Frederick's American Café

A quick shout-out to Nikita who was not only kind enough to peer review this story, but also resourceful enough to find someone to translate phrases into German for me. Yay Nikita!


Note to readers: This story is set in North Africa during WWII. It contains Nazism, anti-semitism and other bigotry, homosexuality, adultery and gun violence.

Note to readers: The story includes a few French and German phrases. To save on the use of footnotes, the ABBR tag hides the English translation. Mouse-over the foreign phrase to see the English text. This is not available on all readers.

Chapter 3

The airstrip was the only show in town on Thursday mornings. The strip was a couple miles from the square, on a flat stretch of land next to the train tracks. In addition to the tarmac and runway, there was a hangar and a building it shared with the train where people could buy tickets and wait impatiently to leave for Tunis.


The aircraft, laden with supplies from Marrakech, arrived amid cheers and applause. It was quickly voided of its cargo by native porters, and it took on a ragtag collection of correspondence, marketable goods, and debris in exchange. Occasionally, and with great fanfare, people travelled to and from Avamposto Calce via plane.


Frederick was always there, making sure bottles or even whole crates of his shipment didn't sprout legs and walk away. He also had payment and a new list of supplies for the next week to hand to the pilot.


Like clockwork, Hemmert was there too. The German had a telegraph station in his office but there were some letters and official communications that did not transmit on a wire. He also liked to be seen keeping an eye on things.


Croft was there as often as not, which included today. He and his wife were voracious readers and curious of current events even though they were so far removed from them as to be gruesome fairy tales. They subscribed to a number of newspapers and periodicals, and enjoyed a far-reaching web of literary correspondents. Every week brought a new stack of papers and, as Croft pointed out, the already dated news would be ancient history if he sat at home and waited for it to be delivered.


Croft was quick today. He did not linger to chat but swapped one parcel for another and returned to his wife.


Frederick's stay was longer, to match the size of his delivery. He noticed Hemmert trying to catch his eye and decided it would be faster and more prudent to let the German have his say now, rather than dragging it back to the café.


At a slight nod from Frederick, Hemmert began. "What do you think of Herr Wilkes?"


He had been too open last night and it was coming back to haunt him. "I like his money." That was true enough.


"We are the same, you and I, Wentworth. I do not trust him. He is hiding something, I am sure of it."


Frederick felt a moment of pity. The larger war had absorbed all available men. Avamposto Calce was too remote, lacking in resources or any strategic importance to merit more than a token show of force. As the sole Gestapo at this assignment, Hemmert had a lonely existence. There was none of his own kind here to whom he might unburden himself. The native population reviled him quietly but in equal measure to his own convictions of a supreme race. His closest relationships were with Croft, with whom he shared an amiable enmity, and Frederick, who did all in his power to stay uninvolved.


"You were at a poker game. Of course he was hiding something." Even Frederick had felt the paranoia of desolation from time to time out here.


"It is more than that. There is something about him. A look... It reminds me of a dangerous man. Help me investigate him."


"No," Frederick refused. It was one thing to be united in dislike against Anne's fiancé. Frederick was honest enough with himself to admit that he would despise on principle whatever man she eventually married.


Since he had learned last night that Anne was to marry Wilkes, Frederick had reexamined every stray observation he had heard of the couple from the staff at The American, trying to figure out why Anne had decided to marry this man and not him. He had heard of no tender scenes being interrupted, no warm looks passing between them despite Wilkes' claim of love at first sight. It made such a sharp contrast with Frederick's own whirlwind courtship of Anne, when he had kissed her in front of every fountain in  Rome, that it looked suspicious. But perhaps she was being circumspect to spare Frederick's feelings, not that she had cared much about them when she had broken off their engagement. Or perhaps he was remembering her wrong, or perhaps she had grown colder with age.


But as much as he hated the thought that she had moved on, he wouldn't spy on the man for Germany. It was wrong of Croft to remind him last night, but America had taken a side, and if Frederick were to help anyone, it wouldn't be the Axis.


"I'm not asking you to do much," Hemmert clarified.


"I'm not doing anything. I'm not turning my customers over to the Gestapo!"


Hemmert hissed at him. "Keep your voice down. I don't want word getting back to him. I want your help, Herr Wentworth, but I do not need it. I will investigate him regardless. And if I find out you have been aiding and abetting a traitor ro a criminal--"


"You know me better than that," Frederick reminded him. "I help nobody but myself."

---

Returning to the hotel from the airstrip, Frederick saw the pacing shadow of a woman stretching out of his office door.


This was a paradox. Obviously, it was Anne waiting to talk to him. Equally obvious were the orders and threats he had levelled at Harville to keep her out of his office.


“Get out, Anne,” he told her as he strode in angrily, leaving the door ajar for her convenience. “You weren’t welcome here yesterday, and you aren’t welcome here today.”


It was not Anne after all. It was Elizabeth Elliot, and it was not just her cigarette fuming after a greeting like that.


“I can see why my sister refused to speak with you," she stifled a sneer. "Tell me, Mr. Wentworth, are you intentionally rude to your guests or have you spent so much time beyond the reach of civilization that you’ve forgotten how to act around a lady?”


“Show me a lady and we’ll find out.”


