How Tall Is The Grass In Germany?

By Wm. Garrett Cothran

What if the Third Reich not only marched to victory in Europe but Goosestepped down Broadway? William Cothran explores the life of a man in America under the jackbooted heel of the Third Reich. From the towering buildings of New York City to the sleepy little suburbs a thrilling mystery awaits. A wealthy ad man living the high life finds himself face to face with one of the Third Reich's own SS investigators. What secret does this man of means hope to keep from his Nazi masters?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sea Lion Press
• Release date: Jul 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386345329

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. While ‘real-world’ characters may appear, the nature of the divergent story means any depictions herein are fictionalised and in no way an indication of real events. Above all, characterisations have been developed with the primary aim of telling a compelling story.

Published by Sea Lion Press, 2017. All rights reserved.

From behind his desk, Calvin Reed could just make out the top of his secretary Julia’s head. She was typically more enthusiastic, but – as so often occurred – Reed was reaching the end of where his wealth, looks, and power could take him. He turned fifty-one just short of two months ago, but it was not the dreaded event like when he turned fifty. The new trainer at the club kept his thirty-six-inch waist in line. Some brown hair dye turned gray all over into gray on the sides. Leaning back in his chair, biting down on his lower lip, he looked out the window at the New York skyline. Sometimes he forgot how impressive it all was. The city laid out before him – ripe for the taking, yet so far out of his reach. The New Empire State Building was there in the distance. The Bayer Building with its green glass walls – shaped in some modern style, but really looking like a big bottle of beer – to the left of it. Last, and impossible to call least, was the Unity Tower, casting both buildings in its white marble shadow. In fact, the Unity Tower cast a shadow so large that Reed had to turn his office lights on four hours before sundown. Damn eyesore.

Reed pushed his chair back and slumped back, smiling. Soon his secretary would speak of dinner on Fifth Avenue, hiding in some back booth so the wife could not spot the two of them. Maybe a weekend in New Haven under the guise of corporate meetings in Manhattan. Of course there would be the obligatory trip to whatever nightclub was popular this particular week, with a line stretched so vast they should have tried for reservations a week before they decided to go. Reed took a moment to take a Kyoto-washi from a box on his desk and clean himself up. It was just simple thin sheets of soft paper in a red box, yet it was convenient and cheap – much like the lady on her knees before him.

His Secretary stood up and fixed her blouse. She met his gaze and as Reed fastened his belt – he was preparing to explain he had some dinner with an investor – his secretary said, A girlfriend from Vassar is in town. We are going to the Savoy tonight so we can do something later, Calvin.

Reed felt rather insulted she did not consider asking him first. What if he wanted to take her to dinner? Or spend time with her? No doubt if he mentioned shopping this girlfriend would suddenly be spending an evening in Niggertown all alone. Yet Reed spun his chair to look out the windows at lower Manhattan. To his right, the faint outline of the Hudson river was seen. To his left was the East River. Reed could not see it, but behind the Unity Building that filthy river sat. New York was an amazing city, but when the sundown was an hour away the city would start lighting up – making it magical, in a way. Not a problem, Reed replied.

The twenty-four-year-old did not seem to take the hint, so Reed looked back. See you tomorrow then.

Alright. She left, and curtly added, "Say hello to your wife for me, Calvin, pulling on the door like she intended to slam it – but the door had on it some newfangled springs or levers, Reed was not sure, which slowed it down and nestled it snugly into the doorframe. Reed looked down at his left hand, and that faded gold ring stared back at him. He took it off with ease and looked at the shiny gold on the inside. He took it off a lot these days. Reed reached over his desk – it was solid white oak imported from England – and pressed a brown plastic button. A buzzing noise filled the room. Mrs. Suline?"

A moment later a bored-sounding, raspy voice came through the intercom. Yes, Mr. Reed?

Can you send me in the Coca-Cola contracts? The buzzing sound continued; Reed pressed the button twice. Mrs. Suline? Hello?

