech curses and stalked past me, following Carter. I brought up the rear, trying very hard not to laugh.
We caught up with Carter as he made his way into the kitchen where all the gals were sitting at the table. Ignoring them, he carried Gustav down the back stairs with Ferdinand screaming at him. Even if I couldn't understand the language, he was making himself abundantly clear.
The rest of us followed as Carter made his way to their room at the end of the hall. He kicked that door open, carried Gustav in, and threw him on the double bed. He then turned around, reached out a long arm, and grabbed Ferdinand by the neck.
The kid was still hollering and carrying on. Carter shoved him towards the bed. "You two get to it and don't come outta there until you're done, dammit."
He came out of the room, slammed the door closed behind him, and picked me up in the same way, carrying me upstairs to our bedroom where he threw me on the bed and then began to follow his own instructions.
. . .
We were up and in the shower by a quarter of 7 the next morning. We headed down to breakfast at about half past 7. When we walked into the kitchen, Mrs. Strakova was laughing. Gustav and Ferdinand were dancing some sort of folk dance to music coming from a small record player on the counter. Gustav was in his day suit while Ferdinand was decked out in his full chauffeur uniform, something he hadn't worn in a while. I gaped slightly at the sight of him dressed that way. He always reminded me of Tony, my father's chauffeur during the 20s, who always dressed in a nearly identical uniform that consisted of tight-fitting dark green trousers, a white shirt, a long black tie, and a dark green matching coat that was double-breasted. The trousers were tucked into a pair of knee-high boots polished to a bright shine. Just like Tony's had been.
Their dance was intricate, but they both seemed to know the steps. It reminded me of a mating ritual between chickens, for some reason. Ida and Nora were standing with Mrs. Kopek by the pantry. All three were clapping in tune with their movements.
They all ignored us as we stood in the kitchen door. Carter put his arm around me and pulled me close. It was just about the sweetest and most romantic thing I'd ever seen.
Once the song was done, they both bowed to their small
audience. The gals surrounded them and hugged and kissed them while chattering in Czech. Once they realized we were there, Ferdinand took Gustav by the hand. They both walked up to us with big grins on their handsome faces. Ferdinand walked up to me, took my hand, and kissed it.
"I am very sorry, Mr. Nick."
I smiled and took the kid in my arms. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, "Sure thing, kid."
. . .
Ferdinand insisted on driving us the few blocks to the office in the Roadmaster. We both sat in the back, holding hands.
As he pulled the car up in front of the building, I said, "We have our first day in the new building on Friday. So be ready to drive us to work that day."
Ferdinand turned and looked at us. "Yes, Mr. Nick. I will be ready."
Carter reached forward and sweetly pushed his fist against the chauffeur's chin. "You did good, kid. I'm proud of you."
Ferdinand blushed.
. . .
While we were in the elevator, I said, "Good work there, Chief."
Carter smiled down at me and said, "You like it when he wears that uniform, don't you?"
I blushed. He was right. "It's the boots."
"I can get a pair of 'em if you want."
"You think they make them in a size 13?"
"Haven't you heard, son? I'm married to the richest man in town. I can get pretty much anything I want."
I reached over and pulled the stop button on the elevator. As it came to a halt, I grabbed the lapels of Carter's coat and pulled him close. As he reached down and very gently bit my ear, I whispered, "Order them today, Chief."
"Anything you want, Boss," was his husky reply.
Chapter 12
Offices of Consolidated Security, Inc.
Tuesday, January 18, 1955
Just past 9 in the morning
"Nick! I got a Dr. Watts on the phone for you." That was Marnie.
"Who?"
"He's treating that French what's-his-name."
"Right. Thanks, doll."
I picked up the phone and said, "This is Nick Williams."
"Mr. Williams? This is Dr. Watts at Saint Francis."
The Timid Traitor (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 10) Page 9