Sean Wyatt Compilation Box Set

by Ernest Dempsey

  “Vincent Van Gogh.”

  Her answer lingered in Martin’s mind for several seconds.

  A door opened at the entrance of the tavern. An elderly man in a dark green sweater walked in and found himself a seat at the bar. Martin brought his focus back to the conversation with renewed attention with a laugh. “I’m sorry. For a moment there I thought you said Van Gogh.”

  He returned to his beer and had another sip. Adriana stared at Martin, her expression unchanging. After a few seconds, he realized his companion was serious.

  “Really? Well, my dear, you certainly have expensive and complicated tastes.”

  She pushed a frayed black and white picture over to the other side of the table. “During World War II, you are no doubt aware that the Nazis confiscated a large percentage of Europe’s art.”

  “Of course. There are all kinds of stories about the looting that went on. Most of the things that were taken were never recovered.” He looked at her with a skeptical eye then picked up the picture and peered at it intently. She could see his eyes grow slightly wider as he analyzed the image.

  “There are lots of rumors about mountain caves in Deutschland where Hitler had many of the stolen treasures hidden for safe keeping. But they are just rumors, bedtime stories. No one ever finds anything.”

  “But you know the painting,” she insisted.

  Martin was silent for a moment as his mind raced.

  “Ja. I have heard of this one. Until now, I thought it was just another fairy tale like all the others.” He paused and held up the picture. “Where did you get this?”

  She reached out and retrieved it from his hand. “A reliable source gave it to me,” she said and placed the picture back in her jacket pocket.

  He smiled and hoisted his glass. “I am your reliable source, my friend. Have you been seeing other people behind my back?” He let out a large laugh and tipped back the glass. The front door opened again. This time, a younger man entered the building and went to the concierge. Adriana recognized the face and moved carefully out of her seat.

  The old lady at the desk pointed a finger towards the tavern. He made his way into the pub and headed straight towards the corner where Martin was sitting. He swallowed the last of his beer only to find that Adriana had vanished. Confused for a moment, he looked around but saw no sign of her.

  “Excuse me,” he said in a brutish German accent. “May I sit down?” The man was blonde with blue eyes. His physique was slender but athletic, something Martin determined from the tight gray sweater and jeans the man wore.

  “Certainly,” he extended a hand. “Do I know you?”

  The man sat down across from him, never changing his cold expression. “Where is the girl?” Martin figured his accent to be from the Bavarian region.

  “What girl?” Martin asked.

  “The one you were here with a few moments ago. The woman at the front desk said you came in here with a girl. Where is she?” The stranger’s eyes pierced Martin’s.

  “Oh. She’s just a friend of mine,” Martin answered. “She already left.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  A roar of laughter erupted on the other side of the tavern. A large group of revelers were apparently having a great time. “We should step outside, Herr Edert,” the man said, purposefully. Under the table, he pulled back the hammer of a gun. “I’m afraid I must insist.”

  Martin’s eyes narrowed. He said nothing as he stood simultaneously with the stranger. The man had draped a black jacket over the hand holding the weapon and motioned with his head to leave out the back door.

  Martin obeyed and pushed opened the creaky exit. Once outside, the noise from the tavern became muted and was replaced by the sound of the small river that flowed nearby.

  “Now what?” Martin asked, indignant.

  “To the river.”

  Again, Edert did as he was told and walked steadily over to the edge of the water.

  “Tell me what you know about the lost canvas of Van Gogh,” the stranger demanded.

  Martin turned around and faced him. “What are you talking about?”

  The stranger lowered the sound suppressed weapon and aimed it at Martin’s knee. “I can torture you before I kill you or I can kill you quickly. Tell me what you know about the Van Gogh. Where is it? What did you tell the girl?”

  Suddenly, a vinyl boot smashed into the stranger’s hand. The unexpected impact sent the weapon flying through the air into the dirt by the water. Adriana didn’t hesitate to attack again. She launched another flying kick at the blonde menace. The man turned just in time to see the bottom of her foot before it crashed into his nose.

  He reeled backwards as blood flowed freely from the injury. He grabbed the nose with one hand and tried to recover. The shock passed after a few seconds and he lashed out with a flurry of punches. Adriana’s hands were just as fast as his, blocking and parrying all of his assaults.

  He over extended on one punch and she grabbed the man’s wrist, pulling it over her shoulder, then jerked down hard. The arm broke easily at the elbow, extending the forearm backwards at a ninety-degree angle. The stranger screamed and dropped to one knee.

  Villa whipped out a long knife from her jacket and kicked the man over onto his back. She jumped on top of him, straddling his chest, the blade pressed firmly to his neck.

  “Who do you work for? Why are you following me?”

  He said nothing, clenching his teeth in pain. She pressed the edge of the knife deeper causing a thin trickle of blood to start oozing from a fresh wound wound.

  “I will kill you,” she said, coldly.

  “I am after the same thing as you,” he spat. “They will never let you have it. You will die before that happens.” His eyes were filled with a crazed conviction.

  “Who wants it?” she demanded again.

