Hugo Hammer: Nazi Hunter: Killing Mengele

Chapter One

Get out of here and never come back!

I landed face down in the mud. I looked back over my shoulder, my vision cleared by the rain washing the mud from my eyes, to see the overweight bartender spit in my direction. Lightning illuminated his face, his scowl filled with both detest and pity, and the thunderclap coincided with him slamming the bar door shut. I was out of his bar, but he'd welcome me back so long as I carried a fistful of American dollars. His business was as dependent on my money as my body was on the alcohol he served.

The rain kept pouring down. I stumbled down the street. My soaked through clothing weighed me down and the alcohol I had just consumed caused me to lose my footing and stumble from side to side. A random walk down Main Street in a desperate search for more booze.

I propped myself up against a door beneath a red neon sign, hoping that it was some sort of bar. I banged on the door with my fist, each blow softer than the one before it. After my last feeble attempt made no discernible noise, a voice from the other side of the door shouted, Enough with all the racket. We’re closed, God dammit!

My head fell against the door, and then my body collapsed to the ground. Please, I only need one more, I said.

What? the voice from the other side responded. The door opened, taking the crutch that had propped me up with it. I fell in through the doorway and landed in a heap on the ground. My face rested between someone’s feet. Oh, jeez, not again, the voice said. Something slid under my arms and lifted me up. Before me were two dancing images of a wrinkled old face. I’ve told you before, Hugo, this is a diner, not a bar. Now hold yourself up and get out of here!

Just one more drink, I said. Just one more, that’s all I need.

It’s four in the morning, Hugo. There’s no one around to serve you. Now get out of doorway before I call the police!

The sound of the door closing behind me made me jump. I lost my balance for a moment but managed to catch myself from making another embarrassing fall into the mud. My walk of shame continued down the street undaunted by the setback at the diner. Down a narrow alley, I heard the distinctive sound of alcohol induced hiccups. I navigated around the dumpsters and trashcans, a feat not to be overlooked given my state, until I reached a dead end. There was no one in sight. No booze to be found.

I stared up at the night sky, the rain beating against my face, and cursed my alcohol addled brain for tricking me into walking down that wet garbage smelling alley. Then I heard it again, the hiccup, only that time with more of a metallic ping to it. The dumpster nearest me shook and rattled a little bit. I rubbed the rain from my eyes and stared at the dumpster. Another muffled hiccup, and dumpster shook once more. I wasn’t making something up in my head and seeing things, or at least I was somewhat surer that I wasn’t.

I opened the lid of the dumpster and saw a man lying on the floor. His knobby knees and twig legs poked out the trash bag he wore for clothing. He was chugging from a large ceramic jug marked ‘XXX.’ He set the jug down, wiped his lips on his torn glove, and then he finally looked up and noticed me. He belched, then said, Scram! This is my rain shelter!

Just one sip. That’s all I want. Just a sip.

Huh? Get the hell outta here! My newspapers are getting soaked!

Please...

Fine. Whatever it takes to get you to close the damned lid!

The man handed me the ceramic jug. It reeked of kerosene and foul breath. The liquid hit my lips, and all my senses perked up to the intense burning sensation that filled my mouth and throat and stomach. I needed to fill my body with that alcoholic warmth, with the loving caress of the only friend I knew.

Hey! You said just a sip, asshole! Give it back!

The man lunged for the jug. I stepped to the side, not letting the jug leave my lips, and dodged the man’s groping hands. The man went careening into the other side of the dumpster, banging his head on the metal edge. He recoiled back and fell onto his ass. He grabbed at his head with his right hand. He pulled his hand away and left a smattering of blood and hair and grease and filth on his forehead.

God dammit! The blood vessels in his neck popped out, pumping rage into his brain.

He lunged at me again, faster and more determined than before, and with the jug obscuring my vision he managed to get his grubby little hands around the jug before I could dodge him. He pulled it away from my lips, severing the flow of alcohol into my system, and a primal fury arose from deep within me. I leapt into the dumpster and tackled the man to the floor. We struggled for control of the jug, jostling on top of the wet newspaper bed spread. He managed to turn me over onto my back. I held my forearms in front of my face anticipating an onslaught of blows from the man who towered over me. He brought his right knee up and jammed it into my side repeatedly. My guard fell and he landed elbow on the side of my head.

My vision went blank for a moment, and when it returned, I saw the man straddling me, holding the jug to his lips in victory. He raised the jug up, his expression one of pure elation, but in an instant, it changed to seething rage.

It’s empty! He spat at me, saliva spraying onto my face. You spilled it all!

He threw the jug against the walls of the dumpster, shattering it. Broken shards flew in every direction. A piece of ceramic shrapnel cut the side of my face.

You God damned asshole! he yelled.

