by P.J. Lozito
“Sacrificed to look more like a nun,” said Curtis.
“You must have known different nuns than me. What’s with the get up? Who are you trying to kid?”
“I stopped off at the Court Square Diner first, just to see. Fooled everyone.”
“Kind of early for a costume party, isn’t it?”
“It’s a costume party, all right. But not the kind you’ll like. Someone in a skull mask is picking off the old unit. You’re next on the list.”
Curtis began shucking off the nun’s habit. He was wearing a dark shirt, slacks and windbreaker under it.
Burnly gaped and sputtered, “How’s that again?”
“Later, I’ll tell you the whole sordid affair. Right now your life is in danger. Put on this nun suit, gather up your wife and go somewhere safe,” Curtis presented keys. “Take my car.”
“You want me to put on the nun outfit, get Bernice and beat it?”
“That’s the idea.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I am going to stay here and set a trap,” Curtis returned as he snapped open the briefcase.
“A trap?” Burnly doubted.
“Is there an echo in here?” Curtis taunted.
He proceeded to yank down shades. That done, he took a rubber dummy from the briefcase. This Curtis began to inflate.
“What’s behind this?” pestered Burnly.
“I suspect it’s an old friend of ours, Von Bausen. He’s after the unit with, get this, a longbow. The cops won’t listen to me about you being the next victim.”
Burnly took that news well and said, “So we run a deception of our own, is that it?”
“That’s it exactly. Von Bausen doesn’t know what he’s playing with. Now, let’s see. Where’s a good spot?”
“How about by my brand new Philco set?” Burnly tried, while pulling the habit over his clothing. He got it on with a bit of tugging and adjusting. By now, the dummy was inflated. It was accommodated into a comfortable chair.
“Should do nicely,” assessed Curtis, stepping back and squinting through his hands configured like a frame.
It was at that moment that a feminine voice called, “Who was at the door, Vic?”
“She’s an old pal from the service,” Burnly rapped.
“‘She?’” repeated Mrs. Burnly. Clomping down the stairs in a hurry, Bernice Burnly found her husband dressed as a nun. “Victor Burnly, this is something you did not mention before we got married!”
“I can explain,” Burnly offered. Then he realized he couldn’t. “Well, he was a nun but now she’s my old commanding officer.”
“I guess he’s got a bad habit,” Mrs. Burnly assessed.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Burnly,” stated the subject of that exchange.
“Honey, this is Eldon Curtis III,” Burnly introduced.
“Oh,” she cooed, recognizing the star. “You were putting on a show for Vic.”
“Let’s call it a rehearsal,” he smiled. Turning to Burnly, Curtis whispered, “Get her out of here.”
Burnly now fully in the nun outfit, the married couple exited. The pair got into Curtis’ car and took off. Curtis made himself comfortable, waiting for nightfall, with only the television providing light. The sound was low.
Within a few minutes, another car slowly crunching gravel alerted Curtis. It stopped. Curtis drew the .38. He felt his way via the streetlight entering through the windows. A dark car sat motionless across the street. He couldn’t determine the make, model, or exact color.
Suddenly there was a crash. The window opposite the dummy exploded inward. Curtis was up, around, and out the back door instantly. Standing beside a dark late model sedan was a familiar skull-headed figured brandishing a longbow.
“Damn!” swore Curtis. He leveled the gun.
Hearing him, Todeskampf dived back into the car. More likely, the revolver Curtis presented was the cause of that action. While Curtis was taking caution that no innocent would get shot, the car sprang forward.
Deciding against firing, Curtis ran for Burnly’s own car. A scream issued from somewhere nearby. No doubt, a neighbor had seen the deathly figure with the archaic weapon.
*****
The two cars turned corners, time and again. Burnly’s car ate up suburban street. Suddenly a radio patrol car screeched to a halt, blocking further motion. Curtis jumped out of the car, minus the .38.
“Hold it right there!” came the order from a policeman, hand on his own still holstered gun. “Where’s the fire?”
“Officer, that’s a murderer!” Curtis jabbed a finger. “Hear about those men shot by arrows? That’s the killer!”
