T is for Traduce
"To tell lies about (someone)"
LeBeau was not happy at all. He had been up all night and been standing on the street corner trying to sell subpar art for hours because Edward the Dramatic had decided it was a good idea and somehow managed to get him to go along with it. But by now, LeBeau was fed up and ready to stop making a fool of himself for Edward's sake. The Colonel told him to make sure Edward did not cause them any trouble, and so he had gone along with the man to try to keep him happy and from going too far off the deep end, as the Americans said. But clearly that had not worked, and there was no way that LeBeau could keep Edward from causing trouble if he was not even around Edward. It was getting close to roll call time, though, so LeBeau decided that he would just toss the art in the nearest garbage can and make his way back to the stalag in time to not be counted as missing. Hopefully Newkirk had gotten control of Robert the Romantic and was already back there as well. After roll call, he could sneak out again and find Edward, tell the women that the art had sold for a ridiculous price to keep them happy, and then threated Edward into coming back to the satalg with him. Edward may be much taller and stronger than he was, but he could always bring backup with him.
Just as LeBeau was gathering the art for its journey to the nearest place he could get rid of it, be it garbage can or alleyway or truck bed, he heard a car pull up beside him and stop. A door opened, and firm footsteps walked up to him. Something about the situation told LeBeau that the person approaching was not friendly, and he looked up to see a ridiculously tall man in a suit glaring down at him.
"May I help you?" LeBeau asked.
"You," the man began, peering closely at the shabby artist clothes that Edward had insisted he wear, "are under arrest."
"Under arrest?" LeBeau asked incredulously. "What for?"
"Vagrancy," the man replied, spinning LeBeau around and snapping handcuffs around his wrists before LeBeau had a chance to protest. "We cannot have shabby vagrants, even if they are French, cluttering our sidewalks. You and your…possessions will come with us so we can decide what to do with you." LeBeau could tell from the man's attitude that he did not think any more highly of the artwork than LeBeau did, but this man actually had the power to do something to prevent it being sold on the street corner. As the tall man shoved LeBeau into the car, another man gathered the artwork and put it in the car beside him, and LeBeau could not help but give it a vicious kick as the door was closed. If only he had done something to keep this from happening. Now he was being arrested, and it would be a miracle if he were not turned over to the Gestapo as a spy or even to Stalag XIII as a prisoner. If either of those happened, he was bound to be recognized by someone sooner or later, and that was something he had to prevent at all costs, especially now that there was no way he could make it back to the camp in time for roll call.
As LeBeau stewed through the too short drive to the police station, a horrible idea occurred to him. It would be a way to get out of this, if it worked, but it was not something he wanted to do. After all, putting on an act for the Colonel's sake always meant that they were one step closer to defeating the Nazi's, but this would mean putting on another act for Edward's sake. And this time he would have to take that act further than before, and Edward was not worth it. Still, he reconciled himself to the idea because even though Edward was the one who caused him to have to do it, in the end, it would keep his true friends safe.
The car stopped again, and LeBeau was roughly led out of it and into the police station. The tall man accompanied him, and the other man carried the artwork, presumably as proof of his crimes. LeBeau tried his best to put on a longsuffering expression, hoping that he could make people believe this was all a misunderstanding.
They arrived at a large office with a window, and a man in a suit looked up from his place behind a large wooden desk when they entered. "What is all this?" he asked, and the tall man responded.
"Sir, we caught a French vagrant standing on a street corner and trying to sell degenerate art. We brought the art with us as proof."
The man behind the desk, Keiner, as his nameplate said, took one look at the artwork before his eyebrows shot up. "I can see what you mean about the art, but what is this about him being a French vagrant."
"Look at his clothes. No one who was not a vagrant would wear something like that. And when he speaks, you can hear his accent."
"I am French," LeBeau responded before Keiner could, "but that does not mean I should be arrested. I assure you that I am working for the German cause just as much as anyone else in this room, and you may have ruined my mission."
"Your mission?" Keiner asked, clearly believing this was some kind of joke.
"My orders come directly from General Kinchmeyer. He decided I should try to sell degenerate art so we can make a list of the people willing to buy it. It is the perfect mission for me because I am French, and people are more likely to believe French people who try to sell them art."
"And the vagrancy?" Keiner asked, sounding confused now.
