by Nigel Price
Only for a moment. The business of the day wouldn’t wait forever. Both of them sensed it.
They got up reluctantly. Ingrid inspected her hair in a mirror. Harry swung his legs off the bed and watched her naked body as she moved about the room. When she became aware of his study, she half went for a towel but then didn’t bother, standing facing him.
“Seen enough?”
“Not nearly.” He got up to join her.
There was another kiss, an embrace, and then they were getting dressed. Each passed the other various discarded items of clothing, picking them off floor and furniture. Harry went to the purchases from his outing.
“I got you these.” He passed her a hat and sunglasses. She looked at the shades and accepted them. The hat was met with The Look.
“What?”
“You can’t be serious? We’ll look like a couple of cartoon spies. The glasses, okay. But this?” She tossed it on the bed. “In any case, what was the point of dyeing my hair if I put a hat on? I suggested a bloody hat in the first place and you said no.”
She had a point.
So did Harry. “What about the rain? How good’s that dye?”
She picked up the hat and stuck her tongue out. “It should be fine by now. I’ll take the bloody hat though, just in case.”
Harry checked the Glock 17 again, racking back the slide and applying the safety catch. He’d fired four rounds. The mag had been full. So one up the spout and another dozen left in the mag. It would have to do. He stuck it in his belt at the small of his back, hidden under the loose jacket.
When they were ready they stood by the door. “Shall we go and see the sights?” He tried to keep it light. From the look on Ingrid’s pale face it wasn’t working.
The reception desk was empty when they walked past it. They stood on the top step outside and surveyed the day. The rain had reduced to a light drizzle once again. Ingrid put on the hat and screwed up her nose when she saw Harry take note.
They crossed the river over the old Fleischbrücke. A cafe was doing good business in spite of the weather. The customers sat under the large blue awning, watching the world go by, oblivious to the intentions of the two sightseers in damp caps and shades.
A police patrol car rolled by on the other side of the road. Neither officer gave so much as a glance in their direction. Ingrid fought the urge to shy away from them, to duck and run. Harry took her hand and pointed out this or that, engrossed in the scenery. He took out Tobacco Man’s phone and pretended to take a picture of the bridge. Every inch the tourist.
Half a dozen more streets brought them to the Karsinger. It looked like a converted cinema. Art Deco. At one time it would have been a grand affair. Now it looked tawdry. Reflective panels and shiny lettering declared the club’s name. Being a Sunday it looked shut. They walked past it for a closer look. It was.
“What now?”
Harry was inspecting the exterior. “Nothing. We don’t have to do anything.” He looked around. “Except perhaps get ready to run for our lives.”
He pointed upwards. Ingrid saw the security camera. It was aimed straight at them. Harry took her by the arm and drew her away. The camera followed them, tracking their path.
“Let’s make a show of it.” Harry broke into a jog. Ingrid followed.
“What if they don’t take the bait?”
“They will. They can’t just sit there and watch us get away. They need to shut us up and stop everything from unravelling.”
“Krantz might not even be in there.”
“Then we’ll soon find out. Even if he isn’t, word will get to him that we’re here. He’ll have to do something. That’s when we’ll get him.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” she called after him. She had fallen back. “God I’m out of breath. I thought I was fit in the gym.”
“It’s the nerves.” Harry slowed down for her. “They make you feel more tired than your body actually is. It’ll pass.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
They re-crossed the Fleischbrücke and moved to a position where Harry could observe. He chose a corner shop. Standing behind the two windows that formed the corner’s right angle, he could see back the way they had just come.
“But what if—?”
“Here they come.”
On the far side of the river Ingrid saw four men moving swiftly. “They look like bouncers.”
“I expect they’re more than that.”
“So what now?” There was a tremor in her voice.
“We lead them on, then lose them and double back to go for Krantz.”
She muttered something in German. Harry got the gist of it. Yes it was a dumb plan, but right then he couldn’t think of anything better. Draw the enemy out, weaken his defences, then strike.
As he watched the four human bulldozers heading for the far side of the bridge, it was the weaken his defences bit that seemed absurdly hopeful. He didn’t doubt they were all armed and that they knew how to fight.
That being so, the best way would be not to oblige them.
The lead bulldozer looked across the river and scanned around until he saw Harry through the corner windows of the shop. He said something to his comrades and they increased the pace, Lead Bulldozer keeping his eyes fixed on Harry and Ingrid.
“Come on.” Harry set off again, heading north. It was a little after noon. People were looking for places to have lunch, or already settling down to eat. Others drifted in and out of those shops that were open. That wasn’t as many as Harry would have liked. He felt he should have remembered that Sundays in Germany were more strictly observed than in England. On his recce he had found a large Karstadt department store. It was a pity it was closed as it would have been perfect for losing the bulldozers. Too late to do anything about that now.
A sign showed the way to the central market place. “If you’re heading for the Hauptmarkt there won’t be anything there today.”
“There’s a flea market. I saw it earlier,” Harry replied. A quick check over his shoulder showed the four bulldozers closing on them. He counted their four square shaven heads over the top of the throng in the pedestrian precinct. It was like being pursued by a small school of killer whales.
