Maybe a little of that showed on his face. Or maybe Dieter Kuhn was a pretty fair needler in his own right. Deadpan, he asked, “And how is it with Indianapolis these days?”
Auerbach shrugged. “All I know is what I read in the newspapers. Newspapers here say what the Lizards want.”
“The French are whores.” Kuhn didn’t bother keeping his voice down. “They gave to the Reich. Now they give to the Race.” He rose, threw down enough jingly aluminum coins to cover the tab, and strode away.
Penny went back to English: “That’s one unhappy fellow, even if he hides it pretty good.”
“You bet,” Rance agreed. “I’ll tell you, I like him a hell of a lot better by his lonesome than in front of a bunch of soldiers toting submachine guns.”
“Amen!” Penny said fervently. “You know something, Rance? I’m goddamn tired of having people point guns at me, is what I am.”
After lighting another foul-smelling French cigarette, Auerbach eyed her through the smoke he puffed out. “You know, kid, you might have picked the wrong line of work in that case.”
She laughed. “Now why the hell didn’t I think of that?”
“We’re not doing too bad here this time around,” Rance said. “Better than I expected we would, I’ll say that.”
Instead of laughing again, Penny pretended to faint. That made Auerbach laugh, which made him start coughing, which made him feel as if his chest were coming to pieces. Penny thumped him on the back. It didn’t help much. She said, “Don’t tell me things like that. My heart won’t stand it.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to make a habit of it.” Auerbach filled his glass from the carafe of red wine that sat on the table. “This is a complicated deal, you know? We’ve got to stay on Dutourd’s good side on account of we’re doing business with him, and we’ve got to stay on Kuhn’s good side on account of we’re doing business with him, too, and they don’t like each other for beans.”
“It’d be a lot easier if you didn’t have anything to do with that damn Nazi,” Penny said. “We don’t need to, not as far as money’s concerned.”
“Oh, I know,” Rance answered. “But I told that Roundbush son of a bitch that I was going to tie a tin can to his tail, and I damn well meant it. He laughed at me. Nobody laughs at me and gets away with it. Nobody, you hear?”
Penny didn’t say anything right away. She lit a cigarette of her own, took a puff, made a face, and took a sip of wine to help get rid of the taste. She studied him through her smoke screen. At last, words did come from her: “Anybody took a look at you or listened to you for just a little while, he’d figure you were a wreck.”
“He’d be right, too,” Rance said at once, with a certain perverse pride.
But Penny shook her head. She drew on the cigarette again. “Goddamn, I don’t know why I smoke these things, except I get so jumpy when I don’t.” She paused. “Where was I? Oh, yeah. You’re like an old crowbar all covered with rust. Anybody looks at it, he figures he can break it over his knee. But it’s solid iron in the middle. You can smash somebody’s head in with it as easy as not.”
Auerbach grunted. He wasn’t used to praise-even ambiguous praise like that-from her. And he enjoyed feeling decrepit; whenever he failed at something, he had a built-in excuse. He said, “Hell, my own crowbar doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to half the time these days.”
Penny snorted. Then she said, “You’re sandbagging,” which held an uncomfortable amount of truth. “You want to head back to the hotel, or you want to come shopping with me?”
“I’ll head back to the hotel,” he said without the least hesitation. “You go shopping the way a big-game hunter goes on safari.” That was also a compliment of sorts.
Penny headed off to pit her bad French and her air of Midwestern naivete against the merchants of Marseille. Rance took a taxi over to La Residence Bompard. He hadn’t been there long before somebody knocked on the door. The Luger he’d acquired wasn’t legal, but a lot of the things he’d been doing in France weren’t legal. “Who is it?” he asked, his raspy voice sharp with suspicion-he wasn’t expecting company.
To his surprise, the answer came back in English: “It is I-Monique Dutourd.”
“Oh.” He slid the pistol into a pocket before opening the door. “Hello,” he said, also in English. “Come in. Make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.” She looked around the room, then slowly nodded. “Yes. This is what it is like to be civilized. I remember. It has been a while.”
“Sit down,” Auerbach said. “Can I get you some wine?” She shook her head. He asked, “What can I do for you, then?”
