McSweeney's Mammoth Treasury of Thrilling Tales - Michael Chabon [147]
“I’ve yet to become a blackmailer’s runner, Father Stempfle,” Begg protested mildly. “Good night to you.”
He ducked beneath the warped lintel and began to make for his car, Sinclair slightly ahead of him. Only then did the two men realize that someone was beside their car, trying to force the lock. With a roar of rage Sinclair seized and grappled with the ill-smelling thieves. But there were at least a dozen of them. Others slipped out of the shadows, clubs and fists flailing as they came to their companions’ assistance.
Begg was skilled in most forms of unarmed combat.
“Hold them for me for a moment, old man!” He carefully removed his hat and then weighed in.
Several of the assailants soon lay on the ground. The others began to regroup, still a threat.
Then, suddenly, Begg heard a sharp thud against the tree nearest his head and the distinctive crack of a high-powered Mauser rifle. Almost immediately, as if familiar with the sound, the vagrants melted back into the trees. Sinclair paused, ready to pursue them, but with a smile Begg retrieved his hat and hurried his friend into the car. “No one else intends us any harm, Taffy. But it might be wise to keep moving.”
Within the wholesome comfort of the great automobile, Sinclair was still more upset by the photographs than afraid of the gunshot. He continued to vent his disgust. “How could he make her—? I mean—?”
“Not a position any sane creature would volunteer for,” Begg agreed. He began to reverse the car back down the short drive. “I think it’s time we paid a call on the local cop shop, don’t you?”
CHAPTER SIX
THE FEDERAL AGENT
As it happened, there was no need to visit the police station. Arriv-ing back at their hotel’s foyer and collecting their keys, they were immediately confronted by an extraordinarily beautiful young woman who rose from a couch and came toward them smiling. Her full red lips and dark red hair worn in a fashionable wave were complemented by her green evening dress as she stretched a gloved hand toward Sir Seaton.
He bent to kiss it. Of course they had immediately recognized the woman. Once a ruthless adventuress whose love affair with Begg had resulted in her decision to make herself his ally, she was now a freelancer. Unlike Begg she took retainers from any government that valued her skill.
From her reticule the woman took a small book on which was fastened a metal badge. After they had glanced at it, she returned it swiftly to its place.
“My dear Countess von Bek,” exclaimed Sir Seaton, “I had no idea you were in Munich. Are you staying here?”
“Nearby, Sir Seaton. I wondered if you had seen my cousin lately?” This was prearranged code. Countess Rose von Bek wanted to speak urgently and privately. Begg immediately led them into the deserted sitting room, ordered some tea, and closed the doors.
Once they were settled and the tea served, Sir Seaton relaxed. “So, my dear Rose, we appear to be working on the same case? Can you say who your client is?”
The adventuress responded with her usual charm. “I have made no more a secret of it than have you, Seaton. The German Federal Government Special Political Service. They sent me down from Berlin to give support to the local cops—the ones who don’t actually believe Herr Hitler to be the next world savior and that Jews are damned to hell for not accepting the Messiah. So far I’ve met a good number of decent cops and some very clever newspapermen.”
“So we find ourselves on different sides in this case. I take it, therefore, you know who killed Geli Raubal?”
She took an ironic sip from her Dresden cup. “We’ve been working on the broader political associations.”
“But surely everything we need to know hinges on the circumstances and solution of this case?” Taffy Sinclair chipped in.
“No doubt, Mr. Sinclair. But the government’s priorities aren’t