His fists rained down on me. I did the best I could to protect my head, but my arms were unable to stop all the blows. I rolled over onto my stomach and tucked into a small ball with my head and my knees under my torso. The man pounded on my back like a percussionist gone wild on the timpani. I reached out with my right hand and rummaged around the ground looking for one of the broken ceramic shards. I found a small triangular piece and placed it between my middle and ring fingers with a point sticking out. I kicked my feet out toward the man’s left leg, knocking him off balance, and then quickly spun around with my right hand extended toward the man’s chest. The shard cut through his trash bag clothing and into his flesh. A bright red line opened down the length of his ribcage. It wasn’t a deep cut, a minor scratch, really, but it was enough to take his focus off me.

In his bewilderment, I jumped out of the dumpster and then reached up for the lid. I slammed it down on his head and knocked him down to the floor. The inside of the dumpster echoed with the word, Fuck!

I ran out of the alley. My heart pounded. Between the alcohol wearing off and the hobo beating, I felt like I had been run over by a bus. If only the buses were still running. I could have hopped on one and caught a quick power nap in a dry and warm place. Instead, my bed for the night looked to be wet pavement.

Across the street, I heard yelping. Two dogs were fighting over some chicken bones someone had decided to discard on the sidewalk instead of in the trashcan at the end of the block. One dog, a young Rottweiler, was snarling, hair bristling down his back, the thick muscles in his shoulders and jaw twitching with unhinged ferocity. The other dog, an old Jack Russell terrier, stood over the chicken bones. His scrawny legs quivered, and the sound he made was more a whimper than a snarl or bark. The terrier had patchy, grey fur. A mangy beard that was a stiff breeze away from being blown off his face. The terrier looked desperate for a meal, any meal, even the scraps of chicken meat and gristle clinging to the bones that escaped ingestion from the ravenous, littering human. The Rottweiler, the young, muscular, well-fed looking dog, wanted to assert his dominance. He wanted to remind everyone that the resources of that land belonged to him, and him only. There was no charity to be given to the elderly. You either beat him in the fight or you died.

I took my right shoe off and threw it at the Rottweiler. It hit him in the side of the head. A good throw. The impact caused the him to yelp and scamper to the side. The Rottweiler turned to face me, confused. He barked at me. A much meeker bark than what he gave to the feeble terrier moments before. The bark was more a sign of him noticing my presence, not one to intimidate or strike fear in me. The Rottweiler turned back to the terrier, then snarled and edged closer to the chicken bones.

I took my left shoe off, and again threw it at the Rottweiler. He turned to me again and gave me more confused barks. I widened my stance and spread my arms out wide above my head. I started to shout barbaric nonsense. The Rottweiler looked at me and lowered his body closer to the ground. Lightning struck behind me and cast an enormous shadow across the street. The dog’s bristling hair lowered, and his stubby tail pointed down between his legs. I moved closer to the Rottweiler one giant, wide step at a time, like a horrible reenactment of a sumo wrestler, and continued to shout. The Rottweiler began to whimper, to back away from me down into an alley.

I had made it across the street, where the Rottweiler once stood and where my shoes lay. The Rottweiler continued to back away from me, looking back over either shoulder to make sure the path behind him was clear for his backwards retreat. I picked up one of my shoes, and threw it at him again, though I intentionally missed the dog. The shoe landed beside him, and then skittered off into the darkness. I picked up the other shoe, and threw that one as well. As soon as the shoe left my hand the Rottweiler panicked and took off running down the alley, yelping the whole way down.

I turned to the terrier, who instinctively jumped back and started run away from me.

No-no-no, please, come back, I said.

I picked up one of the chicken bones and held it out in front of me, trying to call the dog back. He looked back at me, and seemed to notice the soothing tone of my voice in contrast to the barbarity of one I used against his attacker. He padded his way back toward me, taking his time to discern any change in my behavior that would indicate treachery. He stood in front of me, tentatively licking and nibbling at the end of the chicken bone. Once he was satisfied it wasn’t a trick, he grabbed the bone from my hand, rested it on the ground between his two forelegs, and gnawed on it. I stroked his head and scratched him behind the ears.

After he was done with the bone, the terrier jumped away from me and barked, then walked further down the sidewalk and barked at me again. He wanted me to follow him. I did as he asked.

He led me to the other end of the neighborhood, down a narrow alley. At a dead end sat a large cardboard box. One you could fit a refrigerator in. The front flap of the box pushed out, revealing the nose of another old dog who barked at us. The terrier I had followed barked back. He looked back at me, barked, and then walked to the cardboard box. He stood in front of the flap and waited for me. I lifted the flap up and saw three other old dogs curled up against each other. The cardboard had been soaked through by the rain. The ceiling sagged down and dripped water, but still better than it was outside. I crawled inside the box and curled myself around the four old dogs. It was the first sort-of-warm bed I could remember sleeping in for months. One of the old dogs sniffed around my face, licked me, and then I drifted off to sleep.

