Devil's in a Different Dress

by Chris Barraclough

  “Slept off the worst of it?” I asked and he blinked twice, grimacing.

  “Still feels like someone sliced through my head with a bayonet,” he muttered, rummaging in his pocket and slipping a fag between his lips.

  “Don’t smoke in here,” I warned him. “We’ll be out in a minute, just hang on until then.” He peered sideways at me, the matches already clutched in his right hand, poking through the gap where his fingers should have been.

  “Since when do you give a shit?” he asked and I shook my head.

  “It’s not me. The Major uses this car and if he smells fag smoke after we return it, he’ll rip my bollocks off and crush ‘em like grapes.”

  “Right, fine.” He twirled the match box with his remaining fingers and left the cigarette clinging between his lips.

  Before we hit the first buildings, we came to the old German pillbox that stood forlornly at the side of the road, its dark paint peeling off on all sides. It was only just large enough for a human being to cram themselves and a chair inside, and today that poor bugger was some fresh-faced kid with angry red acne all over his chin and cheeks. He looked as wet as they come and he almost dropped his rifle as he rose and stepped outside to greet us. I rolled down the window and gave him a weak smile.

  “Carry on through, sir,” he said with a hasty salute, cranking up the wooden barrier that dangled across the road.

  “Thanks,” I called out. “By the way, were you on duty out here the night before last?”

  “No, sir,” the kid replied, returning to the side of the car and peering in through the window. Shaw ignored him, still flipping the match box. “I only do day shifts,” the kid continued. “Try Captain Pipes up at the barracks, he should know who was at the post.”

  I thanked him and rolled through the barriers, cranking up the window again as we cut into town. Kungsbrucken was much like Rottstein, another town that had sprouted on the main Southern road that led into the very heart of Germany, now under full English occupation while the geniuses back home decided what the hell to do with it. I’d only been here once before and hadn’t rushed back again, so I didn’t know any of the officers occupying the town. I just hoped that they knew Turner, from his occasional shopping visits.

  The barracks were your typical dark grey soulless sets of buildings, near the edge of Kungsbrucken. The soldiers on duty waved us through and I parked up near the entrance, just as rain began to spit down across the windshield. Roughly half a second after I pulled on the handbrake, Shaw jumped out of the car, lit up his fag and sucked down the smoke like his life depended on it. He pulled a satisfied face, the smoke gushing out of his nostrils before disappearing on the breeze.

  “Better now?” I asked and he stared back at me blankly.

  I thought that things had become a little lax back in Rottstein, with rank and order generally breaking down, but here in Kungsbrucken it was a total spectacle. When we pushed into the main recreation hall, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Some of the squad were sat around the room-length tables drinking and playing cards, but most of the men had gathered in one corner, huddled in a messy circle. They were yelling and cheering and when we pushed our way into the gathering, my jaw actually dropped. In the centre of the huddle, two enormous cockerels were lunging at each other, flapping their wings violently as they tore into the other bird with beak and claw. The men screamed their approval or disgust, clutching fistfuls of paper which they waved emphatically.

  “Jesus Christ,” I said, turning to Shaw. A bewildered grin had spread across his face.

  “Why didn’t we think of this,” he yelled over the roars of the crowd. “We got chickens back in Rottstein?”

  I felt an elbow in my back and when I turned around I saw a man with greasy, swept-back hair gesticulating wildly at the nearest cock, an all-white bird with an abnormally big head. The thing was a miserable sight. One of its wings had been ripped open and was hanging limply now, the white feathers turning a dark crimson. Its rival, a brown bird with speckles across its chest, squawked and lunged with both claws spread wide. The white cock couldn’t dodge in time and it staggered back, its one good wing flapping madly. The brown cock sensed victory was near and thrust its beak at the other bird, sinking the tip into the white cock’s eyeball. I watched, horrified, as the eyeball popped and was scooped clean out.

