Brown to Whitney Part 3: The Wagner Brothers

    Bruno Wagner strode into his ramshackle and small apartment, ready to kiss it all away. He wondered for a moment if he had a good enough razor to shave his head, then remembered yes indeed. Snapping his fingers, he strode into the bathroom with glee, not seeing his brother sitting on the threadbare couch near the door.

  Gunther was patient…and even more drunk than the previous night. He had seen Bruno enter the hotel and briefly spied him and Whitney talking. It didn’t take a genius to see what was happening. This would be a pleasure.

   What wasn’t a pleasure was seeing Bruno come out of the bathroom with…a bald head! What the hell! “Hello, brother,” he slurred.

   Bruno was briefly surprised, then smiled. “Well well, look what the alley cat dragged in.”

  “What the hell were you doing with Schuyler Whitney?”

   Bruno’s grin was wolfish. “He offered me your job.”

  “Oh really? DId you take it, you son of a bitch?”

   Bruno spread his hands out. “When opportunity knocks…”

   Gunther stood and swung at Bruno, catching him in the chin. Bruno reeled back into a chair and rubbed where he was hit. “What, you think you’re gonna fight your way back into your job? Don’t brother, I don’t think he likes you anymore.”

   Gunther started after him again, but stumbled.. He looked down, then chuckled, looking at Bruno again. “No, you and Sky Whitney can rot in hell together for all I care. After everything I did for him, he kicked me to the curb. Well, here’s something he doesn’t know about you, dear brother. You always took my leftovers and still are.”

   This time, Bruno came at Gunther, but Gunther, just a little stronger, caught the swinging fist. “Face it, Bruno! My Christmas presents, in the circus, my woman!”

  “I didn’t take that crazy lady!”

  “No, that I gotta give you credit for.” Bruno stopped pushing, so Gunther let go of the fist. “What was funny was, you found a crazy broad named Roxanne! My lady wasn’t really Roxanne, her real name was Nora.”

   Bruno shrugged. “Just a name.”

  “Yeah, just a name. But the point is, you always wanted what I had, like I had it so good. But what you grabbed, you could never hold on to. Everything floated away, even Roxanne.”

   Bruno’s face broke into pure rage and lunged at his brother again, this time connecting to his cheek. Gunther reeled back into the couch. “Hit me all you like, but you know it’s true. Not just me, you want what everyone else has.”

   Bruno stayed angry. “You’re wrong about Roxanne! I loved her!”

  “You loved her, you loved her, you loved her into the psycho ward!”

   Bruno looked like he was going to strike again, then thought better of it, smiling again. “You know, you can say whatever you want, Gunther. I am going to be better than you ever were when it comes to taking care of Schuyler Whitney.”

   Gunther mulled that over for a moment. “Hmm. Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yeah, ok. Just know he’s a spoiled kid and isn’t likely to change.”

  “He didn’t seem like a kid when I talked to him. He seemed like a man who knows what he wants.”

   Gunther looked at him and then remembered something. “The money.”

  “Huh?”

  “Before he and his punk friend Brown went on that plane, Schuyler Whitney was set to get his whole fortune. I guess he did.”

  “So?”

  “So…nothing.” Gunther stood, not rubbing his cheek, probably not feeling it. “Well, the ship is yours…if you’re smart enough to hold on to it.” With that, Gunther turned and left.

   Bruno watched him leave, then cursed loudly. Why can’t he be jealous of ME for a change? Why can’t I win one over him? He turned back to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. But this time, brother, I’m gonna win, and have everything you lost. And, best of all, I'll be you!

Brown to Whitney part 2

    It took a little longer than he expected and a ton of paperwork. Luckily, his time in the clinic had been spent practicing Sky’s signature and studying Sky’s businesses. It was not a wasted four months.

   Finally, after a trip to Paris and several meetings on taxes and shelters and what not, Jefferson Brown was now, finally, a millionaire. It amazed him still how easy it all had been. It may have taken time and paperwork, but nobody doubted one bit that he was Schuyler Whitney.

   He wondered if any obstacles could possibly come his way and then realized that yes, there was one.

