PLEASE NOTE: I do not give permission for any reproduction, re-imagination, or re-adaptation of this story in any way, shape, or form.
August 26th, 1943; Thursday (9:40 PM – Paris Outskirts)
Ribbons of deep, wild cherry red swept across the darkened August sky like streaks of blood fading to indigo. The dim glow from a halogen motorcycle headlight illuminated the winding trail flanked by trees that stretched to the sky above.
The outlines of two black sedans appeared ahead in the near distance after following the rutted trail around until it curved slightly to the south. The destination was near.
The brakes squealed as the motorcycle came to a halt, its engine idling loudly for a few moments while the kickstand found the ground. The soft ground gave way under the weight of the bike, causing it to sink in, but not topple.
A cloud of cigarette smoke drifted through the air, the scent of the burning tobacco flowing with the calming breeze. Jovial laughter mixed with the smoke, its volume increasing nearer to the house that sat on the property.
Remnants of fallen leaves from the previous autumn littered the ground, crispy and crunching with every step. "Sturmbannführer Stage, you made it," Hans said thankfully, rising from the stairs leading into his house. He extended a hand for a welcoming handshake, as he didn't feel there was a need to be formal with proper saluting.
"My apologies for being late. This place isn't very easy to find in the dark," Kurt defended, shaking Hans's hand professionally and curtly.
"Better late than never," added Dieter sarcastically, who was also now coming to his feet. He ground out the cherry of his cigarette into the sole of his boot, and tossed it into the ashtray sitting on the stairs. He pulled Kurt in for a friendly hug, and clapped him on the back before taking a step back. "It's good to see you, Kurt. We haven't seen you since you got pulled out and shipped off to Norway."
"And you two got the comfortable post in Paris," Kurt jabbed jokingly.
"It's pretty nice here," Jonas interjected with a laugh.
Kurt rolled his eyes and slid his hands down into his pockets. "I will admit, Paris is a beautiful city."
Hans nodded in agreement and moved to snuff out his cigarette in the ashtray. "It is a very beautiful city. For the record, those two wouldn't have been blessed with their comfortable posts if it hadn't been for me," he said jokily, leading the other three men inside the house and closing the door tightly behind them.
Kurt Stage being transferred out from under Hans had truly been like taking a mechanic's most vital tool. His investigative abilities were on par with Hans, and he saw great potential in the then young Captain.
"Wine?" Hans asked Kurt as he topped off the glass he'd been sipping out of.
"Oh, no thank you," Kurt replied, waving Hans off dismissively.
"How'd you end up in France?" Jonas asked, taking a seat on Hans's sofa with his ankle crossed over his opposite knee.
"Landa transferred me," Kurt answered, sitting down beside Jonas.
Hans nodded and leaned against the edge of the kitchen table, not far from the sofa. "My intentions with bringing you back under my command are simple. You will be given permission to work within the city as long as you can guarantee that there will be no distrust or miscommunications between the three of you."
Kurt seemed confused, but answered anyway. "Okay?"
Hans turned to address the three other men as a whole. "I have brought the three of you together because you've all worked under me for a number of years, and I know I can trust you… Even you, Dieter," he added as an afterthought.
Dieter opened his mouth to defend himself, but Hans cut him off. "You've been forgiven for the 'Smoking Room incident'," he said. "It has since been dealt with," he said with a triumphant smirk.
The room fell silent, but Dieter and Jonas weren't the least bit surprised.
Hans sighed deeply, his eyes falling into the deep burgundy liquid lying still in his glass. "In the event of my untimely death, I would like you to personally make sure that Krista makes her way back to the United States safely." He swirled the wine around absentmindedly. "She's perfectly capable of holding her own," he said with a soft laugh. She was like a firecracker with a short fuse, and she couldn't care less who she had to stand up to in defense of herself. "But I'm afraid that she would be left incredibly vulnerable on her own."
The three other officers nodded collectively, taking mental note of every word out of Hans's mouth.
"I want this to be kept quiet; Try not to keep any records if it all possible. If it should come to it though, I want you to do whatever it takes to get her home. Step on toes… go over heads… hell, forge my name if it will help."
