The Dark Frontier A. Decker (i like reading TXT) 📖

It was not clear to him how he would achieve this. He was a total novice in such games and felt utterly miscast. The man turned right towards the river when he reached the street, then crossed the road. Frank kept him in his field of vision while he considered his next move, then briefly lost him when the man turned left into a side street. Beginner that he was, he decided there was only one option and – without fully realising what he was doing – he quickened his pace to catch him up. Then took the plunge.

“Excuse me, sir,” Frank said, touching the man’s sleeve as he came alongside him. “Could you tell me how I get to the cathedral from here?”

He knew they were already moving in the direction of the cathedral and felt this would give him the opportunity to walk with the stranger and get him into conversation.

The man looked down at the hand on his sleeve. Then examined Frank with a studied expression. There was a coldness in his steely blue eyes and thin lips that Frank found disconcerting. When eventually the man spoke, his firm but gentle voice betrayed the accent of a cultured American.

“I’m going that way myself,” he said. “You can come along with me. It’s not far.”

This was exactly the response that Frank had hoped for. Yet the man’s openness unsettled him. It came across not as an invitation, but almost as a command. And lacking the warmth of any kind of a smile, it seemed a little too calculated.

“You’re American,” Frank said, brushing his disquiet aside. “And yet you know your way around here so well. Do you live here?”

“Yeah,” was all that came in reply. Terse. To the point. Giving nothing away.

“Eigenmann,” Frank said, offering his hand. “Frank Eigenmann.” He knew it was a naive and clumsy move to disclose his identity like that. And he felt all the more stupid when the move was not reciprocated. The stranger’s only response was to usher Frank across the street with a prompt of the elbow. Then he turned the tables.

“You’re not from these parts yourself.”

“You have a good ear,” Frank said with an edge of surprise in his voice that an American was able to distinguish his Badisch German from the dialect spoken on the streets of this city. “I come from just over the border,” he added.

The stranger processed this information with what seemed to Frank like an excess of care. Or was it suspicion?

As they approached the wall of red sandstone ahead that was the cathedral, the man again took Frank by the arm and nudged him to the right of the building. Manoeuvred into a cul-de-sac beside the minster, Frank instantly found himself thrust against the wall. And before he could catch his breath, he took the full force of a vicious, winding blow to the solar plexus. Pinned to the wall like a crucified dog, he could not even crumple to the ground to relieve his agony. The stranger pressed his face close to Frank.

“Who are you?” he whispered. The menace that came with his soft cultured accent was chilling. Frank gasped for breath. Unable to reply. The man tightened his grip and repeated the question over and over until Frank found the air to reply.

“Frank Eigenmann.”

“You already told me that. So, what do you want with me, Frank Eigenmann?” The stranger tightened his grip further.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You don’t know a lot of things, buddy. But you seem to know me, otherwise you wouldn’t be tailing me. Now, I call that an unfair advantage, and I don’t look kindly on people taking advantage of me. So, tell me something about yourself. And make it snappy. Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“I told you. My name is Frank Eigenmann.”

“And?” he threw in quickly before Frank had a chance to pause.

“No ‘and’,” Frank said. “I don’t know you from Adam.”

At that moment he felt the grip on his left wrist relax just enough to wrench it loose from the American’s hand. And with a ferocity that took even Frank by surprise, he propelled his fist into the man’s groin. The angle was too narrow to make full impact. But the effect was enough to throw the American on the defensive. And as he released his grip on the right wrist, Frank buried his other fist deep into the solar plexus and brought his right knee up to meet the American’s crumpling face. The man sank to the ground.

Time to make myself scarce, Frank told himself. He quickly ran his fingers through the man’s pockets, removed a wallet with various papers, and made off around the corner past the cathedral. Estimating that the Gladstone bag would slow him down, he let it lie.

He had never imagined himself capable of common thuggery and theft. And he was surprised to find how much it elated him, how powerful the excitement was that urged him along on his flight through the streets. It was not fear. He had known fear, and it had paralysed him. This was different. This was pure galvanism. A stimulant to act and act fast. But he was in no doubt that the American would soon be hard on his heels. So, racing across the cathedral square and down Augustinergasse, he cut into an alleyway to the left that would take him quickly down into the marketplace and from there to the refuge of his hotel.

Once he reached the market square and – trusting that he had given the American the slip by now – he slowed to a walking pace so as not to attract attention. Turning to the right, he passed a department store that he had passed almost every day since he had been in this city. But at this moment, he was struck by a bill poster advertising the ‘Will Hildering Dance Band Gold Stars with Lady Crooner’ in the Globus Tea Room.