by Joseph Kanon
Kelly said nothing for a minute.
“Why don’t the police see it?” he said, biting.
“Because they’re traffic cops. And they like robbery. Come on, Kelly, nobody was supposed to see it. Ask around. Who paid him?”
Kelly picked up his hat to go. “And the pachucos will tell me. Swell.”
“It’s a bigger story.”
Kelly looked at him, a small, ironic smile. “Any studio connection?”
After he’d gone, Liesl moved to the chair next to the bed. “Did you really think that? That you were Daniel?”
“I just saw how it made sense.”
“Imagine if you could do that. Know what somebody was thinking. He could tell you-well.”
“But I know what he’d do. Maybe it took a knock on the head, but it’s clear now.”
He began throwing back the covers.
“What are you doing?”
“I have to get out of here.”
“Don’t be-”
“Listen to me. Heinrich’s in trouble. There isn’t much time.”
“Trouble?”
“I’ll explain later. Where did they put my clothes? Help me, Liesl. I’m all right. See?” he said, getting out of bed and standing. “Not even dizzy.”
But then he was, weaving slightly, putting his hand on the bed to steady himself.
“Get back into bed,” she said, taking his elbow.
“It’s my fault, understand? My fault. I have to help.” He took a breath, exhaled. “There. I just got winded for a second.” He looked down at the adhesive tape on his lower chest. “The rib makes it hard to breathe, that’s all. Here, help me with this shirt.”
“You can’t just walk out. The doctor has to release you.”
“What would Danny have done? Would he have waited?”
She looked at him. “That was different.”
He walked over to the closet, Liesl trailing him.
“We can’t go back to the Cherokee, the cops’ll still be there, so we’ll have to use your car. My wallet’s here. I can use my military ID, they’re not going to say no to that. He’ll need his passport, though.”
“Passport? What are you talking about?”
He took her arm. “I have to get him out. I can do it. But I need you to help me.”
“Get him out,” she said, looking at his head.
“I’m all right. I’m not crazy.”
“No, excited,” she said quietly, looking at him.
“Drop me at the house. Then you go to Heinrich’s alone, in case anybody’s watching,” he said, pulling on his pants.
“Why would anyone be watching?” she said nervously.
“Don’t pack. His landlady sees a suitcase, she’ll start-but anything he really wants. Take a grocery bag, so it looks like stuff for dinner. And the passport, don’t forget. I’ll explain everything to him when you get back. If he doesn’t want to, fine, we give him dinner and drive him home. But he will.”
“With a grocery bag,” she said. “Like a knapsack. And then what? We cross the mountain?”
“No,” he said, buttoning his shirt, too busy to hear her tone. “I get him to Mexico.”
“Mexico.”
“It’s just a drive.” Why the movie people came in the first place, dodging Edison’s patents, sun, and a convenient border. According to Sol anyway. “Where’s my hat? I’m going to need a hat to cover this,” he said, fingering the bandage. “Your father’s in touch with the Germans there. Some of them will know Heinrich. He’ll need help. How much cash do you keep at home?”
“Some. It’s something you learn, in case.”
“Okay, shoes.” He stood up.
“Stop. A minute. Listen to me. You’re in no condition to drive. You’ll both be killed and then what?”
“I have to.”
“Oh, have to. So pigheaded. Just like-” She stopped, looking away. “It’s serious? His trouble?”
He nodded.
“All right, I’ll drive. Don’t,” she said, holding up a hand. “Anyway, it’s my car.”
“You’re sure?” he said, pleased, as if he were extending a hand.
She shrugged, a pretend indifference. “You can’t go alone. It’s breaking the law?”
“Not yet. In a few days it would, but he’ll be gone.”
“Over the border,” she said. “I thought it was finished, all that business.”
Kaltenbach grasped the situation right away. Ben had expected indecision, an arguing back and forth, but the urgency had jolted him into an oddly calm self-assurance, all his usual dithering put away like bits of stage business.