A crushing weight crept into the room and settled in, making itself comfortable. All levity of their long awaited reunion aside, the gravity of the proposed task at hand began to gradually sink in. Finally, Jonas interrupted the encroaching ambience coming in through the opened windows. "I hate to be the one to ask this, but are we supposed to tell Krista?" he asked, nervously glancing between the others.
Hans shook his head. "No. If you tip her off, she'll just worry." He sat his glass at his side on the tabletop and crossed his arms loosely across his chest. "I do want you to understand that what I'm asking you to do could very well land all of your careers in jeopardy. You have every right to refuse. But if you should, I'd like you to say so now." When they didn't form a response, Hans continued. "Krista is the only woman I've been willing to sacrifice everything for. That being said, you will each be compensated heavily for your assistance."
"I'm in," Dieter said without hesitation. He may never get the girl, but being given the task of protecting her was close enough.
"How could I say no? I can't say no to family." Jonas easily agreed.
Kurt nodded as well. Thank god they were all in agreement. "Perfect." Hans sighed a sigh of great relief and scooped his glass up from the table. "She means everything to me. I could never properly repay you for this."
"She came all this way to find me, I think this is the least I could do." Jonas leaned forward adjusting the collar of his uniform.
"Finding you was very important to her. It was her personal mission… As you can imagine though, I was hesitant to believe her, but she proved me wrong."
"I didn't even know that I had a cousin from America…"
"She had a photograph of you with her the night I met her." Hans stood up straight and padded though the house and into the office. He dug out Jonas's personnel file, and tugged the photo free from the paperclip that held it to the folder. He was rolling his sleeves up as he made his way back down the hall in weak attempt to cool his damp skin. It wasn't overly warm outside, but inside the house felt stuffy and humid.
Jonas took the photo from Hans and eyed it. "I remember getting that taken," he recalled, looking at his stoic, all business expression posing in front of the Eiffel Tower. He poked his fingertip to the edge of the frame where Dieter could be seen walking past and waving to the camera and wearing a bright smile. "This was supposed to be a serious picture," he said, facing Dieter and narrowing his eyes. Dieter slipped the soft pack of cigarettes from his pocket and slung it at Jonas, narrowly missing his face. "You're the one that ruined it!" Jonas cried jokingly.
"Alright. That's enough," Hans said, laughing softly and shaking his head as he took the photograph back. "You three are more than welcome to stay here and finish this wine," he said, gripping the neck of the bottle and placing it on the coffee table beside Dieter. "I, however, am going to sleep. I have an early telephone meeting with Reichsführer Himmler," he said disdainfully. "I'm sure he has nothing but kind words for me," he remarked, turning and heading down the hallway. "Goodnight, boys."
August 27th, 1943; Friday (9:02 AM)
Petrichor perfumed the air all around, the reminiscent scent transporting Krista back home momentarily.
Back home, the only stressors were making sure her taxes were paid and making sure that she had enough money to feed herself. There were no Nazi generals on her ass watching her every move… There was no worry of waking up in handcuffs locked in a cell in some dank basement. There was really nothing tying Krista to Paris; she could pack up her hotel room back into her leather bags and travel back through the train platform safe and sound. She wouldn't even ever see the cobblestone streets of Paris again.
The thought had crossed her mind more than once. If she went back home, she didn't think there were many that would notice. She thought maybe she could 'disappear' and no one would be any the wiser, but Hans would notice. Of course he would. He'd lose his marbles if he showed up with wine to her hotel room and she was cleaned out and gone without a trace.
Hans.
He was always the one that swayed her thinking. The love they shared was like fairytale bliss; it was unexpected and out of nowhere, but all-consuming and addicting. She couldn't actually leave yet.
"Miss? Can I help you?" Came a sweet and cheerful voice from behind the counter. She was short and thin, her red curls tied back into two neat braids.
She didn't even realize she was zoned out. "Oh, uh…" she stammered, pressing her palm to the glass pastry display. "Two of those," she replied in French, pointing to slices of what looked like pound cake.
The sweet redhead slipped the two pieces of pound cake into a brown paper bag, and walked her over to the register.
"Some storm last night," the girl said with a smile.
"It was," Krista agreed, fishing out her coin purse. It wasn't an intense thunderstorm by Krista's standards. It would have only earned a severe thunderstorm watch back home. But she enjoyed the beating of the rain against the balcony doors, and the blinding strikes of lighting off in the distance.