Ingrid had seen them too. “Everywhere’s closed, Harry. We’re not going to be able to lose them.”
“Then I’ll have to take them on.”
“There’s no way you can fight all four of them. Be serious.”
They had reached the edge of the Hauptmarkt. Just as Harry had said, a flea market sprawled across the larger part of the open space, row upon row of colourful stalls. “Have you never heard how Publius Horatius handled multiple opponents?”
“The Roman who held the bridge?”
“No. Publius was in the war between the early city state of Rome and its neighbour Alba Longa.”
“Harry, do we have time for this?” She was snatching at breaths as they ran on.
“To decide the outcome, rather than commit their two armies, each side sent forward three champions. It ended up with Publius versus the other three. He knew he couldn’t beat all of them together so he ran away. They chased after him, and because they couldn’t all run at the same pace, they gradually spread out.”
“Harry, really.”
“When the time was right, he turned and tackled them one by one. Simple.” He looked round at her. “What do they teach you in school here?”
“Actually they teach us Maths and Physics, Chemistry and Biology. But I can see how much better our industry would function if we learned about early Roman history. Now fuck off and tell me what the plan is.”
He quickly assessed the lie of the market and the proximity of the bulldozers. “We’ll split up. You go left and I’ll go right. Head into the busiest part of the market and keep your eye on them. Don’t let them get hold of you.”
“You’re assuming they split two on me and two on you.”
“Hoping, not assuming.”
“Harry, you might be a trained Ninja, but I’m not. I’m an optician in case you’ve forgotten. What am I supposed to do? Test them for glaucoma?”
“Just keep them on the move. I’ll do the rest.”
“For fuck’s sake—”
“I love the way you say that. Your accent is gorgeous.”
“Gorgeous this – Fuck you!” And she set off, running across the square towards the left-hand side of the flea market.
Harry smiled after her then set off himself in the opposite direction. When he had gone fifty yards he looked back. The bulldozers had gathered at the entrance to the Hauptmarkt and were conferring. Seeing what had happened, they did exactly as he had hoped. Two went after Ingrid and two came straight for him. He turned and ran.
Directly to his front he saw the Gothic red brick of the Frauenkirche. Dominating the market place, the triangular frontage pointed heavenwards. Beneath it, the market stalls were a riot of colour. A big crowd bustled between them, inspecting the wares on offer. To Harry it seemed all junk. He had pared down his life to the contents of two suitcases. Maybe Ingrid was right. Perhaps he was a bit strange.
He sped past the nearest of the stalls. Beeswax candles in a variety of shapes and sizes. Knitted woollen goods. Hats and caps and bonnets. He had no use for any of them. For the moment he was intent on one thing. Closing down the consciousness of other human beings. Men who were set on his destruction.
Thirty Five
There was no question about the intentions of the two men following him. They would kill him. He reckoned they wouldn’t especially care how noisily they did it either. There would be the predictable squeaks and squeals from onlookers, the shocked expressions of mothers and children. And that would be it. He would be dead and gone. The killers would run back to their sanctuary and Harry would put money on them being untraceable thereafter. Even if the local police were straight, they would find nothing. The killers would get away.
So how to avoid it?
Take them down first.
A glance over his shoulder showed Bulldozer One pretending to show an interest in a Peruvian-style woolly hat. Bless.
Behind him, Bulldozer Two had fallen back. An old lady had asked him for directions to somewhere or other. His expression of impatient contempt was a picture to behold. His arm waved about, pointing her to wherever it was she wanted to go. Anywhere to get rid of her. She couldn’t follow his instructions and wanted clarification which annoyed him even more. Harry loved her for it.
He turned about and strode back towards Bulldozer One. The distance was little more than ten yards, a journey of seconds. Which was the time it took for Bulldozer One to look up from his fake inspection of the Peruvian handiwork and stare straight into Harry’s fist which hit him on the nose. Full power.
It was done so quickly that the stallholder wasn’t sure he had seen what he had seen. Harry took Bulldozer One by the shoulders and guided him towards a pile of jumpers behind the laden table.
“Just needs a wee sit-down,” he explained.
He had no idea if the stall holder had understood. It hardly mattered. Facts spoke for themselves. Blood dribbled from the flattened nose. One look at Harry silenced the stallholder who shuffled out of his way.
Before he moved on Harry dug through Bulldozer One’s pockets. He fished out an electronic key card and trousered it. ID was pointless. He didn’t care who they were. He tossed the wallet away. Of course there was a gun. A Browning 9 millie. Trusty old weapon. For a second he regretted having slugged its owner quite so hard. The man had taste.
With nothing else worth nicking he moved on, leaving the stallholder to stare at the unconscious dinosaur, his stall’s newest acquisition.
Ten yards on, Harry turned and saw that his handiwork had been noted. Bulldozer Two wasn’t going to fall prey to the same Harry-attention as his colleague. He had a hand inside his jacket which meant one thing. The unseen paw was going for a gun.
There was an incense burner made from soapstone on a table. The size of an aubergine, it was beautifully carved and heavy as a brick-end. Harry picked it up and hurled it into Bulldozer Two’s face.