“A political trial,” he said. “Now here.”
“No, it’s a hearing. Closed at first. It’s not the Nazis,” Ben said. “It would be a mistake to think that. To decide that way. It’s not camps or-”
“But a political trial all the same,” Kaltenbach said evenly. “I know what it means.”
“There’s no danger to you. You’re not being charged with anything. Not even being a Communist.”
“Just politically unreliable. So no work at the studios.”
“You’re not working there now,” Ostermann said. They were drinking coffee near the end of the pool terrace, the city below, lights coming on in the dusk.
“No, not for a long time,” Kaltenbach said. “Now longer.”
“I want you to understand,” Ben said. “If you leave, you won’t be able to come back. They’d make sure of that.”
“It’s not like before,” Ostermann said. “What choice did we have? Now there’s a choice. You can’t take this lightly.”
“That’s why you came over? To talk me out of it?”
“No. I talked to Anna in Mexico City. Seghers, you remember. It’s not easy to make a call there. An hour to get through. But I thought she would know somebody. Or somebody who-so, here’s an address in Tijuana. Who can help with arrangements. I said you’d be there tomorrow. If you go.”
“No, tonight,” Kaltenbach said firmly.
“Then I came to say good-bye,” Ostermann said. “If you’re sure.”
Kaltenbach turned away, too emotional to face him. “Look at it,” he said, nodding to the city. “A mirage. Maybe it’s the palm trees that suggest it. But sometimes I think there’s nothing really there. Blink-just sand again. Was I here? You and Dieter, all milk and honey, blue skies. But I wonder, even for you.”
“Almost ready?” Liesl said, coming out of the house. She had changed into cream-colored slacks and a blouse, resort wear. “Was it big enough?” She pointed to one of Danny’s old suitcases, now filled with Heinrich’s few changes of clothes.
Kaltenbach turned back to Ostermann. “I know it’s different there now.” He held his gaze for a second, a silent conversation, then stuck out his hand. “So good-bye, my friend.”
But Ostermann, tearing up, took him in his arms, a fierce hug, and Ben saw in his posture that he had done it before, one more leave-taking. When he finally pulled away, he took some money out of his pocket. “Here.”
“No,” Kaltenbach said, covering his hand.
“You’ll need it.”
Kaltenbach shook his head. “But Frau Schneider, my landlady. There’s rent owing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Keep my good name,” he said, smiling sadly. “I’ll pay you back.” A ritual phrase.
Ostermann took one of the bills from his hand. “Here. For cake at the Romanische.”
Kaltenbach took the money. “ Mohnkuchen. Like nowhere else.” He touched Ostermann on the shoulder, starting to turn away, then stopped and looked at him again. “If you read that I’ve said something-something, you know, that doesn’t sound-you’ll know it’s not me, yes? You’ll remember that?”
“Of course.”
“Even if my name is attached. I may have to- But you know the books. They can’t change those. The rest, don’t listen. Just the books.”
“We should go,” Liesl said. “They look all ri
ght,” she said to Ben, now in Danny’s borrowed clothes. “How do you feel?”
“Ready. This all?” He lifted her bag.
“I have to be back. I’m in the scene.”
“They can shoot around you for one day.” He turned to Ostermann. “Have Iris call in sick for her. Doctor’s orders.”
“They won’t like that.”
“We can’t just drop him at the border. One day.”
They started across the terrace, then froze as the phone rang.
“Don’t answer,” Ben said. “That’ll be the hospital, wondering if I ended up here in my nightgown. What did you say at the nurses’ station?” he said to Liesl.
“That you were sleeping. I’d be back tomorrow.”
“Good. So I’m the only one missing. Walking around somewhere near Vine.”
“You’ll be in trouble for this?” Kaltenbach said.
“Not unless they catch us.”
They followed Ostermann’s car down the hill and stayed behind until he veered off with a small wave. Kaltenbach waved back, his eyes fixed on the featureless boulevard, a last look before it shimmered away. By the time they turned on Sepulveda, heading down the coast, he seemed to have lost interest, letting his head rest on the backseat, eyes closed, like someone on a long railroad trip.
