PARADOX - Chapter 19

April 26, 2012 – Weinhaus Höckh - Bad Tölz



As a rule Dom usually didn’t stroll around like a wild-eyed tourist, but he found the beauty and medieval atmosphere of Badtolz to be fascinating. The quaint little village reminded him of several small towns near his Villa in Italy but it held that distinctive Germanic atmosphere, which was refreshing. As an archeological anthropologist and linguist, his interest in human nature was insatiable. He could almost feel the presence of rich history surrounding him.

The wine house was located just up the winding street from the Isar River, lined by pretty gabled houses with painted facades, art going back for hundreds of years. He noticed a quaint sign for the wine shop portrayed two men dressed in leterhosen carrying a huge bunch of grapes on a pole between them. As he entered the ancient wine shop, a feeling of age came over him. This shop/cafe had been in existence for many years and the aromas that assaulted his sensitive nose were a powerful aphrodisiac. The walls were lined with rack upon rack of wine and several tables were sitting against one wall for customers to relax and enjoy a single glass at their leisure. A large man wearing a clean apron stood behind a small counter polishing a brandy snifter.

Casually Dom surveyed the wine offered for sale and was surprised at the extensive variety. He hadn’t expected to find so much variation in such a small shop as most small places catered to local preferences in regional wines. He was inspecting a unique find when the man silently approached him.

“May I be of service sir?” He noted the bottle of wine in Dom’s hand.

“I’m impressed,” Dom held up the bottle. “A Chteau Latour Pauillac, and the price is excellent.”

The man raised his eyebrows.

“We have some excellent French wines,” the man said, more alert to this unusual customer. He pointed at another wine rack.

Dom slowly perused the offered wines. “A Chteau Haut Brion Pessac-Lognan, and a Chteau Valandraud Saint-Emilion.” Dom nodded his approval. “I’ll take all three and a bottle of Petrus Pomerol and one of Dom. Romane Conti.” He was well aware that he had just spent several thousand dollars.”

The man was shocked! He could not remember such a generous purchase in one single day and he had been working in the wind shop for many years.

“I would like a glass of Pernod with fifty-fifty water.” Dom noted the rack of bottles behind the counter. Many of these small shops offered liqueur or wine in the glass or snifter. The man poured the amber Pernod into a small glass and filled it with spring water. The liquid quickly clouded over. He beamed as he offered the glass to Dom. He did not provide ice with the drink as that was an embarrassing American affliction and he knew that Dom was a man of exquisite tastes.

Taking a heavy sip of the liqueur, Dom tasted the aromatic flavor of liquorice and anisette. “Excellent. Are you the owner of this fine shop?”

“Unfortunately no,” the man replied. “The owners seldom come to the shop as they are an elderly couple. I have run the shop for over forty years and my father before that.”

“Looks as if the place has been around quite a while,” Dom probed. “Especially in view of the excellent line of wines you carry?”

“Thirteen generations.” The man somehow stood straighter. “Over six hundred years of quality service.”

Dom noticed a number of photographs decorating the walls, some were new, others were very old. A man and woman appeared in most of them with different clientele. They were obviously the elderly couple the clerk spoke of.

“I assume you keep most of your stock elsewhere?”

“The basement,” the man replied. “We have an extensive area in the basement where the bulk of the wines are kept.”

“Is there any way I may be able to pay my respects to the owners?” Dom politely asked. “Do they live nearby?”

“They live in Austria. To the best of my knowledge they have not been in the shop since the war. My father ran the shop from 1932 until I took over. The only contact I have with them is through intermediaries. I was told that their son was killed in the war and he was the only one of the family line left to inherit. It’s a shame after all these hundreds of years.”

“Zweiter Weltkrieg?”

The man nodded his head. “Yes, World War II was a bad time for Germany.”

“A bad time for everyone.” Dom placed the Pernod glass on the counter. He paid his bill with a debit card then remarked; “I’ll have my driver pick up my purchase. His name is Gunter Hörbiger. Also, have some friends in the area and I may bring them by your fine shop.”

“Is good,” the man replied. “Herr Krupke. My name is Albrecht Krupke. You and your friends are welcome here anytime.”

“Danka.” Dom hadn’t learned much from his visit to the wine shop, but he didn’t really expect to. He had obtained some excellent wine to add to his dwindling supplies and he knew the layout of the establishment. He could tell from the clerk’s expression that he knew more about the owners than he let on. There was another secret there to unearth.

As he left the shop, Gunter waited outside for him.“I would like to walk,” Dom informed him. “It’s such a beautiful day and I can use the exercise. Please go in and pick up a small purchase I just made, and be careful with it, they are very expensive wines.”

As he strolled down the street towards the Isar, his cell phone rang. The voice on the other end was not a happy one.“Brother Contadino has advised me that you and he are not working togethe. Did he not explain to you that his presence was imperative?”

“”I’m still trying to think of a way to bring him into the picture.” Sweat suddenly broke out on Dom’s forehead. “I can’t go too fast or the others will become suspicious of my motives.”

“He will put himself into the picture,” the voice whispered. “As your American euphemism so eloquently implies.”

“Yes, your Eminence.” The line suddenly clicked off.

He had misjudged the importance of Brother Contadino. Obviously his benefactor held the man in very high esteem to demand he be inserted into the hunt at such a dangerous phase. “What was Contadino to the Cardinal? Better yet, what was Contadino to him?” Another puzzle to unravel?