Garden of Beasts

you. I’d say he just took it on himself to see what you were up to—a stranger in the neighborhood. The Brownshirts have their fiefdoms. This must’ve been his.” Morgan frowned. “But still, it’s unusual for them to be so vigilant. The question is why is a senior SA man looking into ordinary citizens? They leave that to their underlings. Maybe some alert has gone out.” He gazed at the corpse. “In any event, this is a problem. If the Brownshirts find out one of their own has been killed they won’t stop searching until they find the murderer. Oh, and they will search. There are tens of thousands of them in the city. Like roaches.”
    The initial shock of the shooting had worn off. Paul’s instincts were returning. He walked from the cul-de-sac to the main portion of Dresden Alley. It was still empty. The windows were dark. No doors were open. He held up a finger to Morgan and returned to the mouth of the alley, then looked around the corner, toward the Beer House. None of the few people on the street seemed to have heard the shot.
    He returned and told Morgan that everything seemed clear. Then he said, “The casing.”
    “The what?”
    “The shell casing. From your pistol.” They looked over the ground and Paul spotted the small yellow tube. He picked it up with his handkerchief, rubbed it clean, just in case Morgan’s prints were on it, and dropped it down a drainpipe. He heard it rattle for a moment until there was a splash.
    Morgan nodded. “They said you were good.”
    Not good enough to keep from getting nabbed back in the United States, thanks to a little bit of brass just like that one.
    Morgan opened a well-worn pocketknife. “We’ll cut the labels out of his clothes. Take all his effects. Then get away from here as fast as possible. Before they find him.”
    “And who is ‘they’?” Paul asked.
    A hollow laugh from Morgan’s lips. “In Germany now, ‘they’ is everybody.”
    “Would a Stormtrooper wear a tattoo? Maybe of that swastika? Or the letters ‘SA’?”
    “Yes, it’s possible.”
    “Look for any. On his arms and chest.”
    “And if I find one?” Morgan asked, frowning. “What can we do about it?”
    Paul nodded at the knife.
    “You’re joking.”
    But Paul’s face revealed that, no, he wasn’t.
    “I can’t do that,” Morgan whispered.
    “I will then. If it’s important he’s not identified, we have to.” Paul knelt on the cobblestones and opened the man’s jacket and shirt. He could understand Morgan’s queasiness but being a button man was a job like any other. You gave it one hundred percent or you found a new line of work. And a single, small tattoo could mean the difference between living and dying.
    But no flaying was required, as it turned out. The man’s body was free of markings.
    A sudden shout.
    Both men froze. Morgan looked up the alley. His hand went to his pistol again. Paul too gripped the weapon he’d taken from the Stormtrooper.
    The voice called again. Then silence, except for the traffic. A moment later, though, Paul could detect an eerie siren, rising and falling, growing closer.
    “You should leave,” Morgan said urgently. “I’ll finish with him.” He thought for a moment. “Meet me in forty-five minutes. There’s a restaurant called the Summer Garden on Rosenthaler Street, northwest of Alexander Plaza. I have a contact who’s got information about Ernst. I’ll have him meet us there. Go back to the street in front of the beer hall. You should be able to get a taxi there. Trams and buses often have police on them. Stick to taxis, or walk, when you can. Look straight ahead and don’t make eye contact with anyone.”
    “The Summer Garden,” Paul repeated, picking up the briefcase and brushing dust and grime off the leather. He dropped the Stormtrooper’s pistol inside. “From now on, let’s stick to German. Less suspicious.”
    “Good idea,” Morgan said in the local tongue. “You speak well. Better than I expected. But soften your G ’s. It will make you sound more like a Berliner.”
    Another shout. The siren grew closer. “Oh, Schumann—if I’m not there in an hour? The radio that Bull Gordon told you about, in the embassy building they’re working on?”
    Paul nodded.
    “Call in and tell them that you need new instructions.” A grim laugh. “And you may as well give them the news that I’m dead. Now, get out of here. Keep your eyes forward, look casual. And whatever happens, don’t