Jonathan Rabb - Rosa

Frulein Dimp needed no coaching “I know what the Polpo does, Hans. I read the papers, too.”

Braun said genially, “We don’t spend a lot of time in the papers, Frulein.” He was becoming more human by the minute. “We leave that to heroes like Hans, here.”

Fichte would have blushed, but his face was too busy sweating.

“What we do,” continued Braun, “is always less interesting to the public.”

Fichte perked up. “Not true at all. You manage what’s most interesting to them without their even knowing it. The Polpo keeps a different kind of peace.”

Braun said, “You’ve been talking with Walther Hermannsohn, from the sound of it. Good man, Hermannsohn. Knows his business.”

Fichte had in fact spent more than a little time chatting with the young Kommissar over the last few weeks: a few chance meetings at a lunch spot around the corner from the Alex. Hermannsohn was, as Braun said, quite a good fellow. Fichte said, “Yes, not what one expects, really.”

Braun gave him no time to backtrack: “And what did you expect?”

Fichte was suddenly on the spot. “Well, you know,” he said, trying to buy some time. “What people imagine goes on inside the Polpo.”

“ Un informed people,” said Braun.

“Yes. Exactly,” said Fichte, trying not to show his relief. “The common misconceptions.”

Braun raised his glass and with a knowing look-one that only confused Fichte-downed his whiskey in one swallow. He then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Why don’t you two girls have a spin at the roulette wheel? Give Herr Fichte-”

“Hans,” corrected Fichte enthusiastically.

“-Hans and me a chance to talk.” Braun pulled a five-mark bill from his wallet.

Frulein Raubal looked relieved, as if she had been waiting for the suggestion all along; Frulein Dimp simply marveled at the amount of money.

Braun was on his feet. The women slid over, and Frau Raubal placed a nice kiss on Braun’s cheek as she took the bill.

“You talk as long as you want,” said Frulein Dimp as she reached across the table for her drink. She made sure to give Fichte a nice view of her cleavage. “We’ll be just fine, Hans, darling. Don’t you worry about us.”

And like that, the girls were gone. Braun settled back into his seat and managed to wave down a passing waiter. He ordered two whiskeys. He said, “Nice-looking girl, Hans. Very enthusiastic.”

Fichte tried his best to keep up. “I certainly hope so.” He laughed a bit too loudly, but Braun let it pass.

“I imagine you’ve been on quite a tear since the Wouters case broke.”

“I can’t complain.”

Braun offered him a cigarette. “You enjoy that kind of work, do you? Murders and the like.” The two men lit up.

“I don’t know if I’d say ‘enjoy,’ but it is interesting.”

“Of course. Interesting in a limited sort of way.” He saw Fichte’s confusion. “I only mean that the cases have fixed parameters.” This didn’t seem to help. Braun spoke more slowly. “You catch the killer and the case is closed. That sort of thing. They don’t really lead anywhere else.”

“Oh, I see what you mean. Well. . yes and no. There are some cases that lead elsewhere.”

“And you like those?”

Fichte tried to find the right words. “Well, I haven’t had the chance yet to work on one that’s led beyond the. . you know, beyond the case. But I’ve certainly read about the ones that have.”

Braun nodded amiably. “Of course.” He took a drag. “Pretty much all we do in the Polpo. Nothing ever seems to find an end up on the fourth floor. Always leading from one thing to the next to the next.” He picked at a piece of stray tobacco on his tongue. He examined it as he said, “From what I’ve seen, you look like you might have a talent for that sort of thing.” He flicked the tobacco away and looked across at Fichte warmly. “We were all very impressed with your work on the Wouters case.”

Fichte tried an awkward pull on his cigarette and began to nod his head quickly. “No. Of course. That’s the sort of thing I do best.”

“Have you ever considered the Polpo?”

The suggestion caught Fichte completely by surprise. “Considered the Polpo?”

Braun was still unnervingly relaxed. “It’s just something I wonder about when I see work of that caliber, that’s all. A bit of healthy competition, you understand. Wanting the best that the Kripo has to offer.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t listen to me, Hans. I’m just a jealous detective who’d like to filch from the boys on the third floor. You’ll be getting quite a bit of that in your career, I imagine.” The waiter arrived. Braun said, “Shall I order two more while we have him here?”

Fichte fumbled with a nod.

Braun waited until they were alone before continuing: “I’ve made you uncomfortable. Forgive me. You’re a Kripo man, through and through.” He raised his glass. “To fine work on whichever floor it happens to be coming from.” The two men drank.

Fichte sat with his glass in hand. He was feeling a bit light-headed, although he was doing his best to keep himself under control. Not that he had ever thought of the Polpo. They were safe in deep water, shoals closer in, or something like that: he could never remember the exact words Hoffner had used. But that seemed so far from the truth, given tonight, more so given his recent encounters with Hermannsohn. Still, Fichte knew to be wary. “I need a bit more under my belt before I start thinking about any of that.” He took a sip.

Braun nodded. “That’s your Kommissar Hoffner speaking now.” Braun corrected himself. “Your Oberkommissar. Pardon me. How can we forget the great promotion ceremony at the Royal Palace? Quite a show they put on.”

The word “show” pricked at Fichte. It reminded him who was sitting across the table. “Yes,” he said. “The Kripo spares no expense.”

Braun seemed surprised by the answer. He smiled. “I’ve offended you again. My apologies.” He took a slow pull on his cigarette. “I’d like to say it’s the whiskey, but we both know it’s that jealousy rearing its ugly head. Ignore it, Hans. I do.”

This time Braun’s mea culpa seemed more contrived. Fichte returned a bland smile and took another sip.

Braun said, “You’re quite devoted to your Herr Hoffner, aren’t you?”

The tone of the conversation had shifted, and Fichte was strangely aware of it. He knew that Braun was hinting at something. Even so, Fichte took his time. He placed his glass on the table and said, “He was my Kriminal-Kommissar, and he remains my partner. I’ve learned a great deal working with him.” He looked across at Braun. “He also happens to be a brilliant detective.”

“Your loyalty is admirable.”

“Thank you.”

“If a bit nave.”

This time the word more than pricked. Fichte was not terribly good at hiding his resentment, especially with a few drinks in him. “I’m not sure what you mean by that, Herr Oberkommissar. ”

Braun was more direct. “We don’t like letting the good ones get away, Hans. And we’re very persistent.”

Fichte waited. “Why nave?”

“Herr Hoffner is an excellent detective. No question about that.”

“And yet you don’t let the good ones get away.”

“We don’t. But you have to understand that it’s more than just detective work up on the fourth floor. It’s a man’s character, his past. Herr Hoffner. . well, he comes up a bit short on both counts.”

Fichte was amazed at Braun’s candor. “We’re talking about my partner, Herr Braun.”

“Yes,” said Braun unapologetically. “I know.”