Free Salamander by J. Robert Janes Page B

assistance? A car, the ration tickets, some little thing? Ah no, not you. Well then listen, my friend. Listen , eh? Things have changed here. Be careful.’
    The tramp of hobnailed boots came up to them from a Wehrmacht patrol somewhere on the side of the hill. ‘Préfet, let us bury the hatchet and not be so territorial. This case demands our every co-operation no matter on which side of the fence we sit.’
    St-Cyr would never change. Never! ‘Fences? You talk of fences? Is it so wrong of me to invite the Obersturmführer Barbie to dine with me, eh? Especially , my friend, as he is in charge of countersubversion and I must work with him and show good faith in public.’
    â€˜Don’t try to make excuses, Gérard. I know all about your kind. Fence sitters, ah no. You and the others have always been in bed with them.’
    â€˜ Bâtard! And Kohler, eh? What of him? Isn’t he Gestapo? Won’t the Resistance still be aware of your association with him? Pah! I’ll do as I please and tip them off if necessary.’
    â€˜Don’t threaten me, Préfer. Please don’t.’
    â€˜Then don’t be a fool. Try to understand how it is. No mouse can fart for fear the lion will step on him.’
    â€˜But you’re no mouse; you’re one of the lions? What did Herr Barbie want, Préfer? Your thoughts on the cinema fire, on this Salamander and Gestapo Mueller’s interest, or more Jews for you to herd on to railway trucks to Nowhere? Was the round-up of last August twenty-sixth insufficient? One thousand, I heard. Was it one thousand you contributed to the forty-odd that have so far been taken? You sent them to Vénisseaux, to buildings that had long been abandoned, and then they were deported.’
    Ah nom de Jésus-Christ ! St-Cyr would never listen. ‘Shot or deported, it’s all the same with them. Like Robichaud, Louis, your tears are admirable but out of place.’
    â€˜Then please do not light that cigarette, there is gasoline on my sleeve.’
    Suddenly furious with him, Guillemette angrily stuffed the lighter and cigarette away. Much taller and bigger, a flic all his adult life and proud of it, he leaned on the railing, blocking St-Cyr’s faint view of the Croix Rousse. ‘Herr Barbie could not help but notice that little exchange you chose to have at the restaurant with Monsieur Artel and his associates, Louis, but that one, he did not ask me about it, you understand. The Obersturmführer acted as though completely unaware of the furore.’
    â€˜He didn’t want to spoil his dinner.’
    â€˜ Cochon! Did you not think when Herr Kohler borrowed his fiacre? ’
    His carriage. ‘Don’t call me a pig, Gérard. Please, let us try to work together, eh? The city demands it.’
    â€˜ My city, Louis. Mine !’
    Ah nom de Dieu , was there no common ground? At sixty-two years of age, Guillemette had been Préfet of Lyon for the past twelve years. A hard-fought post. One had had to oil the way there but he was shrewd and clever, a force to be reckoned. An enemy that was definitely not needed. ‘Robichaud has had a hard time of it.’
    Guillemette faced him bluntly. ‘Then start by asking the right questions. How is it he escaped to send in the alarm? Surely he should have stayed to direct people out of that building?’
    When no answer came, the préfet clenched a ham-hard fist and raised it defiantly. ‘He panicked, Louis. He ran to save himself. That is why the tears, my friend. That is why he is so upset.’
    Guillemette blew out his cheeks in exasperation. ‘Robichaud’s every action is being called into question, Louis. There are several who are saying he should be dismissed.’
    â€˜Herr Weidling?’
    â€˜Yes. Most certainly.’
    It would be best to get it over with. ‘Where was Robichaud sitting, who was he with in that cinema …?’
    The préfet