Part 11 (1/2)

It was just as well. In two more blocks the vehicle pulled up to the curb before a ramshackle exterior that did not suggest the fine restaurant on the inside. Rosalind paid the driver. The entryway beyond the front door was worn with age. A large, buxom woman with plaited hair pilled atop her head greeted us sternly.

aGruss Gott,a she said without a smile, almost as a challenge. Evidently she was a south German.

She led us into a cavernous main dining room half filled with the remains of the luncheon crowd. The wooden floors had been scrubbed smooth over the years. The decor was reminiscent of the Weimar period. The air was stuffy with food smells and a hint of tobacco despite the roomas very high ceiling. Ancient male waiters in dour formal garb shuffled between tables, some of them lofting heavily burdened trays with unseemly ease.

Without a word the woman placed us at a table already set and handed around the menus before departing.

aI want Holsteinschnitzel,a I declared eagerly, placing aside the menu without opening it.

aI donat suppose theyall let us have beer,a Alice grumbled.

aDo you truly want beer?a asked Rosalind with wide eyes.

aWhat else in a German restaurant?a Alice sneered.

Rosalind giggled. aThen Iall give you some of mine.a Her giggle subsided to a patronizing smile from her pinnacle of 21 years. aWhere have you traveled that they would serve you beer?a I saw Alice open her mouth but hesitate. She looked at me. The correct answer was all over the world a” beginning about 15 years from now! But she surprised me. She smiled smugly at the young woman. aTheyall serve me here.a Rosalind chuckled indulgently. aNo, they wonat. Not even an old Kraut could think youare legal.a aWait and see,a said Alice confidently.

Rosalind turned to me and asked plaintively, aShe wonat embarra.s.s us, will she?a Before I could answer a” a.s.suming I might have found an answer a” Alice sniffed, aAct your age, Rosalind.a aMy age?a aYouare not old enough to be my grandma.a The waiter, a thin old man with an Adamas apple bobbing above his black bow tie, soon appeared and said to me, aGuten Tag, mein Herr.a He rotated to face Rosalind. aMay I haf your beferage selections, madam?a aColas for a”a aEinen Augenblick,a declared Alice, raising her hand. Suddenly she was speaking fluent German. aFrom the form of the name, I a.s.sume Spatenhaus has its own brew. Is that correct?a aYes, miss,a the waiter responded, also in German. aWe have produced Spatenbru for over 70 years.a aExcellent! The young man will have a cola with ice. We women each desire a gla.s.s of Spatenbru to a.s.suage our thirst.a aBut, but aa The old manas eyes widened dramatically.

aWhat is it?a demanded Alice, glaring up at him.

aYou are underage, miss!a She lowered her voice and hissed at him, aYou fool, I am a midget! Do not think to judge me by my size. Adolf Hitler couldnat gas me and Spatenhaus will not fail to serve me my beer.a Her glare eased. aNow end this impertinence and bring our drinks.a The waiter glanced nervously around, possibly concerned that other diners may have heard the reference to der Fhrer. Actually he neednat have worried. That name is not p.r.o.nounced quite the same in German as in English, and Aliceas accent was better than mine. I recalled that she had taken one of her degrees at Heidelberg.

aAs madam wishes.a He bowed obsequiously and whirled away.

aWh-what was that?a asked Rosalind, staring from one to the other.

I answered dryly, aIt seems that Alice and you will be served Spatenbru.a Her chin was sagging. She stared at Alice as if a demon had possessed the small body. aYou speak German?a aYes,a I answered for her. aWe both do.a I chuckled gaily, hoping to divert the astounded young woman. aShe told him she was a midget.a aA midget?a Rosalind blinked but after a moment had to chuckle also. aA midget!a Her chuckle became a laugh. aYou think it will work?a aI expect so.a She c.o.c.ked her head at Alice. aWhy didnat you say Timmy was a midget too?a aPartly because he doesnat like beer. Mainly because heas a poor liar.a It worked in spades. The waiter returned shortly with tray aloft. He poured for Alice as if the brown bottle contained a wine of great vintage. She went through with the farce, tasting the beer and nodding acceptance, though not without a mild complaint. aGreen hops,a she said distastefully in German, abut you poor Americans cannot yet obtain the proper buds from the Rhr. It will serve. Thank you.a aMy lady is most gracious,a the waiter fawned before setting bottles and gla.s.ses before the rest of us. He did not pour for us.

