Five Past Midnight - James Thayer [26]
The executioner, Sergeant Winge, entered the cell carrying two buckets of water. A towel was draped over his shoulder He worked his dappled red face into a smile. "You have an appointment. You need to get ready."
Agent Koder came next. He was holding a pair of pants, a shirt, and a leather bag. His face was hard with thought. "This is unprecedented, Sergeant. There are no regulations governing such things."
"Take your clothes off," Winge ordered.
Dietrich surprised himself by finding a reserve of dignity. "I'm not going naked to the guillotine."
The sergeant's pudding face lightened even more. "Our plumbing is out and the shower stalls don't work. So I'm going to give you a shower like we did in the trenches thirty years ago. The bucket brigade." He lowered one bucket to the stones.
Rudolf Koder's voice was bitter. "You are to go to the Prinz Albrecht Strasse headquarters as soon as possible. Would you know why?"
Dietrich removed his ragged shirt and pants. He pulled off his shoes and socks and his shredded underwear. He stood nude in the middle of the cell, his arms away from his sides. The pill was still under his tongue.
The executioner swung a bucket. Icy water doused Dietrich from face to toes. Then the sergeant gave him the towel. He lifted the other bucket to the cot.
"Here's a razor and soap and scissors," Winge said. He took the bag from Koder and put it on the cot. "You'll find shoes to fit you in this bag, along with your wallet, cop's ID, and your bridgework."
"I don't understand why I was not consulted by General Müller," the Gestapo agent complained, lowering the clothes he was carrying to the cot. "He knows I'm your case agent."
Dietrich tried to cut his beard with the scissors.
The sergeant said, "Your hands are shaking so badly you're going to stab yourself." He took the scissors and quickly cut back the beard to stubble, letting the hair fall to the stones. Then he dampened an edge of towel, rubbed soap on it, and worked it into a foam with his fingers. He dabbed the soap lather on Dietrich's face.
"My father was a barber — did I ever tell you?" the executioner asked. "I was going to enter the trade, but I found the army first. So instead of cutting off hair, I cut off heads. Funny how life works."
The sergeant rapidly shaved Dietrich, dipping the straight razor into the bucket several times. Then he wiped the detective's face with the towel. He stepped back to admire his work.
"Good as new," Winge said proudly.
Dietrich inserted his bridge, and snapped his jaw several times to test it. He was too weak to stand on one leg so he leaned into the sergeant to pull the pants on. His fingers shook, so the sergeant buttoned his shirt. Winge tried tying Dietrich's tie from the front but finally stepped behind him to knot it correctly. Dietrich pulled on the coat. Nothing quite like him. Then the sergeant pulled Dietrich's pistol — a Walther — from the bag and passed it to him. Dietrich shoved it into his belt. He had never determined how to make a shoulder holster comfortable.
Koder and the sergeant led him from the cell, along the dim hallway, through a gate manned by a guard, then up the stairs to the main floor. When they stepped through the doors, Dietrich had to bring his hands to his eyes. He had not been aboveground for three months. Daylight was blinding. The sergeant grabbed his elbow to lead him across the sidewalk to a waiting car.
Koder's face registered surprise at the automobile, a 7 7-liter supercharged olive-green Mercedes with silver swastika medallions above its fenders. He exclaimed, "General Muller's car!"
Sergeant Winge opened the door. Dietrich tried to lower himself to the seat, but his legs buckled. Winge caught him and gently placed him on the seat.
Executioner Winge said, "I like my work, Inspector, but not enough to hope to see you again." He closed the Mercedes's