  He laughed slightly through the pain, grinning sickly. Suddenly, the side of the man’s head exploded, splashing blood all over the ground. Some of it had splattered on Adriana’s face and hands. She looked down at the man’s face in shock. Lifeless eyes stared off into the night.

  She turned quickly to see where the bullet had come from but in the dark. It was difficult to see but other than Martin, there was no one else around. Her friend simply looked on in complete surprise at what had just happened.

  “We have to go,” she said plainly.

  He nodded and the two of them sprinted back over to the parking lot and got in the car. She looked around again, seeing nothing but the darkness of the forest. Edert wheeled the car out of the parking lot, kicking up gravel as he fishtailed it onto the road.

  “Who was that?” Adriana asked, out of breath. She turned her head around to see if anyone was following them.

  “I have never seen that man before. But he was very interested in what you are looking for,” Martin stated as he caught his breath

  “Where are we going?” she asked. Her breathing had slowed. She kept an eye on the rear view mirror, just in case.

  “I have a friend in a town about fifteen minutes from here. We will see if she will let us hide there for a little while.” He stepped on the gas and guided the car down the road, heading up small mountain.

  “Can you trust her?” Adriana wondered.

  He shrugged. “As much as I can trust anyone, I suppose.” Even though they’d almost been killed, Martin was handling the situation extremely well. As if reading her thoughts, he said, “You take things too seriously, my dear.”

  Her eyes wandered out into the darkness of the passing woods. “Sorry, I just don’t see a lot of heads blown off in my line of work. Especially right in front of me.”

  He understood. “That man was trying to kill you. And he would have killed both of us if he could have. If necessary, you would have killed him yourself. You have killed before.”

  She shook her head and looked down at her bloody hands. The crimson liquid had already gotten sticky on her skin
. “You never get used to it, Martin.”

  The car crested the mountain, bringing into view a crescent moon high in the distance. It beamed down on a rolling meadow on both sides of the road.

  “That is because you are human,” he stated sympathetically.

  A few minutes passed silently before they were beyond the fields and into another forest. “I know someone I think you should talk to,” he said after a few minutes of quiet thought.

  “About what?” she asked.

  “The lost canvas, my dear.” He glanced over at her with a smile. “His name is Friedrich Mueller. He deals with many types of antiquities. In the morning, I can take you to his shop. It isn’t far from here. I’ll call him and let him know you are coming.”

  “You think this friend of yours will know something about the painting?”

  Martin steered the car onto a small, town street. Nearby, old German homes dotted the hillsides. “My friend’s house is at the top of that hill,” he said as he pointed to a small chalet situated above most of the others in the tiny city. “And if Friedrich hasn’t heard of your painting, then it probably doesn’t exist.”

  The woman who opened the door was thin and rugged in appearance. If Adriana had to guess, she’d say that the lady was the same age as her Martin. She had short brown hair atop a narrow face with large ears and nose. The woman pulled a plaid robe tight against the cold evening air. Her feet were covered in slippers and her legs in some white pajama pants.

  Her face lit up at the site of Adriana’s companion. “Hallo, Martin! It is so good to see you.” The woman’s accent was mild, Northern German.

  “Thank you for letting us come by on such short notice,” Martin replied in a humble tone. “Greta, this is my friend Adriana Villa.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” she said as she opened the door wide and motioned for them to enter. “It’s cold. Come. Come. I have a nice fire going. Would you like something to drink?” Adriana shook her head and smiled politely as she entered the house.

  Martin, on the other hand, was not so polite “Bier bitte,” he requested in German.

  “I thought so, old friend.” Greta said as she closed the door. She looked at the blood on Adriana’s face and hands. “Looks like we need to get you cleaned up first.” Greta cast Martin a worried glance.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” he said, understanding her concern.

  Their host showed them where they could hang their coats and led Adriana to a sink in the kitchen. “You may want to take a shower later but for now you can use the sink to get cleaned up.” Greta retrieved a towel from under the sink and set it next to the basin. Then she disappeared down a set of stairs near the entrance.

  The hot water soaked over Adriana’s skin. She scrubbed the soap hard, trying to scour the sticky substance off of her hands. After a few minutes, she rinsed them off. There was no trace of the blood but she still felt like it was there.

  A few moments later Greta reappeared with two large bottles of Hasseroder, the favorite local pilsner. She led the way into the main room where a fire crackled in the hearth. For a few minutes, she and Martin explained how they had become friends many years before at an antique auction. They had both been interested in the same piece and after an onslaught of bidding both of them lost the piece to another, more affluent bidder. After the auction, they bumped into each other and joked about the event. Within hours they had become fast friends.

  Adriana wondered if there was some kind of a romance between the two but she thought it best not to bring it up. Apparently, Greta had never married. From what she knew, Martin had only taken the plunge once. His marriage had been a fruitless effort that lasted only a few years before ending abruptly in divorce.

  After catching up on old times, the subject changed. “So, what kind of trouble are you in, Martin?” Greta asked, taking a sip of her beer.

  “Someone tried to kill me tonight. Adriana saved me,” he explained.

  Greta looked over at the Spaniard. “Did you kill this person?” she asked, callously.