“Don’t go too fast,” Ben said. “We don’t want to get stopped.”
“Why are you so nervous? Nobody has any idea. Why are we supposed to be going, if anyone asks?”
“The races. Everybody goes down for the races. Fishing in Ensenada. I don’t know, why does anyone go?”
“Your brother used to say, don’t think about anything,” Kaltenbach said. “Pretend it’s the most natural thing in the world. If you worry at all, they sense it. Like dogs.”
“And did you worry?”
“I was terrified. You know what I think got us through? Alma. The way she’s in her own world. At the border she seemed surprised to see the guards, you know, anything in her way. They didn’t even question us. Of course your brother made a gift to them, but even so. They usually asked questions, to make a show. But not Alma. Si, senora. Up goes the crossing bar. And all I could think was, don’t sweat, don’t let them smell it on you. And you know, if it had gone the other way-well, it was another time. I owe my life to him. Now you.”
“No. This isn’t the same.”
“It feels the same. All that climbing, I was afraid for my heart. Now look, a chauffeur. But the same.” He was quiet for a minute, watching the night landscape pass, dark houses and miles of streetlights stretching down to Long Beach. “I never said good-bye to Alma. I wonder if she’ll notice that I’m gone.”
“Everybody will,” Ben said. “You’ll be in the papers.”
“So. You have to leave to make an impression,” he said, playing with it.
They drove past Huntington Beach, the lights getting fewer, Liesl sneaking glances at him.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“Nothing,” she said, a little startled, unaware that he’d seen.
“I’m all right, really.”
“It’s not that. The jacket. I bought it. I was remembering when I bought it.”
He fell asleep without realizing it, his head against the window, dreaming of the stars spilling across the sky on Mt. Wilson. Then he was at the Cherokee, watching blood spread in the alley, someone else’s blood, not his. Had Danny fought back? He woke when she stopped for gas, the station overly bright in the black landscape.
“Where are we?”
“Nowhere. Another twenty miles to La Jolla. Maybe we should stop there. It’s a long drive.”
“No,” Kaltenbach said from the back, “it’s important not to stop.” Another lesson from the Pyrenees. “Even to rest. People notice you. You see that car? It’s been behind us. Now it stops, too.”
“It’s the first station for miles,” Liesl said.
“Go to the toilet,” Ben said. “See if they follow. I’ve got your back.”
The attendant came over to start the pump.
“You encourage him,” Liesl said.
“He’s careful. Want a Coke?”
He went over to the ice cooler and pulled out a bottle and opened it, glancing at the second car as he drank. Two men on a Sunday night. Going where? Kaltenbach came out of the station, head low, his face shadowed by his hat.
“They’re still there?”
“Getting gas. I think it’s all right.”
They paid and left, Ben driving now, one eye on the rearview mirror.
“How would anybody know?” Liesl said to him, using English, Heinrich just a child in the backseat, swiveling his head from time to time. “You think they were watching his house?”
“He’s not the only one in the car. You heard Kelly. The guy was a hired hand. And I’m still here.”
She took this in, thinking for a minute. “And yet you do this. Out here. Where it’s easy for them.”
He said nothing.
“They were going to use Heinrich anyway. You didn’t make them.”
“I helped.”
“So it’s all on your shoulders. All the problems of the world.” She looked out the window, quiet. “You and Daniel.”
“What do I do? Just sit there?” He looked at her. “It’s not much, considering.”
“They’re turning off,” Kaltenbach said, looking out the back.
After La Jolla there were more lights, the hilly outskirts of San Diego. Liesl was fiddling with the radio, Kaltenbach keeping watch for cars.
“In the movies they always hear about themselves on the radio,” Liesl said. “But listen, just music. So we’re safe.” She turned the dial, picking up a Spanish-language station. “We must be close. What will they think of us? Different passports.”
