But along came Honey, the cheeky Sieg Heil girl, not Honey Schoen, Walter’s ex, Honey Deal. She had taken Jurgen away and by this morning would have eaten him up. Vera liked Honey from the moment she walked in the house, she sounded so American. “I’d marry Carl in a minute, but he’s taken.” Or when she said, “I act a little like I’m on the make, but I’m not after him to leave home.” Honey just wanted to have fun. She thought Bo was cute.

Vera loved the way Americans spoke in their different accents and the expressions they used. One of her favorites was “on the make,” which meant flirting. She loved Honey saying, “You think he’s a shit-kicker till you look in his eyes.” Telling so much in a few words about the federal policeman, Carl, the one Honey had her eye on.

The day they arrived in Detroit she told Bo, “We are going to listen to people, the way they pronounce words and the slang they use. We are not from the South or New York City, we live in Detroit and speak the way they do here.”

At that time Bo said, “I have one. ‘So is your old man.’”

“So’s,” Vera said. “ So’s your old man. You hear the difference? It’s a rebuff.”

Bo was a natural. He liked to imitate people on the radio, Walter Winchell, Gabriel Heatter, Jack Benny. He could do Rochester. Vera laughed because he was funny and she loved him, this boy who told her she was his life.

But if the time came he had to make a choice, give her up or go to prison?

He’d give her up.

In the courtroom Bo would gaze at her with tears in his eyes- he could do that, cause his eyes to fill-and testify for the prosecution. Bo would create for her daring acts of espionage, and the newspapers would make her a star, World War II’s Mata Hari, without citing a single reference to what Mata Hari did for the Kaiser. Or did she spy for the French? Vera wasn’t certain, perhaps both, but knew she was better-looking than the Dutch woman- huge thighs but no tits-whose stage name was a Malay word for “eye of dawn.”

If offered the same choice, would she give up Bo? Regretfully. Though it would never come to that. Or Bo in a courtroom testifying against her. She would shoot him first. Love in a time of war had only moments. But awfully good ones. Even Aubrey wasn’t that bad.

Carl’s dad phoned at 6 a.m. waking him up.

“How you like Detroit?”

“All right. It’s big. They say it’s our third-biggest city, but I heard Philadelphia was.”

“It don’t mean a thing to me,” his dad said. “How’s the hotel?”

They’d go through this until his dad came to the reason he was talking to Carl long-distance.

“A guy called last night saying he was a buddy of yours and wondered where you were. Narcissa talked to him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Vito Tessa.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“No, I said Vito Tessa.” His dad being funny.

“Didn’t the name sound familiar? He’s the kid gangster with the big nickel-plate and the zoot suit, the jitterbug, the night before I left.”

“The one, his brother’s Lou Tessa?”

“Yeah, it’s another one of those brother things. What’d Narcissa tell him, I’m in Detroit, uh? Or you wouldn’t of called.”

“Yeah, I guess she did. And where you’re staying.”

“I thought she knew better.”

“He told her he was in the Seabees with you. How would he know that?”

“Every time I talk to a writer he wants to know what I did in the war.”

“The kid gangster read up on you.” Virgil said, “Wait a minute, Narcissa’s standing here listening.” Virgil came back on saying, “I told her one time shipmates stand together, and she believed the guy was a shipmate of yours. Hold it again.” This time Virgil said, “Narcissa says he told her his name, Vito Tessa. And if we talk to you, let you know Vito Tessa is coming to see you. Why’d he say that if he’s out to shoot you?”

“The brother tried to shoot me in the back.”

“This one wants to try face-to-face?”

“I’m not sure. Marvin the doorman at the Mayo said, ‘Uh-oh, the man’s got a gun,’ and I turned. Now we’re face-to-face, but he didn’t want any part of it. I don’t know what he’s doing giving you his name.”

“Showin’ off,” Virgil said.

“But it doesn’t mean he won’t try to surprise me. I’m gonna have to call Tulsa police, find out who he is and why they turned him loose. They had him for possession of a firearm. I can’t see the kid gangster with a license to pack. He might be smarter than I gave him credit, but not that different from his brother. Now I have to keep looking over my shoulder while I track the Krauts and get ’em home. One of ’em I believe took off, Otto, the SS guy, but hasn’t been gone long.” Carl said to his dad, “Well, I guess my day has started.”

He phoned Honey at seven, seven-thirty, and five of eight, each time letting it ring in case Honey was in the shower, Carl seeing her face raised in the spray, eyes closed, soapy water streaming over her sparkling clean breasts, but never got an answer. He had decided the best thing to do, keep Honey on as if she had never shown him her breasts. Though it could get tricky talking to her face-to-face, each knowing how close they came yesterday to something happening, if not adultery. He’d try not to stare at her blouse and imagine the two girls in there, thinking they were a size smaller than Louly’s, but weren’t what you’d call small breasts, either. What Honey’s had was a look of their own, one he thought of as, you know, perky, their pink noses stuck up in the air. He liked this image that came to him, but couldn’t think of anyone he could tell and admit he made it up. Maybe Narcissa.

He had stood in the bedroom doorway looking at Honey. She didn’t move or give him any kind of sexy look. She didn’t have to. She commented on what he read to her from the paper, the same as if she had all her clothes on, and asked him what he wanted to do. No, she said, “Have you decided what you want to do?”

The first thing he thought of was, You got to be kidding. But didn’t say it. He didn’t want to see her smile, encouraged. He had to be as cool about it as she was, and said let’s have supper and drive by Vera Mezwa’s, see who’s there. Honey said, “That’s what you want to do, check license numbers?” Standing there with her honkers staring at him. Honey started to smile, then was laughing, shaking her head. Carl grinned at her and at the two girls he would never see again and everything was almost back to normal. Honey got dressed.

Last night he’d said to her, “You get out of the car you’re on your own,” in a normal tone of voice, but laying it out, this is the way it is. What did she do? She got out saying she’d tell him about it tomorrow and waved her fingers at him. She was out of view trespassing around the house, appeared again on the other side, went up to the door, turned and waved to him.

What did he do after that-nothing. Came back to the hotel, had a drink at the bar, went up to his room and turned on the radio for news reports. The Russians in Vienna fighting house to house. Carl listening, Carl thinking of how to be himself with Honey without getting in trouble.

Last night Carl had stopped at the curb in front of Vera Mezwa’s house to let Honey out, Honey having her way without acting snippy about it. This morning he turned into the driveway and cut the motor. Nobody was going to drive off while Carl was visiting, not Ms. Mezwa, not her little helper and not the Kraut escape artist Jurgen Schrenk. Carl followed the walk to the front door, his hand raised in a gesture to the surveillance car across the street-not the empty one there for show-his acknowledging them saying there was no reason to call it in, we’re all friends here, aren’t we? But that’s what the agents would do, radio the office. Carl rang the bell and heard the chime inside the house, waited and rang the bell again. He wasn’t going anywhere.