  Adriana shook her head. “No. We don’t know who did. Someone shot him before I could find out who he was or whom he was working for.” She looked down at her hands again.

  “I see,” Greta responded. “Did you call the police?” she asked, looking from one to the other.

  “No,” Martin shook his head. “We just needed to get out fast. So we left and drove here.”

  Their host appeared a little concerned. “Did anyone see what happened? Were you followed?”

  “No. No one else was there. And we weren’t followed,” Adriana answered. “I made sure.”

  Greta seemed uneasy but the answer Adriana had given made her feel a little better. The German woman took a few big gulps of her beer, copying Martin. Then she set her glass down on an end table and folded her hands.

  “Would it be alright if we stay here for the night?” Martin asked after finishing his drink. “It is just for tonight.”

  “Certainly. You are always welcome here,” she said, smiling. “But if the police show up, I will tell them you broke in.” Her last remark was accented with a wink.” “I will show you to your rooms,” Greta said and stood, picking up the empty beer glasses. She took the vessels to the kitchen and then showed her guests to a few spare rooms in the upstairs portion of the house.

  Adriana was surprised at how much space the chalet had. They walked by a study and a third bedroom on their way to the guest quarters. She hoped she would be able to sleep. Even though she was tired, everything that had happened was still rushing through her mind.

  The following morning, Adriana woke to laughter downstairs and the smell of fresh coffee and bread.

  She pulled on her clothes and made her way down to the kitchen where Martin and Greta were sitting at the table stuffing their faces with toast and eggs.

  “Ah, there you are,” he said with a smile. “We have breakfast for you and good coffee.” Adriana accepted the offering with a polite smile and sat down to eat opposite the other two.

  “I also called Friedrich for you. He will be expecting you this morning,” Martin sounded proud of himself. It was almost as if he’d completely forgotten about the previous night’s escapade.

  “Thank you,” she said. She took a knife and spread some butter on a piece of crusty bread.

  Greta sensed her apprehension. “Do not worry. I have no desire to know why you want to speak with Friedrich. Though, if you are talking to him, you must be looking for something that is hard to find. He has a reputation for being able to get information about things that others cannot. I have no doubts that he will be able to help you.”

  Adriana crammed the toast into her mouth and chewed quickly. The sooner she could get to the shop the better. “That is good to know,” she said when she was finished chewing. “Can he be trusted?”

  Martin and Greta exchanged a quick glance. “We assume so,” he answered. “No reason not to?”

  Adriana frowned but accepted the answer. She never liked to assume anything. “Any word on the man who attacked us last night?” she asked after taking a long sip of the rich coffee.

  “No,” Martin replied uneasily. He cast Greta an awkward glance.

  Greta spoke while stirring her coffee slowly. “I checked around a little bit this morning but there was no news of a murder and apparently no body was found. Whoever killed that man must not have wanted his identity to be known.”

  Adriana contemplated the situation while she stared out the window at the valley below. Off in the distance, the snow capped mountain known as “The Brocken” stood ominous and silent.

  “I suppose I should be going,” she said, suddenly. “Thank you very much for the food and for the bed. I really appreciate your hospitality.”

  “It is no problem at all, dear,” Greta smiled and stood. “Are you sure you don’t need anything else?”

  Adriana shook her head and smiled as she said, “Thank you.”

  Martin stood as well
. “I’ll drop you off at Friedrich’s. It’s not far from your hotel so you should be able to walk back fairly easily from there. I have to be in Berlin for a meeting this afternoon so I won’t be able to stay and introduce you.”

  “It’s fine, Martin.”

  The two grabbed their coats and headed out the door. He turned and gave Greta a big hug before they hopped in the car and made their way back down into the valley town below.

  The black sign that hung outside of Friedrich Mueller’s shop was highlighted in gold lettering that read Mueller’s Antiques. Adriana took a look around the city street, still worried someone might be watching. Cars sped by and pedestrians busily walked the sidewalks, all part of a normal morning in the city. She didn’t, however, notice anything out of the ordinary.

  She pulled open the door and entered the shop. The air inside was toasty warm compared to the chill out on the sidewalk. She loosened her jacket slightly as she walked through the foyer of the shop. The little store was filled with an odd and seemingly random collection of paintings, sculptures, memorabilia, and other knickknacks. On a wall to her left, prints of concert flyers hung over a shelf containing hundreds of vinyl records. As she made her way around, she saw shelves full of old books, even what she surmised were first editions. The room had a musty smell to it, which added to the historic feel of the shop.

  “Can I help you?” a masculine voice startled her.

  She turned to see an odd, little man with thinning, combed-over gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He wore a black vest and tie over a white, long-sleeved shirt. He appeared to be in his sixties but something told her that he was much older.

  “Jallo,” she greeted him pleasantly. “I was told to see a man here by the name of Friedrich Mueller.”

  He smiled. “I am Friedrich Mueller. You must be Martin’s friend, Adriana Villa.”

  She nodded and extended a hand, which he shook vigorously

  “I think it is time for me to take a break for a few minutes,” he said and made his way to the front of the store. He flipped a sign around that she assumed said he was out to lunch.