An Ace Up My Sleeve (4 page)

If only he wasn't so young and if only he had a little more education and a little more brain. But he was beautiful, virile and wonderfully male. You can't expect too much, she told herself ... count your blessings.

She began to ask him about himself and she learned his parents had a farm which provided them with a reasonable living and once this tour of Europe was over, he was going back to take over from his father. "Will you like that Larry?" He lifted his heavy shoulders.

"I guess. My old man is getting on and he needs me. I'm not good for much else."

"Do you plan to marry?"

"I guess so, ma'am. You can't run a farm without a wife ... that's what my old man says and I reckon he's right."

"Is there a girl?" 

"Not one particular one." 

"But there are girls?"

He shifted uneasily.

"Sure."

Although she wanted to pursue this subject, she felt he might resent it. She told herself he couldn't be a virgin, but had he the experience to satisfy her? Regretfully, she switched to finding out his interests.

No, he didn't read ... maybe the comics, but they bored him after a while. No, he didn't like classical music, but he dug for pop. He thought TV was a ball. No, he didn't follow politics. Nixon? He hadn't thought about Nixon. You had to have a President, so okay, you had a President. Sure he went to the movies. Yeah, he liked sexy films. He liked a good tough punch–up. He liked watching the fights on TV.

She listened, realizing the vast gap that lay between them.

Then suddenly, in front of them was a sign that said Basle was only thirty– five kilometres ahead of them.

"Basle? That's Switzerland, isn't it?" Larry said and there was a sudden change in his voice that made her look sharply at him.

"Yes."

That's the frontier... right?"

"Yes."

He fingered his cap.

"What is it, Larry?"

"Nothing." His voice had become curt and he slightly increased the speed of the car.

"But there is something ... tell me."

"Suppose we talk when we get to a parking, ma'am," he said. The hard note in his voice frightened her. Why this sudden change? she asked herself, but feeling he would be irritated if she pressed for an immediate answer, she sat still, waiting.

Ten kilometres further along the autobahn, they came to a lay–by and he slowed, swung the car off the road and behind a thick hedge, covered with snow that hid a W.C. and stone tables and benches for the summer tourists. He cut the engine, then half–turning in his seat, he looked directly at her.

"Ma'am, you told me about your problems, now it's my turn. I also have a problem."

What was coming? she thought. What was he going to say?

"Well ... Tell me," she said, forcing her voice to sound normal.

"Well, ma'am, I told you I had lost my things and my money. I lost my passport too."

She stared at him.

"You have no passport?"

"That's it."

She tried to think efficiently, but she felt she wasn't succeeding. "But have you reported losing it?"

"No, ma'am. Like I told you, I got mixed up in this Hamburg riot. The cops were looking for everyone mixed up in it. I had to get out fast."

She sat still, trying to think. The German police at the frontier might let them through without checking passports, but the Swiss police on the far side of the barrier were certain to check. She tried to imagine how the Swiss police would react when Larry said he had lost his passport. She would get involved. Of course she could say she was giving him a ride, but that wouldn't help him. It would mean that she would lose him and this was something she was determined not to do.

"Why didn't you tell me before, Larry? I would have gone with you to the American Consul at Bonn. We could have fixed it." He shook his head.

"It's not that simple, but it's okay. It can be fixed if you'll go along. Have you anything in the boot?"

She stiffened, staring at him.

"In the boot? My luggage ... what do you mean?"

"Do you want me to come with you to Switzerland?" he asked. "I could be of help to you... or maybe you don't want me?"

"I don't understand what you're saying ... what do you mean?"

"Look, ma'am, I have to get to the other side of the frontier. Ron told me where I can get a new passport. There's lots of ways to cross the frontier. If you don't want to help me, you say so. I'll leave you right here. I just thought as you've been so good to me, I'd like to stay with you if I can." The warm brown eyes went over her face. "There's no problem if you will help." She pressed her hand against her forehead. "I don't understand."

