Hans strode through the streets, empty even in mid-afternoon, contemplating the beautiful city that was his for the taking. Even in July, when the air was so humid that his uniform stuck to his skin and the sun beat down on his head, Paris was like nothing he had ever seen. It was muted now, desolate, under the heel of the invaders, but the decadence that it was so famous for still shone through.
He was walking through the Quartier Latin, the muddy Sienne to his left, on his way to a certain shabby apartment where a young woman waited.
His assignment itself was not unusual. As a member of the Gestapo, part of his job was to deal with agents of subversion such as this one. No, what was unusual was the woman herself. He smiled as he pictured her, young and supple, with the hauteur that Parisian women were famous for, a lover of one of the Resistance leaders. He saw the address on the small street; an apartment in an old brick building. He climbed the stairs to the flat and banged forcefully on the door.
"Oui?!" Her voice was quick and impatient. The door flew open and a woman peeked out. She was only twenty one or twenty two. Her brown hair was limp and her bangs fell across her high forehead and stopped an inch short of her hazel eyes. She was pretty, despite her slightly beak like Gallic nose. Her lips formed a perfect cupid's bow and looked soft and sweet, even with her shocked expression. She wore a brown house dress that clung to her with sweat, revealing the sensuous flare of her hips and the curve of her round ass, and the jutting nipples of her small, pert breasts. He could see that there was nothing underneath it. At the sight of the Nazi in full uniform who stood at her door her eyes flashed, and for an instant he saw a look of fear etched in her features. Then she seemed to breathe deeply, and her look hardened, even as she smiled.
"Can I help you Herr Officer?" She drew out the 'Herr' for full effect.
"May I come in Fraulien?" He smiled, flashing a row of wolf like white teeth, as he stepped between her and the door forcing it open. He looked like something out of a propaganda poster in his spotless brown uniform and spit polished boots. His blond hair was cropped short, in the same style as his Führer but with a much better effect, and his eyes were a deep blue whose intensity often terrified the men he interrogated. He was well muscled and tall and fairly towered over the girl. He stepped fully inside without waiting for a reply
"You are Françoise Lafanfarlo?" He looked her up and down with an air that was disturbingly proprietary.
"We have reason to believe, Fraulien Lafanfarlo, that you may be involved in activities of treason against the government. I would just like to ask you some questions."
She shook her head, never changing her expression. She had obviously been prepared for this.
"You are mistaken Monsieur. I am loyal to the new government." She looked almost coquettish. "I am just a cabaret dancer, not even a star." She drew out a cigarette and leaned against the door. He took out his silver lighter and lit it for her, moving closer to her as he did it. "A man like you must have much better ways to occupy his time than to worry a poor girl like me." He leaned back, still smiling.
"You would be surprised Fraulien, at how useful someone like you can be to the wrong people. A decoy of sorts, and certainly a confidante." He looked her straight in the eyes. "Some men tell things to their mistresses that they would hold from anyone else" She let out a small laugh. "Not the men I know. They are all of them deadly boring. They come to drink and watch the show to forget how dreary their lives are"
"And a man named Gerard Lemieux? I suppose he has never come to see you dance?" She opened her eyes wide, and inhaled her cigarette, but again her look of fright soon faded into that same complacently flirtatious mask.
"I know no one by that name. Are you sure, Monsieur, that you have the right woman?" His smile had never faded but the look in his eyes seemed sharper. Still, his voice was soft.
"I wish you would not waste my time."
"I want to help you, but I have never heard of this Gerard Lemieux."
"Perhaps then you have heard of a group that calls itself La Resistance? Traitors, all of them, to even your own government. They meet sometimes in the catacombs below the streets... or in apartments. And sometimes they even go to night clubs." Her face paled.
"I--Of course I have heard of such people, but I know nothing of them." He was so close to her now that their bodies almost touched. He could smell her, sweat and cigarettes and the rotting fish odor of her cunt. She smelled rank, wild, like an animal. He grinned, which seemed to surprise her.
"You have never seen this man Gerard? Perhaps you only know him. You are just a dancer who mixed with the wrong men by mistake. If you are honest with me this will be the end of it." She turned slightly.
"I have told you--I know nothing." He looked at her again.
"I know that is not true." She shook her head.
"You have the wrong information, I know nothing of any Gerard or anything about the Resistance." The slap caught her off guard and she emitted a low moan, like a mewling cat.
"Don't lie to me!" Her eyes burned.
"Cochon! You hit a woman?"
"You are no woman. You are nothing but a bitch dog! A common french slut."
He gripped her wrists, pinning her against the wall. "You hate us, you hate me. You think we are all peasants, brutes." He grabbed one of her breasts roughly and began twisting her nipple as hard as he could. "Well you are right--I am a brute, and if you do not cooperate with me you will see how brutish I am." She spit in his face and he sprang back.
"German pig! You will get nothing out of me." This time his blow flattened her. He straddled her waist and pinned her to the ground, then removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped off his eye. He slapped her again, harder.
"Filthy whore! I will teach you respect for better people." He snarled at her.