Wonga!

9 Musso and Friends come to Stay

Having limped painfully back down the stairs Pawser entered the office to find Maggie's portrait gone with the nubile Miss January in her place, all bleached blond hair, white capped teeth and cheerleader come hither looks.

'Can't we just give her a trial Pawser? A few weeks or so. If no one says anything we can have a vote to see if we want her to stay on. Killerman's with me.' Dirk piped up enthusiastically.

Killerman was studying the picture closely. 'What are the chances of her name being Miss January and her appearing in January's edition?'

'About the same as your Aunt Nonnie ever allowing a pornographic magazine in her house apparently,' Dirk frowned.

'Gentleman while I am tempted by the seductive charms of the lovely Miss J, should one Jocko McBride ever to visit our esteemed premises, I sense he would not appreciate a picture of this lovely lady hanging proudly on our wall, wearing only what appears to be an incredibly light airbrush.'

'And anyway I have this!' With a flourish he held his photograph up to cover Miss Js' modesty. A rather creased, battered brownish blackish photo showed two men and a woman on a large balcony with a backdrop of mountains taken as their deportment suggested around the early 1940's.

'My God. Look at that bird. What a Minger!' Declared Dirk standing back repulsed.

'Christ. That's horrible,' agreed Killerman. 'Talk about 5 o'clock shadow.'

Pawser held his hand up. 'Gentlemen, gentlemen,' he declared, 'what you are looking at is a unique photograph flown over to Scotland in a covert mission by Rudolf Hess himself.' Seeing he had their attention he continued. 'This photo was taken on August 3rd 1940 on the veranda at the Eagles Nest at Berchtesgaden.'

Killerman looked at Pawser blankly.

'Hitler's holiday home.' Pawser added helpfully.

Killerman's blank expression remained unchanged.

'A bit like Dirks caravan down in Canvey only with a decent view and elite SS guard. My God, Killerman! I thought you'd be up on all of this. You with your love of all things military.'

Killerman shrugged his shoulders.

'What you have before you is a bit of German social history never seen by the public. You may have heard that malicious rumour that while Himmler only had one ball, Hitler had no balls at all. I cannot confirm the former or the latter but I can confirm that Der Fuhrer did look like one hell of a girls blouse strolling around in Eva Braun's best floral cotton knee length dress, lacy stockings and classic leather pumps.' Pawser, looking rather self-satisfied laid the picture on the desk for them both to inspect.

Dirk picked up the picture and blew out a breath of amazement. 'Bloody hell you're right. It's Hitler. That feather boa really sets off his moustache. So who are the other two?'

'Ah my friends, you will be impressed to hear that the lady to the right of Der Fuhrer wearing none other than Mussolini's finest white spangley military jacket and nothing else by the looks of things and looking pretty good into the bargain I must say is Eva Braun. And the gentlemen to the right wearing Der Fuhrer's ill-fitting field grey tunic, looking none too pleased is old Musso himself. While the Great One seems eminently pleased to be tricked up to the nines in Eva's best, old El Duce looks distinctly displeased. I'd say Hitler's uniform is evidently two sizes too small, barely covering Musso's barrelled chest giving him the deportment on an ape in the monkey suit.'

Killerman nodded doubtfully. Clearly he had not yet been won over by this superlative find.

'I think you will agree a classic of its time which would have been fondly remembered by its participants that had it not been for the slight issue that shortly after, all the Worlds powers would be ranged against them.' Pawser pressed his case, 'It demonstrates the highest level of camaraderie between a team and the sacrifices they are prepared to make to support their leader and for that reason I propose it takes pride of place on our wall.'

'I hope this isn't your way of suggesting we put on your wife's frocks and parade to and fro in a strapping German gait for you after work tonight?' Dirk enquired suspiciously.

'Not at all Dirk. I'm sure Penny isn't the same size as you, so I wouldn't think of it. Rest assured, should it ever become necessary, I'll ask you to bring your own dresses in. I'm sure your collection is extensive.'