When he departed, I grinned at Rosalind. aHeas eating out of her hand.a The young womanas face was animated. aThis is exciting!a Life chose that moment to become a lot more so.

Alice frowned to my left. I saw someone approaching from the corner of my eye, not the waiter to take our orders. Two large fleshy men came hurriedly to our table, both dressed in worn and rumpled blue suits. Apparently one sought me, the other Alice. Mine leaned down close above me, exhibiting a varied crop of blackheads at the temples, bad teeth and vile breath.

Taking a rough, cop-like grip on my shoulder, he hissed, aTvoi otets zhdet ukhoda. Esli tye ne poidesh sam noi sechas on poumeriot.a Unlike the child he took me for, I well knew how vanis.h.i.+ngly improbable it was that my father waited outside, whether threatened with death or not. Desperately squirming free of his grasp, I fell backwards in my chair to the floor. But with great agility and strength he grabbed me up and swung me over his shoulder.

aLeave us alone!a I heard Alice scream.

My man, already faced away, sprang for his exit. Raising my head from his back I was able to see Aliceas further response. She had jumped onto her chair. From there she leapt onto the adjacent table, splas.h.i.+ng the soup bowls of a dumbfounded party of four across their suits, dresses and faces. She leapt again to the next table, rocking it, beer and wine geysering from kicked gla.s.ses. Rosalind sat still, mouth agape in horrified shock, head swinging from me to the leaping girl.

The second intruder started after Alice, but distraught people were rising to their feet all along her path from table to table. He visibly gave up the pursuit and swung toward us. Someone in the crowd was thinking quickly, however. I saw him go down just as my bearer pa.s.sed the kitchen door on the far side with me squirming and shouting. A shot rang out above the screams and shouts behind me in the dining room.

My man shouted, aMake way!a still in Russian, and pounded through the steamy kitchen past the glaring eyes of cooks and waiters. We burst through the back door into the sharp cold air. An automobile sat there, engine running, the driveras wide Slavic face peering through a window.

My captor ran around the car, threw me past the open door against the driver and crowded into the bench seat beside me, compressing my smaller body. aMove out!a he shouted.

aWhere is Ivan?a asked the driver, also in Russian. Why were Russians interested in us?

aFBI. Move out before they get us too.a The FBI? I dismissed that as paranoia. The car lurched ahead, hardly slowing at the head of the alley, and with clas.h.i.+ng gears roared out onto the street, fortunately clear of traffic and pedestrians.

aWhat are you doing?a I asked, wriggling for breathing room. aDonat you know that kidnapping draws death penalty in this country?a aYou have pretty teeth,a said my captor.

aHuh?a He held up a hairy fist. aShut mouth if you want to keep them.a Thatas what I call a persuasive argument. I looked around. We were running straight up LaSalle into the Near North Side. The car began slowing as it approached each intersection although we had the right-of-way. My captors stared hard at each street sign.

aNot Voxsar,a the driver muttered, again and again, finally declaring, aA police car follows us. Ah, he has turned out. How much further?a The one on my right with the healthy blackheads scanned right and left, craning his neck. aNot very far,a he muttered.

The driver caught his tone. aYouave been there! Donat you know?a aVoxsar Road, 1309. Of course I know! Just keep driving.a Pa.s.sing through another intersection, suddenly the driver applied the brakes. aThat was it: Voxsar Road.a aWhat? How do you know?a aYou can still see sign. Right over there.a I had seen it. The cross street name was Boxcar Road. Suddenly I understood. The Cyrillic B is p.r.o.nounced as the Roman V, the C as Roman S. The other letters sound similar in both alphabets. Thus Boxcar equals Voxsar, a.s.suming long Os.

