You win, Honey said. Go talk to your friend, I'll get you a drink.
He walked up to Jurgen and Jurgen put out his hand and Carl took it and couldn't help grinning at him. The escape artist, Carl said. You ought to write a book about how you did it, slipped out anytime you wanted.
You know who's writing a book, Shemane. I'll be in there with the whores and crooked politicians.
I'm not taking you in, Carl said, not now. I mean it's too late, and I don't have my heart in it.
I appreciate it, Jurgen said. What I'm going to do is become a star of the rodeo circuit riding bulls.
Talk to Gary Marion, Carl said. Remember that kid marshal, couldn't wait to shoot somebody? You know he left the marshals to ride bulls.
Yes, I'm going to look him up, get him to show me how to stay on the eight seconds.
Carl said, Here's a boy name of Tex Schrenk from Cologne, way out in the panhandle.
I keep wondering if I'll ever go back.
Why wouldn't you? Pay a visit, see your old dad.
He was killed in a bombing.
Carl said, I'm sorry to hear it. You can use mine if you ever need a dad. You know Virgil, you shook his pecan trees.
I loved Virgil, with his opinions.
Honey handed Carl a highball. He loved you too, he told me. Go ahead and pat each other's asses.
Now Walter came over with his water-glass martini.
I don't see you people mourning your Fnhrer, Franklin Roosevelt. Walter sounding more robust.
I'm wearing black, aren't I? Honey said. You want another martini? You've only had four.
I want to know, Walter said, what you think about your president and his unusually sudden death.
I think Stalin wore him out, Honey said. Dealing with that maniac. Vera said he was a pygmy, wore lifts in his shoes.
I might say, Walter said, the sudden and mysterious death of your president Carl said, What's the mystery about it?
The circumstances. You believe it or you don't. It doesn't matter to me.
Carl said, Walter, quit messin' with us and say what you're dying to tell.
Jurgen said, Tell us, Valter, sounding German, having fun drinking martinis, or I have you tortured.
Carl said, Honey told me on the phone. She said, 'Roosevelt's dead,' and I thought of you, Walter.
Honey was nodding. He did. He said, 'You don't think it was Walter, do you?' I said something smart like, 'Not unless he has the paranormal ability to cause our president's brain to hemorrhage.'
Carl was shaking his head. You said, 'Not unless Walter got the president on the phone and bored him to death.'
Honey said, I did, didn't I? and turned to Walter. But I didn't mean it, Hun. The point I was making, no, you didn't have anything to do with the president's death, how could you?
Believe what you want, Walter said.
The buzzer buzzed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine.
Vera came in talking about the weather, how she thought this morning, good, they were going to have a spring shower for her perennials, but no, the dreadful gloomy sky remained a bore, refusing to open up and rain, for God's sake. Now she waved to Jurgen, Carl and Walter at the opposite end of the living room. She gave Honey a kiss on one cheek and then the other, close to her as she said, What are you looking for, chills and thrills? You're too smart to be involved with these people. You sell dresses.
Better dresses, Honey said. I have a cocktail dress, black, spaghetti straps, that would look stunning on you.
Really? What size?
Ten, Honey said. You haven't heard from Bo?
Not yet, Vera said and brightened, as if starting over. I'm sure he's with friends. He stays out all night, I say, 'You can't call, let me know where you are?'
They have no idea, Honey said, how mothers worry. I'm not his mother.
You know what I mean, Honey said. Come on, I'll get you a drink. Let me have your coat and your bag.
Vera slipped off her black Persian lamb and handed the coat to Honey. I'll hold on to the bag, with my cigarettes. Now she was looking down the length of the room. What are the gentlemen having? Is that an ice-cold martini Jurgen has? Bless your heart make mine very dry, please. Only a drop of vermouth.
Honey turned to the front closet and Vera raised her hand to Jurgen and Carl by the bookcase. Then to Walter seated by himself now, forlorn, frowning, and called to him, Walter, hold your head up. Your intention will be remembered by all of us. Think of it as God's intercession, Walter, stepping in front of you to have His own way with the president. She turned to Honey waiting for her. You people must think I'm insane talking like that. Especially Carl.