Killerman picked up the photo and studied it closely. He tugged thoughtfully at his chin. 'I say you're right, that Eva's one hell of a looker. Really, I mean, bloody hell, look just at her.' He scratched his chin and his eyes glistened as if he'd just shot someone.

'If they were alive today I bet you'd have a chance with her. You know she obviously was one for all that military stuff and with you into the Territorial Army and all that,' piped up Dirk.

Killerman looked doubtful. For a moment Pawser though Dirk was riding Killermans pony. Something he was inclined to do on occasion, particularly on those occasions he had been shot at. But Dirk pressed on with some conviction. 'No really, Killerman. You two would be well suited. I could see you both getting on like a house on fire.'

'Hold on, hold on,' Pawser hurriedly interjected. 'I don't want my classy photo in anyway being denigrated via any association with Killerman, imaginary or not. Let's just think about this. Eva and Killerman or Eva and De Fuhrer. So from Eva's point of view it's either waking up in bed with Killerman reading De Sontag Mail pontificating about the decline in Aryan values across Europe and the latest results from the Weimar Premium League. Followed by schnitzel and chips down at The Reichsadler listening to Killerman and his black shirted, loutish mates discussing the performance of Dynamo Berlin in the playoffs .Then retiring to a long afternoon slobbing in front of the TV watching reruns of Das Boot whilst buffing Killerman's jackboots up to a mirror sheen.' Pawser paused to let this sink in. 'Or...waking up next to Hitler in his dapper silk SS Pyjamas, a Christmas gift from that nice Joseph Goebbels, then popping down to the Ritz for a full English breakfast, served by demure maids wearing pretty dresses with diminutive leather straps decorated with an assortment of tasteful swastika badges. Then a morning watching ten thousand storm troopers goose-stepping down Pall Mall. After that it's back home to Buckingham Palace for a light lunch followed by a motor up the Thames in hubbys executive yacht the Graf Spree II to Windsor for tea with King Phillip, or 'Uncle Phillip' to the children, Fritz and Alfonzo and his slightly grumpy wife Princess Liz.' Pawser scratched his head for a moment. 'Hmmm, I wonder which one Eva would go for.'

Killerman looked suitably abashed having seen any potential of a liaison with the long dead Eva evaporating before his eyes.

'How did you get hold of this? 'Asked Dirk taking the picture and holding it up to the light.

'What?' replied Pawser.

'The picture?' pressed Dirk.

'I blagged it off Lucy upstairs. Well sort of.' Pawser admitted.

'What do you mean, sort of? You mean she caught you nicking it? Holy shit!' Dirk cried.

'She did.' Pawser came clean. Perhaps a problem shared.

'And what did that cost you?' asked Killerman.

'An invite to the Christmas do.' Pawser admitted.

'You've got to take her to the Christmas party! Bloody hell Pawser, that's one hell of a price to pay!' Dirks jaw momentarily unhinged itself and Killerman began tugging the end of his moustache in nervous disbelief.

If Pawser was hoping for a few words of support he was clearly misguided. 'The price of friendship my friends, a mere nothing.' Pawser tried his best to appear nonchalant. Picking up a buff coloured file from his in box he began rifling through its contents. There was no doubt, this was a heavy price to pay. But he'd faced trickier situations he felt sure. He would find a way out of this one.

At five o'clock promptly that evening the entrance of Thames House spewed its employees out on to St Andrews Street, the tall bulky figure of Pawser Bingham amongst them. Despite his dislike of the cold Pawser had left his coat flapping in the wind. For a moment he appeared undecided which way to go. For Pawser one thought occupied his mind, a problem that had taxed him all day. How he could avoid his assignation with Lucy? This presented a challenge of somewhat Olympian proportions given that she held the ace card, the threat of giving him up to Jocko. As he strode off into the biting winter night he was aware of a rather unpleasant sensation in his stomach that left him feeling slightly sick.