Chapters (50)
- Praise
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Teaser chapter
She helped herself to one of my cigarettes, and while I put a match to it, I got a better look at her. Her face had just a few freckles around the nose, which was, perhaps, just a little too pointed. It made her seem sharp and speculating, which, of course, she probably was. Her eyes were a green shade of avarice. The teeth were small and very white with the bottom jaw just a little too prominent. With just the one expression so far, she looked like one of those Sonneberg dolls with the porcelain face and the kind of underwear that’s played with every day.
My eggs arrived with her coffee—a bowl of half coffee, half milk. While I ate, she talked about herself and smoked, and sipped her coffee, and had a little cognac. “I haven’t seen you here before,” she observed.
“It’s been a while,” I said. “I’ve been living in Munich.”
“I’d like to live in Munich,” she said. “Somewhere farther west than Vienna, anyway. Somewhere there aren’t any Ivans around.”
“You think the Amis are any better?”
“Don’t you?”
I let that one go. She didn’t want to hear my opinions of the Americans. “What do you say we go back to your place?”
“Hey, quit stealing my lines,” she said. “I’m supposed to make the running, not you?”
“Sorry.”
“What’s your hurry, anyway?”
“I’ve been on my shoes all day,” I said. “You should know what that’s like.”
She tapped the cognac bottle with a fingernail as big as a paper knife. “This isn’t herbal tea you’re drinking here, Eric,” she said, sternly. “This is more of a put-you-down than a pick-me-up.”
“I know, but it takes the edge off the ax I’ve been grinding for the last few hours.”
“Oh? Against who?”
“Me.”
“Like that, huh?”
I pushed my hand across the table and lifted it a little to let her see the hundred-schilling note that was under my palm. “I need a bit of looking after, that’s all. Nothing weird. Fact is, that’ll be the easiest hundred you ever put in your brassiere.”
She regarded the hundred as she might have regarded a cannibal’s offer of a free lunch. “You need a hotel, mister,” she said. “Not a girl.”
“I don’t like hotels,” I said. “Hotels are full of lonely strangers. People sitting alone in their rooms waiting until it’s time to go home. I don’t want that. I just need somewhere to stay until tomorrow morning.”
She covered my hand with hers. “What the hell?” she said. “I could use an early night.”
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-FIVE