"Thank you so much! Have a great day!" The girl said, smiling as Krista slipped some francs into the tip jar.
"You too, doll," Krista said, matching the girl's smile.
She breathed in deeply once back on the street, letting the air fill her lungs to the brim. The grey clouds above began to break, making way for the rejuvenating morning sun. The bright orb burned through the clouds, setting the puddles in the street and on the sidewalk alight with its caressing rays.
The gentle downhill walk to the Gestapo HQ was pleasant for once. The temperature was perfect, and she was in a good mood, all stress considered.
Her hand met the front door, and her heart began to ratchet helplessly. She'd never turned up her on her own, and she was suddenly wondering if she even had clearance to be inside the building.
She stepped inside confidently, ignoring the sets of eyes that fell on her the second her body crossed the threshold.
A tall and muscularly built captain sat at a desk, where she assumed she was supposed to… check in?
"Papers," he said in German, not looking up from the paperwork he was scrawling on.
"Yes, sir," she said with a nod, pulling her identification from the zippered pocket in her messenger bag.
He studied it for a while, glancing between the photograph within and her face. "What is the intention of your visit?" He probed, handing Krista's papers back to her.
"I'm visiting Standartenführer Landa." She tucked her papers securely back in her bag, and waited for instructions of some sort.
"Very well," he said emotionlessly, beckoning another captain forward. "Hauptsturmführer Klotz, please search her for weapons."
Oh great. She should have seen this coming. She was in a good mood, but not good enough to be content with being frisked.
"Hands against the wall," Klotz ordered, pushing her to the wall with a sharp jab of his hand between her shoulder blades.
She complied, placing her palms on the wall above her head. Klotz patted her down thoroughly, stopping when he reached her hips. He stepped closer to her as a hand slid down the outside of her right thigh. "If I had the chance… I'd love to get a piece of you," he growled in her ear, landing a sharp slap across her ass before stepping back. "She's clean," he said, clearing her.
As she turned away from the wall and adjusted straightened her clothing, she seized her paper bag from the counter, her elbow jabbing into Klotz's arm by mistake.
Within a fraction of a second, her shoulder blades were slammed into the wall with Klotz's forearm pressed forcefully into her clavicle. A gasp of surprise tumbled out of her mouth. "You're goddamn lucky that you're Landa's girl," he growled lowly, his pupils inches from hers.
"My apologies, Hauptsturmführer Klotz. It was only an accident," she apologized, gripping at the bag in her hand.
"Uh huh," he said skeptically, releasing her from the restraint of his arm. "Get out of my face," he said, sweeping his hand rudely to the staircase.
Uneasiness was a feeling she had learned to grow accustomed to. She tried not to think about the morbidly curious stares cast in her direction, but they were everywhere. She was technically an enemy, and it felt like everyone in the building knew it but was terrified to open their mouths and spill.
Hans squeezed the bridge of his nose frustratingly before taking an aggressive toke on his burning cigarette. Chain smoking wasn't a habit, but this conversation with Himmler was not going as planned. It was the type of conversation he felt would be better eased with alcohol.
Himmler's voice came through the line crackled and on occasion unintelligible, but Hans tried his best to piece together the moral of the story with context clues. "The disrespect that that woman has showed to Obergruppenführer Kaltenbrunner is unacceptable."
He stood up from his desk, balancing the phone precariously between his ear and his shoulder. As he rolled his sleeves up and unbuttoned his top two buttons for some air, he sighed into the phone. "On what occasion has she been disrespectful? Hm?"
"From what I understand, he gave her a task, and she is doing nothing to make progress."
Hans lifted his eyes and gazed out the window blankly. "I was never informed of that… From either party…" he said, trailing off in thought at the end.
"I will again suggest that you cut this woman loose, and go your separate ways. I will not have you associated with a woman that has fair-weather respect for our high command. She is to finish her work for Obergruppenführer Kaltenbrunner, then surely she will do something to earn her an arrest."
Hans let his head loll back. "Again, with all due respect, this is all hearsay. Details get manipulated for personal gain as you can imagine."
"Hans. I'm growing tired of this conversation."
He heard Himmler sigh heavily into the other line as a faint rapping on the door flowed into his other ear. He turned briefly to the door when it cracked open, then back to the window.
