Todd was bored. He had not come here to listen to Dussander whine about his money or mutter about his stocks. The thought of blackmailing Dussander had never crossed Todd’s mind. Money? What would he do with it? He had his allowance; he had his paper route. If his monetary needs went higher than what these could provide during any given week, there was always someone who needed his lawn mowed.
Todd lifted his milk to his lips and then hesitated. His smile shone out again… an admiring smile. He extended the gas-station premium glass to Dussander.
’ You have some of it,’ he said slyly.
Dussander stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending, and then rolled his bloodshot eyes. ‘Gruss Gott!’ He took the glass, swallowed twice, and handed it back. ‘No gasping for breath. No clawing at the throat. No smell of bitter almonds. It is milk, boy. Milk. From the Dairylea Farms. On the carton is a picture of a smiling cow.’
Todd watched him warily for a moment, then took a small sip. Yes, it tasted like milk, sure did, but somehow he didn’t feel very thirsty anymore. He put the glass down. Dussander shrugged, raised his own glass — it contained a large knock of whiskey — and took a swallow. He smacked his lips over it.
‘Schnapps?’ Todd asked.
‘Bourbon. Ancient Age. Very nice. And cheap.’
Todd fiddled his fingers along the seams of his jeans.
‘So,’ Dussander said, ‘if you have decided to have a “flier” of your own, you should be aware that you have picked a worthless stock.’
‘Huh?’
‘Blackmail,’ Dussander said. ‘Isn’t that what they call it on Mannix and Hawaii Five-O and Barnaby Jones? Extortion. If that was what—’
But Todd was laughing — hearty, boyish laughter. He shook his head, tried to speak, could not, and went on laughing.
‘No,’ Dussander said, and suddenly he looked grey and more frightened than he had since he and Todd had begun to speak. He took another large swallow of his drink, grimaced, and shuddered ‘I see that is not it… at least, not the extortion of money. But, though you laugh, I smell extortion in it somewhere. What is it? Why do you come here and disturb an old man! Perhaps, as you say, I was once a Nazi. Gestapo, even. Now I am only old, and to have a bowel movement I have to use a suppository. So what do you want?’
Todd had sobered again. He stared at Dussander with an open and appealing frankness. ‘Why… I want to hear about it. That’s all. That’s all I want. Really.’
‘Hear about it?’ Dussander echoed. He looked utterly perplexed.
Todd leaned forward, tanned elbows on bluejeaned knees. ‘Sure. The firing squads. The gas chambers. The ovens. The guys who had to dig their own graves and then stand on the ends so they’d fall into them. The…’ His tongue came out and wetted his lips. ‘The examinations. The experiments. Everything. All the gooshy stuff.’
Dussander stared at him with a certain amazed detachment, the way a veterinarian might stare at a cat who was giving birth to a succession of two-headed kittens. ‘You are a monster,’ he said softly.
Todd sniffed. ‘According to the books I read for my report, you’re the monster, Mr Dussander. Not me. You sent them to the ovens, not me. Two thousand a day at Patin before you came, three thousand after, thirty-five-hundred before the Russians came and made you stop. Himmler called you an efficiency expert and gave you a medal. So you call me a monster. Oh boy.’
‘All of that is a filthy American lie,’ Dussander said, stung. He set his glass down with a bang, slopping bourbon onto his hands and the table. The problem was not of my making, nor was the solution. I was given orders and directives, which I followed.’
Todd’s smile widened; it was now almost a smirk.
‘Oh, I know how the Americans have distorted that,’ Dussander muttered. ‘But your own politicians make our Dr Goebbels look like a child playing with picture books in a kindergarten. They speak of morality while they douse screaming children and old women in burning napalm. Your draft-resisters are called cowards and “peaceniks”. For refusing to follow orders they are either put in jails or scourged from the country. Those who demonstrate against this country’s unfortunate Asian adventure are clubbed down in the streets. The GI soldiers who kill the innocent are decorated by Presidents, welcomed home from the bayoneting of children and the burning of hospitals with parades and bunting. They are given dinners, Keys to the City, free tickets to pro football games.’ He toasted his glass in Todd’s direction. ‘Only those who lose are tried as war criminals for following orders and directives.’ He drank and then had a coughing fit that brought thin colour to his cheeks.