It hit him in the mouth. Blood and teeth and split lips. Harry closed in. As customers sprang for cover, he grabbed hold of Bulldozer Two and slugged him twice in the face. Then once more for luck.
With his own two thugs out of action, Harry went after Ingrid’s. He found them all together by a charcoal grill selling bratwurst. Ingrid had ducked out of sight behind a screen hung with Native American dream-catchers but they’d got her. The first one to lay hands on her got the edge of her shoe raking down his shin from knee to instep. Harry heard the howl of pain. The second one started to throw a punch at her, but instead found the whole screen of dream-catchers tipped onto him.
As he thrashed and swatted them aside, Ingrid let him have it with a kick hard into the balls, her whole body behind it. Either he had had the foresight to have himself castrated or else he was wearing a box. Rather than the effect she had hoped for, Ingrid was met by a smug grin.
The good news was that all three were so focussed on each other that none of them saw Harry coming. He grabbed Bulldozer Three who was still hopping on one foot, and punched him ferociously on the side of the jaw. A knock-out in one.
Bulldozer Four tore himself free from the last of the dream-catchers, sprang out of reach and went for his gun. He got it half way out of its shoulder holster when the butt snagged on the leather securing strap. Harry’s gun was stuffed in his belt at the small of his back. He whipped it out and side-stepped to get a clean line of fire. Too many people about.
He found a line with nothing but clear space beyond and fired a snapshot. He didn’t want to kill the guy so aimed for the big fleshy shoulder muscle. More than enough to put him out of action. He doubted the kindness would have been reciprocated.
Smack on target. Then one more for good measure. He might have been on the range except for the spray of blood and flesh where the bullet exited, taking muscle tissue with it. The force of the two blows spun the guy round in a messy pirouette. His gun went flying.
The market place erupted with screams as people scattered and fled. Stalls were overturned in the mad scramble to get away. Vendors grabbed at their wares trying to save them in the panicked rush. Awnings were flung aside. Parents yelled for their children. The chaos was perfect cover for flight.
Harry grabbed Ingrid by the arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
They strode away, losing themselves in the melee. Towards the edge of the Hauptmarkt they heard sirens. Two police ran straight past them towards the site of the trouble. Neither paid them any attention. Harry pulled his cap lower and hurried on. His gun was back in his trouser belt, the metal hot against his back.
They made a bee line for the Karsinger, back over the bridge and through the narrow streets of the Altstadt. They stopped on the corner opposite and Harry did a quick check on the security camera. Moving slowly, it was sweeping the ground in front of the club like a sentry. He stared hard at the entrance doors. None of them had electronic locks. They looked like the original doors, big art deco brass monsters, with old fashioned locks needing chunky brass keys.
“Must be a stage door round the side.” He waited until the camera was facing away from them, and then led Ingrid quickly across the road and down an alley at the side of the building. Sure enough, a stage door was set in the wall towards the end.
“There’s another camera,” Ingrid said. Harry looked up and saw it. It was pointing straight at them.
Everything now depended on speed. He walked up to the door and sliced the key card through the mechanism. The door clicked and opened with the help of a shove from Harry’s foot. There was nothing on the other side. Just the darkness of a corridor. There would be someone on the way to greet him.
He heard the rapid footsteps heralding the arrival of a reception committee. At least two people on the way. They were gabbling to each other as they bundled down the stairs.
“Stay there.” Harry shoved Ingrid outside.
“But—”
He slammed the door on her. She pounded to be let in.
Gun out, he braced himself against the side wall and took aim. Hurtling round the corner, the first of the reception committee arrived in a whirl of legs and arms down the stairs. His gun was in his hand, coming into the aim. There was no chance for the niceties of a flesh wound this time. Harry aimed and fired. His man went down.
Behind him, his partner came crashing onto the scene with gun blazing. Two shots punched into the wall beside Harry’s face. He returned fire and hit. Number Two went down as well.
Harry stepped over them. Behind him he could hear Ingrid hammering on the door.
He started up the stairs on his own.
They led into the guts of the old theatre or cinema or whatever it had once been. He wondered if Krantz was even there. If he was he would have gone to ground. Perhaps with his last guard or two. Hunkered down in a room.
There was nothing for it but to scour the whole rotten place. He didn’t know how much time he had. Krantz might have called for reinforcements. The police, if they had got hold of the four bulldozers, might be tracking him to the club. It wouldn’t be difficult. Then Harry would have to deal with them too.
He decided to start at the top and work down. The stairs seemed never-ending, flight after flight. At one point he checked on a door and found himself looking down into the great void that was the heart of the building, a huge amphitheatre dance floor with all the trappings of a night club. All in deep darkness. There was a smell of stale beer and sweat. Krantz sure knew how to enjoy himself.
On the top floor Harry found a bar. By the looks of it, he guessed it served Krantz’s extra-special members. The club elite. Plush sofas round the edge looked in towards a raised dance floor. He could imagine the sort of entertainment it offered them. The ceiling was one enormous mirror, doubling the delights of the spectacle. Again, the same smell of stale alcohol and the sickly aroma of a million old joints.