"I will give you until she is finished with what Kaltenbrunner has set her up to do. After that, consider your post in Paris complete." There was a note of irritation in Himmler's voice, and it was only fueling Hans's stress.
He glanced over his shoulder at Krista who was now standing silently just inside the door. "My post isn't supposed to end until the start of the year," he tried to reason.
"Yes, I am aware. But you have shown me that placing you in France was a mistake."
"A mistake?" Hans snapped, his temper beginning to flare. "You can barely consider it a mistake when my arrest count is the highest in the city!"
"That may be, but you've also taken the time to get yourself ensnared by an American! You're better than that!"
"If you are going to pull me out of France, I wish you'd do it already!" He shouted, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
"If that is your wish, it can certainly be arranged," he commented snidely. "Good day, Hans."
Krista could feel her clothes sticking to her skin as her palms began to sweat. This was one of those times that she wished she couldn't speak German. She was coming into a phone conversation out of context, but what she did hear wasn't positive.
She jumped when he slammed the phone back onto the receiver and faced the window. Her pulsating heartbeat throbbed throughout her whole body. She'd never heard him like that.
After a moment of silence, she spoke and disregarded the dry sandpapery sensation of her tongue in her mouth. "I uh…" she began hesitantly, squeezing the brown paper in her hands to stop their trembling.
"Goddammit, what?!" he snarled and turned around to face her quickly, his hair falling from its queue in the process.
The onset of tension was bone crushing. She suddenly felt like she shouldn't have been there. Clearly, that conversation wasn't meant to be overheard. "I'm sorry…" she said softly, placing the bag she'd been clutching to for dear life on his desk. "I'll just… see myself out."
She turned for the door, her shaking fingers finding the metal of the door knob. "Krista, hold on," he tried, but the door was already slammed closed, and she disappeared from sight. "Fuck…" he muttered, flopping down into his chair at his desk.
6:12 PM (Le Cristal)
It wasn't her place to ask who Hans was talking to, and taking the anger in his voice into consideration, she wasn't sure that she wanted to know who was on the other line. Maybe she just happened to have caught him at a bad time. Regardless, she cared not for the notion of Hans being pried from Paris. Even less did she like his responses to the recipient.
She'd never really given much thought to the fact that Hans wouldn't be stationed in Paris forever, and she would have to go home eventually. She just didn't expect that moment to come sooner rather than later.
As she stared down into her glass of water, she felt as if her eyes could fall from the security of their sockets, and bob freely in the clear liquid. She wished her brain could fall out too, and she wouldn't have to think about what Hans said… 'if you are going to pull me out of France, I wish you would do it already'.
She didn't know where she stood. The fear of the unknown was gnawing at her. She felt the waves of anxiety come and go, but couldn't shake the sickness she felt in the pit of her stomach. What she feared seemed to be materializing into perceptible reality; Hans could be on the verge on losing everything.
Krista folded up some francs and tucked them beneath her still half full glass of water, and stood up from her outdoor seat. The sun glinted off the windshields of the Mercedes Benz convoy that passed under the Arc De Triomphe, casting a disorienting glare in her direction. She lifted her hand to shield her eyes as she made her way to the edge of the sidewalk, and watched as the convoy breezed down the avenue past her heading west. She crossed the avenue once it was clear, she kept her chin up as she gripped at the strap of her leather bag slung across her body.
Her body was begging her to be horizontal, but the hotel seemed so far away. Red's was closer, but she wasn't particularly in the right frame of mind for a job that required you to be a sweet little tease. One more night of rest would be beneficial for her mind and body. Butchering her premiere act as Red's headliner the following night would be unacceptable.
Tired limbs carried her up the stairs, but she didn't realize she was hoping that Hans would be hanging around in her room until she noticed the door was still locked. He wasn't inside waiting for her.
She stepped inside and had her shoes kicked off and half way across the room before the door was latched and locked. She padded through the room, keeping her eyes peeled for a note or a sign that he'd been there.
When she made it to the balcony, she sighed. There was nothing; he really hadn't been there.
'I'm probably just overreacting,' she thought to herself, turning the balcony door handle. A rush a fresh air flittered through the strands of her hair, and she breathed it in for a moment before slumping onto the bed onto her stomach. Her eyes were level with the railing, but she found that if she propped her head up on an elbow, the view was slightly altered. Less of the railing was visible, and she could get glimpses of the greenery that surrounded the property.