  “No, no, no!” the man with greasy hair screamed at the white bird. “You stupid feathered bastard, what are you doing? Don’t retreat, attack! Attack!” A moment later, the brown bird lunged again and it was all over. Feathers flew and blood spattered across the wooden floor and the white cock lay still, a torn and wretched mess. The man with greasy hair grimaced and scrunched up his paper, hurling it at the victor, who skipped away with a crow. “You better run,” the man yelled. “I’ll bite your bloody head off!”

  I was ready to back out of the crazy scene and go find an officer, when I noticed the greasy guy’s uniform. At first I couldn’t believe it, but unless he’d stolen the clothes he wore, this man was a Captain, the same as me. He must have somehow felt my disbelieving stare because he turned and squinted at me.

  “Who the hell are you?” he asked and I had the sudden feeling that this trip had been a massive waste of time.

  “Are you really a Captain?” I asked and he smiled.

  “Do me a favour,” he said, nodding at the dead bird. “Take that sack of bones right there and shove it up your arsehole. Okay, chum?” He slapped me on the arm and pushed his way past me, out of the fray. I watched his back as he strode across the dining room, snatching up a beer from another soldier’s grasp and lifting it to his lips. The other soldier turned to protest, then thought better of it and grabbed another glass instead.

  “What a prick,” I muttered and Shaw chuckled.

  “I don’t know, I think I like him. Should we go introduce ourselves?”

  “What’s the point? We’d get more useful info out of the bird.” I jabbed a thumb at the defeated cockerel’s carcass, which was being swept into a box for disposal.

  “Might as well try,” Shaw said and he set off before I could protest. I cursed under my breath and, pausing only to let the black cockerel charge past as two men gave chase, I followed my partner to the Captain’s side. In the ten seconds it took me to rejoin him, the captain managed to sink his captured beer. He wiped the froth from his lips with the back of his hand and peered at myself and Shaw with a nonplussed expression.

  “What do you two fannies want?” he asked, turning his head slightly to belch. “After my autograph?”

  “Well,” I said, “we’ve got no idea who you are, so take a wild guess.” He snorted at that, but before he could throw another insult our way, some lanky idiot wearing just a vest strode over and slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Bad luck there,” the idiot said in a cockney accent, handing the Captain a fresh beer. “I thought Percy had him there, ‘til that little stumble.” The captain shook his head.

  “That’s three in a row I’ve lost now. It’s enough to drive a man to drink.” He tipped back his glass and I felt the last of my patience drain away.

  “Look,” I said, “if you’re all done commiserating, we need to speak with someone in charge. If there actually is someone in charge.” The Captain ignored me, drinking his beer down, but the lanky idiot glared at me.

  “Watch your bloody mouth, northern monkey,” he said, taking a step towards me. He was about half a foot taller with rippling muscles in every area, even his neck. I knew that I should just keep my mouth shut, maybe try to find another Captain somewhere in this dump. But my stomach was burning and the words spilled out before I had a chance to stop them.

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” I spat at him, my hands balling into fists down at my sides. “Why don’t you bugger off and play with your chickens.”

  “I’d rather ram my fist down your throat,” he growled and before I could react, he thrust his palms into my chest and pushed me hard. I stumbled, arms flaili
ng, desperately trying to catch my balance before I dropped to the ground. Luckily some other drunken fool got in my path and I crashed straight into him, which stopped me from staggering backwards. Suddenly everyone in the room seemed to realise what was happening and a roar went up, bodies pressing in around us. Grinning faces surrounded me, the whole room cheering on the lanky idiot.

  “Smash his face in, Hally!”

  “Come on Hall, pound ‘im good!”

  “You’re a corpse,” the idiot, Hall, said as he jabbed a finger at me. Jesus, even his fingers were like thick slabs of meat. A sudden nausea hit hard, but I knew I couldn’t back down, couldn’t look scared. I had no time to think anyway. A second later Hall lunged at me, those meaty hands rising again to grab at my uniform. Survival instinct kicked in and I twisted sideways, sweeping his hands away with my arm before stepping backwards, out of his reach. The crowd roared, their cries for blood cutting right through my skull. Already my heart was thundering and my breath came short, sticking in my throat. Hall came at me again, teeth bared, but this time someone shoved me from behind and I staggered straight into the lumbering meat head’s path. I saw his fist swing towards me but there was nothing I could do. His knuckles drove into my right cheek, crunching against the bone. Everything juddered and a red hot pain flashed through my jaw and down my neck, ending somewhere between my shoulder blades. My body turned into a sack of rocks and the next I knew, I was already on the floor with a piercing ringing in my ears and one of my back teeth resting on my tongue. I could taste blood, not just inside my mouth but also spreading across my lips from where they’d split open. A wet, guttural groan rumbled in my chest.

