Blue Madonna by James R. Benn

out. Then the next morning, you guys came along.”
    â€œDid Cousin Alvin tell you how involved he was with the Morgans?” Kaz said.
    â€œSure,” Blake said. “When I went to see him, he told me if it was anyone else, he’d have me killed. But since I was family, he’d help. He figured the army would let us both walk if he gave evidence against the others.”
    â€œWere you surprised?” Big Mike asked.
    â€œAt first, yeah. But then Switch was always working the angles, you know? Even when we were kids, he liked to shoplift comic books and candy, small-time stuff like that. Or he’d send me into a store to distract the guy at the counter while he swiped the empty soda bottles they stashed out back. Then he’d cash ’em in for the deposit, cool as could be.”
    Me, I’d pulled the deposit scam a few times myself at a store down the block from my house, so I kept mum.
    â€œSwitch is a good guy,” Blake said, evidently putting aside the fact that old Switch would have had him iced if they weren’t related. “Smart, too. He had guys working for him at Beaulieu siphoning off fuel, diverting food deliveries, hijacking everything from fountain pens to lumber. The army’s got so much stuff, it’s like it doesn’t even notice when you take a bit here and there. And the Brits, Jesus, they’ll buy anything. You ever go into the stores over here? Hardly anything on the shelves.”
    â€œYeah, I hear there’s a war on,” I said, tired of listening to his complaints and rationalizing. I was still stuck on Alvin Blake bailing out over Nazi-occupied France. Colonel Harding had failed to mention that little tidbit.

Chapter Ten
    â€œLousy day to take a picture,” Big Mike said the next morning as we hoofed it toward the gates of Buckingham Palace. The wind slapped at our trench coats as a light rain blew across Hyde Park, swirling tree branches and lifting green leaves toward a dull grey sky. The calendar had turned to June, but this wasn’t like any June I’d ever seen back home in Boston. A damp chill rose from the ground and seeped into my bones as I turned up my collar and trudged on.
    â€œWhy are we doing this?” Blake asked, looking much improved after decent grub and a night’s sleep in a real bed. “I’ve already seen the palace.”
    â€œOrders, kid,” Big Mike said, a Leica camera hung around his neck. “We need a snapshot of you with Kaz and Billy out in the open, so Switch will know you’re safe.”
    â€œWhat are you going to do, mail it to him?” Blake asked. None of us bothered to answer. I was glad he was free of the Morgan Gang, but his company was beginning to wear. Now that Blake knew he was safe and wouldn’t be facing charges, he’d developed a smirk that I ached to wipe off his face. There was nothing as irritating as a petty thief who knew he’d beat the system.
    â€œOkay, smile,” Big Mike said as we stood in front of the ornate iron gates, the imposing royal palace looming behind us. Kaz and I stood on either side of Blake, grinning like tourists while he frowned, boredom etched on his brow.
    â€œSmile!” Big Mike barked. Blake jumped, a grin splitting his lips before Big Mike could.
    After a couple more shots for luck, we were done with sightseeing. We headed to Norfolk House in Saint James’s Square, where Harding was based, along with General Eisenhower’s Office of Special Investigations. As we navigated the narrow streets, Blake seemed nervous, glancing about as if expecting a salon car to come around the corner with a gangster aiming a tommy gun at him.
    â€œYou guys sure you can keep me safe?” he asked, keeping Big Mike between him and the curb.
    â€œSafe as houses, as the English put it,” Kaz said, a sly grin lighting up his face. We crossed King Street on our way into Saint James’s Square, and smack in front