Peter Leonard - Back from the Dead

“That may come in handy.”

“What I was thinking.”

Next, Harry called Fedor Berman, a Holocaust survivor and private detective who had supplied the .38 Colt he’d used to defend himself against the Blackshirts, the gun Detective Huber had. Harry told Berman he needed the guns right away and Berman said, no problem. “What are you hunting, Herr Levin, big game?”

“The biggest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry carried his suitcase upstairs, unpacked and repacked with warm clothes for Bavaria in November. He thought about Colette, hoping Hess would keep her alive till he got there. Harry didn’t question what he was doing. In his mind there was no other way. This time he would face Hess and finish it.

Cordell came downstairs, duffel bag over his shoulder, wearing the winter green leisure suit, a comb sticking out of his Afro. “Okay, Harry, let’s go?”

“I think you should wear something a little more subdued. On this trip we want to blend in, not attract attention.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I’d leave the leisure suits here. Dress more conservative.”

“Harry, I don’t have anything conservative.”

“Or we can pick something up in Munich if you like.”

“Tried that, you may recall.”

“Yeah, and you fit right in.”

“Fit right in on the set of Heidi maybe — with Shirley Temple and grandfather.”

“I’ve got some clothes that might work.”

“This ought to be good.”

Harry took him up to his bedroom, opened the closet, took out a white dress shirt on a hanger and handed it to him. Cordell took off the leisure suit jacket, folded it over the back of a chair, unbuttoned the animals-rampant polyester, slid out of it. Harry handed him a pair of black pants, a light blue shirt with a button-down collar and a camel sweater. Try it on. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Cordell was checking himself out in the full-length mirror when Harry came back in the room.

“You look good.”

“I look like you with an Afro. Brothers see me like this they gonna kick me out the tribe.”

“The comb in your hair’s a nice touch.”

Cordell pulled it out and slid it in the right side pocket. “How’s that? I pass inspection?”

They landed at Gatwick airport outside London the next morning at 7:56. Had an hour wait and then a two-hour flight to Innsbruck, Austria, arriving at 11:03 a.m. Collected their luggage and went through customs. Harry rented a Mercedes-Benz sedan with tire chains.

The sun was up high and the road was snow-covered, the snow so bright it was blinding. They’d climb a steep mountain grade and fly down the other side, Harry trying to pass slow-moving trucks. Then the clouds rolled in and it started to snow, Harry watching the windshield fog up and the wipers thump back and forth, headlight beams coming the opposite way out of the grey gloom, holding the steering wheel with two hands.

They crossed the border into Germany, Harry nervous, thinking he was going to be arrested as a sleepy-eyed border guard glanced at their passports and took them into a little shack.

“What’s up with that?” Cordell looked worried now.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s making a copy.”

“So they’re gonna know we’re here.”

“But they’ve got to find us.”

The guard came back and handed Harry the passports.

They drove on to Munich, arriving at 12:57 p.m. Harry was exhausted. He’d only slept a couple hours on the transatlantic flight, and not at all on the flight to Innsbruck.

They met Berman at the Bavaria statue at Theresienwiese, the Oktoberfest grounds deserted now in early November. Berman got out of his car, smoking a pipe, looking dapper in a Loden sport jacket and Tyrolean hat. Harry introduced him to Cordell and they shook hands. Berman opened his trunk and brought out a box that he handed to Harry. “The weapons you requested, with appropriate cartridges.” He went back to his trunk and took out the rifle wrapped in brown paper. “Who would like this?”

Harry nodded at Cordell and Berman handed him the rifle. “A silenced Mauser, eight millimeter, seven point nine to be exact, fitted with a scope.” Berman paused. “You have returned, Herr Levin, and you need a lot of guns. I hope everything is okay.”

“Now it is,” Harry said.

They drove to a secluded area north of the city, parked in an empty lot next to an abandoned building. Cordell unwrapped the rifle. There were four five-round stripper clips taped to the stock. He loaded the rifle, screwed the silencer on the end of the barrel, adjusted the scope and got out of the car. Cordell brought the stock to his shoulder, worked the bolt, fed a round into the chamber, aiming at a chemical barrel about a hundred yards away. He squeezed the trigger, heard a pfft sound, felt the rifle buck and hit the center stripe he was aiming for.

Harry opened the box, looking at a Smith & Wesson .38 with a rubber grip, a matte black .45 Colt Commander, and a box of cartridges for each gun. Harry opened the cylinder and slid in five .38 cartridges, snapped it closed and put the hammer on the empty chamber.

Harry parked down the street from Martz’s house. They needed a place to spend the night. Staying in a hotel was way too risky. Their passports would have been registered with the police and Harry would be on his way to jail.

Harry had no idea if the house had been sold, rented or what. He got out and walked to the front door, looked in the front window. Martz’s furniture was still there. He rang the bell. No one came. Harry walked around the side of the house. Tried the door, expecting it to be locked, but it wasn’t.

He went through the kitchen into the dining room, checked the salon and Martz’s study. Everything looked the same as it did the night Martz and Lisa were murdered.

Harry turned the light on and walked down the stairs into the cellar, thinking about the night he’d found Martz and Lisa naked and dead on the floor. Hess had shot both of them in the back of the head and positioned them next to each other. The chalk outlines of their bodies and bloodstains were still there.

“I think we’re okay,” Harry said, opening the front passenger door of the Mercedes. They brought in their suitcases and the guns. Harry was tired. He carried his things upstairs, stretched out on Martz’s bed and fell asleep.

When he woke up it was dark. Harry got up and went downstairs. Cordell was asleep on a couch in the salon. Harry shook him. Cordell opened his eyes and yawned. “What’s up?”

“Hungry? I’ll go pick something up. What do you feel like?”

“What do I feel like, Harry? I feel like gumbo with lots of okra. But what am I gonna get?”

“Roast chicken or bratwurst, or how about Chinese?”

“Yeah, okay, I could go for something Chinesey. You know ribs, sweet-and-sour chicken, egg rolls.”

“You got it. You can take a shower upstairs in Lisa’s room, but let’s keep the lights off. I don’t want any neighbors calling the police.”

Harry picked up the food and they ate by candlelight in the kitchen, neither talking while they polished off three entrees and four egg rolls. When Cordell finished he said, “Nervous about tomorrow?”

“Not yet.”

“Well I’m gonna be there watchin’ your back.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Remember coming to the hospital with the bolt cutter? You didn’t show up when you did I wouldn’t be here.” Cordell stacked the empty takeout containers and threw them in the trash.

“Better get some sleep,” Harry said.

“Don’t take credit for anything, do you? Just get the job done.”

“We’ll see.”

Harry opened his eyes looking at the clock. It was 5:05 a.m. He was thinking about Colette, picturing her coming in the hotel restaurant the day they met, every eye in the room on her as she sat at his table, Harry hoping she was single and available before he even met her. Today was the day. He’d meet someone at Frauenplatz. Harry would go with him and trade himself for Colette. But he had a surprise for them.