Time slipped away, and the light of the day began to fade away and become shrouded by the darkness of nightfall. Those glistening green eyes of hers were surely dulled by her inflamed and sore eyelids. They were tired from peering out the balcony door unmoving, but she wrenched them to the clock that hung on the wall leading to the bathroom.
The minute and hour hands on the twelve, and she sighed. It was already midnight, and if he hadn't showed by now, he likely wasn't going to.
She swung her legs from the bed, and rolled her neck in a slow circle. She reluctantly stood up, crossing to the open door.
A warm breeze greeted her face from outside; a breeze that would have felt leagues more soothing if she was actually on the balcony. Maybe tomorrow night.
She closed the door tightly, and replaced herself in the comfort of her bed. Her pillow hugged her head, and her legs slipped beneath the covers. It was too warm in the room for them, but she couldn't sleep without them.
Krista tucked her palms behind her head, and stared up at the ceiling.
Hans had never snapped at her like that, and it left her stunned. She had no idea what she did, or what she said, but it was clearly something wrong. Maybe he was being fed boldfaced lies that she was sleeping with her clients in VIP, and it infuriated him, thus taking his frustration out on her… Or maybe it was something completely unrelated, and he still took his frustration out on her. She didn't give him time for an explanation and she wished she had, because she almost felt hurt without it.
She rubbed her tired eyes with her fingers before letting her hands flop down onto her stomach gently. As their compatibility suggested, their relationship should sail smoothly despite the occasional violent wave; she had hopes that this was nothing more than one of those waves and it would soon crash into shore and fizzle away.
August 27th, 1943; Friday (9:04 PM – Red's Showgirls)
Rhinestones and sequins glinted under the spotlights over Red's stage as Krista grasped the chrome pole with her right hand high above her head in preparation for her routine closing spin pass. She just needed her grip to hold out a little bit longer.
After three successive climbs, she found herself within reach of the ceiling. She hoisted herself up into a pole sit, and held it to catch her breath for a moment. When she would spin past the supportive crowd, she hoped to catch a brief glimpse of Hans clapping and throwing banknotes on the stage, but she never did. The only man that continually caught her eye was Ernst Kaltenbrunner. Every time she looked out, she was drawn to his disgusted face before anything else.
As if it wasn't bad enough that Hans missed her first performance as headliner, now she had Kaltenbrunner to deal with when she was finished. This was sure shaking out to be a wonderful night.
Krista took one last deep breath and crossed her ankles and squeezed the pole for dear life with her thighs before falling back into a cross ankle release. Her sweating hands traced from her hips up her sides and eventually to her breasts. She looked out to see the crowd's reaction, and amidst the shower of francs on the stage, Kaltenbrunner was in the back with his arms crossed disapprovingly and his head shaking disappointedly.
She pulled herself back up to a sit, and took one last deep breath. She'd only executed 'the drop' twice successfully at the end of her routine in practice, and never on spin, but she couldn't afford to bail on it. It would make the crowd go wild. She had a bracelet to buy for her sister, and the extra cash would certainly be helpful.
She blew a kiss to the crowd, her hair spinning around like a wispy veil around her head. Krista pulled her body into the pole into the shape of a ball, and released the grip on her thighs just enough for her to plummet down to the stage. She could hear the squeaking of her skin as she made her descent, and she immediately panicked; her thighs were too sweaty. Her grip was going to fail her.
She closed her eyes as she neared the stage, and clamped her thighs back together against the pole tightly just as the edges of her platforms began to catch on the stage, slowing her spin. She released from the pole and dropped down into a split with a radiant smile. She actually performed exactly as she practiced, and Hans wasn't even there to see it.
The customers along her tip rail cheered and hollered, throwing handfuls of francs onto her and clapping their hands on the edge of the stage. Krista drew herself to her feet, and offered a crowd a series of curtsies before descending from the stage and to the locker room. "Can we get one more round of applause for my beautiful headliner?" Red called excitedly into the PA, and it was met with a thunderous roar of applause. Red smiled to herself. Her headliner was on fire. "She's here until close! And for the love of god, can someone get that woman a drink?! Top shelf only! She's not cheap!"
