i_am_your_host | Entries tagged with escape plot

Emcee had packed a new suitcase. Well, not exactly new, but a weathered replica to replace the suitcase that was now somewhere on the ground by the canal, flung open, its contents scattered. Everything was easily duplicated through Bar's magic: a change of clothes, some magazines from Emcee's time, a few sandwiches, and 1930s American money -- hopefully enough to get him and Herman and Helga through the winter in New York City.

His forged identification papers had miraculously (magically?) survived the ordeal, concealed in an inner pocket of his leather coat. Just a little stained at the edges, a dried dark brown that was once red. That old leather coat underwent a bit of alteration at Jay's hand: it now has a futuristic bulletproof lining, light and barely noticeable, just as a precaution.

Coming downstairs, suitcase in hand, coat belted tightly around his waist, Emcee is more than a little anxious. The only trace of makeup he has on is dark eyeliner; the rest of his face is pale with apprehension. And vulnerability. Yet, his jaw is set, even if his clenched teeth are due to equal parts tension and determination.

Logan. Eric. Jay. Cassian. Noriko. Barry. Yrael. All seemingly casual patrons of Milliways, but when Emcee steps into the room, they move from their respective places and gather at the door. Even George, the egg-shaped little drone, Emcee's watchful companion, hovers nearby.

Before this day, they had had a meeting. Emcee showed them a modern aerial map of the area, annotating it to the best of his recollection. It's been a while since that dreadful night -- a little more than three years. It was dark. And Emcee was dying from gunshot wounds. So he might have been a little vague, but at least with time and healing came some clarity, and he was able to give his friends something to go on.

It was all Logan needed to put together a rough plan, dividing the group into teams with objectives. Eric, bored as he was, chafed at being given orders. And while Logan wasn't an authoritarian, he had no patience for anyone who might put people at risk or compromise the integrity of the mission by being a brat.

Anyone else would have better sense than to put themselves between a vampire and a wolverine, but Emcee, small, harmless, with a calm, placating look up at Eric, reminded him of the promise Emcee made to him. Their agreement.

Eric will be fine. As will everyone else.

So the day comes. Emcee with his suitcase and his leather coat and his determination. And his friends. Goodbyes have already been said, embraces already given. But even now Emcee can't help passing them without a grateful touch on the arm or squeeze of a hand, as he makes his way to the door. They all look so different and even intimidating in their uniforms from their own worlds, but Jay, who has been so supportive of him since the beginning, gets one final hug.

The uniform Logan has on is black rather than the bright yellow and blue, but the tell-tale mask is still draped back between his shoulder blades as he surveys the gathered group.

"All right, you all know the plan and yer parts in it. Priority one is gettin' Emcee an' his people on that boat. Not gettin' anyone or yerself killed is second. After that, you wanna give Nazis hell, they damn well deserve it. Just make sure you get yer ass back through that door when it's time t'pull out."

That said, Logan pulls on his mask and gives the go ahead nod.

“Quickly, now,” said Maurice in a low voice as he shepherded Emcee, Herman, and Helga down the alley and out the other end. “Straight ahead. Keep quiet.”

Helga held Herman’s hand tightly as Emcee kept close. The sound of their hasty footsteps on the cobblestones seemed louder in the stillness of the night. Maurice stayed in the shadows out of the streetlamps, and the trio did their best to keep up while remaining just as silent. From what they could see of him, he was young, stocky, with straw-colored hair that stuck out from underneath a seaman’s knit cap. He moved with familiarity and precision, as if he had gone this route before.

The houses began to thin out, and the whisper of gentle waves lapping against dock posts and the hulls of boats could be heard. Faint lights twinkled on the black surface of the water.

“I’ve got a friend helping us, so don’t be alarmed,” said Maurice as they made their way along the canal that opened onto the Elbe River. “Also, two other people will be joining you.”

“What?” said Emcee, unprepared for this addition. “Who?”

“Some fellow travelers seeking passage just like you,” he replied.

Emcee hadn’t thought of that. That others were having as difficult a time breaking free as he and his own friends were. That others were braving dangers that they were facing as well. Somehow, in his otherness, he didn’t quite feel so alone.

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When the sun went down, Emcee grew restless, and he awoke before Herman and Helga. However, he was sandwiched between them (I sleep in the middle / I’m left / And I’m right / But there’s room on the bottom if you drop in some night…), with Herman’s arms around him, and his own arms around Helga. He had to admit, this manner of sleeping was one he would loathe to give up.

He kissed the back of Helga’s head. “Liebling, wake up,” he murmured into her hair.

She made a small, mewling sound of protest as she shifted and stretched. Herman grumbled against the back of Emcee’s neck.

Emcee would be inconsolable if he never felt that again for the rest of his life.

He carefully climbed over Helga and off the bed. Groping for the light switch on the lamp, he turned it on, and checked the time on his pocket watch.

“It’s almost five o’clock,” he said, a slight stiffness in his voice. “You realize that at this very moment, Max is probably wondering where in the hell I am.”

The realization was a literal eye-opener, as Herman and Helga slowly sat up, fully awake.

“And he can’t do anything about it,” said Herman, giving Emcee’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “We’re free of him now.”

