I rifled through the pages. "So just what is it you expect me to do with this information, Mr. Schuster?"
"Call it the idle curiosity of an old man, Mr. Wages. If, as Manfred Kohler charges, Hilter was frozen and his remains shipped out that night on the Garl, I want to know about it."
"What you're really saying is you want me to check it out?"
Bearing Schuster nodded.
I finished my drink, contemplated his request for a moment and handed the diary back to him. "No thanks," I said emphatically.
My dottering host may have been a grizzled veteran of the business wars, but he wasn't doing a very good job of masking his surprise. "Why not, Mr. Wages?"
"Well, first of all, I've got a job. Secondly, I've got a funny feeling down here in my gut that says you haven't completely leveled with me. I think there's something more to this than being curious about chasing down some half-baked theory that popped up in a forty-year-old diary." I said. "And unless you tell me what's really behind all of this, I'm not even willing to consider it."
Bearing worked up a small smile. "Read the diary, then come back and talk to me tomorrow," he said.
"Suppose the project does catch my fancy. We've still got a couple of other things to deal with — like money. Just in case Cosmo didn't make it all that clear to you, Elliott Grant Wages doesn't come cheap."
"Do I look like the kind of man who quibbles over money, Mr. Wages?"
"On the contrary, you look like the kind of man who holds onto his money," I said.
"I want this story checked out." Bearing sounded adamant. "I'm willing to pay for that."
"Fifty thousand, up front, to check it out. Another fifty if I locate the damn containers, and a bonus if I bring them back to you. Either way, the project is off after two weeks. We part, no questions asked."
Bearing looked a little stunned. Cosmo didn't look much different, but it was the old man I was waiting on.
"Take the diary," he said. "Bring it back to me in the morning and I'll hand you half of the first fifty." There was a look of resignation on his face. I had the sudden sick feeling that Bearing Schuster knew he was getting the better of the deal.
I stuck out my hand to thank him for his hospitality. In return he extended a scarred and bony appendage that looked more like a bundle of dried sticks. I had to be careful I didn't crush it.
While Cosmo led us out I took one last look back at the old man. The sullen character in the waistcoat was busy giving Bearing another glass of his nameless elixir. And for the record, a quick check of the pool revealed that the delightful creature in the reptile bikini had departed as well.
Honey Bear Leach joined us for dinner, much to the delight of the rest of the men at Cosmo's club, and dominated both the conversation and my attention. Honey Bear is either the sixth or seventh lovely creature to wear the title of Mrs. Cosmo Leach; I've lost count. Not that it matters, since Cosmo seems to take the vagaries and vicissitudes of a multiple-wife life in stride. And the fact that he was paying enough alimony to fund the country's defense budget didn't seem to bother him. It was obvious that, at the moment, both Honey Bear and Cosmo were happy to be sharing the same sheets.
After a number of attempts to discuss my love life, or lack of it, the status of my latest book, how my wounds had healed after my last sojourn, Honey Bear backed off and let Cosmo and me return to the subject at hand — Mr. Bearing Schuster.
"What am I missing?" I wondered aloud.
Cosmo twirled his empty glass back and forth between the palms of his hands. "I'm surprised at you, Elliott. You really did miss it."
"Miss what?"
"Bearing's hand. Surely you noticed that mass of twisted scar tissue when he shook hands with you."
"Yeah… so what happened?"
"Bearing didn't tell you that Schuster Laboratories was once deeply involved in cryonic research?"
"He failed to mention it," I admitted, suddenly feeling like the hook had been set without me even knowing it.
"He had a rather nasty little episode with it," Cosmo said. "They were conducting research on different cryogenic levels when a computer controlled cryoprobe disintegrated and scattered shrapnel around the room. Bearing was the only one to escape, but several of the radioactive pieces of metal bombarded him. Everywhere it hit him, it immediately destroyed the tissue. I caught him once sitting in a hot tub; he has places just like those on his hand all over his body. I later learned that the tissue around those damaged areas continued to atrophy — at an agonizingly slow rate and with a great deal of pain."
"You're telling me he's dying?"
"We all are," Cosmo said. "The only difference is, Bearing knows what's killing him."
"And that juice he drinks?"
"A sophisticated narcotic, a painkiller. When I met him a couple of years ago, a dose of that stuff would hold him for several hours. He took three of them just to get through his conversation with you this morning."
I slouched back in my chair and decided to order another Black and White. So that was the angle. "Suddenly it makes a little more sense. Schuster thinks that if I can find those canisters, I might learn something that will"
"Prolong his life, lessen his pain, whatever. Look at it this way, Elliott, he has the money to indulge his whims, and he's got nothing to lose."
Honey Bear had heard enough. She pushed herself away from the table and stood up. "Dance with me, Elliott," she said. "It's been years."
She was right. Long before Cosmo, our paths had crossed. Cosmo didn't know it, and we had jointly decided not to tell him. By the time she had me on the dance floor, and I had my arms around her, the memories started flooding back.
"How have you really been?" she whispered.
"Same old Elliott, warts and all. Actually, life's been pretty good."
"Women?" she teased.
"A few, now and then."
"That isn't what I'm talking about and you know it. Who replaced me? Was she good? Was she better? And if you answer that the wrong way I'll bury one of these spiked heels right through the top of your foot."
"There was only one Honey Bear," I lied.
"That's better," she cooed and managed to move in a little closer. Some very precious memories came flooding back.
Much to Cosmo's chagrin, but largely due to my better judgment, I had insisted on using a friend's condo at the Sea Breeze. The three room spread belonged to none other than Ginny Parker, she of torrid romance writing fame, who had currently forsaken our warm and comfortable and disgustingly platonic relationship for a holiday in France. She was doing a rewrite and had warned me to stay away until her editor was assuaged. I was complying, but in my heart I was ogling her long luscious legs and thinking about beach time.
By the time I had my meager belongings unpacked, stowed my trusty survival kit under the bed, found where Ginny had stashed the Scotch and opened the balcony doors so I could hear the sound of the surf, I had decided to wind up the day by reading the final entries in Manfred Kohler's journal. Job or no job, money or no money, I was intrigued — and both Cosmo and Bearing Schuster knew it.
I skinned down to a pair of boxer shorts, pulled the covers back, plopped down, and started to read.
May 1, 1945
My Dear Anna:
This will be my final entry. I write this as both your loving husband and a German officer. It is indeed a benevolent and understanding Creator who has spared me long enough to spend these final moments with you.
In truth, there is little time. Even now, hordes of grey-green pigs wearing Russian uniforms are but a few kilometers from the Chancellery. I can hear the ominous sounds of their cannons and the whiplike crack of their carbines. It is a terrifying picture. Our young and our strong are dying all around me. The smell of death is everywhere.