"I can go through the frontier in your boot, ma'am. It's no problem. Ron says they never look in the boot of a car owned by an American. They just wave you through."

She thought back on the times she had been through the various frontiers.

What he said was true. They had never looked in the boot... maybe the Italians had, but then only once.

"But suppose they do find you?"

He grinned.

"Then it's my bad luck. You're in the clear, ma'am. If they find me, you know nothing about it. I'll tell them I found the boot unlocked and sneaked in when you were parking."

"But they'll arrest you!"

"They won't find me, ma'am. Do you want to help me or don't you?"

What am I getting myself into? she wondered. If she refused he would go out of her life. Anyway, what had she to lose? As he had said, she could tell them she didn't know he was hiding in the boot.

   "All right, Larry ... go ahead." His face lit up.

"Thank you, ma'am. You won't regret this. You take over." He slid out of the car and went around to the back. She moved into the driving seat and watched him in the driving mirror transfer her cases to the back seat. He came to the driver's window and smiled at her. "Take it easy, ma'am ... there'll be no problem." She forced a smile. "I hope not, Larry."

He gave her the thumbs up sign, then went around to the back. She waited until she heard the lid of the boot slam shut, then bracing herself, she drove the car back on to the autobahn.

A few kilometres before the German frontier, Helga ran into a blinding snowstorm. She had been driving along the autobahn in reasonable light when suddenly it turned dark, and as she switched on the headlights, snow, whipped by the wind, blotted out visibility to within twenty metres. The cars ahead of her, now crawling, quickly turned into white mounds of snow: their red tail lights scarcely visible. In spite of having to drive under these difficult conditions, Helga was thankful. From past experience, she knew the frontier guards were cursory in their check when the weather was this bad.

Her mind was in a daze of bewilderment, excitement and doubt. She had read and heard so much about the dangers of picking up a lone hitch hiker, but this boy had seemed so open, friendly and warm. She had been convinced he was completely honest and likeable, but now she began to wonder. Was it really possible he could have lost everything, including his passport? But he was honest, she assured herself. He had wanted to return the money she had given him. This business about having to get into Switzerland and this man Ron had told him about from whom he could get another passport (forged?) really worried her. She remembered the conviction in Larry's voice when he had said, Sure, I like you. No one could speak like that without meaning it, but all the same, was he making use of her?

She saw the frontier sign with the word halt, half hidden by the snow. The cars ahead of her were already crawling by the frontier post. She could see the German guard, snug behind his glass shelter, waving them impatiendy through.

Her heart was thumping when it came to her turn, but the guard merely waved his hand and then turned away. She had her passport and green card on her lap. Now for the Swiss frontier, she thought and flinched. She was behind three cars. Two of them were waved through: the one just ahead of her had Swiss number plates. She felt a chill of fear when she saw two frontier guards, their capes and peaked caps covered with snow, standing either side of the car ahead. There was some talk, then the guard on the off–side of the car came towards her. She lowered the window, seeing the Swiss car move off.

The guard saluted her, his face purple with the cold and accepted her passport and green card.

As he flicked through the pages of her passport, he asked, "Have you anything to declare?"

"No, nothing."

She realized he was looking at her and there was approval in his eyes and she forced a smile. He returned her papers.

"Have you heard if it is getting worse?" she asked. "It couldn't be worse than this, madame," he said with a grin, then he saluted her and stepped back.

She wound up the window and set the car moving. She felt a little sick but triumphant. Now she had the problem of getting Larry out of the boot. She couldn't just stop and let him get out to be seen by any and every eye. He must be freezing in the boot, she thought as she drove with the traffic. Then ahead of her she saw a big building site. In this blizzard, no one could be working, she thought and she swung the car on to the rough road leading to the site. Looking in the driving mirror she saw she had already lost sight of the main road, wiped from view by the blinding snow. She stopped the car, got out into the driving snow and ran around to the boot. She had to struggle to release the catch, then she lifted the lid. "Quick!"