"It was a misunderstanding. General Kinchmeyer is brilliant, but his aide is not quite as good at this as he is. The aide thought that these," LeBeau motioned to his ragged clothes, "are somehow fashionable in France right now. He refused to believe me when I tried to correct him, and the General is too important to be bothered about things like this."
"I see," Keiner replied. "What about you, Weir? What do you think of his story?"
The tall man seemed to consider the question. "If you asked me yesterday, I would have a hard time believing it, but today, I think it might be possible."
"What do you mean?" Keiner questioned him.
"It is this. My sister, Heidi, works at the hospital as a receptionist on night shift. She got home this morning before I left the house for work, and she told me that last night was exciting because a Gestapo major was injured in an explosion. She said that a little bit after he was brought in, a General Kinchmeyer called the hospital to check on him. She was so excited about talking with a general that she remembered his name and told it to me over breakfast."
LeBeau was surprised. He had not known that Kinch had used his General Kinchmeyer disguise that night, and even if he had, he could never have guessed that his friend spoke with the tall man's sister. When he told the story, he was just hoping it would sound believable enough, but finally it seemed that things were starting to go well for him for the first time since the whole fiasco started.
"General Kinchmeyer," Keiner said. "I suppose if you are under orders from him and my man can confirm that he is real, then I will have to believe you. I am very sorry for this mix-up, sir. Is there anything I can do for you before you leave?"
"Oui," LeBeau said. "You can find me a suit that does not make me look like a vagrant."
Keiner paled a bit at the request, wartime rationing being what it was, but he motioned for the man who carried the artwork to go fill the request. There was an awkward silence that followed while Keiner and Weir looked over the paintings, but the other man returned much sooner than expected with a striped suit.
"Here it is. We had one left over from the charity donations last month."
LeBeau went into a side room to change, and when he got back to the office, the men seemed to be having a good time making fun of the paintings. LeBeau almost smiled about that, until he heard them calling the artwork "degenerate" again. The paintings might not be well made, but there was such a difference between poor quality art and the Nazi notion of degenerate art that he hated to hear any Germans use that term. Even worse, he had agreed with them when they used it earlier and he was trying to get them to believe his story.
"There," Keiner said when he saw LeBeau. "That looks much better. While you were changing, I wrote a short letter in case any of my men arrest you on this mission again."
He held out an envelope to LeBeau, but LeBeau waved it away. "My mission was compromised. I should not carry it further. Besides, the people of Hammelburg are too loyal. No one stopped to buy the art, so I do not think we need to continue the test."
"The people of Hammelburg are loyal?" Weir asked, cupping LeBeau's face in his hands as he stared down at him in surprise. "Even with all the sabotage, you still say the people of Hammelburg are loyal?"
LeBeau could tell that this was a dangerous conversation, and he had to step lightly. "It is a theory that the saboteurs spend all their money on explosives. They might not buy art of any kind because of that. It was one of the theories that the general wanted to look into." There were a few moments of silence while Weir decided what to do with LeBeau's explanation, and LeBeau smiled up at him, hoping it was disarming. At last Weir seemed to accept what he said, and gave his own smile. Across the desk, Keiner smiled too. To break the tension, LeBeau walked to the door.
"Will you be taking the art with you?" Keiner asked.
"No, it is not worth anything. Do whatever you want with it," he replied and left.
Once LeBeau was well away from the police station, he began making his way halfheartedly towards the stalag. He would get there long after roll call no matter what he did, so he took his time and thought about all the lies he had told people in the past twelve hours. So many of them involved him pretending to be working with the Germans that he did not know what to do with himself. He knew better, and his friends knew better, but there was something about being forced to trick people into thinking you are exactly the kind of person that you despise most that is hard to deal with. LeBeau was upset at Edward and Tubby III and Crittendon and even Langenscheidt for all they had done to contribute to this. Here he was, trying to make sure he fought to bring victory to the allies, and yet he had to trick scores of people in the past few hours alone into thinking the exact opposite of him. This would be something that he needed some time to think through.
Although LeBeau's thoughts were distracting, they did not fully consume his attention. So when he walked past a field and heard Edward's ridiculous voice calling out nonsensical orders, he stopped and turned towards it. Sooner or later that man had to be stopped, and LeBeau was here to do it now. He was just about to charge across the field to where the duplicate was directing his cast when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned and saw Kinch, Carter, and Crittendon, all looking confused and surprised, just the way he was sure he did himself.