Emcee nodded slowly and snapped the watch shut. “We still have a ways to go until we’re truly free,” he said, as he dug into his coat pocket for his lighter and cigarettes. He lit one, took a drag, and passed it to Helga.

“What do you think our lives will be like in New York?” she mused wistfully as she exhaled a plume of smoke and shared the cigarette with Herman.

“Well, I wouldn’t set my heart on running into James Cagney,” Emcee chuckled.

“I suppose it’s like any other big city, isn’t it?” she said. “Like Berlin or London or Paris.”

“Different, but familiar,” said Herman.

Emcee could say the same for modern Berlin.

“Now that,” he said, “I do have my heart set on.”

*
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Emcee, Herman, and Helga boarded the train, entering one of the third class cars at the rear. The hard, wooden benches could only occupy two persons each, so Emcee and Helga slid in together, and Herman sat across the aisle from them. Since their suitcases were small, they were able to bypass checking them in and simply pushed them under their seats. Helga used hers as a footrest as she tried to get comfortable beside Emcee.

As the train bustled and brimmed with passengers squeezing on and trying to find space to sit, Emcee sat numbly, his thoughts and emotions a whirlwind from which he stayed just out of reach. To think too deeply on this new reality would be to give in to his fears. And he could not allow his fears to take over. Not now. Not when escape was in sight.

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Herman's flat was bare, save for the most basic of furniture. Once filled with the comforts of books and music, the shelves now only bore dust and emptiness. Here in this cold little room, Herman, Helga, Fritzie, Frenchie, and Emcee took refuge on their last night in Berlin.

In hushed tones, and moving around in stocking feet to muffle their footsteps from neighbors, they readied themselves for their journey.

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The Kit Kat Klub was no longer the den of sin and vice as it once used to be. It was now a restaurant with light evening entertainment, tame and pleasant, and in strict accordance with the regulations set in place by the government.

The orchestra was down to a bare bones ensemble, a pianist and violinist, temporarily on loan from another cafe down the street. It was inevitable. All its previous dancers and musicians, the notorious Kit Kat Klub boys and girls, had gradually left over the course of the past several months. Some quit voluntarily. Some were fired. Some simply disappeared.

And then there was the former Master of Ceremonies. He was the singer, the crooner of sappy torch songs and stilted standard ballads.

He was good, but he was never meant to be a songbird. The cage didn't suit him.

That was how Max kept him. In a cage. He paid him slightly better than before, pretended to be nice to him so that he wouldn't leave or misbehave onstage. But all the while, both of them knew that Max could have Emcee arrested any time he wanted.

*

It was just before midnight when the entertainment portion of the evening ended, and the last drinks were being served. These early nights were a novelty to Emcee. The Klub used to close at around three or four in the morning, with Emcee taking a party of three or four revelers to his dressing room or flat to continue reveling.

People were afraid to do that sort of thing now.

Emcee went to his dressing room alone, sat at the vanity table, and began to remove his stage makeup. Every speck of it. Not even a trace of eyeliner. Leaving himself completely naked.

It was a measured and deliberate process. He took his time. Because despite the calmness with which he wiped the crimson lipstick from his lips, the rouge from his cheeks, inside he was a roiling mass of nerves and emotions.

This was the last time he would be sitting here, doing this. These tattered walls, this tarnished mirror, this room cluttered with the accoutrements of a life lived in shadows and spotlights. He was saying goodbye tonight. Goodbye to that life, goodbye to the person he once was.

No one knocked on his door. Oh, those hedonistic nights when people clamored to come inside. But now he was grateful for the silence. And he was grateful for the solitude, because he didn't want anyone to know he was leaving this silence behind.

Most of all Max. Max had no idea. Emcee was breaking free from his cage.

He changed out of his stage clothes and into his own, a plain white dress shirt, long trousers, a vest, the leather coat, a scarf and flat cap. He had to be normal and decent and invisible.

From behind the sofa he pulled out his little suitcase, packed only with essentials, not even a book. ...Well, he did pack one magazine, an issue of National Geographic. It contained lengthy articles about the history of Western America.

And then, as the staff bused tables and swept up, Emcee quietly slipped out the back door and into the night.

Walking with purpose but not too swiftly, he merged with the clusters of stragglers heading home from various other restaurants and bars. He was on high alert, his nerves crackling. It seemed as if every ripple of chatter was amplified, every movement out of the corner of his eye exaggerated.

Was someone following him? Was someone watching him from a window? Was someone around the next corner, preparing to attack?

He kept walking.

He stopped at an apartment building and let himself inside with a key. Taking two steps at a time, he hurried up the stairs on light footsteps, the old floorboards barely creaking under his feet. And then finally, finally, out of breath and his heart pounding in his ears, he reached a door. With trembling fingers, he slotted another key into the lock. It rattled more than it ought to have as he turned it. And he pushed inside into a dark room.

A small lamp flicked on.

"Emcee," Herman gasped.

Herman, Helga, Fritzie, and Frenchie were all there in Herman's apartment, waiting for him. And they all gathered around him and took him into their arms as they let tears of relief stream down their cheeks.

This was only the beginning.