––––––––

Snow fell down around me, blanketing me in a powdery frost. I shivered away in my dug-out hole, my head bouncing off the shelf I had carved out of the frozen dirt to rest my head on. I thought I had felt something reach around me, grasping my shoulder. It was difficult to be sure of any feeling in the numbing cold. I turned my head around and saw an arm draped over my body, and something scooting up close from behind me.

Just close your eyes and think about something else, something warm and nice a voice said. Anything, to keep your mind off the cold.

Chapter Two

Dawn had ascended, and I was awakened by soft licks on the underside my big toe that stuck out of my sock. The rough tongue felt soothing on the thick, hard calluses. The licking turned to nibbling, then to a hard bite. I had suffered from poor circulation, and the dog must have interpreted my ice-cold extremity as a sign of my passing during the night. The dog took me as fair game for a meal.

Ow! Off! Off! God dammit! I kicked at the dog that bit my toe.

The other dogs awoke, and witnessed me attacking one of their brethren. They stood up, and began to snarl and snap at me with all the ferocity their old mangy bodies could muster. I was outnumbered and in no physical condition to fight off four dogs, no matter how old and feeble their bodies were. My body was in no better condition than theirs, old and feeble in its own right. The situation looked to spell the end for me, in the back of an alley in a wet cardboard box, dressed in tattered rags and stinking of vomit and wet dog. It was the dignified ending I deserved.

At the end of the alley, a car pulled up to the curb. Putt, putt, putt, BANG! The backfire echoed down the alley and was deafening inside the cardboard hovel I shared with my attackers. The dogs shrieked and turned to look back toward the source of the bang, shaking in terror from the assault on their delicate ears. I seized the opportunity and bolted out past the dogs and into the alley. I turned around and flipped over the cardboard box so the open entrance flap faced down toward the ground to block their exit. The dogs tumbled and jostled inside the box as it was turned over. They whimpered and wailed in their confusion.

I exited the alley and walked by the car to nod my thanks to the owner. The engine still sputtered and screamed its frustrations to the world. The owner took no notice of me. I passed him by as he kicked the rear bumper above the smoking tailpipe.

Hunk of junk! the man screamed. He swatted at the trunk of his car with a rolled-up newspaper. He stumbled over the curb in the effort, and his hat fell off his head and into the street. A strong gust of wind blew by and took the hat with it, careening down the road. The man threw his hands down to his sides and slumped his shoulders, then chased after the fleeing hat.

With the excitement of the morning wearing down my hangover started to set in. It felt like a nail was being driven into my skull while someone reached down my throat to pull my intestines out through my mouth. The only thing that could relieve my aches and pains, or at least distract me from them, was a hot, steaming cup of cheap coffee and fried eggs and potatoes sitting in a puddle of grease on a dirty plate.

By the time I made it to the nearest breakfast dinner, it was a few minutes after noon. I could never keep track of the days of the week, but based on the size and dress of the crowd it seemed safe to say it was Sunday. I was a Gothic invader to the well-to-do God-fearing patrons.

I’m sorry, sir, but, uh, there’s a wait, the hostess said. No tables available.

What do you mean? I see plenty of tables. What about that tiny booth in the back? The one away from everyone else. I said. There’s no one else waiting outside. Who else is waiting for a table besides me?

Uh, well, I don’t know. The hostess shuffled some papers in front of her, some of them looking to be menus, seeming to hope that if she stalled long enough I would leave on my own.

A short, bald man with a belly that hung over his belt approached from behind her. His white shirt adorned the ‘Manager’ name tag with pride on the left side. He seemed to favor leaning his left shoulder toward whoever he was speaking too, in case they had forgotten his title in status in his dominion, the restaurant. He set one hand on the hostess’s podium and adjusted the waist of his pants upward.

Excuse me, is there a problem here? he asked the hostess.

Well, uh, no, sir, she said. She averted her eyes from me and stared down at the floor. There, uh, just aren’t any tables.

I see.

Look, I said. I pulled cash out of my pockets and waved it front of the manager. I’m good to pay. You don’t have to worry about me.

The man looked back at the hostess, glared at her, then said, Yes, of course, sir. Please, Mary, show this gentleman to his table.

Yes, sir. Sorry sir, she said. Please, follow me. The manager tried his best to stare her down while she walked away despite being half a foot shorter than her.

I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, miss, I said. I just need a hot meal to calm my stomach down.

She didn’t respond. She threw a menu and a coffee cup down on the table and ran away as fast as she could. The other patrons turned in their