The Baltic War(110)
He angled across to intersect them. Alex spotted him coming before Julie did, and his hand moved down to the hilt of the sword at his waist. In the dark, of course, Harry would just look like any man.
"Psst!" he hissed. "Hey, lady!"
He opened one side of his Lee Van Cleef style coat. "Wanna see some feelthy pictures?"
The couple came to an abrupt half. There was silence, for a moment. Then Julie said: "Harry, you're a jackass."
"Hey, it worked, didn't it?"
* * *
On their way to the house where the crew was staying—the Mackays had rented quarters on the other side of the theater district—Julie was full of complaints.
"Jesus, that theater stinks. If that was Shakespeare, you can have it. The audience were pigs. And since when"—her voice got a bit shrill—"does Juliet get played by a guy?"
Alex cleared his throat. "I did try to warn you, love."
"I thought you were pulling my leg. Juliet—played by a guy? So was every so-called woman in the play—including the nun! Jesus! Why don't they just call it the Drag Queen Palace and quit pretending they're doing legitimate theater? It's disgusting!"
Thankfully, the skies were overcast and it was quite dark. So Harry didn't think Julie could see his smile. "Well, tell me. Did you find out the truth? Did Balthazar have it right? Shakespeare wasn't actually written by Shakespeare?"
"Who cares?" Julie hissed. "Whoever the hell wrote that play, he was a fucking pervert. Juliet—played by a guy."
Once they arrived at the house, Julie quickly became the center of attention. For a wonder, given the group of men there, that wasn't because she was young and pretty. Testosterone can work in mysterious ways.
"Did you bring the rifle?" Felix asked. He said "the rifle" much the same way that a breathless child speaks of a wondrous magic item.
"Sure," said Julie. She jerked her head over her shoulders. "Got it hidden back at our place."
Harry thought for a moment that the guys were almost going to say "ooh" and "aah." None of them except Harry and Gerd had been there when Julie carried out her now-legendary feats of marksmanship. But by now they knew about them—down to every last detail, in fact. They could be a little obsessive, that way.
"Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" asked Matija.
"My grandma, mostly. She was the best rifle shot in the area in her day, too."
Donald looked skeptical. "One small town produced two women who are great shots?"
Hurriedly, before Julie could get her dander up, Harry intervened. "Hey, man, she's just telling it just the way it is. Her grandmother was Anna Lou Ballew, although I only knew her as Mrs. McQuade. She was the national teenage rifle champion at Camp Perry twice—first time when she was fourteen—and she qualified for the U.S. Olympic team." Harry gave Julie a sly smile. "They wouldn't let her go, of course, men being men in those days and her being a girl and all. But she was sure as hell good enough. She was appointed West Virginia athlete of the year, too. I can't remember which year."
"1940," said Julie. "First woman ever got the honor. And the only one who's ever done it in Marksmanship. She kept shooting on her company team until she retired, and she spent every summer traveling to Camp Perry for the nationals."
Julie paused, for a moment, her face scrunching up a little. "She's probably still doing it, in fact, wherever she is. She was still alive and in good health last time I saw her—and so was Grandpa. They were living in Florida by then, though, so they got left behind when the Ring of Fire hit us."
By now, Julie's initial ire had vanished. She even gave Harry an appreciative little nod. "Yup, that was my grandma. Anyway, she's the one who taught me. 'Course—not wanting to sound like I'm a braggart like Harry here—there was some natural talent involved. Mine, I mean."
Harry took her by the arm. "Come on, Julie. Let's go upstairs and I'll show you the shooting gallery."
Julie peered out the window in the corner room upstairs that was closest to the Tower, looking across the Thames. "Can't see a damn thing, in this light. What's the range?"
"Oh, hell, I was kidding. I didn't actually mean you'd be shooting from here."
"What's the range?" she asked again, very firmly.
He started to say too far but decided that was risky. With Julie, you never knew. She might insist on trying it, just to prove she could make the shot.
"Look, Julie, it doesn't matter. You might be able to make the shot—except it won't be 'the shot,' it's likely to be a lot of them. You have heard the term 'getaway,' haven't you? We're not exactly going to be nestled in the palm of our own army here, with the emperor himself looking over your shoulder, the way he was at the Alte Veste. Once it's done, we've gotta get out of here. Mucho pronto. And this house is hardly the best place to start from, taking it on the lam-wise."