Furthermore, it seemed impossible that Mrs Sawicki could have had anything to do with Adam’s murder. How would she even have known of his existence?
In the lobby, I took Izzy’s arm and rushed him away, sure that we’d be in danger as long as we remained nearby. Despite myself, I’d begun to fear that Mrs Sawicki could stop my heart with a single, well-directed thought.
She was gazing down at us from her balcony as we crossed the street. And all that day she would wheel above my thoughts like a bird of prey.
We made it to Jawicki Jewellers on Spacerowa Street at just past one in the afternoon. I recognized the balding shop manager who’d sold me a floral pin for Liesel two years before, but he didn’t know me, which was a relief. Still, Mrs Sawicki had unnerved me and I fumbled Hannah’s ring when I took it out of my pocket. It crashed on to his wooden desk.
He snatched it up with an agile hand. ‘Got ya!’ he exclaimed.
‘Thanks,’ I told him.
‘You needn’t have worried,’ he observed. ‘Diamonds are a lot harder than people.’
A surprising comment. Izzy looked at me sideways, which meant
The jeweller put a loop in his eye and turned the ring to catch the diffuse winter light from his window. At length, he said, ‘I’ll give you two thousand seven hundred for it.’ His toothy smile meant that he was giving me a great deal.
‘It’s worth three times that,’ I stated for the record.
‘Not to someone in your position,’ he retorted.
The moist chill at the back of my neck was my fear that he
‘You badly need cash or you wouldn’t be here.’
‘Three thousand five hundred,’ Izzy said, ‘or we go elsewhere and you lose big.’ He spoke with a Jimmy Cagney snarl to his words.
‘Your bodyguard?’ the jeweller asked me, smirking. His comment was meant to put Izzy in his place, since he wasn’t quite five foot four even on his best day.
‘As a matter of fact, I’ve been his bodyguard for sixty years,’ my old friend replied.
And then he took a gun out of his coat pocket.
‘Shit!’ the jeweller exclaimed, jumping up from his stool.
‘What in God’s name are you doing?’ I whisper-screamed at Izzy.
‘Protecting us,’ he replied calmly.
‘Don’t shoot me!’ the man pleaded. Taking a step back, he held up both his hands as if to stop an onrushing carriage.
The pistol was bulky and black – and stunningly dangerous. ‘Does it work?’ I asked.
‘You bet,’ Izzy told me happily. ‘It’s German, and I just cleaned it the other day.’ He jiggled it: ‘Very sensitive – might even go off accidentally…’ Here, he targeted his vengeful eyes on the jeweller – ‘and kill the rudest person in the room. Now who do you think that might be?’
‘There’s… there’s no need for violence,’ the man assured him in a trembling voice.
‘Glad we agree,’ Izzy replied. He kissed the barrel of the gun, then held the tip to his ear, pretending to listen closely. ‘Right, you got it, baby,’ he said, as if he were a hitman speaking to his girlfriend. He slipped the pistol into his coat pocket. ‘Marlene wants to know if we get our three thousand?’ he asked. ‘She’s concerned. And when she’s concerned, it’s best to pay attention. You got that?’
‘I understand. I’ll give you… two thousand nine hundred.’
The jeweller still wanted to bargain? This was craziness! Izzy caught my glance and raised his shoulders to prompt my reply. I could see he was looking forward to bragging about his performance.
‘It’s a deal,’ I said.
‘It’ll take me at least an hour to get the money,’ the jeweller told us. ‘Come back at two-thirty.’
‘Why in God’s name did you bring a gun?’ I asked Izzy as we hurried away. I was stomping over the cobbles, worried that someone had seen his weapon through the shop window.
‘You should be thanking me,’ he remarked contentedly. ‘I’ve cured your paso doble!’
I scowled at him, which made him flap his hand at me as if I was being a pest. ‘Look, Erik, ‘Did you really think I was going to venture into a city run by anti-Semitic cavemen with just Yiddish curses to defend us? Sorry, but I ain’t that
‘Where’d you get it anyway?’ I asked, conceding his point.
‘It was Papa’s. It’s an 1896 Model 2 Bergman – five millimetre.’ Whispering, he said, ‘Feels damn good in my hand. Maybe I was born to be a gunslinger!’
‘Do you really know how to use it?’
‘Erik, it doesn’t require a doctorate from the Sorbonne,’ he replied, snorting. ‘It takes a five-round clip – couldn’t be easier. Besides, you learn a lot about a pistol when you take it apart and give it a cleaning. It’s a lot simpler to put back together than a Swiss cuckoo clock, I can tell you that!’ He took my arm. ‘I thought it was a good touch my kissing the pistol – and calling it Marlene. Nobody would think a Jew would do that.’