The door to his office opened and in came a squat little gnome Reed called his secretary. She was his real actual secretary, and not someone to take dictation like his girlfriend was. Mrs. Suline was what Reed liked to call wife security. A chain smoker with the voice of a dock worker, suffering from gout, overweight, cheap hairstyle and even cheaper skirts. The kind of secretary a wife sees and instantly assumes her husband is all work. Mrs. Reed did not think any such thing, seeing how she was once Reed’s secretary when the first Mrs. Reed was around. However, it made things easier juggling all those girlfriends when the constant companion to Reed was Mrs. Suline. She set down the stack of files and spread them out. Each one was a different color of the rainbow, all set to her personal and quite expansive filing system. Her pudgy finger went down on each folder as she spoke. Red, green, blue, yellow, and brown. Contracts for overall transport. Consequential and general liability damages waiver. Insurance agreement for general cost of delivery but waiver of liability upon acceptance. German FAH payments agreement. Party retirement donation contract.

Reed opened up the red folder and pulled out the typed summary sheet. I see two separate invoices for 1,000,000 gallons of syrup to Munich.

Mrs. Suline walked around the desk and stood behind Reed. "The top is for coca-cola, the bottom says SKE four oh dash ORE two five dash CHN two five dash FAN one oh. That means it is four syrup deliveries."

Reed frowned. When did they move up to five flavors? Don’t we need additional coverage for this? Tainted batches and all that.

Mrs. Suline did not seem to react beyond her shoulders dropping a little. With the care of a Sunday school teacher, she went down the summary. In America we have cola, lemon-lime, and orange.

"Coca-cola, Sprite, and Orang-O, yes. Oh – these are European only?"

Correct. Mrs. Suline flipped through the file and pointed to a set of contracts with handwritten notes from some middle- or upper-management errand-boy. Cherry and Fanta-Cola.

What? Reed frowned. Like a competitor? Is that something to deal directly with? Cut down on GGR tariffs?

Mrs. Suline shook her head as she handed Reed a pen. "Sorry, but no. It is merely a brand for the old National Socialists who enjoyed the flavor. Mr. Hitler is turning seventy-five and it is supposed to be a specialty. L.T. oh kind of thing."

Any good?

I am told it tastes blander, but it is a- Mrs. Suline guided Reed’s hand to the signature line of the contract "-oh, what did that fellow call it, Deutsche im Still."

Reed moved onto the green folder, opening it up and reading the summary sheet. He made sure it looked familiar, had the right department signatures, and right above the words Calvin J. Reed III, President & CEO of Reed International Shipping he signed his name. "Make sure Stanley in legal returns the original to me this time. Not that carbon paper."

He left on the bullet train to Angelesburg this morning. Mrs. Suline collected the folders and laid out the blue one. I shall telephone the west coast office soon as I can.

Send a cable, it is late. Reed opened the blue folder and frowned. Where is the summary page?

It is the standard insurance contract for delivery with the language for waiver of liability. Mrs. Suline pointed at the signature line.

"I prefer a summary of everything I sign, Mrs. Suline. Reed still signed without a second thought. He would sign his soul if Mrs. Suline handed him the paperwork. Still, in between drinking, affairs, and trips to the Caribbean Protectorates, she handled the endless stream of papers Reed had to sign to keep the family business going. As the yellow folder was opened on the summary of the German Friends and Harmony agreement, he recognized the familiar writing of his brother Edward. And tell Eddy to stop shaving points off of these things. Germans want 5%, they get 5% – not 4.9, not 4.99."

Five-oh, understood. Mrs. Suline watched Reed sign his name, then turn the page to initial two boxes, then turn the page to sign a waiver, then turn two pages to initial a box, turn a page to initial three boxes, turn a page to sign under a line written in red ink, and then flip to the final page to initial, sign, and date at the bottom.

Got enough trouble handling Washington demands for pensions and Party funds, let alone getting Uncle Heydrich’s Cousins in on the act. Reed put the cap on his gold pen. Mrs. Suline opened the brown folder and put the other four folders into it. Reed looked at the pen with the faded lettering: To my