procedure of non-foam beer spigot. With a pleased smile, he looked up from the beer glass, which he held at a right angle under the tap, and Herold replied the silent greeting with his raised right hand.
"Good," he sighed. Before he had not ordered two beers, there was no need, to talk earnestly with Bill. All right then, be prepared for a long and hard night! Cheerful, Michael snaked through the crowded room, and in passing, he hit a sergeant against the shoulder. "Everything all right, Peter?"
"Couldn't be better!" The sergeant grinned apologetically with his full mouth and seasoned, without looking up, his portion of fish and ships with a few drops of vinegar. Like most of the professional soldiers who are here, was he stationed in the nearby Brooke barracks, and visited the tavern really just for a quiet game of darts. The colorful plastic arrows whizzed today, accompanied by loud comments, unerringly through the dense tobacco smoke, and the current score quoted an officer of the Royal Air Force on the venerable slate plate next to the toilet door.
Herold admired for a moment the illegible numbers, before he took a step forward, and squeezed himself between two soldiers at the counter. The uniformed man next to his left shoulder moved a little to the side, and Michael grabbed unasked a half-pint of the reddish beer, that stands before the sink.
"Cheers Bill!" The gaunt Scot just arched the right eyebrow and pushed instead of an answer the next empty jug under the beer tap.
Michael Herold smiled amused; it was again a typical reaction of Bill. Unpredictable and contradictory, like his entire biography. According to his own humorous memories, failed he 1945 miserably at the strictly prohibited fraternization with the German "Misses", and he has only the choice between the green hills of Scotland and an emerald-colored pair of eyes. Bill met after a hard night the only right decision, married Edith exactly one month after his discharge from the army, and saw his native Inverness only sporadically on vacation again. Countless professional failures loaded the beginning of the marriage, and only in the late sixties Bill's bad luck changed in one fell swoop.
He took over a run-down bar and changed her within a year in a beautifully decorated pub. Here discovered the nearby stationed soldiers soon a piece of home, and the rest of the neighborhood simply estimate the good beer. The true heart of the "Bull Eyes tavern" but was and remained only Bill. Through his unwavering optimism no ordinary worries seems to touch him, and it was this satisfaction, that light up again on his face, when he asked Michael cheerfully: "Finally leisure, or still on the hunt? Raiders of the missing clue, eh? "
"Is this a try, to scare away a regular customer?” Michael Herold approved himself a long sip and looks searchingly around. "Speaking of it, I miss some of your regular customers. Could it be that the beer is maybe a bit warm tonight?"
"Come on, Mike! You know very well that the boys sweat already in the barracks for the real thing!" Bill paused, when he noticed Michael’s uncomprehending face. “Hey, you're really not informed about the big show. Wake up, Mike, "operation hibernation"! The annual maneuver in Spandau! Properly complete with street fighting, training ammunition and tanks. My God, speak with Peter; he cannot wait, that he runs with blackened face through the old town of Spandau."
Bill pointed with his freshly polished Guinness glass on the sergeant. "For a beer or two, he gives you a copy of the marching orders; assuming you had enough time for this kind of peanuts. I think, Charley's death keep you pretty busy.”
"Honestly, Bill, I have always admired your delicate nose." Michael Herold took Leos photo from his wallet and pushed it with his index finger between the completely purged beer glasses. "This man must have been here about three, four days ago. He spoke broken German with a slight French accent."
“Aye! I knew right away that the guy is not clean!"
A cold glint shone in Bill's gray eyes, as he handed back the photo. "I suppose that's one of Charley's Polish business partners? That would explain at least, why he has dared to make an appointment with the stinkers in my pub."
"What?"
"The G.O.S, Mike! Despite the house ban, the guys came simply through my door and this time even her big boss Glaser was with them. Unmoved, he dealt with your Polish friend and disappeared then again."
Externally completely quiet, seized the Scot a new glass and held it to the light. "So what is it this time? Sell the Poles now duty-free whiskey from the Naafi club?"
Bill looked for a moment in surprise upon Michael, then an incredulous smile light up his distinctive facial features. "You have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about, right? Mike, your friend has a connection with the G.O.S!"
"Leo and the German Object Service?" Herold shook his head in surprise. "My God, on this club I would not even bet on in my worst dreams!"
"Yes, the boys are always good for bad news." Bill swapped the stale beer against a fresh draft. Rinse water dripped down from the fluted beer glass and Herold pulled thoughtfully with his finger a wet line over the table.
"The G.O.S! That's not Charley's weight class, not even his league. And anyway…” After a side glance at the faces of his uninvolved neighbors, Michael lowered precautionary his voice. "Don't get me wrong, but I just can't understand, why a low-paid German security service guarded the allied facilities. This makes only bad blood on both sides!"
"Why do you ask me? The G.O.S. people are so hated by the soldiers, that they have demolished my pub last year alone twice. Since then, they have a house ban."
"Nevertheless, they have arranged a meeting with Leo." Herold took the carefully filled to the brim glass, and took a sip. "This G.O.S. Chief, Glaser, where is he actually stationed?"
"Paul Vincent Glaser protects the supermarket on the site of the old prison for war criminals and has always unrestricted access to all storehouses."
"Well fantastic; then the goat is once again the gardener."
"Rather, the hungry wolf is now the shepherd! As far as I was able to follow the discussions, Glaser seeks a customer for its freshly slaughtered lambs, and he found him now in Poland."
"Leopold Oblonsky is a fucking boaster, which would not have come far, without Charley's relationships." Herold looked angrily to Bills uninterested face."These two gullible idiots! They probably do not even know, what the damned deal really includes, and then something went horribly wrong!"
Bill nodded sagely. Concentrated, he filled twelve shot glasses with Irish cream and handed the service tray to a red-haired student, who was waiting in front of the bar counter. Michael replied the fugitive smile of the girl and turned back to the Scots.
"Was Glaser before the ban your regular customer?"
"His visits in recent years, you can count at one hand. I gained not much from him, because the guy has never drunk more than two bitters. But then, he plays the strong leader with all the usual trimmings: Short trimmed hair, sharp clothing, and loud commands."
Bill paused and surveyed for a moment the like a second skin fitting jeans of the waitress. Without averting his eyes from the girl, that bent over the table, in a very hot position, he uncorked a malt whiskey decanter and poured two glasses.
"Cheers!" Thoughtful, the Scot dabbed his lips dry. "I know, you do not give much at unproved rumors, but last year a welsh drank away with this gorgeous fabric most of his salary. The Major was one of the buddies, which everybody likes, and after the first round of drinks, he owned the undivided attention of his audience. Clever as he was, he amused them with funny stories about his previous deployments, and I have listened in the beginning with only half an ear. But then, I heard a certain name, and I felt how my stomach clenched. Jesus, I thought; finally has someone requests information on Glaser's past!"
"I see, Glaser own your full attention."
“Some people I never let out of my eyes, as a preventive measure. For the Benefit!”
Contrary to his usual practice, Bill approved himself a second drink, and stared then thoughtfully into the empty tumbler.
"Anyway, the Major swears, that he hit upon Glaser about eight years ago. Somewhere