She glared venomously. Honestly, what response did she expect with a loaded question like that?


“I see I’ve wasted my time trying to talk with you,” she grit out. “I should have gone straight to Herr Hemmert to report the thief in your hotel.” She stood up and would have walked out but he blocked her way.


“What’s this about a thief?” Much as he resented it, she had his full and undivided attention. As a rule, thieves were bad for business.


She smiled thinly from her position of superiority and took a seat. “Someone broke into our hotel room yesterday evening while we were with Mrs. Croft and stole items from my sister and myself. Who knows what else they may have taken from your other guests?”


“What did they take?”


“Jewelry and a scarf from me,” she listed. “Anne’s perfume and passport.”


“Her passport!” The rest could be lumped in as trinkets, but the passport was another matter. If he didn’t find it quickly, Hemmert would have to be called in.


“And some of my jewelry,” Elizabeth reiterated with annoyance. “Obviously I didn’t bring the important family pieces to Africa, but I found a pair of ruby earrings in a bazaar that I’ve grown quite attached to. Are you aware there is a thief preying upon your guests, Mr. Wentworth?”


“Let me do some digging,” he said. “Chances are, it was all a misunderstanding.” If he could find the items quickly, he might be able to pass it off as an accident or a joke.


“A misunderstanding! You really have grown out of touch out here.”


“Give me until one o'clock. If I don’t find your property by then, I’ll go to Hemmert myself.” It was a stall, but she bought it and returned to her room to await his failure.


Frederick sat in his office, wracking his brain, for as long as it took her to climb the stairs to the second floor. Then he was off like a shot, hunting down Harville to see if either of the maids hadn’t shown up for work this morning. The maids checked out, so he went to the bar to see if Charlie had noticed anything suspicious. A few steps in and he stopped. Anne was here in the café, he could feel it.


He cast about for a sight of her but she was hidden behind the Thursday lunch crowd. The only woman he saw was Lulu coming toward him.


Lulu Argile, the French chanteuse, had been at The American for almost eight years. Brought here by her sugar daddy, then abandoned by him, she was always on the lookout for her next provider. Her interest in Frederick dated from the morning he had taken over the café but memories of his heartbreak were still fresh. Lulu had a cursory resemblance to Anne and he didn't want to feel like he was settling for a poor substitute. Over time, he had come to realize that Lulu was inferior in other ways -- even more fickle and duplicitous -- making her completely unsuitable for him. In all this time, he had never met someone to outshine the Anne he remembered, and now it struck him as a wasteful comparison. The Anne he remembered didn't exist, and the Anne who did exist had moved on.


Lulu continued to approach him. Always a magpie in search of sparkly trinkets and new things, she was no doubt hoping that something had arrived for her in the morning's shipment. Suddenly, his senses were overwhelmed by the presence of Anne. It was just like the trick she pulled when she had checked in. The air was thick with her perfume.


Her perfume was stolen last night, the rational part of his brain whispered as Lulu reached him.


"Patron," she said, "did my new sheet music arrive?"


He looked at her in wonder. There was something different about her, if only he could put his finger in it.


"Lu--" he began and stopped. The air was thick with Anne's perfume, as if she was standing before him. He leaned into the chanteuse and inhaled.


There it was! The scent! Memories washed over him almost faster than he could contain them: the first time they had bumped into each other, throwing coins into the fountain, kissing her to make her wish come true despite the approving wolf whistles of the Italian men who saw them.


"You like my new perfume." His reaction was too blatant to question it.


"In my office, now."


She smiled coquettishly. "It's not even noon." The timing didn't thwart her.


Frederick gripped her upper arm. "Toute de suite!" he repeated with quiet force, pulling her through the crowd to his private room.


Lulu went along, not exactly willingly, not exactly putting up a fight. There was no cause yet to make a scene, and she had her dignity to maintain.


Behind a closed door, however, she quickly yanked her arm free and scolded him for laying a hand on her. "What if there's a bruise?" she snapped.


"Who gave you that perfume?" Frederick demanded.


Lulu showed a little nervousness. "An admirer," was all she would admit to.


"An admirer who's a thief," he expanded for her. "One who's going to bring Hemmert down hard on The American, and you can bet you're the first person to be sacrificed for protecting him."


Lulu was rattled, but not yet enough to confess. Frederick pressed on.


"One of the Elliot sisters just came to see me, said their room had been burgled. We have an hour to return their property before she takes the case to Hemmert: earrings, scarf, passport and perfume."


"I only have the bottle of perfume." She was cracking.


"But you know who has the rest, and you can bet that's what I'll tell Hemmert when he comes calling. Who is to say you aren't in cahoots?"


He could read the thoughts flitting across her face. "I could tell him you did it." As far as threats went, it was empty.


"Then he'd know you were lying. I was in the bar all last night keeping an eye on Hemmert and the rest of them."


He let her absorb her options, because there was really only one outcome.


"Let me ask him," she said simply and let herself out.


It was implied that Frederick should not follow, but had he been forced to swear on his mother's grave, he would still have broken that vow to trail after her. There was a thief stealing from his customers and he needed to know who. It was bad for business. When he found out who it was, he'd have a quiet talk with the guy and see to it he was never allowed in The American again.