“What if anybody bolts?”
“Take ’em down,” said Grannit. “If they draw a weapon, shoot ’em.”
Grannit followed them downstairs. The fog had grown so thick he could no longer make out any faces from the window.
The American deserter William Sharper had spotted the MPs at a border post, abandoned the jeep, and led his squad into France the previous night on foot. After spending the night in a barn, they hitched a ride that morning with a middle-aged French farmer, who seemed thrilled to lend a hand to the American war effort. Before they reached the main highway, Sharper strangled the man and dumped his body in a field. Sharper put on the farmer’s clothes, took his wallet and agricultural road pass, and drove his load of chickens into Reims. His other three men hid in the back with the birds. Sharper knew the city well enough to get them to the farmer’s market, where they abandoned the truck and blended into the city.
By mid-day, Sharper had found the cinema that he’d suggested for their rallying point. Taking his men to a nearby brothel, he instructed them to play the part of randy soldiers on leave from the front, their easiest assignment yet. He paid for eight hours’ time with the four girls in the house and the squad spent the rest of the day upstairs, getting laid, resting, and sleeping. Sharper put so much American cash on the table the madam agreed to wash their uniforms while they relaxed. She thought it odd that the Americans didn’t ask for any wine or liquor, but dollars had a way of easing her curiosity.
At eight-thirty, Sharper and his men set out for the cinema, less than three blocks away, in their freshly laundered uniforms.
26
Reims
DECEMBER 19, 8:40 P.M.
Von Leinsdorf walked slowly to the middle of the square outside the theater, on the edge of the gathering crowd. He took out a cigarette and scanned ahead for any unusual police presence. The fog thickened near the waterfront as soldiers lined up in front of the theater box office. Two MPs stood near the entrance to the lobby, but didn’t look out of place. An American soldier materialized out of the fog, suddenly standing next to him, and offered a light for his smoke.
“Another Judy Garland picture,” the man said, nodding toward the theater. “Louis B. Mayer’s working her like a sled dog. You know she’s not even five feet tall?”
“I might have read it somewhere.”
“Just my size. A hot little number, if you like a babe with no waist and the ass of a ten-year-old boy. She do anything for you, Sarge?”
“She’s no Marlene Dietrich,” said Von Leinsdorf.
“Are you kidding me? Marlene Dietrich’d eat her like a chicken leg, spit out the bone.”
Von Leinsdorf moved forward, trying to shake the man, but he fell into step alongside, holding out a hand. Short and fidgety, the man wore a corporal’s stripes and pounded a wad of gum while he smoked.
“Eddie Bennings, Corporal Eddie Bennings, how you doing to night?”
“Fine, thanks.”
“A free night in France, fresh air, no bullets in the forecast, what could be so bad? I see you’re with the quartermaster corps.”
“That’s right.”
Looking ahead through the fog, Von Leinsdorf spotted William Sharper leading his three men into the theater lobby past the MP at the door.
“My line, too. Came in today from Belgium. Makes you appreciate the peace and quiet down here,” said Bennings. Then, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial leveclass="underline" “My battalion does a lot of business with the quartermaster corps.”
“Is that a fact?”
“And we’re always looking for a good man to do business with-you going in to see the picture?”
“Yes.”
“Let me spring for the tickets, my treat-you shouldn’t have to stand on line, Sarge.”
The persistent little man was starting to attract Von Leinsdorf’s interest. “What sort of business?”
“I’ll get the tickets, we’ll have a chat. See if you’re interested. Meet you in two shakes.”
Von Leinsdorf moved on to the front lobby doors and waited as Bennings jumped the ticket line.
Bernie opened his eyes to a cat rubbing its face on his chin and purring. When he started awake, the animal vaulted off his chest into the kitchen. The room spun violently when he tried to stand. He lurched forward, tumbling over a table and vomiting as he hit the floor. Rolling onto his back, he took deep breaths, opening and closing his eyes, waiting for the ceiling to stabilize. As his fractured thoughts reassembled and he remembered where he was, he raised his watch into view and waited for the hands to float into position. 8:40.
“Shit.”
He pulled himself to his feet, made his way into the kitchen, stuck his head under the faucet in the sink, and ran cold water over his neck until his head began to clear. Taking a quick look around the apartment, he spotted Von Leinsdorf’s GI field greens lying in a heap on the bedroom floor. The khaki dress uniform that had been hanging in the woman’s closet was gone.
He remembered that Von Leinsdorf had mentioned the movie house was near the canal. A memory of the city map swam to the surface. He headed for the door.
Eddie Bennings handed Von Leinsdorf his ticket and they entered the lobby, blending into the crowd.
“Looking for somebody?” asked Bennings.
“Thought I saw someone I knew.”
“You want a soda, popcorn or anything, Sarge?”
“No thanks.”
“I never got your name.”
“Dick Connelly.”
“Okay, Dick. You want to talk about my proposition before the picture or after?”
“Now’s fine,” said Von Leinsdorf, scanning the lobby over the man’s shoulder.
“As I was saying, we work with a lot of guys in the quartermaster corps. It’s a first-class arrangement.”
“Can you be slightly more specific?”
Bennings lowered his voice again and talked out of the side of his mouth, like a gangster.
He’s seen too many Jimmy Cagney pictures, thought Von Leinsdorf.
“In the area of surplus supply and demand. Daily necessities. A drink, a smoke, a taste of home, whatever. We scratch their back, they scratch ours; everybody gets healthy, including the average GI who all he’s looking for is a little relief.”
Von Leinsdorf spotted Sharper standing near a door to the theater, his three men walking in just ahead of him.
“You want me to set it to music for you?” asked Bennings impatiently.
“I think I get the idea,” he said. “Would you excuse me for a moment, Eddie? I want to say hi to my friend.”
“Hope I haven’t offended you, Sarge.”
“You’ve got a little larceny in your heart, don’t you, Eddie?” said Von Leinsdorf with an admiring smile.
“Troubled times. Is that such a terrible thing?”
“On the contrary. It’s a character reference. I’ll be right back.”
Von Leinsdorf took one step toward Sharper, when Bennings grabbed him by the arm.
“Oh shit. Hang on a second. Don’t move, Sarge.”
Bennings turned away from the doors, then took another glance.
“It is him. Fuck. I had a run-in with that guy recently. He’s a cop.”
“Which one?”
Bennings nodded toward a man near the lobby doors, looking at his watch. A charge of adrenaline shot through Von Leinsdorf. It was the soldier he’d seen near Mallory’s bed in the field hospital-the one who chased them.
Von Leinsdorf surveyed the lobby with new eyes, aware of half a dozen other men, in and out of uniform, with that same hard-eyed look. He turned his back to the doors fronting the street. Although he was sure the American wouldn’t see through the alterations he’d made at a glance, that might change if their eyes happened to meet.