  When I opened my eyes again, I saw Hall standing over me, a smug little grin resting on his face. He said something that I didn’t quite catch, between the ringing noise and the laughter of the arseholes all around us. He started to laugh himself, until an arm suddenly curled around his throat from behind and tightened. Shaw, God bless him, had jumped onto the moron’s back and was squeezing the breath from him with all his might. Hall spun around in a full circle, desperately trying to prise Shaw’s arm away. Ignoring the pain in my jaw, I swung my legs out and wrapped them around Hall’s ankles while he staggered wildly. Immediately he crashed forwards onto his hands and knees and Shaw tumbled over his shoulder, rolling onto his side. Hall gasped, sucking in oxygen and massaging his throat with those meaty fingers, his eyes stretched wide and burning with rage. By the time he got back to his feet, I was already up again. To my left, a soldier clutching a bottle of beer roared at us both, urging each of us to kill the other. I grimaced, snatching the bottle from his hand and turning back to Hall. The lug was already coming at me, but this time I was ready. Instead of stepping away, I pushed towards him and threw a knee straight into his groin. Then, as he reeled backwards, both hands clutching his squashed tomatoes, I raised the bottle and slammed the base down onto his skull. The bottle shattered apart and glass and beer spattered over Hall’s face and rained down onto the floor. I was ready to follow up with a right hook, but I’d already done enough. Hall slumped backwards onto one of the tables, scattering mugs with his flailing limbs before he finally fell still and silent.

  “What a prick,” Shaw said, dusting himself off beside me. I turned and peered at the crowd, but most of them had lost interest now that their gladiator had fallen and were already turning away, muttering amongst themselves. I clutched one hand to my chest, panting hard. My cheek and jaw still blazed with pain and when I spat my tooth into my palm, a worrying volume of blood came out with it. I stared down at the molar, then I shook the worst of the blood away and slipped it into my pocket.

  “That was even more entertaining than the cockfighting,” came a voice behind me, and when I turned I saw the Captain grinning back at me. “You must’ve cracked that bottle over his head pretty bloody hard. Hally’s got a thick old skull on him.”

  “We need some help with an investigation,” I told him, my words a little slurred. He raised an eyebrow.

  “Investigation? Who are you boys?”

  “We’re from Rottstein,” Shaw said and that seemed to get the moron all excited.

  “Heyyy, Rottstein, eh? I heard your townsfolk are dropping like flies and half the town burned down the other night.”

  “Maybe a slight exaggeration,” I replied, running a finger underneath my collar. It felt as if the bloody thing had shrunk and was slowly cutting into my throat. “But you might be able to help us with a murder case.”

  “Finally,” the captain bellowed, “a bit of fucking intrigue! I’ve been bored off my tits since we smashed the jerries. Here, let me buy you buggers a drink and we’ll have a natter.” He thrust his near-empty mug into my hands and snatched up two more from the table, then he strode to the end and sat down on the bench. Shaw followed and I did the same after depositing my glass back on the table. “So,” the captain said as we sat down opposite. “First things first, I’m Captain Thomas Geddes. And you chaps are?”

  “Captain King,” I replied, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “And this is Corporal Shaw.” Geddes threw back some more of the cloudy booze and beamed from ear to ear.

  “Alright then, that’s the formalities over. So what’s this investigation, eh?”

  “Murder case,” Shaw replied before I could stop him. “Young girl, found dead in the woods.”

  “Juicy,” the captain said and he leaned across the table, his eyes flicking between us. “How was she done in? Shot, stabbed?”

  “Strangled,” Shaw said with a glint in his eye, but I cut him off before anything else came tumbling from his mouth.

