Joseph Kanon - Stardust

“That’s what they think this is?”

“I have to tell you, don’t take this wrong, when I got the call the first thing I thought-I mean, same place.”

“Monkey see. Maybe a better story.”

“Don’t be like that. It’s what anybody would-”

“If I’d been the one who went over? I know. That’s what he wanted you to think.”

“Who? What are you saying?”

“Whoever paid-what was it, Ray?” He looked at Kelly. “Want something better than robbery? First of all, there’s nothing to steal,” he said, feeling Ray’s hands in his pocket again, not something for Kelly. “The door wasn’t forced. I had to open it with a key. But he was already in.”

“Door’s not a problem for guys like that.”

“Especially if they have a key.”

Kelly looked at him, waiting.

“You know, I never saw his face. He hit me from behind. All he had to do was walk away. If he wanted to kill me, a few more head taps would have done it. So why go through all the trouble? Lugging me out there. Maybe so you’d say, ‘the first thing I thought.’ Anybody would. They’d think I’d been planning to do it.”

“But how would he know?”

“Well, Kelly, how would he?”

“You think he did your brother?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Find out who paid him. But that’s how Danny was killed. I know it. For a few minutes there, I was him. Don’t worry,” he said, touching the head bandage, “I’m not going spooky on you. I just saw how it had to be. Find out who paid him. Work it from that side. Is he the kind who brags? Maybe there’s a girl. He get the money yet?”

“You’re so sure about this.”

“Fine, do it as a robbery. Maybe you get a column. The double jump would have been better, but I screwed that up for you. But a murder? Two? That the police never saw? Exclusive? That’s a ticket up.” He looked directly at him. “No more moonlighting.”

Kelly said nothing for a minute.

“Why don’t the police see it?” he said, biting.

“Because they’re traffic cops. And they like robbery. Come on, Kelly, nobody was supposed to see it. Ask around. Who paid him?”

Kelly picked up his hat to go. “And the pachucos will tell me. Swell.”

“It’s a bigger story.”

Kelly looked at him, a small, ironic smile. “Any studio connection?”

After he’d gone, Liesl moved to the chair next to the bed. “Did you really think that? That you were Daniel?”

“I just saw how it made sense.”

“Imagine if you could do that. Know what somebody was thinking. He could tell you-well.”

“But I know what he’d do. Maybe it took a knock on the head, but it’s clear now.”

He began throwing back the covers.

“What are you doing?”

“I have to get out of here.”

“Don’t be-”

“Listen to me. Heinrich’s in trouble. There isn’t much time.”

“Trouble?”

“I’ll explain later. Where did they put my clothes? Help me, Liesl. I’m all right. See?” he said, getting out of bed and standing. “Not even dizzy.”

But then he was, weaving slightly, putting his hand on the bed to steady himself.

“Get back into bed,” she said, taking his elbow.

“It’s my fault, understand? My fault. I have to help.” He took a breath, exhaled. “There. I just got winded for a second.” He looked down at the adhesive tape on his lower chest. “The rib makes it hard to breathe, that’s all. Here, help me with this shirt.”

“You can’t just walk out. The doctor has to release you.”

“What would Danny have done? Would he have waited?”

She looked at him. “That was different.”

He walked over to the closet, Liesl trailing him.

“We can’t go back to the Cherokee, the cops’ll still be there, so we’ll have to use your car. My wallet’s here. I can use my military ID, they’re not going to say no to that. He’ll need his passport, though.”

“Passport? What are you talking about?”

He took her arm. “I have to get him out. I can do it. But I need you to help me.”

“Get him out,” she said, looking at his head.

“I’m all right. I’m not crazy.”

“No, excited,” she said quietly, looking at him.

“Drop me at the house. Then you go to Heinrich’s alone, in case anybody’s watching,” he said, pulling on his pants.

“Why would anyone be watching?” she said nervously.

“Don’t pack. His landlady sees a suitcase, she’ll start-but anything he really wants. Take a grocery bag, so it looks like stuff for dinner. And the passport, don’t forget. I’ll explain everything to him when you get back. If he doesn’t want to, fine, we give him dinner and drive him home. But he will.”

“With a grocery bag,” she said. “Like a knapsack. And then what? We cross the mountain?”

“No,” he said, buttoning his shirt, too busy to hear her tone. “I get him to Mexico.”

“Mexico.”

“It’s just a drive.” Why the movie people came in the first place, dodging Edison’s patents, sun, and a convenient border. According to Sol anyway. “Where’s my hat? I’m going to need a hat to cover this,” he said, fingering the bandage. “Your father’s in touch with the Germans there. Some of them will know Heinrich. He’ll need help. How much cash do you keep at home?”

“Some. It’s something you learn, in case.”

“Okay, shoes.” He stood up.

“Stop. A minute. Listen to me. You’re in no condition to drive. You’ll both be killed and then what?”

“I have to.”

“Oh, have to. So pigheaded. Just like-” She stopped, looking away. “It’s serious? His trouble?”

He nodded.

“All right, I’ll drive. Don’t,” she said, holding up a hand. “Anyway, it’s my car.”

“You’re sure?” he said, pleased, as if he were extending a hand.

She shrugged, a pretend indifference. “You can’t go alone. It’s breaking the law?”

“Not yet. In a few days it would, but he’ll be gone.”

“Over the border,” she said. “I thought it was finished, all that business.”

Kaltenbach grasped the situation right away. Ben had expected indecision, an arguing back and forth, but the urgency had jolted him into an oddly calm self-assurance, all his usual dithering put away like bits of stage business.

“A political trial,” he said. “Now here.”

“No, it’s a hearing. Closed at first. It’s not the Nazis,” Ben said. “It would be a mistake to think that. To decide that way. It’s not camps or-”

“But a political trial all the same,” Kaltenbach said evenly. “I know what it means.”

“There’s no danger to you. You’re not being charged with anything. Not even being a Communist.”

“Just politically unreliable. So no work at the studios.”

“You’re not working there now,” Ostermann said. They were drinking coffee near the end of the pool terrace, the city below, lights coming on in the dusk.

“No, not for a long time,” Kaltenbach said. “Now longer.”

“I want you to understand,” Ben said. “If you leave, you won’t be able to come back. They’d make sure of that.”

“It’s not like before,” Ostermann said. “What choice did we have? Now there’s a choice. You can’t take this lightly.”

“That’s why you came over? To talk me out of it?”

“No. I talked to Anna in Mexico City. Seghers, you remember. It’s not easy to make a call there. An hour to get through. But I thought she would know somebody. Or somebody who-so, here’s an address in Tijuana. Who can help with arrangements. I said you’d be there tomorrow. If you go.”

“No, tonight,” Kaltenbach said firmly.

“Then I came to say good-bye,” Ostermann said. “If you’re sure.”