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long you been snorting coke?"
Burchel caught his breath and reeled back in his chair. He bit his lip. "Too long. I will quit doing drugs."
"You will, indeed," Stein said. "And don't renege on me if you want to keep this job?"
"Yes, sir."
"All right," Albert Stein said and handed him the money. "You can leave. Get yourself cleaned up and report to my apartment by 9 a.m. tomorrow." He shoved a card across the table. "The address and phone number."
"My phone number is—"
"I already have it, " Stein cut him off. "Now get on your way."
Klaus Burchel stood up. All signs of arrogant indifference had disappeared. His head kept bobbing as he backed away. Finally, he turned and walked swiftly down the street.
Through his thick glasses, Albert Stein watched him disappear into the crowded thoroughfare. As usual, he had started the relationship by putting himself in firm control. He had no question in his mind but that Burchel would do as he had been told. He needed the money. Whether Burchel liked it or not, following orders was simply part of the German militaristic disposition that flowed in his bloodstream as it had with his grandfather, Richard Baer, who Albert still admired. He would make that inclination work for his interests.

Klaus Burchel blended into the crowd and disappeared down the stairway running into the subway system. At the bottom, he stopped to count the euros again. A thought floated through his mind. He could take the money and run. What a plum gig he could throw! A thousand euros would buy several nights of premium highs. On the other hand, the old freak could turn up information like a magician making canaries appear out of thin air. Running might end up with getting his head smashed. The old man even knew about his grandfather and Klaus's true name.
Burchel needed the money badly. Rome was expensive, and it cost even to bed down in flop houses. He'd gotten his butt hung out to dry once too often. In the shadows of the subway, Klaus Burchel made a decision. No matter how much he hated this arrogant jerk's demands, he'd buckle under. If Stein could gather the information that he had, he might be useful if a possible run-in with the police bubbled up. But most of all, Klaus simply needed the money. He'd keep his mouth shut and, to keep the cash flowing, kiss the old man's backside as faithfully as a guard dog welcoming the master home.

5
 
 
 
T he aroma of pasta cooked in garlic, butter, and cheese drifted through the café while a man with an accordion walked among the tables, playing familiar Italian tunes and occasionally bursting into singing. Off in the distance, the busy sounds of the Piazza Campo dei Fiori added a touch of local color from one of Rome's most picturesque squares and markets. Craftsmen displayed their leather products in stalls next to a multitude of tiny shops selling everything from roses to eggplants. The chatter and clatter drifting in only added to the atmosphere of Der Pallaro restaurant.
Michelle set her fork down and looked around the expansive room. "Jack, I'm surprised we came here tonight. It's not inexpensive. We've never been to this café before."
"I thought you'd like a change of pace and the food has an excellent reputation. They serve some of everything they are making in any given day, and their portions are generous. I'd always heard we should drop in. Today seemed like a good time." His smile appeared tense. "I bought you that new Bisou Bisou tunic because I like the large red flowers against the black design, and you look chic in those leggings as well. When I saw them on the rack in the window, I knew I had to get it for you."
Michelle looked at the fettuccine on a plate painted with flourishes of a meandering colorful design. "Yes," she said hesitantly. "I love the new clothes and your thoughtfulness, but we don't often eat out at such expensive bistros."
"A breath of fresh air always invigorates," Jack said. "Puts more zip in your step." He chuckled. "Maybe, a