Lee had forgotten just how beautiful Strasbourg was. He and Dieter were working their way through the town center, ducking their heads into every café and brasserie, hoping to get even a hint that Harry was somewhere close, but even on the job, Lee couldn't help but take in the scenery.
It was an almost perfect time of year to be anywhere in Europe but Strasbourg, with its canals wending their way throughout, and the half-timbered medieval buildings with their window boxes brimming with flowers, was extraordinarily pretty. Like many such towns, the center was almost entirely pedestrian with narrow laneways all leading towards the most important building, the Cathedral, a gothic masterpiece that towered over everything around it. If you squinted just right so that you couldn't see the modern signs, Lee thought, you could almost picture what it must have looked like centuries before. He wished, as he did several times a day, that he could have brought Amanda with him – she would love everything about this place. Except for the hunting for Harry part.
"Where the hell could he be?" he asked out loud and heard the snort from Dieter beside him. "Everything we've heard about him says he can barely walk a straight line by himself but somehow we can't find him?"
"It is almost impossible to believe," agreed the Austrian. He stopped dead as they walked, as if struck by a thought. "He cannot have done it alone." He paused again and went on slowly. "Those first few days in Munich, he was in a hotel, yes? But after that, there has been no sign of him anywhere – not in hotels, not in hostels, not in guest houses since all those would require identification to check in… so where is he sleeping? I mean, if it is true that none of his contacts have heard from him."
Lee ran a hand over the back of his head and thought about that. It was true – Harry couldn't have that much money so how had he been surviving? "He can't be anywhere he has to pay, that's for sure. Could he be going to shelters?"
"He could be," answered Dieter in a doubtful tone. "But most of those are run by the churches and they do not usually allow men to stay if they have been drinking."
"But he's obviously getting help of some kind – unless he's sleeping rough," responded Lee.
"Or he has found a friend," shrugged Dieter.
"Well, like you said, we checked with all his usual contacts," said Lee.
"So, it is unusual contacts then," was the prompt response. "Old girlfriends, or old boyfriends."
"Could be either of those," agreed Lee. he stared off into space, mulling over the possibilities. "You know," he said, thinking out loud, "Knowing Harry, he could just be one-night standing his way across Europe. Picking someone up and moving on quickly before they realize what you're like in the cold light of day would leave almost no trail."
"So we need to add such pick-up places to our search list," Dieter grimaced. "This could be a long night in the discotheques."
"Oh God," said Lee, shoulders slumping. "I am getting too old for this."
Dieter was nodding in agreement. "I don't think I was ever young enough for this."
Lee looked at his companion who was somehow managing to look even more like a basset hound than usual, with his furrowed brow and sad eyes, and couldn't help laughing, suddenly giddy with a mix of exhaustion and frustration. "Come on, let's go find something to eat and get our strength up. It could be worse – they could still be playing nothing but the Bee Gees."
The expression on Dieter's face lightened a bit. "If they do, will you please demonstrate the American dancing moves for me? You know, like John Travolta?" He struck a pose, much like the Saturday Night Fever poster.
Lee shook his head, laughing hard. "Oh no! Too many bad memories. I owned a suit just like that and had hair down to here." He lifted his hand even with the bridge of his nose. "And a mustache almost as ugly as yours."
"Ach, I am as proud of my mustache as Hercule Poirot but not a good look on you, I think, " grinned Dieter as they turned and began moving back up the pavement, covering ground quickly with their long strides. "Me, I really wanted to be like the boy in the leather jacket with the girl in the black outfit" He mimed an hourglass shape with his hands. "You know the one? The girl was blonde – very beautiful."
"I know the one," grinned Lee. "If you liked that girl, you must come to America and meet my friend Francine some day. She's just your type."
"Blonde?"
"I was going to say into leather outfits, but yes, also blonde."
"Another good reason to visit America then."
It was the smoke he'd forgotten about. The dance club, in the cellar of an old canal warehouse had lousy ventilation and to Lee, it seemed like every person in there had a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. It wasn't like smoking was gone from parties in Washington, but it took a place like this to remind him of just how bad it used to be. As a young man, cruising the bars, he'd been used to it, used to the way the smell lingered on your clothes and the way the haze gathered near the ceiling, making it hard to see across the room through the flashing lights that thrummed along with the overly loud bass, but now the crowds, the music, the fug of sweat and hormones hanging in the air just made him feel old.
