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He came to the picture of a train wreck, and read the caption.
“Ach du lieber Gott!” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Koch said.
They turned the corner and came to the door of a coffee shop.
“Read the story,” Koch said. “It just gets better.”
He pulled open the door and went inside. Bayer quickly followed.
The noisy small restaurant, with its open kitchen behind the counter, was quite warm, the air saturated with the smells of toast and coffee and grease. They took one of the two empty booths toward the back and, after the waitress brought them water and coffee, placed their order.
Bayer flipped the pages of the newspaper until he came to the article on the train derailment. It was a long one.
After a moment, he said, “It says they believe the derailment is connected with the explosions in Dallas.”
“I know. I read it,” Koch said, annoyed. “And of course they do. Who wouldn’t put the two together? They happened a day and maybe three hundred kilometers apart.”
He sighed heavily.
“Those bastards are out of control.”
“I say it’s Grossman,” Bayer said, looking at him.
“It doesn’t matter which one it is. Their actions require that we really have to be careful right now. There’re already cops everywhere.”
The waitress arrived with an armload of plates. She took two off, placing a plate of ham and fried eggs and toast in front of Koch and a plate with a tall stack of pancakes in front of Bayer.
Bayer poured syrup on his cakes, then kept reading as he ate. He shook his head.
“‘Authorities declined to speculate,’” he read aloud, talking with a full mouth, “‘if there was any connection between these explosions and the ones last week on the East Coast.’ Damn!”
Mashed pancake flew out of his mouth, and he washed down what remained with a swallow of water.
“I think,” Koch said evenly, “that we are okay here.”
Koch had noted that no one had paid him any notice as he had waited in the hotel lobby. Now his eyes surveyed the restaurant and its customers. And, again, no one paid them any particular notice.
“We just have to not make a single mistake.”
Bayer nodded.
Koch tore into his ham slice with the knife, cut off a large piece, forked it into his mouth and chewed aggressively. He repeated the process, not saying a word until the plate was empty. Then, finished, he at once tossed the fork and knife on the plate with a loud clank.
He looked at Bayer.
“So, now you tell me where you were last night.”
Bayer turned his attention to his plate. He casually cut more pancake and put it in his mouth and chewed slowly as he looked at Koch, then around the restaurant, then back at Koch.
“I had a date,” he said, his mouth half full.
“With that hooker?” Koch said, incredulous.
Bayer frowned.
“She has a name.”
