Wangermann, who had been sitting in an armchair, rose with a grunt.
“Auf Wiedersehen, Captain Strasbourger,” he said.
“Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Wiener Schnitzel. Vielen Dank.”
[TWO]
Suite 330
The Hotel Bristol
Kaerntner Ring 1, Vienna, Austria
1715 3 March 1946
“I have just had a very dangerous thought,” Cronley said to Spurgeon. “We could probably, with Wangermann’s guys by now sipping tea in the lobby, manage to get across the lobby into the bar, for a cold Pilsen and pretzels without getting blown away.”
“Should we take the submachine guns with us?”
“If we take them with us, it will not only look as if we are looking for a fight, but cause consternation among the other guests in the lobby.”
“I vote for causing consternation,” Spurgeon said.
“Decisions, decisions,” Cronley said. “Let me ponder . . .”
There was a knuckle rapping at the door.
“Shit,” Cronley said as he picked up the Schmeisser. Spurgeon grabbed his Thompson and quickly ran to the door, putting his back against the wall beside it.
“Say when,” he said.
Cronley positioned himself in the bathroom door and leveled the Schmeisser at the door.
“If I forget to mention this, Charley, it’s been nice knowing you. When!”
“Likewise,” Spurgeon said, and pulled the door open.
Cezar Zielinski walked through it.
“I’m tempted to shoot you on general principles,” Cronley greeted him. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Waiting in a broom closet down the hall for you to finish with Wangermann and Holzknecht. I don’t suppose you have a beer?”
“There’s plenty of beer, all room temperature. The ice machine down the hall is on the fritz.”
“I learned to drink warm beer in Ol’ Blighty,” Zielinski said. “I also learned that you can cool beer by putting it outside one’s room on the windowsill.”
“You’re in a chipper mood.”
“I had a very good night last night,” Zielinski said. “How much of my winnings with your money do I get to keep?”
“How much have you left after paying the hooker?”
“Lots. Do I detect a tone of moral disapproval? And how did you hear about the hooker?”
“Hookers, plural. From Holzknecht.”
There came another knuckle rap at the door.