you nursing that leg,” Aaron said. “And on the wrong side of the wall, too.”
“Was that why you were looking for me? For a little business?” Gersh asked. “But of course not, you weren’t even looking for me. Or at least you weren’t expecting to find me when you found Gersh.
“So what is it you do want? I think we may be a little pressed for time here.”
Aaron acknowledged the point with a nod.
“Lev Berson is dead,” he said.
Gersh did not look shocked at the news. In fact, other than a tightening of his perpetual squint, it was hard to see much of a change at all.
“All right,” was all he said.
“I’m looking for whoever killed him, and I’ve been told that you were supposed to be with him last night,” Aaron continued.
“Who told you that?”
“Your commander, Blaustein,” Aaron said with a certain amount of irony. “Who does he think you are, by the way?”
Gersh ignored the question, instead asking one of his own.
“Why are you here, asking about Berson? I wouldn’t have thought a dead Jewish police officer would be high on your priority list,” Gersh said. “Don’t you have anything else to do? Or is business just that bad?”
“We can talk about my motives some other time.”
The noise in the hall was starting to fade. The evacuation was nearing completion.
“Not much time left, so smoke up and just tell me what you can about last night.”
Gersh squinted and took a deep drag on the thick, black smoke, and in a gesture as Gallic as his counterfeit cigarette was supposed to be, he gave a shrug of surrender.
“Last night we were supposed to be patrolling over by Morawica Street. There’s a new hole that’s been dug through the wall. A hundred kilos of potatoes were scheduled to be coming through,” Gersh said. “Not a lot, but worth the usual risk.”
They heard shouts in the hallway. Orders in German as well as Polish.
“Especially if you’re employed on both sides of the deal,” Aaron pointed out.
“Just so.”
“But Berson wasn’t found on Morawica Street,” Aaron said.
“No reason he should have been. The deal went fine, and it was done by 9 p.m.,” Gersh said. “After that, the boys were off with the goods. Berson and I went our separate ways.
Aaron heard banging on doors and the sounds of a struggle nearby.
Aaron pointed to Gersh’s leg. The bloody bandages had been soaking through as they spoke. Red splotches began to appear on the floor.
“So where did that come from?”
“This? An unhappy customer in another part of town,” Gersh said wryly. “Not your business. Not Berson’s either, for that matter.”
“What else was Berson involved in? I’d never heard of him before today,” Aaron said. That was neither surprising nor unsurprising. Smuggling was a major employer in the Miasto ghetto and it would be impossible to know everyone involved.
“Funnily enough, he was a very religious man,” Gersh said. It was clear from the way he said it that Gersh had very little use for God, himself.
“What does that mean? So are at least 75 percent of the people trapped in here.”
“In his case, it was a bit more than that … ” Gersh said. “He seemed particularly devoted to his congregation, and he’d gotten himself deeper and deeper in debt with me to get supplies for them.”
“You were fronting him the money?”
“Some of it anyway. Which, may I point out, gives me a very good motive for not killing him,” Gersh said.
“Maybe,” Aaron said. “But you’d hardly be the first partners to have a falling out.”
Gersh’s mouth opened but Aaron never got to hear his reply. Something or someone smashed into the office door from the outside.
“Raus! Raus!”
The door shook in its frame.
Aaron quickly turned from Gersh and grabbed the handle, opening the door just as a soldier with lightning bolts on his collar lifted the butt of his rifle to slam the door again. The Nazi saw no reason to stop his swing. Only the target
“Was that why you were looking for me? For a little business?” Gersh asked. “But of course not, you weren’t even looking for me. Or at least you weren’t expecting to find me when you found Gersh.
“So what is it you do want? I think we may be a little pressed for time here.”
Aaron acknowledged the point with a nod.
“Lev Berson is dead,” he said.
Gersh did not look shocked at the news. In fact, other than a tightening of his perpetual squint, it was hard to see much of a change at all.
“All right,” was all he said.
“I’m looking for whoever killed him, and I’ve been told that you were supposed to be with him last night,” Aaron continued.
“Who told you that?”
“Your commander, Blaustein,” Aaron said with a certain amount of irony. “Who does he think you are, by the way?”
Gersh ignored the question, instead asking one of his own.
“Why are you here, asking about Berson? I wouldn’t have thought a dead Jewish police officer would be high on your priority list,” Gersh said. “Don’t you have anything else to do? Or is business just that bad?”
“We can talk about my motives some other time.”
The noise in the hall was starting to fade. The evacuation was nearing completion.
“Not much time left, so smoke up and just tell me what you can about last night.”
Gersh squinted and took a deep drag on the thick, black smoke, and in a gesture as Gallic as his counterfeit cigarette was supposed to be, he gave a shrug of surrender.
“Last night we were supposed to be patrolling over by Morawica Street. There’s a new hole that’s been dug through the wall. A hundred kilos of potatoes were scheduled to be coming through,” Gersh said. “Not a lot, but worth the usual risk.”
They heard shouts in the hallway. Orders in German as well as Polish.
“Especially if you’re employed on both sides of the deal,” Aaron pointed out.
“Just so.”
“But Berson wasn’t found on Morawica Street,” Aaron said.
“No reason he should have been. The deal went fine, and it was done by 9 p.m.,” Gersh said. “After that, the boys were off with the goods. Berson and I went our separate ways.
Aaron heard banging on doors and the sounds of a struggle nearby.
Aaron pointed to Gersh’s leg. The bloody bandages had been soaking through as they spoke. Red splotches began to appear on the floor.
“So where did that come from?”
“This? An unhappy customer in another part of town,” Gersh said wryly. “Not your business. Not Berson’s either, for that matter.”
“What else was Berson involved in? I’d never heard of him before today,” Aaron said. That was neither surprising nor unsurprising. Smuggling was a major employer in the Miasto ghetto and it would be impossible to know everyone involved.
“Funnily enough, he was a very religious man,” Gersh said. It was clear from the way he said it that Gersh had very little use for God, himself.
“What does that mean? So are at least 75 percent of the people trapped in here.”
“In his case, it was a bit more than that … ” Gersh said. “He seemed particularly devoted to his congregation, and he’d gotten himself deeper and deeper in debt with me to get supplies for them.”
“You were fronting him the money?”
“Some of it anyway. Which, may I point out, gives me a very good motive for not killing him,” Gersh said.
“Maybe,” Aaron said. “But you’d hardly be the first partners to have a falling out.”
Gersh’s mouth opened but Aaron never got to hear his reply. Something or someone smashed into the office door from the outside.
“Raus! Raus!”
The door shook in its frame.
Aaron quickly turned from Gersh and grabbed the handle, opening the door just as a soldier with lightning bolts on his collar lifted the butt of his rifle to slam the door again. The Nazi saw no reason to stop his swing. Only the target
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