He slid out and had shut the boot before she realized he was moving.

"You drive ... I'll tell you where to go," she said and ran around to the passenger's seat. They both got in the car and slammed the doors, then she found him looking at her, his face alight with that warm, friendly grin. "You see, ma'am ... like I told you ... it worked." "Yes ... you must be frozen."

"I'm fine, but I want to thank you, ma'am." He reached out and his hand closed over hers. "I really appreciate it and I think you have a load of guts if you'll excuse me saying it like that."

She could feel his coldness through her glove.

"Let's get something to eat," she said reluctantly withdrawing her hand. "Then we can talk."

She directed him up St. Jacobs' strasse, then she told him to turn right where there was a parking lot. As he found space and cut the engine, he said, "You know this town, ma'am?"

"I know it. There's a restaurant not far from here. We'll have to walk. Would you put my suitcases in the boot?"

Ten minutes later, both plastered with snow, they entered the steam heat of a modest restaurant she had once visited on another of her lone journeys. Because she was not only cold but very nervous she could face nothing but a plate of soup. She ordered soup, two large pork chops and chips for Larry. "Let's eat first," she said, sure he would be interested only in the food that was coming and wouldn't concentrate on answering her questions.

When the meal was finished and they had thawed out and were sipping coffee, she said, "Look, Larry, I want to know more about this. I want to know more about this girl who took your passport."

He looked away and she imagined he was shuffling his feet.

"Well, ma'am, I guess you've done enough for me for me to lay it on the line, but I guess it's kind of embarrassing." He stared down at his hands, frowning. "You see, ma'am, every so often I have to have a woman." He pulled at the peak of his cap. This time she hadn't reminded him to take it off. "I get this urge, and it gets too much for me." Again he dragged at the peak of his cap. "Excuse me. You asked me ... I'm laying it on the line. I hope you will understand."

Yes, I understand, she thought, you get this urge from time to time. I'm never free of it!

"Of course, Larry ... was she a pro?" He nodded, not looking at her.

"Yeah. It got pretty hairy. Two guys broke in, and there was a punch–up. They sure handled me and they threw me out." He looked at her, then away. "I guess I was lucky to keep my trousers."

She searched his face for any signs of a fight, but found none. She felt compassion. She understood he didn't want to admit to her that some cheap little whore had robbed him of everything he owned.

There was no point in pressing this, she decided. It really wasn't important. He was just a kid ... kids did things like this. The important thing was his passport.

"Well, Larry, we are now in Switzerland," she said. "You have no passport. What are you going to do?"

"I guess I've got to have a passport." He fingered the peak of his cap, then he flushed. "Goddamn it! I'm still wearing this goddamn thing!" He tore the cap off his head and stuffed it under his thigh. "Excuse me, ma'am. I guess I'm a hick. I just don't know when I'm wearing it."

"How do you get another passport?" she asked. "What was this you said about ... Ron?"

He shifted in his seat.

"Well, he gave me an address right here, ma'am. It costs, but I can get around to that." He leaned forward, resting his big hands on the table and looked directly at her. "Look, ma'am, you've done enough for me. Thank you for everything. Thank you for getting me through the frontier. Thank you for this meal. You've been great! Now, I'm on my own. From now on, you don't have to think of me. I'll manage." She regarded him steadily.

"That was a very pretty speech, Larry, but I think you have been watching too much television. Your next line, set against a fading sunset should be,

"And thanks for the memory, but this is goodbye"."
He turned beetroot red as he gaped at her.
"What was that again, ma'am?"

She took from her bag her gold cigarette case and lit a cigarette with her gold Dunhill.

"I go so far, Larry, but don't push it. I don't kid easily. If you want to be on your own, then get up and go. If you want to manage on your own so bravely, I'm not stopping you, but don't give me this corny dialogue ... do I make myself clear?"