The cops exchanged looks.
“We’ll radio to have it pulled over,” the other cop declared. “And who might you be that you’re chasing killers?”
“I’m Eldon Curtis III. The victims were my friends.”
“Is someone hurt now?”
“No, I merely set a trap. Todeskampf fell for it.”
“Who’s Todd Kopf?” asked the cop.
“Not you, too? It’s German for ‘death throes.’ Look, I’m helping Detective Robert Caradona. You’ve heard of him.”
The cops exchanged looks again, got in their patrol car, and took off.
“No more setting traps,” the driver warned.
The cops gunned their machine and resumed the chase on the suspect vehicle. Curtis dashed back to Burnly’s car, following.
“They didn’t say anything about chasing,” he told himself aloud.
*****
Although it had bolted ahead, Todeskampf’s car suddenly slowed. Even in his car, Curtis heard a shouted, “Get down!”
The cops swerved. There was a squeal of brakes, glass breaking, a crunch and then a sickening thump. Curtis skidded to a halt behind them. The police car was kissing a tree. People were coming out of their houses. He jumped out of Burnly’s car and dashed to the policemen, waving the citizens back inside. Curtis sought out the groaning driver.
“Broken rib,” he assessed.
An arrow had cracked their windshield, embedding itself between the front seat. Both cops were banged up, bruised, and christened in glass. The other cop was out, after checking his partner.
“He’s alive, thank God!”
“What happened?” Curtis rapped.
“We gave chase. Then we saw an arrow poking out of the car window. If Joe hadn’t swerved like that, one of us would be dead. And you’re some kind of hero.”
*****
Lt. Caradona himself showed up at the Queens station house where Curtis had given a statement. The local cops seemed not to mind the Manhattan detective taking over the investigation.
“About that gun, Curtis?”
“Dammit, Detective. Todeskampf got it.”
“How did that happen?”
“Todeskampf surprised me at the Burnly place. Spooked me, I lost it. I’m sure he picked it up.”
“So, why didn’t he use it on you?”
“I don’t know, Lieutenant. Todeskampf is a maniac who prefers longbows.”
Caradona rolled his eyes at that but couldn’t say anything else about it. He dismissed Curtis. The actor, somewhat worn out from his experience, headed home.
*****
Curtis arrived to an empty apartment. Then he found the typed note. He read: “CURTIS: IF YOU WISH TO SEE YOUR WIFE ALIVE AGAIN, YOU WILL PRESENT YOURSELF TO US. YOUR LIFE FOR HERS. TELL NO ONE. COME ALONE AND UNARMED. YOU ARE BEING WATCHED!”
An address was given close to the river. The note was signed only “T.” A shudder ran through Curtis.
*****
Curtis alighted from a taxi a block from his destination. That address turned out to be a lonely, rundown warehouse on the west side of Manhattan. He was clad in a top coat, fedora, and black leather gloves. Curtis hobbled up to the given address using a cane. These are sadistic Nazis, he realized. There’re going to kill Vera in front of me and then kill me. The situation looked hopeless.
Yet, Curtis suppressed a grin.
The actor found the warehouse door to be unlocked. In fact, it was opened a crack. He pushed his way in. A klieg light snapped on, blinding Curtis.
“All right, you got me!” Curtis yelled, trying to block out the light. “Are you going to shoot me with an arrow? Or do I get to see my wife one last time?”
“No, Eldon Curtis III,” came an amplified voice. “We would never just kill you. But your interference has been intolerable! Because of that, we have a special welcome arranged for you.”
“I’ll bet,” barked Curtis.
“Remove your coat!” the voice ordered. “Drop that cane, as well.”
Curtis did so. They did have something planned. Otherwise, he’d be pinned to the wall by now.
“Jacket, also.”
Curtis followed the instructions. His captors saw that he was unarmed. He picked up his cane again in gloved hands and limped nervously, calling, “Satisfied? Now how about showing me Vera?”
“In due time. Why do you walk with a cane?”
“I hurt myself in our last little encounter, banging right into that patrol car.”
“Pity. I prefer my victims to be fit and with a fighting chance.”