Krista laughed to herself as her towering heels clicked along the wooden floor beneath her feet. She was barely settled into her stool in front of the vanity when she saw the reflection of Kaltenbrunner's figure in the mirror.
"It's been two weeks," he said flatly, keeping his arms crossed.
"Yes, sir, it has," she answered, dabbing a rag over her sweating forehead.
"Well?" he pried after a moment.
Krista pulled herself from her stool, and slowly walked her way to her locker for her messenger bag. Inside was a folded piece of paper with two names. She clicked her way back to him, keeping the paper tight in her grasp. "There are only two girls that were here when I started that don't work here anymore. They worked for probably three or four shifts after I started, then I never saw them again."
Kaltenbrunner snatched the paper from her hands and unfolded it hastily. "Aurora and Carrie? What kind of names are these?" he questioned, his brows furrowing.
"Stage names. I don't know what their real names were." She glanced up to the curtain in the locker room's doorway, and Red stood there silently. They locked eyes for a moment, then Red disappeared with a nod.
"This is all you have? You can do better than this, Krista," he snarled, shoving the paper into his pocket.
"I'm sorry," she tried, sitting back down into her stool.
He sighed loudly, scrubbing a hand down his face. "I am going to Berlin in a few days, and I will be back in two weeks. I expect something usable by then."
"I'll do my best," she said, turning back to face the mirror.
He grabbed hold of her shoulder and forced her to face him again. "Don't get smart with me," he growled, lowering his face to hers. He straightened, wiping his hands down the front of his uniform. "You better take care with that attitude of yours. You're going ruin yourself, and you're going to drag Landa down with you." He pulled a cigarette tin from his pocket, and placed a fresh smoke between his lips. "Two weeks, Krista," he warned before turning from her and marching from the locker room.
Red was quick to replace him, and she stood at Krista's side with a small rectangle of some sort in her hand. "First off, you kicked ass, girl. That drop was flawless."
"Thank you," she said sweetly, looking up at Red in the mirror.
"I noticed you've been having some problems with Kaltenbrunner."
Krista nodded and turned to face Red. "Yeah, he's kind of a pain in the ass," she admitted.
"Yeah," Red concurred with a chuckle. "He's been after the club for the last year and a half. Whenever a new girl comes in, he pulls the same shit, but gets disappointed every time."
"I've told him that there's nothing here, but he doesn't believe me because I'm American."
"Same," Red agreed, placing the rectangle face down on the counter to Krista's left. "Do with this what you will. It may be more useful to you than me. Just please don't lose it."
"Okay," Krista nodded, sliding it closer to her without flipping it over.
"Anyway. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Krista nodded.
One of the kind 'stage sweepers' appeared in the locker room with a paper bag stuffed with bills from her stage set. "You looked amazing, Nina," she said, handing over the bag.
Krista counted out a tip for her and smiled. "Thank you so much," she offered the girl a kind smile before turning to Red again and counting out her tip out. "Thank you Red, for keeping my ass off the streets."
Red palmed the francs and folded them before stowing them in the pocket of her white skirt. "Thank you for keeping me in business."
Red turned on her heel and strutted back out to the floor, surely to take the microphone and announce the next stage set.
Krista glanced around the empty locker room, ensuring that she was alone before she took a look at what Red had left her.
She gingerly turned it over and through the grain in the photograph, she could make out the subject matter.
Ruby sat atop Kaltenbrunner, her knees pressed into the cushion of the couch in the unfinished champagne lounge. Ruby wasn't even a dancer; she was just a bottle girl. She shouldn't have even been in that lounge. She shook her head, but cracked a grin of triumph. The photo was dark, but it was Kaltenbrunner and Ruby clear as day. Krista's eyes wandered from edge to edge of the photograph, then stopping to take note of his grip on her hips.
She recalled Ruby exiting Eden not so long ago with a flushed face and disheveled hair. She brought the photo closer to her face and she squinted in an attempt to clarify the photo. "What the hell?" she mumbled to herself. Was his zipper undone?
Author's Note: The line 'she was like a firecracker with a short fuse' is inspired by a line in the song 'You and Me' by Yelawolf.
I don't really have much else to say aside from thank you all for reading and voting and all that!