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The young woman fluffed her thick hair, glanced sadly back at the door to 802, then followed.
* * *
Jimmy Skinny picked up the carafe from the tray that one of the big women from the kitchen had just brought to his office. In addition to stained china mugs, the tray held plates of fried egg, fruit, and pastries. Palasota poured coffee for Canidy, then himself.
“And how did you find your room?” Palasota asked.
“I just followed the stairs past what apparently was at least half the drunken Regia Marina, stuck a key in the door labeled eight-oh-one, and there it was!”
Jimmy Skinny chuckled, then thought about the Royal Italian Navy submariners.
“I hear they’re pretty lousy at sea, but they do drink like fish when on land. And they’re not shy with the girls. We’re doing a very good business. Still, I will be glad to see all the Fascist bastards run out of town and good ol’ GIs filling the streets. And my beds.”
Canidy looked past where Palasota was standing and noticed that the two Thompson submachine guns still stood in the corner. But with them was a Johnson LMG.
So Socks Lanza sent some of the Johnny guns here, too.
Nothing surprises me anymore. . . .
“Look, I’ve got a curious problem,” Canidy said. “A new—”
The door suddenly swung open, and Vito appeared. He rattled off something in Sicilian—Did he just say Müller?—and then Canidy saw Palasota’s face change.
Jimmy Skinny replied in Sicilian, then switched back to English and told Canidy, “This should not take long. Help yourself to the food. I’ll have more sent.”
[FOUR]
Room 802
Hotel Michelangelo
Palermo, Sicily
0750 1 June 1943
Sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling on his pants, SS-Obersturmbannführer Oskar Kappler looked up at German Trade Ministry Director Ernst Beck.
“You found me . . . here?”
Beck grunted. “It is our job to have such information. You told me you were coming overnight to Palermo. You don’t think that this is my first time here, or to the hotel?” He paused. “Or to have business with Jimmy Skinny?”
Kappler considered that, then nodded.
Of course. You’re an Abwehr agent.
Get your damn head clear, Oskar . . .
Beck then grinned.
“You need not worry about me mentioning the . . . girl.”
“I wasn’t,” Kappler lied.
Beck then said, “I have been here because we have a fairly healthy dossier on your man Hans Müller. It’s important to keep an eye on the dangerous ones. Especially those who can be coerced.”
Kappler looked at him but didn’t reply.
He pulled on a T-shirt and yawned.
