Free Ruins of War by John A. Connell Page B

while the winning GIs shook his hand or slapped him on the back. A shadow fell onto the stack of money then the scent of honey and lavender arrived a moment later.
    “That’s quite a trick,” Laura said.
    “It’s not magic,” Mason said without looking up. “Just skill and a lot of practice.”
    Laura took the chair next to him and sat.
    “I don’t have anything to say to you,” Mason said.
    “That’s right; you’re afraid of me.”
    “Like Will Rogers used to say: ‘Never miss a good chance to shut up.’”
    “You’re just full of folksy wisdom,” Laura said and drank one of the untouched shots of whiskey. “Didn’t you like my article?”
    “It nearly got me busted down to private.”
    “Did you read the whole thing?”
    “The headline was enough.”
    “Well, if you’d read it, you’d know I ultimately defended your actions. If you hadn’t done what you did, a lot more people would have gotten hurt. And just so you know, the picture and the headline were my editor’s idea.”
    “If you say so.”
    Laura leaned on her elbows. “I came over to apologize. The article shouldn’t have come out that way. I never figured
Stars and Stripes
would do that to a soldier who was just trying to do his duty, but my editor saw an opportunity to make a splash. He’s looking to get onto a private newspaper as soon as he can.”
    Mason stuffed his earnings into his pocket. “All right. Apology accepted.”
    Those eyes captured him again, and he and she looked at each other without a word for a moment.
    Finally Laura said, “A girl sits down at your table, and you don’t offer to buy her a drink?”
    Mason waved for the waiter, a German man, to come over. Laura’s eyes never left him as she ordered a gin fizz. When the waiter left, Mason asked, “What are you really here for?”
    “Can’t a girl come over to a handsome man and say hi?”
    “Normally I’d be all right with that, but somehow I get the feeling you’re the spider and I’m the fly.”
    Laura smiled, acknowledging his point. “I’ll level with you: I’m writing an extended piece about the American occupation, mostly the personal side. I’ll leave politics and policy to others. I’m more interested in the single soldier and citizen. The military cop and the black marketer. I’ve already made a contact in the black market, but you’re my first cop. When I saw you at the riot I got curious about you, so I did a little digging around. I know some of the staff at CID headquarters in Frankfurt pretty well. . . .” She shrugged. “General Jenkins, for instance . . .”
    “How well?” Mason was surprised at his sudden spark of jealousy.
    “That’s not the point. What I’m getting at is that your story interests me—”
    “No way. You’re not going to write about me.”
    “I’m not writing your biography. There will be a lot of different people all folded into a long narrative. Come on, just a few questions. I’ll keep it anonymous.”
    Mason didn’t know if the attraction was mutual or if she was playing him for a sucker. Maybe it was the whiskey, but he decided to hang around and find out. “I tell you what: You ask a few questions, then it’s my turn. Tit for tat.”
    Laura smiled. “No questions below the belt.”
    “Deal.”
    The waiter returned with the drink, and Laura started playing with her cocktail swizzle stick. Her eyes flitted between her drink and Mason as if she were deciding which questions to start off with first.“I heard you had a pretty tough time as a prisoner of war. You could have shipped home, but you decided to stay in the army and Germany. Why?”
    “I hear the real estate’s cheap.”
    “Seriously. After what you’ve been through, you have to admit: It’s an intriguing choice.”
    Mason studied her for a moment. “I’d bet the bank that you did more during the war than write human interest stories about WACs and nurses.”
    “Wait a minute. We had a deal. You haven’t answered my