  “We need to know if you saw one of my men a couple of nights ago,” I said, tapping the table with a finger. “He came to Kungsbrucken for supplies and we need to retrace his steps.”

  “Another soldier?” Geddes frowned. “He’s not the murder suspect, is he?”

  “We’re still trying to piece it all together,” I said. “The soldier’s name is Lieutenant James Turner.”

  “Doesn’t ring any bells, I’m afraid. What does he look like?”

  “Show him your drawing,” Shaw said, nudging my arm. I felt my face start to heat up but I plucked the paper from my pocket and unfurled it on the table, then slid it across the sticky surface. Geddes peered at the drawing and his beaming smile returned.

  “Bugger me blue,” he cackled, slapping his palm down on the table. “What’s wrong with his face? Did he headbutt a tank?”

  “Look, forget the drawing,” I said, pulling it back and stashing it away in my jacket. “He’s about six foot tall, he has short dark hair parted to the right side and a mole just under his chin.”

  “Don’t think I’ve seen your Lieutenant,” Geddes said with a shake of his head. “Sorry, chaps.”

  “Well, do you know who was on guard at the pill box that night? We were told to ask a Captain Pipes.”

  “No idea I’m afraid.” Geddes grinned and finished off his beer. “As for old Pipesy, you’ll be waiting a while to get anything out of him. He lost a bet, see.” The captain pointed over my shoulder and I turned to see a middle-aged man with a bushy moustache and double chin slumped in the corner of the room with an empty bottle resting between his legs.

  “Christ,” Shaw said, “what was the bet?”

  “That he could drink a whole bottle of whiskey and not pass out.” Geddes smiled and scratched his chin. “To his credit, he finished off the bottle in record time. It was the staying conscious part where he fluffed his lines.”

  “Is there anyone else who might be able to help?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Geddes replied. “Captain Hall. But you’ll have to wait for him to wake up and find all his teeth.” He nodded at the man in the vest, who was still slumped across the opposite table.

  “Captain,” I said, desperation creeping in. “Look, we really need some help. Turner claims he drank in a bar somewhere in town that night, maybe we could try retracing his steps?”

&
nbsp; “Well, that’s easy enough,” Geddes said. “Only two bars in this town. Seems like a good excuse to go visit them both. Follow me, gents.”

  We did as he asked, heading north from the barracks into the centre of town. By now the sky was dark for real, the sun setting somewhere beyond the hills, behind that thick layer of cloud. Kungsbrucken was typically silent at this hour. The locals were mostly locked away in their homes and I counted just three other people on the short walk to the central square, one of those being a soldier who was leaning against a wall with a fag in one hand and a plain brown bottle in the other. He was gazing up at the stars with his mouth gaping wide, as if he’d just seen a merry band of naked angels frolicking overhead. Meanwhile, Geddes was teasing as much information as he could out of Shaw and I decided I was too bloody tired to give a damn. Besides, my face still felt like I’d ran into a brick wall.

  The first bar we tried was a cozy little cellar called Das Kapitan, hidden away beneath a row of houses. The staircase leading down into the dingy room was so squat that it must have rattled the brains of many a soused patron. I missed one of the beams by less than an inch, the sharp corner brushing through my hair and breezing over my scalp. From then on I was extra careful, hunching my body and stepping sideways. At the bottom I sucked in a triumphant breath of the sticky, alcoholic air and glanced around, my eyes quickly adjusting to the gloomy interior, which was lit only by a dozen or so thick-bodied candles lining the walls. A handful of patrons filled the scattered tables, mostly sitting alone or in pairs, with a glass of beer or wine clutched close to their chests. The hushed chatter died down as we entered and every head turned towards us.

  “Greetings,” Geddes said, waving and beaming that gormless grin of his. He led us to the bar at the far end of the room, where a thick-set man was scribbling in an enormous notebook, by the light of one of the candles. He was the only one paying us no attention, not until Geddes slapped down a handful of coins. “Barkeep,” the Captain said, “three beers. And my chum here has a couple of questions for you.” The bartender glanced up, a mildly aggrieved expression drifting across his leathery face.