Henderson's Boys: Grey Wolves

  Curfew ended at sunrise. At the first chink of light Henderson went down with a bucket of water. He wiped bloody finger marks from around the keyhole in the front door and was impressed that PT had managed to pick the lock while on the verge of passing out. He poured the water over the doorstep and used a stiff broom to wipe dots of dried blood from the doorstep.

  ‘You’re cleaning up,’ a woman said frostily. ‘To what do we owe this miracle?’

  Henderson turned back down the hallway and saw the two elderly sisters who lived on the ground floor. They worked as cleaners in one of Madame Mercier’s bars.

  ‘Good morning, my dears,’ Henderson said mockingly. ‘Absolutely lovely to see you again.’

  As the two women stepped out he considered warning them about what had happened the night before, but didn’t feel the miserable old bats deserved it. Once they were out of sight, he strolled along to the back door of Mamba Noir and checked for any sign of a struggle. The exit had been unlocked by kitchen staff but he didn’t bother going inside.

  Back in the apartment, PT had sat himself up. He looked white and his voice wavered, but at least he was conscious.

  ‘Morning,’ Henderson said, keeping deliberately upbeat. ‘How’s our wounded soldier?’

  ‘Shaking like a leaf,’ PT said.

  ‘Hungry?’

  ‘I’ll try something,’ PT answered warily. ‘God knows if it’ll stay down.’

  Henderson usually relied on Mamba Noir leftovers for breakfast, but he made some coffee, found some stale bread and cut the last few pieces off a small joint of ham.

  ‘You’ve lost a pint of blood, maybe two,’ Henderson said as PT sat on the edge of Marc’s bed, biting the end off a piece of ham. ‘You could do with a transfusion, but I daren’t take you near a hospital.’

  ‘Is that serious?’ PT asked.

  ‘You’re young and fit. You’ll survive, provided we keep infection out of that wound. Your blood pressure will be very low, so you’re going to feel weak for some time. Most likely sick and giddy if you move about too much.’

  ‘I think I worked that much out for myself.’

  ‘So how did the German die?’ Henderson asked. ‘I stayed awake all night with my gun on the table. I’m surprised we haven’t had house-to-house searches.’

  ‘It wasn’t me that killed him,’ PT said, shaking his head. ‘This madman started on me with a bread knife for no reason. They shot him in the leg after he cut the German’s throat. So they’re probably not looking for a killer.’

  Henderson knew PT’s reputation for con tricks and doubted that someone had simply stabbed him for no reason. But he didn’t push the point, this wasn’t the time for an interrogation.

  ‘Was the killer shot dead?’ Henderson asked.

  ‘He was knocked out for sure. I didn’t stick around to see if he was dead.’

  ‘If he isn’t and they question him he’ll be begging for his life,’ Henderson said. ‘He could blame you for starting the fight. The Germans have rounded a lot of people up, including Marc by the looks of it. It’s possible they’ll be looking for someone with a stab wound fitting your description.’

  PT felt guilty. ‘How did Marc get picked up?’

  ‘Behind the club, looking for Joel’s message. Do you think you can make it downstairs?’

  ‘Probably,’ PT said. ‘But I won’t be walking far.’

  Henderson nodded. ‘I’ve got to go to the stable and tell Edith that Marc’s not around to do his delivery route. I’ll try and get a cart to take you out to stay in the country with Paul, Boo and Rosie.’

  ‘I don’t even know where they’re living,’ PT said.

  ‘Even I don’t know their exact location,’ Henderson said. ‘But I know it’s somewhere well out of the way and I know where Marc meets Paul to pass on messages every morning.’

  *

  Gestapo HQ had less than a dozen proper cells. With more than fifty people rounded up for interrogation most prisoners had spent the night in the dank wine cellar beneath the villa’s kitchens. Marc nestled under an archway and kept his eyes half open.

  There was clearly no method behind the Gestapo’s round-up. Some people took being locked up in their stride, while others shook with terror. One of the drunks set a barmaid off in hysterics when he said they were all waiting for a firing squad. Two women who hadn’t seen each other in years caught up, talking husbands, kids, jobs and scandals.