“They don’t care much going out. It’s getting back in. It’ll be easier, just the two of us.”
“With a bandage on your head.” She was quiet for a minute. “Why did he want to kill you? You never told me that part. Why?”
“He was paid.”
“The one who paid him.”
“Maybe I’m getting close.”
“Close,” she said, not following.
“Who killed Danny.”
“Why do you think that? There’s something you’re not telling me.”
He shook his head, dodging. “But I must be.”
“Then he’ll try again,” she said flatly. “You have to go to the police.”
“With what? Tell them Danny was a snitch for Minot? I have to stay close to Minot. That’s the connection.”
She looked down. “He wasn’t that. I still don’t believe it.”
“Maybe he thought he had a reason,” Ben said, letting it go.
“We’re coming to the border,” Kaltenbach said, his voice nervous and melodramatic, as if he had seen guard dogs and soldiers with guns. In fact it was only a string of lighted booths under an arched sign.
“Go to sleep,” Ben said to him. “I don’t want to use a Czech passport if we don’t have to. He’d remember. He’s probably never seen one.”
“I don’t have to show it?”
“We can try. Close your eyes.”
He pulled up to the booth, holding his ID out the open window. A uniform like a state trooper, with a broad-brimmed hat.
“Driving late,” the guard said, checking the ID.
“Want to be early for the races.”
“Not tomorrow you won’t. No races. You didn’t know?”
Ben could feel Liesl tense beside him. “I guess we’ll have to find something else to do,” he said, the suggestion of a leer in his voice.
The officer glanced at Liesl. “I guess.”
She began to hand over her passport, but he ignored it.
“Who’s that?”
“My old man. He likes the ponies. And the tequila.” He nodded to the back. “Got a head start.”
“He’ll feel it, that stuff. Careful tonight. You know where you�
��re going?”
“We’ve been before.”
“Then I don’t have to tell you. Watch the car. They’ll steal the tires while you’re still in it.”
He stepped back, waving them on, and they drove through the noman’s stretch to the Mexican booth, another bored officer who just looked at them and said “ Bienvenidos ” and then they were over, suddenly in Tijuana.
“It’s done?” Kaltenbach said, almost deflated, cheated out of an expected drama.
“You’re free,” Ben said, stumbling on the word, an unintended irony. “No subpoenas.”
The city was noisy even at this hour, bright with strings of bare incandescent bulbs. San Diego had been asleep, but here there were still crowds, peddlers and shoe-shine kids and Americans in Hawaiian shirts, the smell of frying food, makeshift buildings as dingy as carnival flats. Men with mustaches idled on corners waiting for something to happen, like extras, their eyes following the car. Kaltenbach kept staring out the window, expecting it to get better, but the blocks streamed into each other, the same glare and sinister languor, and for a second Ben wanted to turn around, take him back, make some deal with Minot. But now he was here, even more displaced.
They went to the biggest hotel they saw, with a guarded parking lot, and Ben paid for the rooms in dollars. The desk clerk, a Mexican Joel, barely lifted his eyes as he handed out the keys. There was a restaurant two doors down and they sat in a booth, exhausted, and drank beer, picking at the chiles rellenos the waiter had brought, all that was left before closing.
“How long do you think I will have to stay here?” Kaltenbach said.
“We’ll see Broch tomorrow. I think there’s an airport. Maybe we can get you on a plane for Mexico City.”
“A plane?” Kaltenbach said timidly.
“You don’t like to fly? Oh, such a baby,” Liesl said fondly. “It’s like a bus.”
“In the air.”
“A man who crosses borders. An escape artist.”
Kaltenbach smiled weakly. “Not so difficult. Find a Kohler.” He looked at Ben. “‘My old man.’“
Ben tipped his glass in a toast.
“The other time it was sherry. Your brother found a place, after we got through, and we all drank sherry. It’s what they have there, Spain.” He glanced around the room. “It’s the same language, but this-”
