A Good German

by Joseph Kanon

  “And this will squeeze him out?” he said, holding the paper.

  “Part of the way. The way it works is to get the Russians to do the rest. They think Emil’s loose. He is still loose. What if they had the chance to get him back? Sikorsky’s dead. Tully’s dead. Who else do they send to get him?”

  “Especially if he can get you as well? I don’t like that. And how do you intend to manage this, may I ask?”

  “Just go have the drink, okay? We’re almost there.”

  “With loose talk. Which he’ll hear.”

  “He’s heard everything else.”

  “One of ours, then.”

  “I don’t know. The only one I know it isn’t is you.”

  “Very trusting of you.”

  “No. It was an American bullet. You buy British,” Jake said, pointing to the bottle.

  Brian folded the paper and pocketed it. “Speaking of which, you’ll want this back.” He brought a gun out of the pocket. “If you’re determined to keep asking for trouble.”

  “Liz’s gun,” Jake said, taking it.

  “Something of a rush at the Adlon, but I managed to pick it up. Just in case.”

  “He killed her, you know. Sikorsky.”

  “So that’s it?” Brian said. He got up to go. “It’s a fool’s game, getting even. It never turns out the way you expect.”

  “It’s not about that.”

  “Then it’s a lot to do for a story.”

  “How about getting away with murder? Is that enough?”

  “Dear boy, people get away with murder all the time. You’ve only to look around you. Especially here. Years of it.”

  “Then let’s stop it.”

  “Now I do feel old. Nothing like the young for putting things right. Well, I’ll leave you to it. And this lovely scotch. Second thought, perhaps I won’t,” he said, picking up the bottle. “Never know how many rounds I’ll have to buy before the old tongue loosens up properly. On my expenses, too.”

  “Thanks, Brian.”

  “Well, Africa together-it has to count for something. No point in telling you to be careful, I suppose. You never were. Still, Russians. I should have thought you’d have your hands full sorting out your menage.” He nodded to the next room.

  “It’ll sort itself out.”

  “The young,” Brian said, sighing. “Not in my experience.”

  It took Jake ten minutes to dress, his stiff arms fumbling with the buttons, even tying his shoes a small agony.

  “You’re going out?” Lena said, looking up from the table where she and Erich were leafing through a magazine rescued from one of the girls. Life, pictures from another world. Emil sat on the couch, his face vacant, lost in himself.

  “I won’t be long,” Jake said, starting toward her to kiss her goodbye, then stopping, even the most ordinary gesture somehow awkward now. Instead he rubbed Erich’s head.

  “Rosen said to rest,” Lena said.

  “I’m all right,” Jake said, feeling Emil watching him so that, like an intruder, he wanted to hurry out, away from them. “Don’t wait up,” he said to Erich, but taking them all in. Only Erich moved, giving him a little wave.

  The street was a relief, the comforting anonymity of the dark. A soldier in a jeep. He drove out toward Kreuzberg, not even noticing the ruins. Even Berlin could become normal, a question of what you were used to.

  He found Gunther playing solitaire, a half-full bottle on the table beside him, methodically laying out rows of cards like his columns of obvious points.

  “A surprise visit,” Gunther said, not sounding surprised at all, barely looking up from the cards.

  “I thought I’d bring you up to date,” Jake said, sitting down.

  Gunther grunted, continuing to lay out cards as Jake told him about the Adlon, not even pausing when bullets hit the Chancellery steps.

  “So once again you’re lucky,” he said when Jake finished. “And we still don’t know.”

  “That’s why I’ve come. I have an assignment for you.”

  “Leave me alone,” he said, turning over a card. Then he looked up. “What?”

  “I want you to go to a funeral tomorrow.”

  “Sikorsky’s?”

  “A friend. Naturally you’d want to go.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “And pay your respects to his successor. I assume his number two-they haven’t had time to bring anyone in yet. Maybe his boss. Either way, whoever’s Sikorsky now. It’s good business, for one thing.” He glanced at the stacks of black market boxes.

  “And the other?”

