Berlin Burning Read Online Free Page A

match.
    â€˜We get our jazz imports from England now?’
    â€˜You heard of Duke Ellington?’
    â€˜I know the name.’
    Eva blew smoke in Trautmann’s face. ‘Well, this bandleader’s a real duke.’
    â€˜You don’t say?’
    Roth stepped forward, grabbed Eva’s elbow and propelled her further into the room.
    â€˜Where’s Fleischer?’ he said.
    Eva frowned at Trautmann.
    â€˜It’s urgent, Eva,’ he told her, shaking out the match as he put his pipe back in his pocket. He didn’t think he’d get the chance to smoke it after all.
    â€˜He’s not in tonight.’ She pouted.
    â€˜Don’t lie to us,’ Roth said.
    â€˜It’s true.’ Eva yanked her elbow from the young detective’s grip and rubbed at it.
    Trautmann leaned close to her ear. ‘He’s going to want to hear what we have to say, so stop slowing us down. You don’t have to take us to him. Just step out of the way.’
    She pulled an on-your-own-head-be-it face and then returned to Harry and the waiting crowd outside.
    â€˜We’d better check the back,’ Trautmann told Roth. ‘Either he’s planning on going somewhere or he’s doing some kind of business in there.’
    The two detectives shoved their way to Fleischer’s office at the far end of the room. The door opened as they arrived and Fleischer walked right into them, jacket in hand. His face bore the scars of childhood pox and his hair, thinning on top, tufted over his ears.
    â€˜Can’t stop, gents,’ he said. He looked to be heading for the back exit.
    Trautmann held his ground.
    â€˜Can’t let you go, Fleischer,’ he said.
    â€˜Can’t let you stop me,’ Fleischer said.
    â€˜Off to see your niece, are you?’ Trautmann said. ‘Mind if we tag along?’ Roth stood at his shoulder in support.
    â€˜And why would I be going to see my niece?’ the big man said.
    A couple of drunks in evening dress pushed past, on their way back from the washrooms. Trautmann kept his eyes on Fleischer until the drunks were out of earshot.
    â€˜She came here a little while ago,’ Trautmann said. ‘Say about two, two-and-a-half hours. Likely covered in blood.’
    Fleischer didn’t move.
    â€˜Perhaps you know where she is,’ Trautmann added.
    One of Fleischer’s eyelids flickered.
    â€˜You want to tell us? Before she gets into any trouble?’ Roth said.
    â€˜After all, it’s not as though you’re going to get the chance to warn her,’ Trautmann said.
    Fleischer raised a questioning eyebrow at that. He turned and opened the door to his office, showing the butt of a pistol jammed between his belt and the small of his back.
    â€˜Let’s talk,’ he said, gesturing for the detectives to enter.
    â€˜You go first, if you don’t mind,’ Trautmann said. He didn’t fancy Fleischer locking them in and getting away.
    So Fleischer led them into the office and tossed his jacket at a nearby wall hook. He took a seat behind his desk, turning on a green shaded desk lamp and selecting a cigarette from an open box etched with pre-war Turkish script. He lighted it, leaned back and blew smoke at the ceiling, affecting ease.
    â€˜Tell me what you know,’ he said. ‘Maybe I can help.’ He hadn’t invited them to sit.
    Trautmann plumped for a light-hearted opening. ‘What’s that ukulele rubbish you’ve got playing out there?’
    Fleischer shrugged in his small pool of lamp light. ‘The vagaries of fashion, Trautmann, what can I say. Anyway,’ a note of pride entered his voice, ‘it’s banjos, not ukuleles.’
    â€˜What’s the difference?’
    â€˜Damned if I know. Now, do you want to get to the fucking point? I’m not of a mind to be receiving guests just now.’
    â€˜Swearing, Fleischer?’ Trautmann said. ‘That’s not like you.