By squinting my young eyes could make out the next cross street ahead of the car: Voxser Road.

aWhich way should I have turned?a asked the driver.

aLeft.a At that moment on a Sunday afternoon traffic was very light. The driver simply swung the car in a wide U-turn. At Boxcar Road he turned right.

Blackheads was studying the street sign. aThatas not right,a he said uncertainly.

aItas Voxsar,a declared the driver. aSpell it yourself.a We were in the 1000 block among rows of apartment complexes. Parked cars lined both sides of the street. In three intersections we had reached the 1300 block. We proceeded along it slowly.

aWhich building?a asked the driver.

aIt should be right there,a Blackheads answered worriedly, pointing to an empty lot.

Indeed we had just pa.s.sed 1305. I could see the house number on the next building: 1313, apparently an unlucky number for my captors.

aWhat do you mean, ait should be?aa demanded the driver.

aIt is missing! What have they done with it?a That set off a debate that soon reached the shouting stage. The driver pulled into a bus stop the better to concentrate on his arguments. I gathered that people having the misfortune of birth in Kiev did not compare in intelligence to those born in Novgorod, though which group was superior remained far from clear.

Finally Blackheads lowered his voice and said to me, aYou are American, yes?a I answered, aWho wants to keep his teeth.a aThen answer with truth.a He took a small card from an inside pocket of his suit coat. aWhere is street?a It would have been funny under other circ.u.mstances. The card contained an address, printed in block letters: 1309 VOXSER ROAD.

aTurn left,a I said.

aBut do you know it?a aYes. You picked the long way to get there.a A horn blew behind us. A bus was waiting. We proceeded quickly to the intersection and turned left. After awhile I told them to turn right, then left again. I didnat want them to spot the El, but I wished very much to return to the vicinity of Spatenhaus, just in case that had indeed been the FBI who interfered with Aliceas capture.

Though Blackheads grumbled a bit at the distance, I succeeded in turning them onto the east-west street that crossed LaSalle at the restaurant intersection.

The traffic light was red when we arrived. Our little jaunt had left plenty of time for the Chicago police a” and others a” to gather at the scene of Aliceas demonstration of broken table running.

aWhat is this?a asked Blackheads, staring at the restaurant between the parked police cars, recognition appearing in his eyes.

The driver was waiting with his right foot on the brake. I slipped a foot beside his and stomped the accelerator, at the same smas.h.i.+ng the horn b.u.t.ton with my hand. Unfortunately in the excitement I had forgotten that in 1948, few cars were equipped with automatic transmissions. The driveras other foot was on the clutch pedal. All that my stomp accomplished was to race the engine.

But horn and engine attracted attention. Several faces had turned in time to observe Blackheads slap me down into the seat. I didnat see what happened next, but someone in the small crowd before the restaurant must have reacted swiftly. Our driver kicked my foot out of the way and popped the clutch to squall forward, but here his alley luck deserted him. A car coming swiftly through the green light slammed into the pa.s.senger door with the sound of huge garbage cans smas.h.i.+ng together.

For a moment I was dazed, both from the slap and the crash that had compressed my small frame between the two ma.s.sive men. I shook the fog out of my eyes and tried to sit up. Blackheadsa face was tilted oddly above mine, eyes staring upward. As I watched a rivulet of blood darted from the corner of his mouth.

The driver was fumbling in his coat, hampered by that armas elbow jammed between the spokes of the steering wheel. He saw my stare and snarled, aIf we canat have you, they canat either!a Men in business suits were approaching beyond the window. aDonat be a fool,a I managed to advise.

His lips drew back as he cursed his mother. Contorting his other arm, he reached into the coat and came out with a pistol held by the barrel. In a moment he had reversed it, swinging it towards my head. I had time for one thought: This is it!