They'd started here because it was the most popular disco in town; if Harry was trawling for someone to take him home, it seemed likely he'd find them somewhere like this. Lee could tell that the average age was younger than Harry liked, but any port in a storm. They had entered separately and were working their way down opposite sides of the club, doing their best to ask questions without rousing suspicion, but hampered by the sheer volume of the music as well as the crowd. Lee had somewhat of an advantage once people realized he was American. French girls – and boys – found the American accent adorable for some reason, and rushed to talk to him – that made it easier because it was obvious quickly that for most of them, he was the first real American they'd ever chatted with. He smiled his way through the press of people, eyes constantly on the lookout for his old friend. He caught the occasional glimpse of Dieter across the room who always met his eye with a shake of the head. Working quickly, they had completed a sweep before they even had to meet the two-drink minimum and were out the door and back out onto the dark street.
Lee leaned on the outside wall, gulping in the blessedly cool night air, letting it soothe his smoke-constricted lungs. "One down, two to go," he muttered.
"I think our next stop is going to have to be the mens' club," sighed Dieter. "I spoke to no one who had seen another American but one of the boys did tell me that he knew someone who had met one recently. It sounds like our Herr Hollinger – dark hair and eyes, American and definitely interested in men."
"You up for that?" asked Lee, raising an eyebrow. "I can go by myself – you don't have to come with me. It could be uncomfortable."
Dieter surveyed him with a twitch of his lips. "You think I've never had to go into such a club in my line of work? I am not easily shocked by such things, you know."
Lee waved a hand at him. "Now now, I didn't say you would be shocked, I said you might be uncomfortable."
"Well, I will count on my big American boyfriend to protect me then," smirked Dieter. "We stay together, we look like a couple – it will be simple."
"Simple? You really think so?" Lee didn't really believe Dieter had any idea what he was getting into.
"Of course, you will do all the talking – I will just stand there and look pretty, ja?" He held out a hand and beckoned. "Come along, Liebling, we are wasting time."
Lee had to burst out laughing at the way Dieter drew out the Lee sound of 'Liebling' as he mocked him. "Alright, Darling – don't say I didn't warn you."
The mens' club was harder to find, for obvious reasons, but was no less crowded, smoky or loud than the last one. It hadn't been until they were most of the way into the room that the unexpected panic hit him and he stopped dead in his tracks. It took him a moment to realize that he hadn't been in this type of club since his Peacock Dance to entrap Kim Fairfield eighteen months before, and all the memories and emotions of that week came flooding back. He closed his eyes and stood swaying for a moment, being jostled by the crowd, trying to slow his racing heart but the overwhelming mix in the air of sweat, cologne and testosterone sending him right back to that week.
He felt someone take his hand and swung around defensively before focussing on the concerned expression on Dieter's face. Dieter leaned in, just close enough to be heard but still holding his hand, as if they were a couple.
"You are upset, yes?" He held up their joined hands. "You are doing that thing you do with your hand when you are upset, you know?"
Lee knew the thing he meant, the nervous habit he had of rubbing his thumb and forefingers together, but hadn't realized he'd done it often enough for Dieter to pick up on it.
Dieter was still speaking, urgently, and still holding onto him. "You don't have to stay if this type of place bothers you. I assumed from the way you talked that you'd been to one before. You can leave and I will look for Hollinger."
Lee leaned back and shook his head. "No, it's fine. I just got a little light-headed for a minute from the heat after coming in from outside" He forced himself to shake it off, giving his companion a confident smile and a wink before pulling his hand out of Dieter's clasp and dropping his arm across his friend's shoulders. "Come on, Darling, let me buy you a drink."
Dieter didn't look very convinced but he just gave a small shrug and let Lee guide him to the bar. A shot of whiskey later, Lee felt more ready to face the world and turned back to the room. By now with his eyes readjusted to the darkness, he couldn't help the whistle that escaped his lips. He turned to Dieter who was still surveying him with a look of doubt. Lee leaned over and waved a hand at the crowd. "Well, if you like leather outfits, we're in the right place."