“I wish to know”-her English was slow and precise; she had to think between words, as he did for French, though she spoke a little better-“why it is that you are friendly with that SS man, that Dieter Kuhn.” She said several words after that in incandescent French, French nothing like what he’d studied at West Point. He didn’t know exactly what they meant, but the tone was unmistakable.
“Why?” he said. “Because he and I have an enemy who is the same. Do you remember Goldfarb, the Jew that English ginger dealer sent here when this was still part of the Reich?” He waited for her to nod, then went on, “I am using the Nazi to take revenge on the Englishman.”
“I see,” she said. “If it were me, I would use the Englishman to take revenge on the Nazi, who made me into his harlot. Is that a proper English word, harlot?”
“I understand it, yes,” Rance said uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Miss Dutourd, but what it looks like to me is, a lot of the people in the ginger business are bastards, and you have to pick the one who will help you the most at any one time. For me right now, that’s Kuhn. Like I say, I’m sorry.”
“You are…” She groped for a word again. “Forthright.” Rance smiled. He couldn’t help himself. He’d never heard anybody actually say forthright before. He waved for her to go on, and she did: “In this, you are like my brother. He makes no apology for what it is that he does, either.”
“I’m not sorry to do the Lizards a bad turn any way I can,” Rance said. “Turning them into ginger addicts isn’t as good as shooting them, but it will do.”
“I do not love the Lizards, but I feel about the Boches as you feel about they-about them.” Monique Dutourd corrected herself.
“And how does your brother feel?” Auerbach wasn’t about to waste a chance to gather information on the people with whom he was dealing.
He got more than he bargained for. “Pierre?” Monique Dutourd’s lip curled in fine contempt. “As long as he can get his money, he does not care whence it comes.” Auerbach hadn’t heard whence very often, either. He got the idea she’d learned English from books. She added, “And if he does not get his money when he should, then unfortunate things, it could be, would happen.”
Sure as hell, that was worth knowing. All the same, Rance might have been happier not hearing it. He and Penny remained small fish in a tank full of sharks.
Peking was home. Liu Han hadn’t been sure, not when she first came back to the city, but it was. To her real astonishment, she even found herself glad to be eating noodles more often than rice.
“This is very strange,” she said to Liu Mei, using her chopsticks to grab a mouthful of buckwheat noodles from their bowl of broth and slurping them up. “Noodles felt like foreign food to me when I first came here.”
“They’re good.” Liu Mei took noodles for granted. Why not? She’d been eating them all her life.
Talking about noodles was safe. This little eatery wasn’t one where Party members gathered. The scrawny man at the next table might have been a Kuomintang operative. The fat fellow on the other side, the one who looked as if he’d bring in a good sum if rendered into grease, might have worked for the little scaly devils. That was, in fact, pretty likely. Men who worked for the scaly devils made enough to let them eat well.
“Hard times,” Liu Han said with a sigh.
Her daughter nodded. “But better days are coming. I’m sure of it.” Saying that was safe, too. All sides-even the little devils-thought their triumph meant better times ahead for China. Liu Han raised the bowl of noodles to her face and took another mouthful. She hoped that would cover the outrage she might show when thinking of what a triumph by the little scaly devils would mean.
They finished eating and got up to go. They’d already paid-this wasn’t the sort of place where the proprietor would trust people to leave money on the counter. As they went out onto the hutung- the alley-in front of the little food shop, Liu Han said, “We finally have enough tea in the city.”
“Do we?” Liu Mei said as men and women, all intent on their own affairs, hurried past. The hutung was in shadow; it was so narrow that the sun had to be at just the right angle to slide down into it. A man leading a donkey loaded with sacks of millet had people flattening themselves against the walls to either side to let him by. Liu Mei didn’t smile-she couldn’t-but her eyes brightened at what her mother said. “That’s good. It took us long enough.”
Before Liu Han could answer, a fly lit on the end of her nose. Looking at it cross-eyed, she fanned her hand in front of her face. The fly flew off. It was, of course, only one of thousands, millions, billions. They flourished in Peking as they did in peasant villages. Another would probably land on her somewhere in a minute.