   Gunther Wagner

   He had met Gunther a few times when he was with Sky. The man was a powerful force with his muscular build and bald head. He did not seem to care for Jeff, in fact he seemed to recognize Jeff Brown as a leech, which indeed he was.

   The world is going to expect Gunther to be with me. And Gunther knew Sky inside and out, what he liked to eat and drink. This won’t work out, he’ll know something is wrong, even after the plane crash.

   He thought for a moment. Wait, Gunther had a brother, a twin brother. Sky mentioned him, a fight over a woman broke them up. All right, time to put your new identity to work.

   Jeff knew Gunther spent his time at a bar in the city called ILe Pantheon. Cute name. It was only 11:00a.m., he wasn’t sure the man would be there, but it was a good possibility. But wait! Not now, wait until nighttime. Why take chances?

   ‘Sky’ spent the rest of the afternoon finalizing the arrangements for a mansion he planned to rent for however long he was going to stay in Paris. Perhaps forever? It was a beauty, on the right bank of La Seine. Now this is living! he thought. No more sucking up with bad jokes to stay on the rich boy’s good side. Now I am the rich boy…no, no boy about it. I am a rich MAN. 

   He made it to Le Pantheon just before 9p.m. Jeff stopped a passerby and gave him 100 francs to fetch the owner Francois, a wiry little guy. 

  “Est-ce que Gunther est là-dedans?”

  “Oui.”

  “Faites-le venir ici.”

   About three minutes later, Gunther Wagner stumbled out. He looked like he’d had several drinks already. The man stared, then grinned broadly when he recognized his boss.

  “Mr. Whitney! You’re alive!”

   ‘Sky’ beckoned Gunther to him, then stared coldly into his face. “You drunk oaf! You are worthless to me like this!”

   Gunther looked like he didn’t comprehend. “Huh?”

  “You’re fired.”

  “Wait, Mr. Whitney. W-why? I always took good care of you.”

  “Oh yes, you did. And you took liberties with my liquor and whatever you could when my back was turned! No, I want someone completely loyal.”

  “M-Mr. Whitney, no! Please!”

  “Good-bye, Gunther.” With that, ‘Sky’ turned and walked away. As he did, he could hear Gunther yelling. “To hell with you, Mr. Whitney!! TO HELL WITH YOU!!”

   He almost expected Gunther to run after him, but he didn’t. When he looked back, Gunther was gone, probably back in the bar. Now it was time for part B of the plan. He had the number. After he reached his hotel, he made the call.

   After two rings, he made contact with the local gendarmes and asked about Bruno Wagner. He wasn’t in jail any longer, so he must be home. He called the number.

   It was five rings before the deep resonant voice, not dissimilar to Gunther’s, answered. “Yeah?”

  “Bruno?”

  “Who the hell is this?”

  “Schuyler Whitney.”

  “Gunther’s boss?”

  “His former boss. I want to see you.”

  “Why?”

  “I might have a job offer for you. Can you come tomorrow morning?”

  “Where?”

  “The Ritz. At eight.”

   A short pause. “Did you fire Gunther?”

  “That’s my business.”

  “Yeah, all right. I’ll be there.” The phone clicked as Bruno hung up the phone.

   The next morning was bright and cheery. Jeff sat in the hotel’s posh cafe, enjoying a cup of coffee. Oh yes, he was enjoying. There was something about signing one’s name without having to pull out money, it was heaven!

   Bruno stalked in at 8:35. Late. He wore a blue shirt and and white pants, both ill fitting. He wore a graying goatee and straight dark hair. He didn’t look very bright.

   One of the waiters looked like he was about to eject Bruno from the room but ‘Sky’ waved his hand, indicating it was all right. The waiter showed Bruno to his table. “Sit down, Bruno,” ‘Sky’ said shortly.

   Bruno sat and Jeff looked him over. He wished there was another way, but he had to get re-established in the world and a Wagner…no, a GUNTHER was part of that re-establishment. “I understand you’ve been in some legal trouble.”

   Bruno just shrugged.

