The Good German by Joseph Kanon Read Free Book Online

name?”
    “More international than Russian, I think,” Ron said, evading. “Everyone agreed to it.”
    Breimer snorted. “The Russians. I’ll tell you one thing. We don’t get these people back on their feet, the Russians’ll come in, that’s for sure.”
    “Well, that’s one way to stop the drain on the American taxpayer,” Tommy said. “Let Ivan pick up the tab.”
    Breimer glowered at him. “That’s not all he’ll pick up. Well, have your fun, have your fun,” he said, sitting back. “I suppose I’m making speeches again and ruining the party. My wife’s always telling me I don’t know when to stop.” He gave a calculated smile, meant to disarm. “It’s just, you know, I hate to see waste. That’s one thing you learn in business.” He glanced again at Tommy. “To be a realist.” He shook his head. “Four Ds. We ought to be putting these people to work, not giving them handouts and breaking up their companies and wasting our time looking for Nazis under every bed.”
    A plate crashed, like a punctuation mark, and everyone turned to the door. The old man, distraught, was looking at the floor, held at the elbow by the short, wiry American who had just bumped into him. For a second no one moved, suspended in a stopped piece of film, then the reel caught again and they tumbled forward into a kind of slapstick, the gray-haired woman rushing out, hands to her cheeks, the old man moaning, the American apologizing in German. When he bent down to help with the pieces, the files under his arm slid onto the floor in a heap of papers and broken crockery. More excited German, a fuss too elaborate, Jake thought, to be about a plate—the fear, perhaps, of losing a job with its one hot meal a day. Finally the woman shooed both men away from the china and, with a bow, pulled back a chair for the late arrival.
    “Sorry, gentlemen,” he said to the quiet room, busy stacking files on the table. He had a terrier’s sharp nose and nervous energy, his face covered with a dark five-o’clock shadow he hadn’t had time to shave. Even the air around him seemed to be running late, his tie loosened from its open collar by the same hurried gust.
    “Congressman, your three o’clock tomorrow,” Ron said wryly. Captain Teitel, Public Safety Division. Bernie, Congressman Breimer.“
    “Pleased to meet you,” Teitel said quickly, extending his hand and almost colliding again with a plate of stew the serving man had brought. Jake watched, amused, as the old man hesitated behind him, waiting for a safe opening.
    “Public Safety,” Breimer said. “That’s police?”
    “Among other things. I’m de-Nazification—the guy wasting our time looking under the beds,” Teitel said.
    “Ah,” Breimer said, unsure how to proceed. Then he stood.
    “No, don’t get up.”
    Breimer smiled, pointing to the tall soldier standing at the door. “My ride.”
    But Bernie wasn’t ready to let go. “Frankfurt tells me you have a problem with the program,” he said, lowering his head as if preparing to ram.
    Breimer looked down at him, ready for another heckler, but Tommy had wearied him. “No problem,” he said, mollifying. “Just a few questions. I’m sure you’re all doing a fine job.”
    “We’d be doing a better one if we had more staff.”
    Breimer smiled. “That seems to be the general complaint here. Everybody I meet wants another secretary.”
    “I don’t mean secretaries. Trained investigators.”
    The old man now slid the plate between them onto the table and backed away, as if sensing that they were squaring off.
    “Well, we’ll talk about that tomorrow,” Breimer said, preparing to go. “I’m here to learn. Afraid I can’t do anything about personnel, though—that’s up to MG.”
    “I thought you were writing some kind of report.”
    Breimer held up a wait-a-second finger to his driver. “No. Just making sure we’re keeping our priorities straight.”
    “This is apriority.”
    Breimer smiled