Strasser raised his hand in mock protest and smiled. “Okay, okay, Jackson. I’m not a professional hardnose. You can’t be one in this fucking man’s army. We got everything now but a goddamn union to contend with. You forget yourself and call some stupid black slob a ‘burrhead’ and he doesn’t go sulk behind the latrine, he calls a meeting and they start sending wires to their congressmen.”
He shook his head as if unable to understand, then said, “Now to the business of Private Jackson. The colonel’s name is Warneke. He’s got two seven-month-old German shepherd pups he wants to keep as pets for his daughters. They’ll live with the family so they gotta be toilet-trained and he wants them to go anywhere, even in traffic, with or without a lead. He doesn’t want any snapping, roughhousing or fear-biting. He doesn’t want them to take food from strangers because there’s so goddamn many kooks in Germany from Turkey and the Middle East and he’s also worried about terrorists trying to poison GI dogs or maybe even his kids.
“The colonel lives near the river by a big park, St. Hubert’s. My driver will drop you there in the morning, pick you up at night after you get the dogs back. You got twenty-one days at this locale, then we cut your new orders.”
Strasser stopped in front of Lasari, then circled him and looked him up and down from all angles. “You got some decent civilian clothes in that luggage of yours, soldier? The colonel don’t want his dogs to have a military complex.”
“Just slacks and a windbreaker.”
Strasser took a roll of German marks from his pocket and counted out a thick pack. “Get something to work in. And buy yourself a suit, some shirts and a tie. We’re going to be having dinner with some important people in a couple of nights. One guy from Yugoslavia named Vayetch, Pyter Vayetch. He spells the ‘Peter’ with a ‘y’ and he’s particular about that. You’ll be carrying something for him one of these days, so he wants to check you out. Just remember the rules, don’t bother guessing about any of it. You drink, Lasari?”
“I don’t need to, if that’s what you’re asking. Some red wine now and then, that’s about it.”
Strasser walked to one end of the bar and picked up an object in carved wood about two feet tall, a miniature mountain man with chiseled shirt and lederhosen, cocked hat, walking stick, and a simpleton’s smile. It had been beautifully crafted, with even the mock leather stitching on little britches defined. After studying it for a few moments, Strasser put the figure back on the bar, patting the head absently, as if showing affection to a child.
Without looking at Lasari, he said, “You met Greta, didn’t you?”
“The girl who was here? Yes, I met her.”
“She’ll talk your socks off about American television,” Strasser said. “Starsky and Hutch, Wonder Woman, Kojak... She calls him ‘my bald one.’ She thinks she means one-balled or eunuch or something like that. I can’t understand her when she goes off in German. Her favorites are Charlie’s Angels. She keeps scrapbooks on them and she’s got her hair cut like Farrah’s, you notice. Now she wants a motorcycle. She wants me to buy her one so she can ride up in back of me and wear white cowboy boots. She’s like every goddamn German I ever met. That’s all she thinks of — getting more.”
Strasser turned and looked steadily at Lasari. “She’s twenty-four years old but she’s just a kid. She may sound stupid, but she’s important to me. You understand what I’m telling you?”
“You told me not to understand things too fast,” Lasari said. “But if I’m going to be here three weeks, we’d better get this out in the open. There’s only one person in this setup who can keep the girl in your bedroom, Strasser, and that’s you.”
“But you’re the one who’s gotta walk easy. You’re the fucker Malleck has a file on.”
Lasari picked up his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Show me the room you’ve got for me and I’ll unpack.”
He followed the sergeant down a narrow hall till the man stopped at the doorway of a small room. “In here,” he said.
“Before you go, I want to point out something to you, Sergeant Strasser,” Lasari said. “I’ve got a lot to lose in this deal, I know that, but I’ve already lost a lot, haven’t I? So that gives me an advantage. I no longer have everything to lose but you have — and everyone better keep that in mind.”
Chapter Twenty-three
By driving through Indiana and Ohio at night, with only heavy-duty truck traffic, General Weir and Mrs. Devers pulled up at the triple-arched portico of the Greenbrier shortly before twelve noon the next day. Daffodils and grape hyacinth bloomed in the flowerbeds and the giant fir trees were already touched with the pale finger growths of a southern spring. There were traces of snow in the high, wooded areas of Greenbrier County, but here in the Allegheny Mountain valley, the air was mild, almost warm.
“Our man will take your luggage around to your cottage, sir. How many pieces do you have?”
“Six and two sets of clubs,” General Weir said as he filled out the registration blank in the opulent lobby. “Mrs. Devers and I will be staying with you for a while.”
“Good,” the desk clerk said. “I’ve taken the liberty, General Weir, of putting your party in D guest house in South Carolina row. That group was built more than a hundred years ago, but of course they’re completely up-to-date. Carolina Row was a favorite of Curtis Lee, the general’s oldest son. You have two bedrooms and the lady has a dressing parlor.”
“That’s fine,” Weir said. “Is there some kind of bar setup?”
“Yes,” the man said. “There is a pantry next to the dining room and the hotel can send your meals over. And of course bar service is available by phone twenty-four hours a day.”
“I’m sure we’ll be comfortable,” Laura Devers said.
“And may I also point out that we have a fine military history here. Not far from you, on Baltimore Row, is the guest house that General Robert E. Lee once used as his summer retreat. I would have given you those quarters but they’ve been reserved by a honeymoon couple. It’s a second marriage,” the clerk added.
In their spacious, sunny quarters, Mrs. Devers sprawled into a leafprint chair and put her feet on an ottoman. “God, Scotty,” she said. “Must we start before lunch? Can’t it wait at least until tomorrow morning?”
“Laura,” he said, “for the appearance of things, I’d like to have you along. We’ll take a golf cart, but I want to play the Lakeside and Greenbrier courses before dark tonight. Do one of them with me. And I’ll play Old White myself tomorrow if you want to sleep in.”
“Scotty, I don’t want to argue with a great military mind,” she said, “but I don’t see why you have to do it this way. The Valley Airport is no more than fifteen miles by car, and Piedmont Airlines can fly you most anywhere.”
“All right then, we won’t argue,” he said. “I’ll just proceed as planned. I’m depending on you.” He walked into the small, efficient pantry, opened the refrigerator and called out, “Laura, we’re in luck. They’ve already stocked the bar. Will a Bloody Mary do you instead of lunch?”
All three resort golf courses began and ended at the clubhouse and after playing the eighteen holes of the Lakeside course, Scotty Weir dropped Laura Devers at the club and went off alone to play the Greenbrier.
It was after six when he crossed the veranda of the guest cottage, the red and white striped awnings fluttering, a smell of early lilac scenting the breeze. He had called the stables from the clubhouse and asked that a horse be brought round for him as soon as the sun was up.