He knows what's going on, Honey said. Everyone seems to know what's going on, but no one makes a move to do anything.
The end is near, Vera said, holding her Persian lamb bag that matched the coat, and followed Honey to the kitchen. Have you heard that expression?
Honey stood by her bar set up on the counter. She watched Vera open her big envelope bag on the table to get at her cigarettes. With an olive?
Several, please, I'm famished.
I can make you a baloney sandwich, Honey said. Or an egg and baloney, with a slice of onion?
That's what you eat? I saw cheese and crackers in the other room, I'll gorge on that.
Honey offered a martini, several anchovy olives crowding the bottom of the stemware glass. Vera came over for it and held up the martini, staring at it as she said something to herself Honey watch- ing her painted lips move and finished the martini in one motion, then paused and poured the olives into her mouth, catching each one to chew and swallow, and now she was lighting a cigarette.
Another? Honey said.
Please, Vera said. I'll sip this one. Tell me how Walter's behaving.
He's drinking doubles, Honey said. He's louder than I've ever heard him and being very cagey. Only he doesn't know how to do it. He wants us to think he took some part in the president's death.
Vera nodded. Because he wanted so much to be his assassin. Poor Walter. What he knows how to do is cut meat.
Honey poured Vera's second martini and watched her pick it up and finish the drink in two swallows.
You didn't get olives that time.
It's all right. I'll have one more, Vera said. You can tell me how you're doing with the Hot Kid.
We came close, but now it's cooling off.
You're losing interest? I see Carl as a prize, if you can subdue him.
I'm pretty sure I could get him to fall in love with me, Honey said, if he isn't already. But I don't want to break up his marriage, be the other woman nobody likes. That's a drag.
You don't lack confidence, Vera said.
And I want to stay alive, Honey said. His wife's already shot two guys trying to mess up her life.
Vera said, What about Jurgen? You could go for him?
He's at the top of my list, Honey said. He's the best-looking guy I've ever met, he's kind, he's thoughtful for a Kraut. He takes his clothes off now there's a picture you want to keep.
I can imagine. I actually can, Vera said. Oh, you could have done so well in a job like mine. I can see them telling you whatever you want to know.
I've got a question for you, Honey said. Aren't the police looking for Bo?
She watched Vera deciding how to answer, her makeup overdone but it was Vera and it worked for her. Now she was starting to smile. Who told you that?
Carl said Bo took after him with a machine gun.
Bo? No, it must be someone else has it in for Carl. What's Bo got against him?
I didn't mean it that way. Bo has only met him I believe once. Carl sent the Detroit police after him.
That's who it was, Vera said. The police came to the house, I told them Bohdan was up north with his friends. They go in the forest, usually at the time of the equinox. They dance Bo calls it a rites of spring celebration.
You're putting me on, Honey said.
Really. Bo asked me to co
me along. I told him I'm not much on pagan rituals.
You're changing your story, Honey said.
Am I?
You said you haven't heard from Bo and wish he'd call. Only to keep it simple, Vera said. Otherwise you'd want to know if the police believed me, what they said. One of them asked me, 'Oh, they do the dance of the fairies up in the woods?' Do they? Honey said.
Earlier that evening Bo had thought of taking one of Dr. Taylor's pills, but wasn't sure which way to go, up or down, wide wide awake or loose as a goose. He had a few belts of ice-cold vodka before they left the house, Vera saying in the car, Can't you wait?
For what?
Until we get there.
You want to socialize first? Have a couple of drinks and say, 'Would you all form a line here, please, against the wall?' Darling, I'm going to walk in and hose the fucking room. Whoever's there will be lying in a pool of blood as we amscray.
Please, not Jurgen, Vera said.