“A fighting chance, huh? I can still handle you!” he tossed down the cane, doubling his fists. “Come on, best two out of three? It’s about time you made this a bit more sporting.”
That was answered by a mocking laugh and then: “Enough time has been wasted.”
“At least let me see her!” Curtis pleaded, dropping to his knees. His pleas quickly turned to sobs. “I did as instructed. Let me see you release her!”
“Is that what you want?” came the voice.
By now, Curtis was on the floor and groveling, “Please!”
“You are pathetic!” boomed the amplified voice. “Are you a man or a mouse? You hardly seem the enemy who vexed us so at Neutitschein.”
So! This was Von Bausen. Another light snapped on. Curtis recognized the man from the building up by Reese’s. He held a Luger to Vera’s head. She was securely bound and gagged in a wooden chair. Her eyes widened in horror. Curtis stiffened. This image seemingly reduced Curtis to tears. He collapsed to the floor, sobbing.
“You said you’d let her go!” Curtis hammed the floor with his fists. “You said.”
“Worm,” scowled the man. “I should shoot you now.”
“No!” protested Curtis, rolling himself into a ball.
“On your feet,” commanded the man. He began screwing a silencer onto the gun. “I only have time for one shot to the heart…each.”
The gunman stepped over and toed Curtis with a menacing, “Come on get up!”
Curtis continued his sobbing.
“Very well, your lovely wife goes first.” The man cocked the gun. “And to think, we once respected you as an honorable opponent, Lieutenant Commander Curtis.”
Cocking the gun meant the German had to be facing Vera. Curtis leapt to his feet, cane now firmly back in hand.
Curtis called, “Hey! Over here!”
The man turned. Before the Luger could do any damage, the cane smashed the German’s hand. He swore bilingually. The gun dropped. Curtis clamped it securely with his foot.
“Lousy Nazis, all the same,” accused Curtis, no trace of tears now. “Pick on the weak but fold when you get hit back!”
Curtis reversed his swing, back at the man’s jaw. He connected solidly with the cane. He got in a good left hook, too. Curtis stopped when a door banged open deeper in the warehouse. There stood Todeskampf, a Webley Fosbery automatic revolver in hand, taking aim. The barrel and cylinder of that gun was designed to slide upon firing. It cocked the hammer for the next shot, rotating the cylinder.
Curtis grabbed his opponent and used him as a human shield. Todeskampf’s bullet buried itself in the German’s midsection. Todeskampf froze at that blunder. Curtis himself had not been idle. Picking up the wounded man’s Luger, he returned three shots at Todeskampf in silence.
Pffit! Pffit! Pffit!
Todeskampf disappeared, either unharmed or stung by wood splinters. The Webley Fosbery automatic was prone to jamming if not cleaned often and carefully. It must have done so now, because no other shots came. But Curtis didn’t stop to worry about that.
Instead, he dashed for his wife. Curtis got her, chair and all. He yanked her well out of the line of fire. She appraised her husband admirably. The groveling had all been an act!
“It’s all right, now, Darling,” Curtis soothed. He set down the Lugar and the cane, casting about for some implement to cut Vera’s bonds. He tugged off her gag in the mean time.
It was good that he did, because Vera suddenly yelped, “Look out!”
At that instant, the wounded German dove at them, stiletto in hand. Curtis untangled himself from Vera and automatically snatched up the cane again. Gritting his teeth, Curtis parried the knife. Then he hammered his attacker with a series of blows. He kept at it. The man buckled, a bloody mess. The stiletto clanked to the floor. Curtis took it up and severed Vera’s bonds.
“Darling, we have to get out of here!” Vera insisted.
Curtis rubbed his wife’s limbs to get the girl’s circulation going. She hugged him tightly. Vera was right. He had, he realized, probably just killed a man. But it wasn’t Todeskampf. That menace was still lurking about somewhere.
Curtis heard a door slam and then a car roared to life. Sirens howled in the distance, brought on by the shooting. Curtis frisked the German, finding a shoulder holster. He put it on. The other man’s breathing was labored. He wouldn’t last much longer. The holster accepted the Luger nicely. Curtis retrieved his coat, hat and jacket. The married couple hurried from the warehouse.
