There was a stiff wind coming down from the mountains that chilled the bones and made Harry push his collar up to his already chapped ears. He was standing in a darkened doorway not far from the hotel watching the front and the side entrances. He had been there almost two hours already and was ready to call it quits and head back to the warmth of the room.
This was the sort of thing that had to be done just to keep your tracks hidden. He told Olga “The Dancer” to stay in the room and watch the television. She was none too enthusiastic about being left behind but he told her it was routine and they would be leaving tonight to head for the border. Harry could tell from the look she gave him from the corner of her eye that she was skeptical about his truthfulness and had suspicions about his real intentions. He didn’t mind her sense of caution. He would feel the same way in her position as well.
Everything looked good. There were no suspicious vehicles waiting with engines running. No odd characters lurking in the corners. The lobby had remained clear of strangers and the employees all looked bored and totally at ease.
If there was any trap being laid, it was a good one.
He slipped into the hotel and made his way to the elevator without being noticed or stopped. When he got to the door, he knocked in the code he had given to Olga. She opened the door immediately and started to nag him about how long she had to wait all alone.
Their bags were already packed and she had laid out a new shirt and socks for him in case his had become wet in the melting snow. He told her to put her “new papers” inside her underpants where they could not be stolen easily. She argued that they would scratch her sensitive skin and he laughed at her naïve sensibility. It was obvious she had not spent much time dodging bad guys out in the field. Thank God she had on a common sense pair of shoes with low heels in case they had to move quickly tonight.
He told Olga that they would go straight to the nightclub about two blocks down the boulevard to get a hired car to take them to the quiet Inn just about an hour from the border. She thought he was being overly cautious and making things “far too complicated” but Harry knew from past experience, it was when you got into a routine of doing the easy thing that was when the world crashed around you.
The taxi driver was not happy about taking them so far but Harry promised him to give him a bonus to pay for his extra gas on the way back and for his time. That was enough to mollify him enough to get out and put their bags in the trunk.
Olga pretended to fall asleep instantly. It was a good way to preclude any conversation with the driver who respected the need for silence for the tired girl to sleep.
The inn was one that Harry had used several times before. The owner was no longer at the front desk because he had suffered a stroke recently. His wife Bojana was doing the check-ins and the paperwork. She knew enough not to ask them for their passports because Harry was one of those “special” guests who never get reported into the police headquarters. He paid her in Eurodollars since everyone seemed to want them even more than U.S. dollars these days.
After he got Olga situated in the cozy little room, he knocked on the Manager’s door and asked Bojana,
“Can I see Oscar? How is he doing since the accident?”
Bojana looked at me with a trace of disgust on her face.
“Accident? What accident? The old fool had a stroke. What could he expect? No exercise, no sensible diet. He was always looking for an excuse to booze it up. Just like you, Harry. You were always two peas in a pod.”
I tried to ignore Bojana’s words, but I knew she was right. I was just as guilty as poor Oscar. Too much booze. Too many cigarettes and cigars. The sausage alone should have killed me a long time ago. I promised silently to do better hence forward. I knew I was just being frightened of my own mortality. Maybe a bullet behind the ear or a quick shove off a railway platform was a better way to go. The choices were not very appealing in either direction.
