Chapter 37

Two days after the bank crisis, a perturbed Kitty phoned. “Max is in trouble.”

“Is it about money? I’ve got enough on hand to tide him over until the banks settle down.”

“No. Nothing like that. You need to meet us at the Nightingale.”

“I can be there in a few minutes.”

“Give me two hours. I need to prepare him. Otherwise Max will be furious that I reached out to you. He’s too proud to ask you for help.”

*

I found the Nightingale empty. I made my way to Max’s office and found him slumped in his chair with Kitty holding his hand. Even in the warm, yellow light, Max was pale and had aged since I last saw him.

Kitty whispered that I was there. Max looked up and mumbled, “I need your help.”

“I never thought I would hear those words from you. What’s wrong?”

Without explaining, he pushed off the desk. “Follow me.” He wobbled to the kitchen and pointed. “Look at the mess they made.” Pools of melting ice mixed with mounds of dumped food covered the floor. Broken plates and glasses were strewn everywhere. The air was rank.

“Who, Max? Who did this?”

“The police.”

“You take care of them. Why would they do this to you?”

Max rubbed his thick thumb over his index and middle fingers. “They tripled their usual take. I balked . . . and then this. I should’ve paid them. They said next time, they would torch the club.”

“This makes no sense. You’ve been doing business with them for years.”

“These were not my usual guys. These guys were tough. Crude. No offense to you, but they were Nazis. I’m sure Goebbels put them up to it.”

“Were they wearing armbands?”

“I told you they were cops. On the way out one gave a salute and said, ‘Regards from the Gauleiter.’”

“Why would Goebbels . . . ?” Then I remembered the night Max made a fool out of Goebbels at our dinner party at the Prater Garten.

“Can you speak to Goebbels for me? Get them to leave me alone? Thank God most of this is just mess. Plates and glasses can be replaced. I can buy more food. Lucky for me they left my ovens and stoves alone. I can’t have them destroy my place again.”

As I scanned the mess, my mind worked fast. Goebbels was vengeful. If I spoke to him about Max, Max’s life could be at stake. Goebbels could be that brutal.

“Max, will you be able to take care of tonight’s crowd?”

“This won’t stop me.”

I tiptoed through the congealing guck and spoiling food, thinking so much more damage could have been done. Why wasn’t it? What message was being sent?

“You must know someone to help,” Kitty said. “My salon could be next.”

My challenge was to find a way to save Max but not make it worse for him in the process. Then I realized I had the answer in my wallet. “I think I know who can help. Give me a day or two. My bet is that you will never hear from them again.”

Kitty hugged Max. “I told you Friedrich could help.”

Southwest Berlin

Bernhard Weiss arranged to meet in a secluded part of the forest tucked in the center of the Düppel neighborhood. We needed to keep our talk out of earshot not only from his police minions, but also from onlookers finding us a curious pair: Weiss, so short and me, so tall.

“I’ve been waiting for your call ever since our last meeting.”

“You thought me that predictable?”

“Let’s say that I hoped you would call. Of course, after the tongue thrashing Fräulein Harvey gave me, I doubted I would ever speak with you again.”

“You might be surprised to learn she respects you. If she knew we were meeting, she would have sent her warmest regards and asked me to get your autograph.”

“What changed her opinion of me?”

“She admires the way you keep suing Goebbels and winning. My arrest did little to tarnish that. Lilian was also impressed by the way you marched into the Reichstag to arrest one of the Nazi members for assault. The paper reported how the Nazi delegates screamed ‘Isidor’ and gave the Hitler salute, and yet you went about your business as if they weren’t there.”

“Reichstag delegates are not above the law. They gave me no choice. But you know these men well, don’t you? They’re members of your party. Some are even your friends.”

“Herr Weiss. Please don’t link me to their crazy racial theories or brutality. You know I don’t believe in that sort of stuff.”

“Then why remain in the party?” He raised his finger as if he had a new idea. “That’s right, you’re not a party member. Just a good friend of Adolf Hitler.”

Sarcasm aside, I countered. “Who else will face down the victors and restore Germany to greatness?”

Weiss walked head down, hands behind his back, strolling as if on a mountain path. “Like you, Herr Richard, I’m a German patriot. But not at the expense of transforming the Fatherland into a dictatorship on the pretext of creating an efficient government.”

“Herr Weiss, aren’t you being simplistic?”

We stopped. “I assure you, Friedrich . . . may I call you by your first name? I am anything but simplistic.”

“The Nazis are not just about efficiency, Bernhard.” I followed his cue. “As Germany is now structured, we have more than two dozen parties incapable of agreeing on anything. Their contrary views and refusals to compromise wrap the Reichstag in a layer of paralysis that renders it incapable of governing. When the Roman Republic needed to overcome an emergency, it set aside the Republic and chose a dictator. We need a similar solution to get us out of this mess.”

“May I remind you what happened to the Roman Empire?” said Weiss.

“And may I remind you that Woodrow Wilson insisted we depose the Kaiser and create a democracy in order to negotiate peace. What has that gotten us? One inept government after another. Street battles. A generation of malnourished children, and economic wars with the rest of the world. Democracy does not work for Germany.”

Weiss sighed. “We can go on like this forever. These problems are bigger than the both of us. Let me change the subject and explain why I sent for you.”

I thought I misheard him. “Bernhard, you’re mistaken. I called you.”

“You may think otherwise after I explain. It was my men that made that mess at the Nightingale. The reference to the Gauleiter was meant to make Max Klinghoffer believe Goebbels was behind it.”

“To what end?”

“I was certain he would ask for your help. It was my way to get your attention.”

“Why not just call me?”

“It was safer if you called me about my police. And it served the purpose of a certain test.”