  “New business.”

  “With me,” Gunther said, raising an eyebrow.

  “You have to think of it from his point of view-what he knows or what he’s been told. They must have grilled the Russians at the Adlon. What he knows is that Sikorsky saw us there-Lena and me-and let us pay a visit. He knows Brandt escaped and Sikorsky was killed chasing him. He knows the Americans don’t have him-Tully’s partner would have told him. So where is he? The logical place?”

  Gunther made a questioning sound, still playing.

  “Where he’s always wanted to be-with his wife. Who came with me. And I’m a friend of yours. And you-you kept tabs on me for Sikorsky,” Jake said, slapping the words down in order, jack, ten, nine. “His source.”

  Gunther stopped. “I told him nothing. Nothing important.”

  “So he said. The point is, they know he got it from you. They know you know me. They might even think you know where I am. Which means—”

  “An interesting situation, I agree,” Gunther said, turning a card slowly. “But I don’t know where you are. I have never wanted to know that, if you remember. To be in this position.”

  “If they believe that. Maybe they don’t think you’re so high-minded. Maybe they just think you’re a rat.”

  Gunther glanced up, then went back to his cards. “Are you trying to provoke me? Don’t bother.”

  “I’m trying to show you how he’ll see things. When you talk to him tomorrow.”

  “And what do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to betray me.”

  Gunther put down the cards, reached for his glass, and sat back, looking at Jake over the rim. “Go on.”

  “It’s time to move up in the world. Cigarettes, watches, a little bar gossip-there’s no real money in that. But even a small-time crook gets a chance once in a while. Something big to sell. Sometimes it falls right into your lap.”

  “I take it Herr Brandt is that opportunity.”

  Jake nodded. “I came to you to get some travel permits. To get the happy couple out of town.”

  “And I would have these?”

  “They’re on the market. You’re in the market. They’ll think you could. But now you’ve got a situation. You want to keep your options open. Your friend Sikorsky is gone-why not make some new friends, and a bundle on the side? Hard to resist.”

  “Very.”

  “So you arrange to meet us, with the permits. If someone else shows up instead—”

  “Where?” Gunther said, oddly precise.

  “I don’t know yet,” Jake said, brushing it aside. “But in the American zone. That’s important. They need to send an American. If they’re Russians, I’ll smell a setup right away. It has to be an American, so I won’t suspect until it’s too late.”

  “And they’ll send him, your American.”

  “He’s the obvious person. He knows who I am. And he’ll want to come. I’ve put the word out that I’m on to something. He can’t take that chance. He’ll come.”

  “And then he will have you.”

  “I’ll have him. All you have to do is lead him to me.”

  “Be your greifer,” Gunther said, his voice low.

  “It can work.”

  Gunther moved his eyes back to the cards and began to play again. “A pity you weren’t on the force, before the war. Sometimes the bold move—”

  “It can work
,” Jake said again.

  Gunther nodded. “Except for one thing. I have no quarrel with the Russians. As you say, I want to keep my options open. If you succeed, where am I? With no options. The Russians will know I betrayed them. Get someone else.”

  “There isn’t anyone else. They’ll believe you. It’s your case too.”

  “No, yours. It was interesting to help you, a way to pass the time. Now it’s something else. I don’t make myself conspicuous. Not now.”

  Jake looked at him. “That’s right. You never did.”

  “That’s right,” Gunther said, refusing to be drawn.

  Jake reached over and placed his hand on the cards, stopping the play.

  “Move your hand.”

  Jake held it there for another minute, staring at him.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “How long do you intend to stay dead? Years? That’s a lot of time to pass with your head down. You’re still a cop. We’re talking about murder.”

  “No, survival.”

  “Like this? You tried that once. A good German cop. So you kept your head down and people died. Now you want to stick it down a bottle. For what? A chance to snitch for the Russians? You’d be working for the same people. You think it’ll be any different?” He pushed his chair away, frustrated, and walked over to the wall map. Berlin as it used to be.

  Gunther sat stonily for a second, then laid down another card, almost a reflex.