  “Was that your best clothing choice for the day?”

  “Look, mister-”

   ‘Sky’ moved to within an inch of Bruno’s face. “No, you look. I’m offering you a job, and maybe this job will give you some sense of self-respect. You do what I tell you, when I tell you.”

   Bruno stared back for a moment and looked down. “Yes sir.”

   ‘Sky’ smiled a bit and sat back. “That’s better. Now, two things. One, we need to get you a better wardrobe. When you are with me, you look like you belong in the room. The other thing is…you are no longer Bruno.”

   Bruno narrowed his eyes. “What?”

  “I’ll make it simple: I’ve had Gunther in my employ for a long time. I had to fire him for not being up to the job anymore. So I need a new Gunther, and that will be you.”

   Bruno smiled. “Yes sir! What do I do?”

  “First, shave your head, you’ll look more intimidating that way. After that, we’ll get you some new clothes. I am moving out of this hotel today and into a mansion I rented along the river. Tonight, you will be sleeping in the servant’s room.”

   Bruno laughed and looked out in thought. “That sounds perfect, Mr. Whitney. I’ll be glad to get out of the hellhole I’ve been living in.”

   ‘Sky’ nodded in approval. “Well you will work like hell for me. Now, go shave that head and meet me at this clothing store at eleven sharp.” He handed Bruno a paper with an address. “Good-bye….Gunther.”

Brown to Whitney part 1

    As Nurse Bryson snipped and unwrapped the bandages slowly, methodical, and coldly, as was her nature, Jefferson Brown took a deep breath. This had been a gamble right from the start, a gamble on the rumors of Dr. Bryson’s reputation as a plastic surgeon for the underworld. All these months of being covered with a bandage were torture.

   If it hadn’t been for Dr. Bryson’s daughter Valerie following him around like a puppy dog, he might not have made it. Even the visit from his new “client”, Ian Devereaux, was a help, albeit a brief one.

   Finally the last bandage was removed. Mrs. Bryson smiled politely. “There you are.” She offered a small mirror. “Now, before you look, know there are some scars that are still healing. It might be a shock.”

   Brown nodded and looked in the mirror. At first he did feel some shock at the face staring back…but it was no longer the face of Jefferson Brown. He smiled. “Not as bad as you warned.”

   The icy smile stayed. “Good. Now, as soon as my husband sees you, we can talk…reimbursement.”

   Jeff Brown looked back at her. “Oh, don’t worry. You and Dr. Bryson will be well paid.”

   She left him with that iciness. He wondered for a moment  how that marriage truly worked after hours, but it soon left his mind. They would no longer be in his life after the money he promised was paid, in exchange for the brilliant surgery and discretion.

   He looked at his new face for a long while, tears coming for a bit as he sadly remembered his old face and now knew he would never look like that again. SO WHAT? That face had never brought him anything except amusement and pity…and playful contempt from Schuyler Whitney himself! HIs old boss Fowler Wilcox even had some of that employer to employee condescension, though tolerable. TO HELL WITH THEM ALL, DEAD OR ALIVE!

   About an hour later, Dr. Kenneth Bryson strode in, anxious to see his work of art revealed. He broke into a smile of proud joy. “Lieutenant Dedrickson! How are you feeling?”

   Brown smiled back. “You did it, Dr. Bryson!”

  “Indeed I did. And it was no small task, I guarantee you. Sit down while I check you thoroughly.”

   Brown took the chair near his bed while the doctor examined every inch of new tissue and scarring. After what seemed forever, Dr. Bryson stood with a satisfied sigh. “You might be my greatest surgery yet, Lieutenant. The way I had to completely rebuild your face was almost what some might say a work of art.”

  “Too bad Valerie did not get a chance to see it.”

   Another sigh, though this one was of paternal regret. “Ah, Valerie. I must apologize again for her foolish crush on a patient.”

   Brown held up a hand in reassurance. “No need, Dr. Bryson. I had a long period of time to wait during the healing. Valerie was quite kind. It reminded me of how fun it was to be that young.”

  “Oh, you’re not old like me just yet.”

