The Small Man - part IV

My previous encounters with the small man had destroyed my spirit to such an extent that I became a recluse for a long period. Eventually, with the support of family and friends, I began to piece my life back together. With the passing of several months, I found that (with a heavy disguise), I was now able to leave the house without suffering panic attacks and I began a course of psychotherapy to overcome my paranoia.

One day I arrived at my therapist's office and, after a short wait, was ushered through. My therapist was not at his desk so I stretched out on the sofa and awaited his arrival. I closed my eyes momentarily and, upon opening them again, saw a familiar and horrific sight. The small man stood above me, a diabolical grin playing about his lips. A flash of metal confirmed that he was clutching a samurai sword. As I lay there, frozen with terror, the small man put a finger to his lips and then set about securing my limbs to the sofa with cable ties. He completed the job with a gag and then reclined leisurely in my therapist's chair, regarded me with his satanic gaze, and began to speak:

"I must now relate to you one of greatest poker stories that I have ever been told. Last week I had the honour to meet an ancient German gentleman in Berlin and he shared this tale with me. Many people consider the 1950s to have been the Golden Age of trans-Atlantic aviation but I beg to differ. In my humble opinion, the 1930s marked the apogee of air travel between our two great continents. This was a time when the majestic Zeppelins plied their trade between Nazi Germany and the Eastern seaboard of the United States. These Zeppelins, unlike the graceless jets of today, gently and silently floated across the ocean while the passengers, free to meander about the spacious staterooms, were attended by an army of servants. The man I encountered last week was the First Officer on the finest Zeppelin of them all, the Hindenburg.

The Hindenburg was captained by an irascible old Prussian, Captain Schmidt, and my acquaintance, Lieutenant Muller, was his deputy. In reality, Schmidt was almost incapacitated by his addiction to alcohol, of which he consumed prodigous quantities, and Muller was the de facto Captain of the great airship. On this particular journey from Frankfurt to New York, the Hindenburg was loaded with a full passenger list of eighty passengers, with a further sixty staff. The Zeppelin left Frankfurt on Saturday with a four day journey planned. Right from the very start of the flight, the Hindenburg faced strong headwinds.

The passengers were a mixed lot, some American businessmen doing deals with the Nazi regime, some rich Jewish emigrants fleeing the increasing persecution and some high-ranking German officials. Among them was a famous movie star, Cary Grant, making his return from a publicity tour in Europe. It's a little-known fact that Grant was an avid poker player and one who had attained a mastery of the game. After two tedious days in the air, Grant canvassed his fellow passengers and managed to persuade half a dozen fellows to join him in a game. Muller agreed that one of the smaller staterooms could be given over to the poker school and ordered one of his orderlies to act as dealer.

The six participants were a curious crowd. There was Grant, a wealthy New York banker by the name of Jones, Lord Gloucester, a British aristocrat and three White Russian emigres who spoke little. The game commenced with seven-card stud agreed as the variant of choice. The chips rotated around the felt in a fairly egalitarian fashion for the first couple of hours but the momentum of the game soon turned in favour of the Russians and, by dinnertime, Grant, Jones and the noble Lord were severely out of pocket and playing on credit.

Over dinner, Grant found himself seated next to Lieutenant Muller. He remained uncharacteristically silent through the first few courses as he mentally ran through the various hands that had cost him a large chunk of his annual earnings. A nagging feeling persisted with him as he analysed his downfall and, with the arrival of coffee, he realised what it was. In every single large pot that he had lost, he had found himself playing against the three Russians and had been raised and re-raised until an enormous pot had been built and then one of the Russians showed down a monster hand to claim the loot.

Grant took aside Jones and Lord Gloucester and discussed his suspicions with them. As soon as they reviewed their own losses, they immediately detected the same pattern. The Russians were clearly acting as a tag team and using their combined numbers to swindle their way to riches. The three men were now faced with a dilemna - how to expose these scoundrels and recover their monies? Clearly, as gentlemen, they could not wildly accuse the Russians of skulduggery. They would surely be viewed as bellyachers and poor sports who could not take their losses like men. Eventually they hit on a solution. They would confide their suspicions in Muller, who was liked and trusted by them all, and would ask him to arbitrate.

Muller was consulted and immediately proposed a solution; he would deal the game himself. In a former life, he had worked at the Grand Casino in Monte Carlo and he felt confident that he would be able to spot any scam, if indeed one was being run. The three men consented to this and the game recommenced. Muller dealt silently for two hours as the Russians continued to win heavily. As a large pot was building, he halted his dealing and demanded "Stop!". He ordered everyone to keep their hands by their sides and then proceeded to name the exact hole cards that each of the Russians had. He then explained that he had deciphered their signalling system and was utterly confident in his deductions.

With the Russians now white-faced and trembling, he revealed each of their hole cards. Worthless holdings for two of them (as predicted) but Kings rolled-up for one. The mechanism of the scam was soon apparent to all present and the Russians immediately confessed their guilt. In those days, cheating at cards was considered a serious crime and Captain Schmidt was summoned to decide on an appropriate course of action. The good Captain soon arrived, stinking of schnapps (for he was already on his third bottle of the day) and in belligerent mood. His belligerence grew as the facts were explained to him.

Just as he was ruminating on what punishment to administer, an officer rushed in with urgent news. Still facing into the monstruous headwinds, the Hindenburg, already overloaded, was now struggling to make land. Emergency jettisoning of all non-essential cargo was required if the airship ws not to ditch in the seas. Schmidt's eye fell on the Russians and a crazed smirk played about his lips. Before anyone could stop him, he had drawn his revolver and shot the Russians dead. He then ordered their corpses to be tossed overboard. The shocked and ashen-faced crew complied and the vicious winds grabbed the dead bodies of the unfortunate Russians, dumping them into the North Atlantic.

Muller took control of the situation, realising that the Captain's drink-sodden brain had finally tipped over the edge into madness. He ordered the Hindenburg's water ballast tanks to be emptied and all cargo to be jettisoned also. These emergency measures proved successful and the airship was able to battle its way through the gales to New York. Upon docking, Muller immediately went to the police to explain what had transpired. Schmidt was arrested. Given the delicacy of the situation - a high-ranking officer of the Luftwaffe arrested for murder - the job of establishing the facts was given to the newly formed Federal Bureau of Investigation. Their top man was a detective called Johnson.

Johnson took charge of the scene and immediately set about interviewing the witnesses. Captain Schmidt was incapable of lucidity, the tremendous quantity of alcohol plus the traumatic events had pushed him over the edge into full-blown insanity. Johnson settled instead upon Muller as his chief witness. Muller proved to have excellent recall and the full story soon became apparent. Johnson ordered all other persons out of the interview room and explained the situation to Muller: there was no way that a diplomatic incident of this nature could be tolerated. The whole thing would have to hushed up and what better way than for Muller to testify that Schmidt was under the influence at the time of the killings? The case would be thrown out on the grounds of diminished responsibility and American-German relations could remain cordial. Muller agreed to this plan.

Johnson then called back in the lawyers and the stenographer. In the presence of all these witnesses, he then asked the following question; "Lieutenant Muller, can you please testify as to the mental state of Captain Schmidt at the time? Was he in his right mind or was he crazed by alcohol?"

Muller looked his interlocutor in the eye.

"I suppose", he said, "you could say he was three cheats to the wind".

I eventually woke up many hours later, howling like a dog. The cleaning staff released me from my bonds, although it would have better had they left me to expire on that couch.

el S