  “And the Americans are so much better?”

  “Maybe not by much,” Jake said, his eyes moving left, toward Dahlem. “But that’s who’s here. That’s the choice.” He turned from the map. “You have a choice.”

  “To work for the Americans.”

  “No, to be a cop again. A real one.”

  Neither of them said anything for a minute, so when the door rattled with a sharp knock, it seemed even louder in the thick silence. Jake looked up, alarmed, expecting Russians, but it was Bernie, pushing through the door with folders under his arm just as he had that first night at Gelferstrasse, running into a plate. Now it was the sight of Jake that stopped him in mid-dash.

  “Where have you been? People are looking for you, you know.”

  “I heard.”

  “Well, it’s good you’re here. Saves a trip,” he said, not explaining and moving toward the table. “ Wie gehts, Gunther?” He looked down at the cards. “Seven on the eight. Things a little blurry?” He picked up the bottle, gave it a quick glancing measurement, and put it aside.

  “Clear enough.”

  “I brought the Bensheim copies you asked for. I’ll need them back, though. We’re not supposed to—”

  “According to Herr Geismar, unnecessary now.”

  “What’s Bensheim?” Jake said.

  “Where Tully was before Kransberg,” Bernie said.

  “To cross the t ‘s,” Gunther said, opening one of the folders, then looking at Jake. “Not bold, methodical. So often there’s a pattern.

  I thought, to whom was he selling these persilscheins? Which Germans? Perhaps someone I would recognize. An idea only.“

  “So that’s what they look like,” Jake said, coming over and picking one up.

  The usual buff-colored paper and ragged type wedged into boxes, ink scrawled across the bottom. The name on top was Bernhardt, no one he knew. A different page layout, yet still familiar, like all the occupation forms. He scanned down the sheet, then handed it back. Innocuous paper, but worth a reputation to Bernhardt.

  “But as I say, no longer necessary,” Gunther said.

  “Why’s that?” Bernie said.

  “Gunther’s retiring from the case,” Jake said. “He wants to do his drinking elsewhere.”

  “Still, you don’t mind if I look? Since you went to the trouble?” Gunther said, taking the folders.

  “Be my guest,” Bernie said, pouring himself a drink. “Did I walk into the middle of something?”

  “No, we’re done,” Jake said. “I’m off.”

  “Don’t go. I have some news.” He tossed back the drink and swallowed it with a small shudder, a gesture so uncharacteristic that it drew Jake’s attention.

  “I thought you didn’t drink.”

  “Now I see why,” Bernie said, still grimacing. He put down the glass. “Renate’s dead.”

  “The Russians—”

  “No, she hanged herself.”

  No one spoke, the room still as death.

  “When?” Jake said involuntarily, a sound to fill the space.

  “They found her this morning. I never expected—”

  Jake turned away from them to the map, his eyes smarting, as if they had caught a cinder. “No,” he said, not an answer, just another sound.

  “Nobody thought she’d—” Bernie stopped, then looked over at Jake. “She say anything to you when you talked to her?”

  Jake shook his head. “If she did, I didn’t hear it.” His eyes moved over the map-the Alex and its impossible trial, Prenzlauer where she’d hidden the child, Anhalter Station, cadging a cigarette on the platform. You could trace a life on a map, like streets. The old Columbia office, delivering items with her sharp eye.

  “So now it’s an end,” Gunther said, his voice neutral, emotionless.

  “It didn’t start this way,” Jake said. “You didn’t know her. How she was. So-pretty,” he said inadequately, meaning alive. He turned to them. “She was pretty.”

  “Everybody dies,” Gunther said flatly.

  “I don’t know why I should mind,” Bernie said. “Everything she did. And a Jew. Still.” He paused. “I didn’t come here for this. To see another one die.”

  “She was part of that,” Gunther said, still flat.

  “So were a lot of people,” Jake said. “They just kept their heads down. Maybe they couldn’t help it either, the way it was.”

  “Well, maybe she’s found her peace,” Bernie said. “A hell of a way to do it, though.”