“You know, in all the excitement I didn’t realize it,” Curtis pondered.
“Realize what?” questioned Vera.
“Why no longbow this time? Todeskampf was armed with a gun.”
*****
Mr. and Mrs. Curtis found lodgings at the New Yorker Hotel. Locking Vera in their room, Eldon Curtis stopped at their apartment and inspected it for damage. He arranged for new, stronger locks via the super and returned to the hotel.
When they were settled in Eldon Curtis had a question for his wife: “What happened?”
“I didn’t hear a thing,” she began. “I was on the Slendo Massager, of course. That dreadful man suddenly appeared with a gun and took me to that warehouse.”
“Were you …harmed? In any way, any way at all?”
“No, I was just frightened. Some cow of a woman guarded me until I was tied to that chair. Then you showed up. Oh, you rescued me,” she gushed. “My hero!”
“How many of them were there?”
“Three,” Vera answered after scrunching up her face in thought. “That heifer, the big man with the German accent, and then one in the skull mask showed up.”
“Well, we’ll get to the bottom of this. First thing tomorrow, I’m going to see Caradona and turn in Reese’s gun. Now I’ve got this Luger for protection.”
“What are you going to tell him about tonight?”
“Nothing,” he breathed. “Not a thing.”
*****
The next morning, Curtis leafed through the complimentary New York Enquirer that was left at their door. There was no mention of the action at the warehouse. Did Todeskampf and the woman return to clean up? Had the bulky man survived?
Curtis presented himself at Caradona’s precinct. This was after ascertaining that the detective was working. Reese’s gun was in a paper bag. Curtis approached the desk sergeant.
“Good morning,” he tried. “I’m here to see Lt. Caradona. I have a gun for him.”
That got the sergeant’s attention.
“Oh, you do, do you?” he asked. “And where is this gun?”
Curtis pushed him the bag and backed away, pointing out, “It’s disassembled and unloaded.”
“Wait over there,” ordered the cop. “Leave the bag.”
He carefully poked into the sack as Curtis found a seat. Then the cop reached for his phone.
“Someone here to see you, Lieutenant Caradona,” scowled the desk sergeant, never taking his beady eyes off the seated Curtis the whole time. “Got something for you.”
He turned to Curtis: “Okay, go right in. Hey, Murphy! Take his bag back to the loot.”
Curtis was ushered into Caradona’s office by Murphy.
“Shut the door, Officer,” Caradona requested. As the officer nodded and complied, the detective said, “Thanks for bringing this in. I guess Todeskampf didn’t have it after all.”
“I must have picked it up in the excitement without realizing it. Listen, you get anything on what ‘paperclip’ could mean?”
“Yes, I asked around. Maybe you better tell me everything you know about Von Bausen.”
“Well, first and foremost, he knew about Hitler’s mistake regarding the atom bomb.”
“How do you mean?”
“The Germans almost had it ahead of us. Von Bausen also knew about the flaws in their advanced rocket plane. Hitler preferred to surround himself with yes men. He steadily got more and more irritated by Von Bausen.”
“That’s very interesting and not generally known,” put in Caradona.
“My unit had very good files on the enemy. Hitler finally got fed up with Von Bausen always being right and put him in the field. Eventually, we tangled with him.”
“Von Bausen seemed to know a lot,” Caradona agreed. “I found out that Operation Paperclip was the U.S.’s plan to secure as many brilliant German scientists as possible.”
“He was no scientist,” countered Curtis.
“But you could see why we’d want him after the war. I found out that same stuff about him. Von Bausen was just as good a prize as a scientist. He had information about the Me262. That’s a jet fighter, if you didn’t know. We could make good use against the Soviets.”
When Curtis didn’t say anything, Caradona continued, “Most of these scientists said they were just following orders. They claimed ignorance and we accepted it so we could justify use of them.”
“Von Bausen was herded in with the eggheads, is that it?”
“That’s exactly it. Someone pointed me to the Feds. They say he’s here in the states living as a Dutch fellow. Clausen.”
Curtis’s eyebrows shot up.
