Speckbauer repeated Felix’s question.
“How long, you say?”
He had closed the passenger door and was trying to find a comfortable way to fit himself in the confines of the seat of Felix’s Polo.
There was a smell of soap off him. He did not look like a man who had spent half the night in a ditch watching the comings and goings in the Nagl home.
“Exactly,” said Felix, shielding his eyes from the morning sun.
“How long before we get real help here?”
“Franzi can do lots,” said Speckbauer.
“He can barely move.”
“Not so. He takes relaxants if he has to do exertions.”
“So, he’ll be half-drugged, being a sleeping bodyguard for my grandparents?”
“Is he a bodyguard?”
“He better be. What if those guys, or that guy decides to come back.”
“This is what we are working on, you and me. Why we’re going to pay a proper visit to that pub in Weiz. This time we lean on him.”
“Who?”
“I didn’t tell you? Mr. Friendly who serves up the drinks.
Remember him? Well he does me the occasional favour. Today, it will suit him to do one. Let’s go.”
Again Felix thought about the maps and photocopies he had put under the bed.
“Geh’ma jetzt,” said Speckbauer with an edge of impatience.
“Let’s go now.”
“Give me a minute,” said Felix. “I forgot something.”
He made it upstairs with no more than a greeting from his grandmother. When he came back into the yard, Franzi and Speckbauer were standing by the back of the Passat. Speckbauer was rummaging in the trunk. When Franzi saw Felix, he said something and held the lid down halfway. Something that Speckbauer was doing with the contents of the trunk stopped Franz closing it anymore.
“Jesus, Franzi!” Speckbauer said, emerging from under the trunk-lid.
Felix saw two grey sleeveless jackets over an open container, or case. They were Kevlar vests, the patrol-duty cut that he had trained in.
Speckbauer stood upright slowly. He held the trunk lid and looked at Felix.
“Our toy box,” he said.
Felix didn’t want to look surprised.
“We take things with us,” said Speckbauer.
The metal box Felix had seen yesterday was open. Felix recognized the AUG 88 lying on one side, with its stock folded.
“You carry that stuff?”
“‘Stuff’?”
“An assault rifle,” said Felix. “The same one we trained on in the Service.”
“So,” said Speckbauer.
“We lock them behind two doors at the post. But you, in the trunk of a car…?”
“Okay,” said Speckbauer. “It looks serious, doesn’t it? Don’t go academic on me. Bad police, bad police state, etc. We have to move on this thing.”
There were also electronics of some kind. They seemed to be bolted or attached to the bottom of the container.
“In case we get lost,” said Speckbauer.
“GPS?”
“Yes.”
Speckbauer let the trunk-lid up, leaned into the trunk again, and drew out the submachine gun.
“Franzi,” he said, but did not turn toward either of them.
“Check, safety, and then put the damned thing back on, will you?
And quit arguing. The operation is ongoing. And for the love of Christ and his suffering Mother, stick your jacket over it.”
“It’s going to be hot,” said Franzi. “It’ll give me a rash. The Glock is enough.”
“You are like a kid. Give me the pistol and put the damn thing on.”
Slowly Franzi took off his nylon Adidas jacket. He checked the clasps for the belt of the gun, undid one, and laid the submachine gun on the floor of the boot. Speckbauer twisted the safety on it several times. He pulled out and returned the stock twice. He took a furtive look over the lid of the trunk and motioned to Franzi. Franzi lifted his right arm. The skin on his upper arm was grey and pink, and lines like a map were revealed when his shirt sleeve slid back over his wrists. Speckbauer draped the belt over Franzi’s shoulder, and then held up his jacket. Felix heard Franzi grunt as he reached for the second arm of his jacket.
“Help him, will you? He is like a puppet, a stubborn puppet.”
Speckbauer was speaking to him. Felix put down the bag and helped Franz guide his arm slowly down the sleeve hole.
Franzi adjusted how the gun hung under his arm. Speckbauer held up two magazines. He was muttering to himself, his upper body still bent over the lip of the trunk.
“Okay,” said Franzi. “Three o’clock is the deal.”
“What deal?” Felix said.
“Three it is,” said Speckbauer. He fingered a keypad and then closed the lid on the box. He tested it after a small wirp came from somewhere inside.
“What deal?” Felix repeated.
Nobody answered him. Speckbauer tested the lid to the box to see it had caught on something, and was really locked. His face was flushed when he stood up.
“Look, I’m not some clown that just tags along to run errands for you.”
“Nobody said you were. It was Franzi I was referring to as the idiot.”
“Why are we going in my car?”
“Because it’ll show you have left.”
“Show who? You think the house is being watched?”
“I don’t know. But anyone passing can see a car parked here.
That’s on purpose.”
“The police car here?”
“Is it a police car? It’s a car that Franzi may need. We may have to change our approach later in the day.”
“My grandparents have a clue what’s going on.”
“They have a guest. Isn’t that enough? A friend of their beloved grandson.”
“If they see the AUG he’s carrying”
“Franzi will not be displaying it. Now calm down. What’s with the bag anyway? Let’s go. Komm.”
Without any will on his part, Felix found himself following him across the yard. His anger swirled around the leaden, crushing feeling that had already settled on him. It was one of those middle-ofthe-night-wake-up-for-no-reason feelings he remembered all the way back to childhood, when for a while he didn’t know if he was really awake.
Speckbauer was already pulling the passenger door closed behind him. The Polo squeaked as Speckbauer wriggled about trying to get the safety belt organized.
Felix stood by the driver’s side and looked back at the house.
Franzi was strolling toward the kitchen door, walking in that careful stiff way, moving his right arm in small arcs. The morning sun had reached the geraniums in the window boxes now, and the stained wood looked sharp and darker in the light. Felix thought of what Giuliana would be doing now. She’d be awake, maybe brooding what to do finally with her stupid boyfriend. The last straw, this one lousy week’s holiday, the precious time they’d waited a whole long winter for: screwed.
Speckbauer was tapping on the window. Felix threw the bag in the back seat and sat in behind the wheel.
“Any maps in this shitbox of yours?” said Speckbauer, craning to see some that had slid onto the floor from the bag. “Do we need them?”