CHAPTER 4DEUTSCH PILOTEN
I met Deet, all smiles, coming out of the office. He slapped me on the shoulder.
“Vell my man, vhat you need is a vagon, a car, a means of transport, but most of all, a p***y vagon! Jump in and I’ll take you to see a good friend of mine.”
We drove to Heinz and Maria’s restaurant. A middle-aged man was sitting at one end of the bar nursing a draft beer. His face was as red as a stop light and his swollen nose, a light shade of purple. Other than that he had all the indicators of a man who had been accustomed to power and respect but was now reduced to what he could carry in a small valise.
“Hans, I vant you to meet a fellow pilot, Ken. Ken, meet Hans.”
Hans extended a weathered hand partially crippled by arthritis.
“Hans,” Deet said, “dis young man needs a car