Yes, Jurgen. We agreed, anyone who knows what you've been doing. Unless you want to clean the prison shithouse for twenty years. Anyone with style, that's the job you get. You have to realize, Vera, Jurgen is not fundamental to our future. He could fuck up our ability to stay out of prison. So I told the feds where to find him.
Vera said, You didn't Thinking they'd scoop him up and Jurgen would be out of the way. But nothing happened and now he's at Honey's. I can't help that. I prayed to the Black Madonna asking that only certain ones would be present. The Hotshot Kid I'm hoping for. Walter, we don't know what's become of him. Perhaps he'll make up for not getting to Roosevelt in time and assassinate Harry Truman.
The car was packed for their getaway: suitcases in the trunk, personal items and Vera's shoes in cardboard boxes on the back-seat. She had deposited Joe Aubrey's check for fifty thousand in a new account; later on they'd see about making withdrawals.
Bo pulled into the no-parking space in front of Honey's apartment building. He said to Vera, If you don't have the stomach for this, don't watch. But once they're down we strip them of money, anything we see of value, and we're off to Old MTjico humming 'La Cucaracha,' unless you know the words. Oh, once she buzzes you in, use something to jam the door open.
What do you suggest?
Anything, a box of matches. How I get in, Vera, is crucial. You take the elevator to the apartment. Honey's waiting at the door. You greet her, give her a kiss. And push the button to unlock the door. Can you do that?
All you have to do is knock. Don't you think she'll see who it is?
Vera, will you please unlock the fucking door? I want my entrance to be a complete surprise. 'Good God, where did he come from?' For several moments he was quiet, thinking. He said, You brought the umbrella.
In the trunk.
I place the Schmeisser in the umbrella You like calling it that, don't you? I wonder why?
With the stock removed, Bo said, and come up the stairway, so I don't run into anyone. I enter the apartment With the burp gun still in the umbrella?
What did I tell you? Bo impatient now, his nerves irritating him. I insert the magazine while I'm in the hall, before I make my entrance.
You come in shooting.
Yes, and it's done, all she wrote.
I wonder, Vera said, if one ever says it's all he wrote?
I've only heard it's all she wrote, Bo said. But I don't think the she refers to a particular person. But you know what? I should say something as I come in.
Vera said, You are pointing der Schmeisser at them. What's there to say?
I want to get them all looking at me.
How about Achtung ? Vera said.
Or I say, 'You know what this is for?'
Let them each take a guess?
This time Bo grinned. Yes, each one has a turn. Come on, what do I say to get them looking at me?
'It was nice knowing you'?
I'll think of something.
She opened the car door. I ask only one favor, Vera said. Make sure, please, I'm not in the fucking line of fire.
You have the Luger, just in case?
In my bag.
Thir ty It was in Vera's mind she'd forgot to do something, one item on Bo's list of instructions.
She had her handbag, holding it under her arm, martini in her other hand. She had come out of the kitchen to stand by the dining table at this end of the sitting room, Honey still in the kitchen making drinks.
Honey had put on a record, American Negro music, a little-girl voice asking wasn't she good to some guy.
Vera could sing it to Bo. Baby, ain't I good to you?
Letting him do this, and Bo saying what was three more after Odessa? Now four.
Coming in she saw Carl immediately and thought, Ah, Bo will be happy; though the sight of Carl, unexpected, caused her stomach to turn and gave her an uneasy feeling and she wanted Bo to come in and see Carl and shoot him before saying a word. Get rid of the Hot Kid quick or he'll put a notch on his gun to represent Bo Carl in a Spitfire with German crosses on the fuselage, Bo flying an ME-109 or a Focke-Wulf and if Bo didn't shoot him please right away before Carl says what he said each time, If I have to pull my gun . . . Once Bo shoots him he can say what he wants if he can keep it short. Get the other three together in front of the bookcase. It would be in newspapers tomorrow, late, in the newspaper wherever they were and in all the newspapers in America because one of the Four Murdered in Detroit Apartment was a German prisoner of war. What was he doing there? Were these people spies? Who killed them? Or were they executed? By then she and Bo could be in Texas. She was counting on Carl having gas stamps and expense money. Sorry, Carl, it's the war. The fucking war. Honey might have a few stamps. They'd look in her desk there against the wall opposite the sofa and the bookcase. Bo would stand by the desk. Come in and take his position.
