Play It Again, Spam (28 page)

"But Old Irma says - "

"Old Irma, as you call her, was a German operative, not American."

"That's - "

“Ridiculous? That seems to be your favorite word, Magdalena Portulacca Yoder."

"But she sang in cabarets. And held salons where she entertained Nazis. Now why would a German entertain - okay, but

why is she back here in Hernia?"

"Where do you think she'd go? Argentina?"

I pondered ponderously while I prayed some more. I may not be the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but I do I have a

functioning brain.

"So why didn't you arrest Old Irma this morning?"

"That was my plan until you barged in. But first I needed to get her to tell me where the Butcher was hiding."

"It that case, dear, you can put away your gun. I am not a Nazi. And if Strubbly Sam really is the Butcher of Tunis, you're

going to need some help."

Strubbly Sam made a noise not so unlike the ones Aaron used to make when he disappeared into the bathroom with the

morning paper.

"He's trying to say something, Johanne. Can't we at least undo the tape?"

"Of course we could, but we won't. You have a lot to learn about his kind, Miss Yoder. First it's removing the tape, then

loosening the ropes just a little to keep his circulation going, and then you end up with a slit throat."

"But he doesn't have a knife. I mean, didn't you search him?"

"Then it's a crushed skull. What difference does it make?"

Sam grunted again. His eyes were trying to tell me something, but what? I have never been a good eye reader. Had I been, I

would never have misconstrued Aaron's "come-hither" looks as indigestion. I needed a test of some sort.

"You say you want to help me, Miss Yoder? Come here and hold the gun on him while I run up to the house and use his

phone."

"Strubbly Sam doesn't have a phone," I said stupidly.

Johanne blinked. "Of course he wouldn't, being Amish.

How forgetful of me. We in the Immigration Service refer to it as having a senior moment."

"Then maybe some of you more senior members should retire, dear. It doesn't seem to be the kind of business where one

can afford to make mistakes."

"As a matter of fact, I plan to retire as soon as I wrap up this case. Now, if you'll just come on over and give me a hand

guarding the prisoner, I'll hike back up the road. I believe the Butcher's neighbors have electric lights. They should have a phone."

The Keeblers did indeed have a phone. They were Presbyterians, after all, and fallen ones at that. They probably even had

call waiting.

"Good idea, but I'll do it."

"That won't work," he said patiently. "This isn't a matter for police-this is State Department business. Certain contacts have to

be reached - it's all very covert."

"I guess you have a point." I mean, that made sense, didn't it? If I spent my life rounding up Nazis, I'd do it on the q.t. too.

"Look, Miss Yoder, you're not convinced, are you?"

"Well - "

"No, I understand completely. Like you say, you've known this man all your life, right?"

"Right."

"And he wouldn't lie, right?"

"Not if the Good Lord himself commanded it."

Johanne calmly stepped over to his prisoner and ripped the duct tape off Sam's mouth. Fortunately, Strubbly Sam, as an

Amish man, is forbidden to wear a mustache and hair on his lower lip. As it was, Sam winced with pain.

"Okay, Samuel Friedrich Burkholder - because that's your real name - are you the Butcher of Tunis?"

Tears rolled down Sam's cheeks, whether from pain or shame. "Yah, that I am."

"This can't be happening," I moaned.

"Yah, Big Magdalena, but - "

The butcher didn't get to finish his sentence, thanks to the butt of Johanne's gun. If it hadn't been for the ropes, Sam would

be lying on the floor.

"Why did you do that?" I screamed.

Johanne's eyes were as cold and lifeless as the marbles at the bottom of Susannah's goldfish bowl. "Sorry, Miss Yoder, but I

can't stand those Nazi lies. They all claim they're innocent. And even when they don't, well - they're upright citizens now, aren't

they? Gone straight, they say. Yeah, right. Let me tell you, I've heard it a million times, and it's nothing but lies. They know damn

well what they did, and if they had the chance, they'd do it again. That's the scary part, you know. That they're not sorry. That

doesn't say much for the human race, does it?"

I shook my head.

"Well, it's obvious you're not going to be any help here. So run along, Miss Yoder. He won't be going anywhere for a while,

even if I untied him."

"But we can't just leave him like that. Look, he's bleeding!"

"So he is." Johanne pulled a white cotton handkerchief from his left pocket. "Here, see if you can stop the bleeding."

I took a step forward, but something, perhaps my real guardian angel, made me stop. Samuel Friedrich Burkholder? Wasn't

that too much of a coincidence? What were the chances that Nazi and Nazi-hunter would share the same last name? I looked at

Sam, and then back at Johanne. It seemed just barely possible. Fifty years of sedentary living and fifty years of farm life shape a

man differently, but the underlying bone structure never changes. There was only one way to find out, so I braced myself to run.

"Why not let the Butcher bleed, dear? Isn't that something the Scorpion would do?"

Johanne stiffened. "What did you say?"

I meant to run. But already it was too late. The Scorpion's gun was aimed at the midpoint between my eyes.