  There was daylight coming through the barred slots up by the ceiling when Madame Mercier came into the room with smeared make-up, torn dress and a large bloody welt down her right arm. She was probably the best-known and definitely the most controversial woman in Lorient. Many admired her skill as a businesswoman and the comparative decency with which she treated her staff. Others reviled her as a corrupt brothel keeper and a German collaborator.

  People seemed frightened of her as she limped into the room, but all Marc saw was an old lady who’d taken a beating. He gave her an arm and led her back to his spot under the arch.

  ‘What are you all gawping at?’ Madame Mercier shouted. ‘I’m not a bloody circus.’

  When she settled on the stone floor, Marc caught a whiff of urine off her dress. He was disgusted, partly by the smell but also by the idea that Oberst Bauer had frightened her so much that she’d pissed herself.

  ‘You OK?’ Marc asked, as he stroked the back of her trembling hand.

  She spoke extremely quietly because sound carried easily around the stone cellar. ‘There’s nothing you or your father need to worry about. It’s politics.’

  Marc didn’t reply, but Madame Mercier felt the need to talk.

  ‘I have good relations with the army and the navy,’ she explained. ‘Oberst Bauer doesn’t like the influence I have over certain people, and wants me to know that he can drag me back to his little torture chamber any time I do something that displeases him.’

  Madame Mercier’s dealings were largely a mystery to Marc, so all he could do was squeeze her hand tighter and whisper, ‘You’ll be all right.’

  ‘I overheard Bauer saying that someone blew up nine trains,’ she said, as she gave Marc’s hand a small but triumphant squeeze.

  Marc was elated, but his smile didn’t last long.

  ‘The Gestapo rounded up dozens of suspected communists after the invasion of Russia,’ she continued. ‘They’re going to shoot one communist prisoner for each engine that was damaged.’

  *

  After helping PT to use the chamberpot, Henderson left the house and cut through Mamba Noir. The cleaning staff had been in for an hour already, but some of the restaurant tables still bore half-eaten meals abandoned the previous night.

  Going through the revolving door on to the main drag was an even bigger shock. After the soldier was killed, groups of off-duty Germans had gone on a brief but highly destructive rampage, avenging the death of their colleague by kicking in doors, throwing café tables through windows and beating up anyone unfortunate enough to be in their way.

  Across the street a four-strong German patrol had a young man pinned against the wall. Henderson wondered what questions they were asking, but the man was getting slapped about so it wasn’t a good idea to stick around.

  A big cart pulled by two horses was coming out of the narrow stable entrance as Henderson approached. He found Edith in an empty stall, shovelling manure into a wheelbarrow.

  ‘Did you get back into town OK?’ Henderson asked.

  ‘Lucky I was indoors before any trouble started,’ Edith said. ‘Have you heard anything?’

  Once Henderson had explained the situation with Marc and PT, Edith gave her news.

  ‘The driver who just went out to the brewery said the Krauts have already started putting notices up. There’s gonna be a nine p.m. curfew. All clubs, bars and restaurants for French people in the centre of town are shut until further notice.’

  Henderson sucked air between his teeth. ‘Madame Mercier will have a few things to say to her German
friends about that.’

  ‘Gestapo have got her,’ Edith said.

  Henderson gulped. Marc being in custody was unfortunate, but Madame Mercier as well could mean that the Gestapo had suspicions about their operations.

  ‘How do you know?’ he asked.

  ‘I stayed in my room above Café Mercier last night. The girls were all talking about it. The owners of the big clubs and bars were rounded up.’

  Henderson sounded relieved. ‘So not just Madame Mercier?’

  ‘No,’ Edith said. ‘What about the trains? I think I heard the explosion.’

  ‘Something went bang for sure,’ Henderson said. ‘But I’ve got no idea how effective it was.’

  ‘I could go up there later and take a peek,’ Edith said.

  Henderson shook his head. ‘Too risky. What matters right now is finding a way of getting PT out of town. Can I borrow a cart?’

  ‘Of course,’ Edith said. ‘But it’s probably better if I drive him. I’ll have to do Marc’s delivery route if he’s not around. The dairy is outside of town, so I can see if there’s extra security when I pick the milk up. Then I can go back a bit later with PT.’