“Logic says I would’ve asked Goebbels to call off his goons.”

“That’s what I had to find out: would you call Goebbels or me? Of course, you could have done nothing and let your Jewish friend fend for himself.”

“Getting my attention at the expense of someone else, especially a fellow Jew, shows a different side of you.” Then I realized: why should I be surprised? Longie Zwillman and his cohorts were tough Jews. So was Bernhard Weiss. “Now that I’m here, I presume Max will have no more trouble.”

“Tell him I’m sorry. Better yet, tell him nothing other than from now on there will be no more payoffs. No more bribes. He gets to run his business without interference. Let him think you arranged this with your friends in the party. He can never know it was through me.”

“Is this protection for now, or can he expect it to last into the future?”

“You have my word it will last as long as I am here.”

“That savings will pay for the damage you caused . . . and then some.”

“That was my intention.”

“Now that Max is taken care of, what do you want from me?”

“An open line of communication.”

“For what purpose?”

We were standing next to a wooden bench. Weiss sat at one end and I on the other.

“In a vague way, I’ve known about you for years. You’re a powerful but shadowy figure in your party. I told you as much when we met. Beating up three SA men piqued my curiosity. I asked myself, ‘Why would a man like you do such a thing? A Nazi saving a Jew?’ I asked you, but you wouldn’t answer. So I began my own investigation.”

My right leg started to bounce. I did not like the direction this was taking. “Given today’s uncertainties, there must be more pressing police matters than wasting your time on me, not to mention more interesting members in the party.”

“None as intriguing as you, Friedrich Richard.”

The way he annunciated my name sent chills down my spine. “I promise I’m not interesting. You probably didn’t find much.”

Weiss turned both palms up. “That’s just it. There is no official record of you anywhere. At least not after 1918. Doesn’t that strike you as amazing, especially since this is a country of meticulous record keeping?”

I couldn’t believe it. Here I was, challenged by the man who helped create the science of forensic police work, the foremost policeman in Germany. I grew warm. It was time to leave. I jumped up, making every effort to control my voice. “This has been a profitable meeting.”

“Not so fast, Herr Richard . . . if that is your name. Sit down!”

After I sank back on the bench, he pointed to a small patch of blue. “Just like that bit of sky peeking through the leaves, I know there is more beyond what I can see. And, like everyone else, I like a good mystery.” He tapped my arm. “Thank you for presenting me with one.”

“I’m glad I provided you with entertainment.”

“More than you think. Imagine my surprise when my inquiries turned up empty after 1918.”

“As you said, I am shadowy figure.”

“Yet we both know that’s not the reason. What we do know is that someone carried your name before you, don’t we?” There was no need to answer to him. “That person—the real Friedrich Z. Richard—died at Pasewalk Hospital in September of ’18.”

Sweat drenched my shirt.

Is this how it is going to end after thirteen years of impersonating a dead soldier? On a park bench, arrested by the great Bernhard Weiss?

Weiss continued. “You must know that Friedrich Zalman Richard was a Jew.”

“Coincidences do happen.”

“Not in my line of work. Let’s say for the moment that your explanation is possible. Every resource in Germany is at my disposal. I left no stone unturned. There is no other Friedrich Richard with the middle initial Z. This can only leave me with one conclusion.”

“Where are you going with this, Herr Weiss?”

Rather than answer, he recounted his inquiry. “Once I discovered the details about your name, I backtracked from the army records to the last place Friedrich Richard was known to be alive: Pasewalk Hospital . . . where he died. The next step would have been to go to Pasewalk to search the background and understand the miracle of how he was resurrected in you . . .” I blanched. “. . . But that’s when I stopped the investigation.”

“If you got that far, why stop?”

“I wasn’t sure I wanted to know more about who you were until I determined what kind of man you are: a Nazi thug or a man who would attack his own kind to save an old Jew. So I devised a test. I led you to believe it was Goebbels’s handiwork at the Nightingale in order to see how you would respond. Had you called Goebbels, you would have been revealed as a Nazi helping an inconvenient friend. Doing so would have placed both you and Max Klinghoffer in great danger with the party. And so, I reasoned your next possible choice was to do nothing.”

“And what would that have told you?”

“That you were a Nazi acting—or rather, not acting—to protect himself.”

“It never occurred to me to do nothing.”

“Doing nothing would have ended my experiment . . . and your anonymity. If you had gone down that path, I would have fed your information to the Nazis. They would have looked into Pasewalk and discovered whatever it is you want to remain hidden there.”

“Yet I called you.”

“Ah yes, the third option. Because you did, we will continue to communicate.”

“What would we have to talk about?”

“1932 is around the corner. If conditions worsen, your party will gain even more influence in the Reichstag. The same holds true for you.”

I stopped him there. “If you are suggesting that I become your agent, Herr Weiss, find someone else. I will not spy for you.”

“Spying never entered my mind. It’s quite the opposite. I will be the one giving information . . . to you.”

“Why should I care about what you might have to say? I am well-insulated by the party.”

“You may think you are, but that’s not always the case. When that happens, I will be there to protect you.”

“I’ve played your game long enough, Herr Weiss. I’m afraid that this has been a waste of time for both of us. I bid you good day.”

He grabbed my sleeve. “Friedrich. Hear what I have to say, and then you can leave. In the unhappy event that Hitler comes to power, Germany will need a man like you in a position to contain excesses that are certain to follow.”

“I will never betray Hitler.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. I know people, Friedrich. I also know that if a dark curtain descends on Germany, a man in a position of authority—like you—could poke holes in the walls of tyranny.”

Before I tried to parse out what he meant and how it applied to me, Bernhard Weiss spun around and walked away, leaving me cemented to the bench.