Heroes by David Hagberg (reading cloud ebooks TXT) 📗

got out and held up his hands as Schey fought to control the car. His first instinct was to speed up.

But there was no way the authorities could have traced them here, he told himself. Eva sat white-faced and rigid. Roadblocks were not put up in the middle of nowhere, and small-town cops were not sent out to stop German spies.

Pumping the brakes, Schey finally managed to bring the car to a complete stop. His muscles were bunched up. He thought about the pistol he had taken from Montisier’s body. He cranked down the window, the car instantly filling with the icy wind.

The police officer came up to them, first glancing at the New York license plate.

“What’s the trouble, officer?” Schey asked.

“Long ways from home,” the cop said.

“Yes, we are. We’re trying to get to California.”

“You won’t make Amarillo. Not tonight. Haven’t you been listening to the radio?”

“Not for a while,” Schey said. The cop was staring at Eva, his eyes narrowing.

“We’ve got us a big storm coming. Your missus not feeling well?”

Schey leaned a little closer to the cop. “Truth is, officer, she’s frightened half out of her mind.”

“Frightened?”

“Yes, sir. By this weather. She’s a Florida girl. Never has seen much snow.”

“Well, tonight’s not the night to be showing it to her. All the roads out of here are closed.”

“Even 66?”

“Even 66. So what I want you to do is just turn right around and get yourself back into town. Perkins will find you a room.”

“Perkins?”

“The rooming house. Big place right on Main Street. You passed it on the way through.”

“We saw it,” Schey said.

“Don’t believe I caught your name,” the cop drawled.

“Bob Stromberg,” Schey said. “This is my wife, Evelyn.”

Eva looked up at the cop and smiled weakly. “We just got married, and this ain’t my idea of a honeymoon,” she said, a slight southern accent in her voice.

The cop grinned. “Newlyweds. Tell that to Mrs. Perkins, she’ll fix you two up right. Try Danny-Joe’s on the corner. Best eatin’ place in town.” “Thank you,” Schey said. He cranked the window back up as the cop went back to the cruiser.

“I thought …”

“You did fine,” Schey said, looking back as he made a U-turn. The cop was standing by his cruiser, watching them. He hadn’t quite bought their story. Schey was almost sure of it.

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this …” she said.

“Don’t fall apart on me now,” Schey said absently. What was it they had done wrong? Why had the cop been skeptical? Or was he that way naturally?

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just tired. We’ll get a room, get something to eat, and get a good night’s sleep. Everything will be better in the morning.”

“Nothing will be better in the morning. It’ll all be the same!”

Her voice was rising.

Schey held his silence until they were parked in front of the rooming house back in the middle of town. Then he turned on her. “If you’re going to be with me, you’re going to have to help. I don’t need an anchor. It could kill us both!”

“Fine. We’ll split the money and I’ll go my own way.”

“That’s right,” Schey said. “When we get into New Mexico, I’ll put you on a bus for Mexico City.”

“Fair enough,” she said stubbornly. “At least I won’t have to put up with your Nazi spy bullshit!”

Schey looked into her eyes for a long time. She was frightened.

He would have to kill her, of course. He couldn’t let her go off by herself. If she was caught, which was likely, she would be made to tell everything. She knew Schey would be in Santa Fe. It wouldn’t take them long to run him down.

He wanted to reach out at that moment to touch her cheeks, her lips. He didn’t know, sometimes, how he could go on. There were instances like now when he felt very lost and very much alone.

“Crap,” she swore. “I’m not going to sit out in this deep freeze arguing all night.” She tossed off Schey’s old overcoat and got out of the car.

Schey hopped out after her, getting their bags out of the trunk.

He looked at the suitcase containing the radio transmitter, then glanced up the street toward the west. He took it.

Together they crossed the street to the rooming house and rang % the doorbell. A short, thin—almost emaciated—woman came to the door.

“Get in out of the cold before you catch your death,” she twittered, letting them in. “I suppose Willis stopped you on the highway and you’ll be needing a room.”

“Yes, we will,” Schey said, pulling off his hat.

“We’re newly weds,” Eva said sweetly.

“Land o’ Goshen,” the landlady said, clapping her hands.

“We’ll just be putting you two up in the front bedroom.” She leaned forward. “A little more privacy that way. Not so far to the bathroom.”

They followed her upstairs where she showed them into a tiny room on the third floor. From one small window they could look down on their car parked in front, and to the west, Schey could see over the tops of the buildings to the highway where the police car was stationed. Beyond that the highway was blotted out with blowing snow.

It’s going to be a real screamer out there tonight,” the landlady said. “But you’ll be snug up here.”

They ate dinner at a packed Danny-Joe’s, and from Danny’s private back-room stock, Schey bought a pint of bourbon and a pint of vodka.

Back in their room Eva refused a drink; she was still angry.

Instead, she crawled into bed and pulled the covers up around her shoulders.

“If they get the snow cleared off in time, we’ll be in Tucumcari by tomorrow evening. You can be on a bus for Mexico first thing Monday morning,” Schey said.

“Suits me,” she snapped. “Now turn out the light.”

She didn’t want to go, and he didn’t want to let her go. He turned out the light, and she was soon asleep.

That had been an hour ago. Schey was now in the darkness, smoking a cigarette,