Rough Cut

Years ago, Kreimer's Bier Haus on Reading Avenue at the edge of the German District had had a certain elegance. But when Frau Kreimer succumbed to pneumonia, old man Kreimer gave up the façade of respectability. The once jazzed up bar smelled of old carpet and furniture oil. Cigar smoke clung to the ceiling like dirty gilt. The sagging springs on the bar stools embodied the drab anonymity of a thousand shabby lives. With each passing year, Kreimer's lost a little more class and a little more clientele. And with the uprising in Europe, Kreimer's had fallen even further out of favor.

Moe wasn't a bar polisher, but he had been to Kreimer's more than a time or two. It was his kind of place. It was a good place to go when he was down on his luck and looking for a cheap lager. It was an even better place when he was in the money looking for an expensive import. In Moe's line of work, it paid to make yourself known in local establishments and to learn just enough lingo to be accepted. At Kreimer's, a man could sit for hours nursing a beer and never have to say a word unless he wanted to. On a few occasions, Moe had wanted to, and Jonas Kreimer would listen.

Jonas was a stout man with thick forearms and smooth hands. Laugh lines dug into his face like grooves on a Victrola. When he talked, his bristly mustache wiggled like a caterpillar. Moe could never be sure if Jonas was happy in spite of living alone or because of it. But one thing was certain: Jonas Kreimer knew everyone that still resided in the old German neighborhood, and that was why Moe stopped in.

"

Hallo,

Jonas."

"

Wie geht's,

Moe?"

"I'm getting by, Jonas." Moe looked around. The place was empty except for a couple sitting at a rear table and a saucehound at the other end of the bar. Moe knew the answer, but he asked the question anyway. "How's things with you?"

Jonas braced his hands against the bar and frowned. "Not so good, Moe, not so good. These dealings across the ocean are not good for business here in America."

The rumor of another war had put the pinch on everyone.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Jonas."

"America has been my home for twenty-three years. Some of the

Schurke

that break my windows and destroy my walls were not even born when I came here."

The German community, which had been one of Cincinnati's distinguishing characteristics when Jonas Kreimer had arrived, had nearly ceased to exist thanks to The Great War. And now with the new uprising, it was risky being a German. But the people intent on destruction rarely needed an excuse.

"Thugs come in all ages, Jonas. And from all countries."

"You are right, Moe. Very right. Bah! Let us talk of something else. What would you like? A Burger Brau?"

"A local lager, Jonas?"

"It is a little difficult to get the imported nowadays."

"I guess the local it is then."

Moe was dryer than a cork leg. It'd been too long since he'd had a beer. With the first gulp, cool suds trailed down his throat to his empty stomach like when he was a kid eating snow instead of answering his mama's lunch call. He wiped the suds from his mouth and sighed.

"What brings you here today, Moe, business or pleasure?"

"A little of both, Jonas, a little bit of both." Moe took another swig and savored the hoppy aftertaste. "This lager hits the spot."

Jonas wrinkled up his nose and his moustache danced. "Ugh! A cheap imitation of greater

Bier

."

Moe downed the rest of the beer and smacked his lips. "Got to take what we can get when we can get it, Jonas."

"That is certainly true." Jonas wiped at invisible stains on the bar with a wet cloth. "You are a philosopher today, Moe."

"Let's just say I've been shown a few things, lately. My eyes are a little wider, and my mind's a little clearer."

Jonas added more beer to Moe's empty stein. "And these things, they bring you to my doorstep?"

"You can always refuse to answer the knock."

Moe eyeballed the lush sitting at the other end of the bar. Jonas followed his gaze. The guy was embalmed—his hand shook as he fiddled with the dead soldiers lined in front of him while his other hand clung to a half-full bottle like a lifeline.

"

Bitte,

wait one moment. Maybe we should speak privately?" Jonas said and then headed to the other end.

The guy was so loaded it was next to impossible for him to remember anything Moe might say, but if word got out that Moe was asking questions about this Rolf and Jonas was gladly answering, things could get a lot worse for Jonas. Extra safety precautions weren't a bad idea.

Jonas leaned over the bar and spoke in hushed tones to the sousepot. The guy nodded, knocked back another jolt, and then stood on wobbly feet to leave. He offered Jonas a few simoleons from a small stack of bills and stuffed the rest in his shirt pocket. He slowly made his way across the room and stumbled out the door. Stale cigar and body stink lingered in his wake.

