Chapter 9

Later in the afternoon, when the lunch shift was over, Gretchen carried a tray up to Anton's room. He had fast become her favorite visitor, perhaps her favorite visitor of all time. Pausing at the door, she knocked with one hand while the other held the tray balanced on her hip. "Anton," she said loud enough to be heard through the door, "I brought you lunch."
She waited for about five minutes hearing some noises coming from within the room. The doorknob turned and opened allowing her to enter the room. He stood just behind the door dressed in uniform pants and shirt only. His hair was mussed as if he'd just gotten up from a nap. "Gretchen," he said taking her tray and leading her to the table by the window, "here, sit. I'm sure you're tired." Newkirk observed that even though she was tired her eyes shined, and her smile was vibrant. He set the plates and cups on the table. She waited until he was seated across from her, and then she started eating. Soon, she was finished with her food, while he was still eating his. She blushed profusely. "I guess I was more hungry than I thought."
"It is very good, Gretchen. Thank you," he said wiping his mouth on the napkin. "So, tell me about yourself, please. I want to know more about you and your life."

They'd talked for most of the afternoon and into the evening. He found that she was easy to talk to and just be around without doing anything more. She seemed content to just sit on the small sofa with him occasionally holding hands and allowing him to curl an arm along the back of the sofa. She started out telling him a little about her childhood, moved into her school career, and talked briefly about how she met Friedrich. She then asked him about his childhood, was he originally from Fuchsstadt, what did he do before the army, was he married/had he been married, did he have a steady girl...these last two questions were leading questions.
When he was offered additional training in his already existing skill sets, the first thing the instructors drummed into the his head was that when lying for a cover, keep it as close to the familiar as possible without telling the truth. It cut down on trying to remember what he told to whom and when. So he fleshed out Anton Brauer's history by taking elements from his own childhood, his life before the military, and of course, his life in the military.

Anton Brauer's father dejected and depressed that Germany had lost the first war, came home a broken man who turned to drinking. His father didn't work, drank to excess, and then was a violent drunk, often beating his wife and oldest son, although never laying a hand on the next oldest child, a sister named Marta. Often times, Father would leave for weeks and then months at a time. Over the years, he showed up repentant, which ended up with more children and more mouths to feed; these periods never lasted very long. The longest time was less than three months before Father began drinking again. All the while, Brauer's mother worked long hard days at two jobs as a cleaning woman and a seamstress before coming home to take care of nine children and the house. Brauer started out helping after school with odd jobs giving whatever he made to Mother with the admonition to keep it from the old man. As the oldest child, he felt responsible for the younger ones. Often he got them ready and off to school while their Mother got ready for her first job. He almost choked up remembering the mornings he often went without breakfast just to stretch the food for the younger ones.

Staring vacantly ahead, he went through in one of the worst days as a teenager. He had just turned fifteen and the family was celebrating with what little they'd managed to scrounge: there was even a cake this year. His Mother's daytime employer had given her something extra for the clothes she'd taken home and mended. Mother had spent it on cake, candies, and some milk. The evening had been perfect; and wouldn't it just be the case, but his old man had chosen that particular night to show his face for the first time in six months. He was drunk as usual not even pretending to be apologetic, only this time he was already a mean drunk. He had wasted no time throwing his weight around, demanding money and food. His wife, after years of abuse, quietly told him that she had no more money having spent it on the birthday cake and goodies for the birthday. Fists started flying. His sister tried to stop the melee, but she caught a slap, which had knocked her to the floor unconscious. Peter paused to regain his composure. "I just started seeing red. Everything was red. I believe that I actually landed a good punch to the old man's jaw. I do believe he was stunned. Usually, he only took out his drunk on my mother and me, so he was used to beating us and for us not fighting back. This time I actually hit him before he really let me have it. He gave me a punch in the stomach and across the chin; I landed on the floor. When I got up, he had his arm around my mother's neck ranting that he'd kill her if I didn't leave the house and never come back. I was fifteen and living on the streets of Munich..."
Gretchen took his hands in hers and brought them to her cheek. Her heart broke for the pain that showed so clearly at the memories of his childhood. She leaned closer and gently kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry, mein liebe. Let's not dwell on the past, shall we? It's getting late, and I am famished. Dinner is winding down. Let's go downstairs and eat something, ja? You will feel better with a full stomach."
He followed her down the stairs and into the cafe. He sat at a table observing the room and the patrons still left. There were not a lot of men in uniform left, and certainly no black Gestapo uniforms. Newkirk sipped his beer Astrid brought to the table while Gretchen made their dinner. He continued observing the room with half an eye as he lit a cigarette and smoked it.

Bruno, the barkeep, saw the two of them enter the cafe together, and he wondered what if any connection the two of them shared as he watched Gretchen go to the kitchen and Astrid bring the man a beer. Bruno was smart enough to see something was going on with the two of them; he just wasn't sure what, so he made a mental note to keep an eye on them.

While Bruno was following Gretchen with his eyes, Newkirk was observing Bruno. Somethin about that bugger don't seem right ta me, but I jus can't put me finger on it, he thought as he lit his cigarette, taking a deep drag on it. He finished his cigarette as Gretchen arrived at the table with dinner, which they enjoyed talking about their supposed shared past whenever Astrid checked in with them. The place was clearing out and the staff was starting to clean in preparation for closing. Newkirk made up his mind earlier while Gretchen was in the kitchen preparing their repast that he was leaving very early in the morning to get back to camp. When dinner was over after they'd shared a strudel and some coffee, he escorted Gretchen to the reception desk and kissed her hand bidding her good night. He softly climbed the stairs for another long soak in the tub and the last good night sleep until his next leave.

Newkirk stowed his knives in their same places from last night, brushed out his uniform for the morning's departure, and then slipped into the hot, steaming water for a long soak. Before he could fall asleep, he drained the tub, pulled on his pajamas, and got into bed. Her pillow still smelled like her, so he held it to his chest and drifted off to sleep wrapped in her scent as memories of the previous evening flitted through his dreams.

Gretchen, meanwhile, was only slightly confused with Anton's behavior. He'd been attentive, listening to everything she told him, only holding her hand occasionally. He held her chair for her at dinner, poured her coffee for her, as well as her water. Later in the evening he escorted her to her room behind the reception desk and not attempted to gain entrance. She didn't know whether to feel disappointed or relieved that he had chosen to be a gentleman. She decided that he was trying to show that he respected her by treating her like the lady he had said she was, and she was profoundly glad. Although, she certainly hoped to spend more time just cuddling with him tomorrow. Gretchen paused in brushing her hair out thinking that she really did want to know this man who had suddenly become so important to her. And, it had been, as he'd said to her that morning, one of the best experiences she'd had in a long time, too, since Friedrich went away for fighting, in fact. Sighing, she dressed for bed and lay down once more in the smaller, colder bed-alone.

Bruno left the hostel after cleaning up his bar and restocking it for the afternoon shift tomorrow. He had a good description of his contact, a name-which he had to admit even to himself-was probably fake, and a possible destination for the contact. He decided to observe and report, to keep supplying information that was helpful and authentic when checked out, and then he'd decide whether or not to let his masters know about this mystery man and whether he was indeed the infamous Nimrod.
So, three people went to sleep that night with three different plans of action for the morrow, and only the morrow like a deity knew what it had in store for each of them.