25

Singapore SPAM® Salad

Warm Sesame Dressing:

1 cup sugar

1/3 cup rice vinegar

¼ cup olive oil

2 tablespoons sesame oil

¼ teaspoon garlic salt

Salad:

½ head iceburg lettuce, thinly sliced

½ head Romaine lettuce, thinly sliced

1 (12-ounce) can SPAM® Luncheon Meat, cubed

3 carrots, grated

1 cup chopped green onions

1 cup chopped celery

1 green bell pepper, chopped

1 cup thinly sliced radishes

1 (6 ½ ounce) package sliced almonds, toasted

In saucepan, combine all dressing ingredients. Stir constantly until sugar dissolves. In large

bowl, toss together all salad ingredients. Serve warm dressing with salad. Serves 8.

NUTRITIONAL INFORMATION PER SERVING: Calories 432; Protein 13g; Carbohydrate 36g; Fat

28g; Cholesterol 34mg; Sodium 453 mg.

26

“You are the Scorpion!" I hissed.

Johanne smiled broadly. "It is such a more dignified nickname than the Butcher, don't you think?"

"So you two are brothers!"

"It's a pity, Miss Yoder, that you weren't around in the war. We could have used a good woman like you on our side."

"In your dreams, dear."

"And full of fire. I like that in a woman. My Samantha is so - well, she lacks passion. Give me a hot woman any day."

"Like Irma Yoder."

He grinned. "Yes, she was hot in her day."

"Well, don't worry, dear. Where you're going there won't be a shortage of hot women."

The grin froze.

I eased back one small baby step. Having played Mother May I ad nauseam with Susannah and her little playmates, I was an

expert on undetected movement. Or so I thought.

"Come here!"

"Really, you don't want to do this, dear. I mean, you just captured a Nazi war criminal, right? I'm sure you'll get credit for that.

Plea bargaining is all the rage these days, I hear. Or" - I dangerously took another small step back - "just leave him tied there and

you take off. I won't breathe a word of this to anyone. I promise. And there has got to be a home for the Nazi aged somewhere -

like Paraguay or Argentina. I'm sure they have a nice schedule of activities. You could take a ceramics class and do a bust of the

Fuehrer. Or how about making a stained-glass swastika? You could let your imagination go hog wild and use a color other than

black."

"Shut the hell up!"

"Really, dear, there's no need to be rude."

The click of the safety switch was like thunder in my ears. "I said come here."

I should have taken my chances and fled into the night. That's what my brain was telling me to do. It is hard for even the best

shot to hit a running target. And even then, unless the bullet entered a vital organ, I might still get away. I knew the woods

hereabouts; he didn't. Alas, my legs would not obey. While my brain shouted no, my legs wobbled their way over to Johanne, and

stood obediently in place while he trussed me up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

The man must have been a Boy Scout in his youth, or the German equivalent of one. He lashed me to a hand-hewn post that

was about a foot thick in diameter, and which, along with seven others, supported the upper story of the mill. I must say, his knots

were beautifully executed. If ever the Nazi Nursing Home for the Aged needed a macramé teacher, Johanne was it.

"Aren't you going to gag me too?"

"Of course not. I want to hear you scream."

"Well, I'm not going to. You can pump me full of bullets, but I'm not uttering a sound. I wouldn't give you the satisfaction."

"Oh, you'll scream, all right. I guarantee it."

"Fire away, dear," I croaked. "The Good Lord will stop the pain." I wish I could say I really believed that. God did shut the

lions' mouths for Daniel, but Magdalena Portulacca Yoder has never been on the Creator's A-list. And don't tell me He doesn't

play favorites. Any girl who is five-eight by the time she enters sixth grade, and has her face mistaken for a pepperoni pizza more

than once, knows exactly what I mean.

Johanne nodded in Sam's direction. "Ah, but it won't be your pain. It'll be his."

"You're shooting Sam first? Well, that's just plain bad manners. Everyone knows that ladies go first. Or didn't they teach you

that in the Fatherland?"

"To the contrary, Miss Yoder, I'm killing Sam first out of consideration for you."

"For me?"

"Oh, yes. I want you to have the opportunity to watch him die."

"I'll pass, thank you." I closed my eyes.

"You'll open them," he said confidently, "when his bones start to crunch.

I opened them. "His bones?"

"Oh, yes, that's what will happen when I throw this lever" - he patted a thick wooden bar about a yard long - "and engage the

grinding wheel."

I gasped. "You wouldn't!"

"Oh, but I would."

"But he's your own flesh and blood."

"He's a traitor to the Third Reich."

"How is hiding among the Amish any more traitorous than teaching history in Pittsburgh?"

"Ah, but Samuel didn't just hide. He became one of them."

"Well, I thought he was one. Australia, indeed. I should have known - there are no Amish down under."

Johanne shook his head. "You don't listen, do you? Samuel is Amish."

"Nonsense! Amish don't - "

"I mean now - in his heart."

"Says who?"

"Tell her, brother," Johanne said. "Ach!"

"You see, the first word out of his mouth. Ach."

"It's a German expression, dear."

"Ah, but we don't use it nearly as much as the Amish. Now, Samuel, be a brave man and tell her before I make a pancake

out of you."

Samuel winced. "It is true."

"Goon!"

"Yes, go on, dear!"

"Ach - well, I did come to Hernia to hide. It was only going to be temporary, you see. Just for a year or two, until I learned

enough of the American way to pass as an English."

"Yeah, right! The Amish weren't going to prepare you for corporate America."

"Let him continue!" John barked.

Samuel glanced at me and then looked away. "My first night here, I met my Amanda. It was her father, the bishop, who took