  ‘That sounds ideal.’

  ‘No problem,’ Edith said, before breaking into a grin. ‘Of course if I’m out for most of the day, I’ll need someone here to muck out and feed the horses.’

  Henderson clearly didn’t fancy doing this himself. ‘They’ll need me at Mamba Noir if Madame Mercier isn’t around. I’ll speak to the cleaners. I’m sure one of them will be happy to do it for a few extra francs.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The food collection route took an hour longer than usual because the Germans had put up snap checkpoints all over town. But if the Gestapo had it in for Madame Mercier, the message hadn’t been passed down to regular soldiers yet: Edith drove the cartload of black market foods past every checkpoint unscathed, apart from the usual petty thefts of fruit and a senior officer helping himself to a nice bottle of wine.

  When she got back to Mamba Noir, Henderson came out of the rear entrance followed by a pair of kitchen porters who began unloading the cart.

  ‘I met Paul by the trough and explained what’s going on,’ Edith told Henderson in a whisper, as the porters took a milk churn off the cart behind her. ‘He’s going to wait for me at the dairy and take me to their place. Says it’s a half-hour ride each way. There’s also a doctor in their village who they think they can trust.’

  ‘Where would I be without you, Edith?’ Henderson asked. ‘Do you want to go inside for a spot of lunch while I help PT get down the stairs? The irony is, you’ve brought all this food and we’re not even sure if we’ll be allowed to open.’

  Edith thought about Mamba Noir’s eccentric status. Every other bar and club in town was either for French people and had been ordered to close, or for Germans and was allowed to stay open. Mamba Noir was uniquely open to both.

  ‘I’d bet they’ll let you open but just allow Germans in.’

  ‘You could be right,’ Henderson said. ‘But I’m the bar manager and I’m not making waves. We’re staying shut until I get clear instructions from the Krauts.’

  ‘Have you heard anything about Marc?’

  ‘A friend of Madame Mercier’s has been up to Gestapo headquarters,’ Henderson said. ‘They didn’t let her in, but they’ve pinned a list of prisoners on the gate. Marc’s name was there, so at least I’m certain where he is.’

  As Edith headed inside to grab a quick lunch, Henderson jogged down the street and upstairs to his apartment. PT had some of his colour back, but still looked weak as he lay on Marc’s bed.

  ‘How’s it going, champ?’

  ‘Hurts like hell,’ PT said. ‘I get really woozy if I try going more than a few paces.’

  ‘That’s the blood loss. Is it still oozing?’

  ‘A bit,’ PT said, as Henderson walked into his bedroom. ‘At least the stitches you put in are holding up OK.’

  Henderson re-emerged with a shirt, two vests and a necktie. He folded one vest into a square pad and told PT to knot it over his wound using the tie. He then gave him the other vest to pull over the top, before helping with the buttons.

  ‘That should be enough layers to stop the blood soaking to the outside,’ Henderson said. ‘We’ve got a few minutes while Edith eats her lunch. Put your arms around my neck. I’ll try a piggyback.’

  Henderson crouched down. He wasn’t a huge man, but he was strong and carried PT without straining.

  ‘Duck,’ Henderson said, as he went through the doorway and on to the landing.

  PT’s gut tore painfully on every step, but he took the pain and tilted his head sideways so that he didn’t scrape the ceiling as they went down. Four steps from the bottom there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Coming,’ Henderson shouted, thinking it was Edith and taking his time.

  But the blur through the frosted panes in the front door was too big for Edith. A Germanic shout sent Henderson into a panic. He dumped PT against the wall of the downstairs hallway and ran for the door.

  ‘Mr Hortefeux?’ the German shouted, as he pounded again.

  Henderson opened up to a bulky, black-uniformed Gestapo officer.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Henderson said, uncomfortably aware that he’d have a lot of explaining to do if the officer wanted to come inside and found PT propped against the wall.

  ‘I am Oberst Bauer,’ the German said importantly. ‘I’ve been informed that you have the keys to Madame Mercier’s safe?’

