Liberated by Steve Anderson

Author:Steve Anderson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Yucca Publishing
Published: 2014-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Eighteen

EMIL HAD FLOORED ME WITH HIS NEWS. When I told Katarina about it, she was still mad at Emil the next morning, but what could she do? Emil had a right to tell. Abraham Beckstein was how Kat knew Emil. SS trucks had hauled Abraham and his family away from Heimgau years ago. She had thought him long dead. This was why, among other good reasons she had, that Kat was so wary of me when I first came asking. When she was back in Munich, her old acquaintance Emil Wiesenberg, another cheater of death, told her what he knew about his cousin. Abraham had escaped from an SS death march across Czechoslovakia in the last days. Emil had seen Abraham passing through Munich. Abraham wasn’t looking for a family reunion. He was heading back to Heimgau, hell bent. He had his own agenda. Emil didn’t know what it was or why, and Abraham wasn’t telling, not yet. Emil could only guess that Abraham was returning to take revenge on the sicko beasts who had condemned them all. There was plenty of that going on. Emil had tried to talk his cousin out of going back, to no avail. Right as the war ended, Abraham had gotten a message to Emil in Munich saying that Heimgau was chaos, but he was helping a few trusty locals, including onetime mayor Buchholz, take over the town. The next thing Emil heard, and only recently from Kat, a US captain might have found his cousin dying along a road.

“I can still get to the bottom of it,” I reminded Kat, but she didn’t answer me. She headed out for more trading, more humping bricks.

That afternoon, Emil worked the sidewalk outside his theater in a burgundy smoking jacket and white ascot, shoving leaflets into the hands of passersby. I’d just gone to the Munich PX for that can of coffee. I strolled up and took a leaflet. “Cabaret! No Cover!” it read.

“Subtle.”

“Thanks, Mister.” At some point in our whiskey session the night before, Emil had taken to calling me Mister. “I’m glad you came back,” he said. “You must see something.”

He pushed open the courtyard door. Inside stood a US Army motorcycle, its matte green paint as smooth as new. Emil followed me in. I handed the can of coffee to Emil and circled the machine as if it was a sleeping bear. “Wowee. Just off the boat. A Harley-Davidson. Ridden Excelsiors and Indians, but nothing this strong. Stateside, I was a courier, you see.”

“Katarina told me you were a student at university.”

“I was, but some students had to work. What do you think?”

“It’s formidable. It could be worth a great deal.”

The bike reminded me of home as much as any letter or package. It had a second saddle on the back fender. I grasped the left-side throttle, stroked the gas tank. Mounted on the right fork was a leather rifle holster, empty. “Wait. Who’s here?” I glared up at Katarina’s window.

“No one. The holster was empty.

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