Jonas slipped the money in his cash box and made his way back to Moe, wiping the counter as he went.

Moe glanced toward the couple in the back, sitting knee-to-knee. The man sat with his back to Moe. The gal's partially spread legs gave Moe a solid glimpse of creamy thigh as her patty-cake partner worked his hand toward her pussy. She was smiling and biting her lower lip. She caught Moe's eye and her eyes drooped seductively. A flash of her thick, untamed bush was quickly covered as the hot little mouse covered the man's hand with her own. She guided him further between her legs, past the stockings and the bits of thigh. Her tongue poked out, licking her lips and dragging saliva along with it. Moe's cock stirred.

"Pleasure sometimes supercedes business, eh, Moe?"

"What?"

Jonas nodded toward the couple.

"Oh." Moe met Jonas's wide-open grin with one of his own. "Like I said, Jonas, you take what you can get when you can get it."

"No need to worry about them. It is a daily show."

"Same dame?"

"Katarina, yes. I let her play. She brings me customers. We both are happy."

Things must really be tight for Kreimer's if Jonas was willing to let a soiled dove set up shop at the back tables.

"If you like, I can introduce you." Jonas winked like a copper on the take. "She prefers finger pie, but for you, maybe the whole meal?"

Moe took a quick hinge at the couple. Katarina was a looker, but in that hard, cover-your-balls sort of way. She was Dietrich, but without the class. Katarina clamped her eyes shut. Her mouth sagged open. The john must have found gold as his arm panned slowly back and forth. Moe heard the faint squishy rhythm of in and out. Her eyes peeked open as she tried to stifle a yawn. Perhaps Katarina should spend a little less time getting her puss probed and a little more time on her beauty sleep. Moe suddenly felt a little less hot in the zipper. He ignored the grunts caused by the coozie dig behind him and concentrated on what had brought him here.

"Nah, not this time, Jonas. I got some business to take care of."

"Tell me, how can I help you?" Jonas said.

"I'm looking for a Rolf."

"Rolf? Does he have a last name?

"Not last name. But this Rolf likes to play with a dirk."

Jonas gulped in air and squeezed the damp cloth in his hands. "There's only one man that fits this description, and you do not want to make his acquaintance, Moe."

"It's a little late for that, Jonas. We've already met. Only he got to say a lot more than I did, and I'd like to return the favor."

"Moe,

mein Freund

, listen to me. This is a very bad man, this Rolf."

"That I already knew. Tell me more."

Jonas shrugged his shoulders and began wiping at the nonexistent spills again. "I will tell you what I know. But I do not like it."

Jonas provided the lowdown with Katarina's warbling as the background music. Moe wondered if the singing was just for show or if Katarina always liked hitting the high note. Her playmate left minutes after the finale, and Katarina made her way to the barstool next to Moe. Jonas whispered one final warning about the tough guy Moe was getting mixed up with and turned to Katarina.

"What can I get you,

Liebchen

?"

Katarina winked at Moe. "I'll have what this gentleman is having.

She lifted her skirt and spread her legs as she sat. The flesh above her stockings was flaming red and damp, and the pungent smell of her sex drifted to Moe's nostrils. Katarina closed her legs and then opened them again, letting Moe play peek-a-boo with her drenched gash. His cock squeezed its way up his trousers like a charmed snake.

"Are you sure there is nothing else you would like today, Moe?" Jonas asked with a derisive laugh.

Katarina snuck a hand on Moe's crotch, rubbing up the length of his zipper and squeezing the helmet pushing against his waistband.

Moe was never one to ignore a peep show when it was offered or turn down a hand job, but charmed or not, he had another pressing matter. One that couldn't wait. He grabbed Katarina's hand and stopped her from slipping it inside his pants. Maybe another time, doll, he thought and gave her hand a caress.

Thanks to Jonas, Moe had a last name and a hangout for Rolf. Jonas hadn't had time to give Moe a physical sketch of the scum, but even without knowing what Rolf looked like, Moe was hell-bent on tracking him down. Hand jobs he could do himself anyway.

"

Danke, Jonas,

but I've got work to do." Moe cast a side glance at Katarina. She made a grand show of crossing her legs and holding up her breasts. Her bottom lip pouched out, and she batted her eyes. But she remained mute.

"You must be careful," said Jonas. "I would not want to read your name in the obituaries."

Moe shrugged into his overcoat and nodded to Katarina. She lowered her eyes to her beer.

"That makes two of us, Jonas."