  “Is there another?” Gunther said.

  “I guess that depends on what you can live with,” Bernie said, picking up his hat.

  Gunther glanced up at this, then looked away.

  “Anyway, I thought you’d want to know. You coming?” he said to Jake. “I still have things to do. Two days with these, okay, Gunther?” He touched the folders. “I have to send them back. You all right?”

  Gunther didn’t answer, reaching instead for a folder and opening it, avoiding them by reading the page. Jake stood, waiting, but Gunther’s only response was to turn the page, like a policeman going through mug shots. They were at the door before Gunther raised his head.

  “Herr Geismar?” he said, getting up slowly and walking over to the map, his back to them. He stood for a second, studying it. “Pick the place. Let me know before the funeral.”

  Lena was in the big chair, legs tucked beneath her, wreathed in smoke rising from the ashtray perched on the wide arm, the room shadowy with a faint glow from the scarf-draped lamp. She looked as if she’d been sitting for hours, coiled into herself, too fixed now to move even when he walked over and touched her hair. “Where’s Emil?”

  “Bed,” she said. “Not so loud, you’ll wake Erich.” She nodded at the couch, where the boy lay curled up under a sheet. Brian’s sleeping arrangements answered, in shifts.

  “What about you?”

  “You want me to share the bed?” she said, unexpectedly short, lighting a new cigarette from the stub of the other. “Maybe I should go to Hannelore. To live this way—” She looked up. “He says you won’t let him leave. He wants to go to Kransberg.”

  “He will. I just need him for one more day.” He brought one of the table chairs over and sat next to her so they could talk in murmurs. “One more day. Then it’ll be over.”

  She tapped the cigarette in the tray, moving the ash around. “He thinks you took advantage of me.”

  “Well, I did,” he said, trying to break her mood.

  “But he forgives me,” she said. “He wants to forgi
ve me.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t listen. I was weak, but he forgives me-that’s how it is for him. So you see, I’m forgiven. All that time, before the war, when I thought- And in the end, so easy.”

  “Does he know that? Before the war?”

  “No. If he thought that Peter- You didn’t tell him, did you? You must leave him that.”

  “No, I didn’t tell him.”

  “We must leave him that,” she said, brooding again. “What a mess we’ve made for ourselves. And now he forgives me.”

  “Let him. It’s easier for him this way. Nobody’s fault.”

  “No, yours. It’s you he doesn’t forgive. He thinks you want to ruin him. That’s the word he uses. And poison me against him. Anything crazy he can think of. So that’s the thanks you get for saving him.” She leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes, blowing smoke up into the air. “He wants me to go to America.”

  “With him?”

  “They can take the wives. It’s a chance for me-to leave all this.”

  “If they go.”

  “We can start over. That’s his idea. Start over. So that’s what you saved him for. Maybe you’re sorry now.”

  “No. It was in my cards, remember?”

  She smiled, her eyes still closed. “The rescuer. And now here we are, all your strays. What are you going to do with us?”

  “Put you to bed, for a start. You’re talking in your sleep. Come on, we’ll move Erich, he won’t mind.”

  “No, leave him. I’m too tired to sleep.” She turned and looked at the boy. “I sent one of the girls to see Fleischman. He asks, can we keep him a little longer? The camps are so crowded. You don’t mind? He’s no trouble. And you know, Emil doesn’t like to talk in front of him, so it’s good that way. It gives me some peace.”

  “What about Texas?”

  “They want babies only. Before they become too German, maybe,” she said, more dispirited than angry. She rubbed out the cigarette. “All your strays. You take us in, then you’re responsible. You know, he thinks you’re going to take him to his mother. What do I say to that? After prison, maybe?”

  “Not even then,” Jake said quietly. “She killed herself last night.”

  “Oh.” A wounded sound, like a faint yelp. “Oh, she did that?” She glanced again at the couch, then down into her lap, her eyes filling. Jake reached for her, but she waved him away, covering her eyes with her hand. “So stupid. I didn’t even know her. Someone from the office. Don’t look. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”