Wait. What did Bo say was crucial?
And thought of what she'd forgot to do because she didn't write it down and look at the words.
Unlock the door.
Carl and Jurgen were talking about rodeo-ing.
Carl thought Jurgen was the right size to ride bulls, though on the high end, as most big-money bull riders tended to be small guys, five six, a hundred and a quarter. You'd think a long-legged rider'd fit the bull better. Carl said he never stayed the eight seconds on a bull any time he tried the amateur circuit on weekends when he was eighteen. He switched over to saddle broncs, couldn't stay on 'em either and went to college two and a half years and joined the marshals.
Jurgen said he knew he could ride bulls and be good at it. Know why? Because when his family returned to Germany after living here, it was 1935, they stopped in Spain and went to bullfights, good ones in Madrid and different towns and he wanted to be a matador de toros. He said he would cape bulls in a way that was both cold and serene, feet planted in the sand, taking the bull's charge and then killing the bull in the manner of Joselito, the stylist, perhaps a show-off, dead at twenty-five, but one of the great matadors of Spain. You would have worshipped him, Jurgen said to Carl.
But Jurgen didn't become a matador and kill bulls. He said now, he becomes a bull rider and the bulls will know, the way they know bull love, he never tormented bulls with a cape or ever killed one of them. He said the ones he rides will be grateful and take it easy on him.
Carl said he thought it sounded more like bull shit than bull lore. He told Jurgen if the bulls don't twist hard you don't make points riding 'em.
Honey brought them each a martini, Carl switching over because Jurgen's silver bullet looked so good in the delicate glass. Honey stayed with them. Jurgen was saying how he devoured Hemingway's book, talking about the one on the shelf here, because he loved the idea of Spain at that time, not because Germany was behind Franco. Jurgen was for the Loyalists, like Robert Jordan whose job in the book was to blow up a bridge. Carl said he read most of For Whom the Bell Tolls at his dad's house and thought of it as a western, up in the mountains riding horses. They could be in Mexico. Jurgen said he start
ed reading Zane Grey at the camp, speaking of westerns.
Carl said, 'When you call me that, smile'? I didn't care much for Zane Grey.
Walter stepped over to them. He said, You don't think Roosevelt's death was, well, curious, coming as it did?
Carl said, Jesus Christ, Walter, go sit down, will you?
Honey said, We don't accept your theory, Walter, whatever it is, and said, I tried Zane Grey once, I thought he was awfully old-timey the way he wrote.
Carl said, His books don't sound like he had any fun writing them. But you see ads, you can buy every book Zane Grey wrote and fill up a whole shelf. For people who don't know any better.
Honey said, What's Vera doing?
Carl and Jurgen looked over to watch her open the apartment door, look out in the hall and close it again.
Honey called to her, Vera . . . ?
She came over to them with her Persian lamb handbag and held up her martini to Honey. Notice I'm sipping now, having quenched my thirst.
Honey said, What were you doing just now?
I must be hearing things. I would swear someone was at the door. Carl said, We expecting somebody else?
Not that I know of, Honey said.
No, no, I was mistaken, Vera said, there's no one else.
It was the way she kept looking toward the door, fidgety now, taking quick little sips of her drink, Carl would bet all the expense money he had in his billfold, $124, Bohunk was about to walk in.
Vera would look toward the door.
So would Carl, over his shoulder.
Honey saying, Why're we standing when we can sit down? I'll put on another record. How about Sinatra?
Vera finished her martini, placed the glass on a bookshelf and glanced toward the door.
Carl did too, turning his head.
He watched the door come open a little at a time until there was Bo in a gray sweater and skirt holding his machine gun, Carl turning to Vera as she said to him, Do you like Frank Sinatra?