Wyatt's Revenge: A Matt Royal Mystery by H. Terrell Griffin Page A

They were coming toward me. I stood still, looking into my beer stein, trying to ignore the commotion. As they passed by, I swung the heavy glass stein into the back of the man’s head. He dropped like a sack of potatoes. Jessica turned as he released her, her eyes locking onto me. She drew back her foot and released a sharp kick to the unconscious man’s face, then looked at me, and said, “Are you ready?”
    We hurried out the side door, leaving the thug on the terminal floor bleeding from the mouth. Several people near us were pointing and yelling for the police. We exited the terminal in a hurry, and I signaled for a taxi.
    “What’s going on, Matt?” she asked as the taxi sped away from the train station.
    “I’m not sure. Somebody’s trying to kill me, I think.”
    “Does it have to do with your friend’s murder?”
    “Probably. I can’t think of any other reason for somebody in Germany to try to kill me.”
    “How’d they get onto me?”
    “They must have followed me from the airport. Saw us having lunch and had somebody watching you. Probably Patti and Russ as well. When they missed me this afternoon near the consulate, they had you followed, thinking you’d lead them to me.”
    “And I did.”
    “My fault. I should have seen the guy following you. They’re pretty good. I don’t think he saw me. He probably thought you were meeting me, and when I didn’t show up by the bank, he thought I’d gotten on to him. Decided to take you instead.”
    “Rotten bastard.”
    “What did he say when you screamed?”
    “He said I was his wife and he was taking me home. Where’re we going?”
    “I don’t know. We can’t go back to either hotel. Let’s find a restaurant, and I’ll make a phone call and see about getting our bags.”
    The cabbie knew of a small neighborhood restaurant near downtown that served good food. We took his advice.
    Once in the restaurant, I used my cell to call the consulate. I asked for Sergeant Olenski and was told that he’d left for the day. I assured the person on the other end of the line that it was extremely important that I talk to the sergeant, and asked her to call and ask Olenski to call me on my cell.
    In a few minutes, my phone rang.
    “Sergeant,” I said, “I’ve got a problem and need some help.”
    “Whatever I can do, sir.”
    I told him about my afternoon and the fact that Jess and I’d left our bags at our hotels. He agreed to go to the hotels wearing civilian clothes and pick up the bags. He assured me that he’d be discreet. He suggested a small hotel on Eschenheimer Landstrasse that tourists never used. He’d reserve us a room using his name and leave our bags with the concierge. He’d tell the desk clerk that his friends would be in later. I thanked him, and hung up.
    Jess didn’t seem too upset by her ordeal. I was concerned about a delayed reaction and asked her how she was feeling.
    “I’m fine, Matt. I didn’t really have time to get scared before you conked him with that beer stein. I knew you were there, and Russ had told me enough about you that I knew you weren’t going to let the bastard get out that door.”
    “You’re a toughie.”
    “Yes, I am. My dad was a navy fighter pilot and a POW in Hanoi for a couple of years. He raised us tough.”
    “I think we’d better part ways,” I said. “Get you back to Paris.”
    “No way. That sonovabitch put his hands on me. I want to find out who they are and get them all arrested.”
    “You took out a couple of that guy’s teeth with that dropkick. Isn’t that enough?”
    “Not even close, Matt. Not even close.”
    “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
    “Nope. I’m in. You need a translator, and I need some answers.”
    I told her about Thomas Speer, and that I hoped he would help get us into the archives. Jess had heard his name, but had never met him.
    The night wound down. The restaurant was emptying out, patrons, most of whom lived in the neighborhood, going out into