The joke seemed to put the Austrian at ease at last. "Yes, I think the last time I was in such a club, there were more cowboys and Indians."
"Let me guess – the Village People?" laughed Lee.
Dieter didn't answer – just mimed YMCA and smiled back at him.
Lee toasted him with the second whiskey shot the bartender had brought over. "Okay, so you wanna dance or shall we just start looking?"
Dieter pretended to consider that for a moment, then gave a grin. "Looking, I think. I prefer to dance with someone smaller than me, ja?"
It took longer to work their way through this bar since true to his word, Dieter stayed close by at first, but Lee was used to charming his way through this type of crowd and soon Volkenauer disappeared to the other side of them room, leaving him to work solo. He'd forgotten how physical gay bars were – he was just beginning to wonder if there was a square inch of him that hadn't been fondled or groped when Dieter appeared at his elbow and tugged him away from his conversation.
"Watcha got?" he asked in as low a bellow as he could manage over the throbbing music.
Instead of answering, Dieter simply pointed at a young man leaning on a wall watching the crowd. "He took home an American two nights ago. I thought you might have better luck getting him to talk since you are so much more handsome, ja?"
Lee lifted his hand and patted Dieter's cheek with a grin. "I keep telling you, you have got to get rid of that stupid mustache." He turned away and headed across the room towards his quarry.
Dieter was right – Jean-Guy was more receptive to a handsome American, and he had indeed met Harry. When Lee expressed concerned for his "lost friend", Jean-Guy rushed to reassure him that Harry had been fine the last time he'd seen him the day before, but that he had left his place sometime in the afternoon and not returned.
"I thought I'd see him here again tonight," he said with a Gallic shrug. "He was fun – good company. But it is late – he has probably already found un jouet for the night."
Lee looked at his watch and scowled. 3:30 am – they had spent longer looking already than he thought. Yes, Harry probably had already found a toy boy for the night as the young Frenchman described. He thanked him and worked his way back through the crowd to where Dieter was waiting.
"If he was here, we've missed him. Might as well call it a night and try more places tomorrow."
Dieter nodded in agreement and they turned in unison and headed for the door.
After the noise of the club, the street seemed blissfully silent and they trudged along not speaking for most of the walk back to the small hotel where they were staying. They were almost there when the most incredible smell assailed them and Lee stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth watering with sudden hunger. "What is that?"
Dieter gave an appreciative sniff and looked around, finally pointing down the alley to a lit window. "The boulanger is already working – the shop opens shortly to start selling the morning bread." He looked at Lee and lifted an eyebrow. "Come, we can get some breakfast."
"But you said they're not open yet," answered Lee in confusion.
"Not a problem," said Dieter firmly. "You will see." Lee followed him as he strode down the alley to where the back door to the boulangerie stood open. Dieter leaned in and called to the baker, who was elbow deep in kneading bread as the huge ovens blasted heat nearby.
"M'sieur? Quelque chose de prêt?" Is anything ready?
The baker seemed unsurprised by their presence and waved to a rack of cooling goods. Lee realized he was probably used to the parade of hungry people as the bars closed.
"Croissants?" Dieter looked over the rack and cocked a questioning brown at Lee.
"God, yes."
"Un demi-douzaine, s'il vous plait, m'sieur," Dieter asked politely, pointing to them. The baker shovelled half a dozen pastries into a paper bag while Dieter fished money out of his pocket. The flaky bread pastries were still warm as they ripped into them on the walk back to the hotel. Lee had to admit that breakfast before sunrise definitely had its perks when it was as delicious as this. Fresh from the oven and made by someone who was probably in a family business that was several centuries old, the buttery bread almost melted in his mouth. They had finished the bag long before they got back to the hotel.
When they had explained their evening plans, the hotel owner had given them a front door key since, as he told them, there was no one to man the desk all night, so they let themselves in, carefully locking up behind them and trudging up to their rooms.
Lee was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.