  ‘I do,’ Henderson said. ‘But I don’t have access to her office, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ Bauer said. ‘Come at once.’

  Bauer led Henderson on the short walk to Mamba Noir and upstairs to Madame Mercier’s first-floor office. The office door had been broken down with a fire axe. Two junior Gestapo officers stood inside turning out desk drawers and throwing about the contents of her filing cabinet. There was no method to their search, it was all about intimidation.

  ‘If there’s something you’re looking for, I’m sure …’

  Bauer shook his head as he snatched the safe key. He looked disappointed as the door swung open revealing several thousand francs and four cash register drawers filled with loose change.

  ‘Step into the corridor with me,’ Bauer said to Henderson in a friendly tone. ‘The name Hortefeux. I questioned a boy with that name last night.’

  ‘My son,’ Henderson said. ‘Unfortunately he was picked up when he came back here to fetch something. He’s a good boy. Can I assume he’ll be released soon?’

  Bauer shrugged.

  ‘I see very many signs of black market activity in this club,’ Bauer said. ‘Madame Mercier must have many connections to get away with these flagrant breaches of regulations, don’t you agree?’

  ‘I work behind the bar, sir,’ Henderson said. ‘I don’t involve myself in Madame Mercier’s business, and I don’t think I’d be working here for much longer if I did.’

  ‘But a man in your position must see and hear interesting things,’ Bauer said, as a filing cabinet was toppled inside the office. ‘People who’ve had too much to drink and say things they don’t mean to? These things could be of interest to the Gestapo.’

  ‘Discretion comes with the job in a place like this,’ Henderson said. ‘And you’re always on the move. It’s not like you get to stand still for half an hour listening to a conversation.’

  ‘How do you feel about us Germans occupying your country?’ Bauer asked.

  This was a tricky question. If Henderson fawned, Bauer might feel that he was saying what he wanted to hear, but saying he wanted the Germans booted out would hardly go down well either.

  ‘Well …’ Henderson began, before a pause to think. ‘I’m a patriotic Frenchman, but I don’t see things ever going back the way they were. We’ve got to move forwards and learn to get along.’

  Bauer laughed. ‘That’s a very diplomatic answer, Mr Hortefeux. I tak
e it you’d like to see your son released soon?’

  ‘Naturally,’ Henderson said, deeply uneasy as he sensed that Marc had become a pawn.

  ‘If I see to it that your son is looked after, can I have your assurance that I’ll be the first to hear of anything untoward involving Madame Mercier, or anything else you might hear that is of interest to the Gestapo?’

  Henderson pretended to be shocked. ‘Sir, my son hasn’t done anything wrong except be in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t be sure,’ Bauer said teasingly. ‘I believe he may have been involved in trafficking black market foodstuffs around town and offering items to German soldiers to get through checkpoints. I wonder how well your son would withstand a lengthy and uncomfortable interrogation.’

  ‘I see what you’re getting at,’ Henderson nodded, fighting to keep nerves out of his voice as he fished for information. ‘I’m sure we can come to some arrangement. Is there anything in particular that you’d like me to look out for?’

  ‘You seem like a smart man, Mr Hortefeux,’ Bauer said, as he smiled conceitedly. ‘I’m sure you can work out what I’m likely to find interesting.’

  With that, Bauer leaned into Madame Mercier’s ravaged office and shouted to his two goons in German. ‘Come on, let’s go to the old bag’s house. We can strangle her cat and break a few ornaments.’

  *

  When Edith saw the Gestapo officer leading Henderson upstairs she put down her lunch, ran up the street to Henderson’s house and shouted through the letterbox.

  ‘Are you PT?’

  PT couldn’t bend forwards because of his stomach wound, so he shuffled along the wall and opened the front door.

  ‘You must be Edith. What’s going on with Henderson?’

  ‘They’re upstairs searching, so they’ll be a few minutes. If I bring the cart along, can you climb up on your own?’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ PT said.

  So Edith brought the cart up, and gave PT as much support as her skinny frame allowed as he stepped on to the cart. After closing Henderson’s front door she looked behind for any sign of Gestapo before setting off.