  “Well…the war forced me to grow up.”

   Dr. Bryson nodded glanced at his notes in a folder before closing it. “Now, we come to what some of my patients feel is even more painful than the waiting.”

   Brown smiled knowingly. “Your fee.”

  “Yes. The usual is a flat million.”

   Brown nodded in thought. “You will receive three million.”

   The doctor’s face fell open for a moment. “I was going to say two for the more extensive work.”

  “Oh no, what you did for me is worth the three million. I just need to get back to my life to make the arrangements. Wire transfer is what we agreed on.”

   Dr. Bryson nodded, glancing at his notes again. “There was one small matter. Well, not really a matter. Just a scar on your back. Your face was more important, of course, so I refrained from offering to remove it. I still could, no extra fee.”

   Brown pondered for a moment, then shook his head. “No thank you. It’s…a reminder of my past that I would like to keep.”

   The doctor smiled. “Very well.”

  “When can I leave?”

  “In a week. I want to be sure there are no problems after the bandage removal. It happens sometimes.”

   Exactly one week later, after securing his personal items, actually both his and Sky’s, Lieutenant James Dedrickson left the Bryson clinic. Still holding some of Sky’s remaining money belt fortune, he was able to locate the attorney Heinrich Zimmermann who handled Sky’s inheritance. It was an easy trek via train to Geneva. It took a little German know-how to find Zimmermann’s office and to arrange the appointment, but once he said who he was, Zimmermann was fast to see him.

   Zimmermann was a short, heavyset man with a monocle and droopy mustache and belt that likely needed to be loosened a notch or two. The man ate well. “Herr Whitney!” He stuck out his hand and shook his ‘client’s’ rigorously. “We have been trying to find you!”

   Brown nodded and closed his eyes in annoyance. “Yes yes, if you would let go of my damn hand, I’ll tell you.”

   Zimmermann acquiesced and they went into his plush office. He took a seat as Zimmermann took his own. “Now, please, tell me what happened. You look like you’ve been hurt!”

  “I was.” He began his story of the plane ride with his friend Jefferson Brown. The blizzard and ensuing crash made Zimmermann’s eyes almost bulge out. “What happened to your friend Brown?”

   ‘Schuyler Whitney’ looked down for a long moment, then looked up. “I wasn’t able to save him. By the time I came back to consciousness, the plane had fallen into a mountain crevasse. I assumed Jeff had also fallen.”

   Zimmermann bowed his head in respect for a moment. “Yes, that was the report from the rescue team.” He looked up again. “Herr Whitney, it has been four months since anyone last saw you, when you and your friend boarded the airplane. We began to think you were…”

   “Dead? Is that what you were going to say?”

   The man nodded in shame. “Yes.”

   ‘Sky’ smiled. “Quite the contrary, Herr Zimmermann. I was recuperating in a cabin. The crash did some damage, as you can see.” He pointed to his face and upper neck. “Believe me, it was worse a month ago.”

   Zimmermann looked at him for a moment, studying the damage, then nodded. “But why no contact?”

  “There was no telephone. I was lucky there was firewood and a stove. And since I know how to hunt, survival was just a matter of knowing how.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “Another piece of luck, Two skiers came upon the cabin, and they had a radio.”

   Zimmermann sat back, taking it all in. “What a tale! The newspapers will have quite the story.”

   “Well, the only one who can hear it all is you. We will just tell the papers that I was missing for two months.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was still quite shaken from the crash and needed the time.”

   Zimmermann frowned. “But nobody ever reported seeing you.”

   ‘Sky’ shrugged. “Dark sunglasses and a hat can do wonders. And I had enough money to get by on. And with that, let’s get to the subject of my inheritance.”

   Zimmermann smiled finally. “I knew that was why you were here. As you Americans say, it is burning a hole in your pocket already.”

  “Oh, believe me, I have plans to make it grow.”

  “I am sure. May I make a suggestion?”

  “Yes?”

  “Stop playing airplane pilot.”

   ‘Sky’ smiled. “Oh, don’t you worry, Herr Zimmermann. I am on to healthier pursuits.”