McSweeney's Mammoth Treasury of Thrilling Tales - Michael Chabon [153]
“It is a possibility we’re looking into, Herr Hitler. Do you have any suspicions?”
“Naturally, I am convinced who killed her, but how can we hope to bring them to justice? They are masters of this kind of conspiracy. Oh, Geli, Geli, my perfect angel.” He began to weep then, with tears streaming from those mad eyes. He spoke with sudden clarity and force. “They’ll get me next, you know. They killed her with my gun. It was to make it seem as if I had done it. And where are they now, these traitors and saboteurs? Returned to Berlin and Moscow. You’ll never catch them. They come and go like poisoned gas. They couldn’t kill me, so they killed poor Geli. You waste your time, Englishman. Already there have been serious attempts on my life. I am doomed. I carry too great a burden on my shoulders. I am a lone voice against chaos and Bolshevik Jewry.”
“Quite a responsibility!” agreed Sir Seaton, backing toward the door. “We’ll take up no more of your time, Herr Hitler.”
As they walked down the stairs, strange, mewling noises continued to come from Hitler’s room. Hess had remained with his master. Strasser shook his head, speaking softly. “You wouldn’t believe it, gentlemen. Hitler’s a different creature on a public platform.”
They had returned to the fireplace, where Röhm still lounged, and he agreed vigorously. “It’s as if the crowd feeds its energy to him. He stands there sometimes for minutes before he speaks, drawing in that energy. He’s a kind of vampire, I suppose.” The SA leader drained his glass and sighed.
Strasser interrupted. “He’s our best bet for chancellor. We all know that. He has something the crowd responds to. But once we are in power, we’ll find him a more suitable position—head of propaganda, perhaps.” He started as, softly, upstairs, a door closed.
Strasser dropped his voice still lower. “In a few days Hitler has an appointment with Chancellor Hindenburg. It looks as if, so long as we keep our noses clean, old Hindenburg will name Alf as his successor. But if Alf remains like—like what you saw upstairs—he won’t make any other impression than the obvious one. So you don’t have much time, I’m afraid, Sir Seaton.”
“I’ll do my best, Captain Röhm. And, of course, I’ll be grateful for any help.” Sir Seaton reached to shake hands, but Röhm was taking his cap and greatcoat down from the antlered peg.
“Give me a lift back to Munich. I might have a lead for you.” Sinclair was astonished at how rapidly Röhm had sobered.
Hess decided that he should remain at his leader’s side, and Strasser had also decided to spend the night, so Röhm joined Sir Seaton in the front while Taffy again found himself in the profoundly comfortable leather of the back. Against his will, he began to doze and did not hear the whole exchange between Röhm and Begg.
“She had only one lover, you know that?” announced Röhm. “I think he might have been assigned to guard her. My chaps were keeping a watch. She had a lot of guards, but this one was special. I think she was infatuated with him. A tall SS captain, by all accounts. Blond. Always wore dark glasses. He’s disappeared out of the picture since the shooting. They say he was Himmler’s spy, but he didn’t seem to be following anyone’s orders much. Himmler hated old Geli, you know. I had a soft spot for her. Bit of a whore, like myself. Maybe she died because she knew too much. Maybe that’s what’ll happen to me, too.” Again that monstrous, grunting laugh, far too big for the size of the soft, battle-scarred face.
Captain Röhm was staying at the Brown House that night. His own flat, he reported with a laugh, was full. It was dusk as they dropped him off. “Where to, now, Seaton? Bed?” Sinclair asked hopefully.
“I’m afraid not, Taffy. There’s just time to catch the last few musical numbers and get a decent glass of Russian tea at the Carlton Tea Rooms! You remember I was studying the entertainment pages on the way over. This will help take the taste of that schnapps out of your mouth, eh?”
CHAPTER EIGHT