The Dark Arena - Mario Puzo [104]
Things like that don't happen where I'm running things,” the adjutant said. “And when it does, and I find out, it's usually somebody's ass. And I usually find out.
‘Tm not a prick,” the adjutant went on in a serious tone. “I believe in fair play. But if he treated your Fraiilein all the GIs would start bringing their clapped-up Frallleins to the base for shots. Can't have that.” The adjutant's ingenuous face had a boyish, happy smile. He raked his glass and took a long drink.
Mosca stared at the dice, at the green doth on the table. Eddie was saying something but the words were jumbled up. He made an effort and looked up. He said quietly, “TH shoot the two bucks there.”
The adjutant put his glass on the window sill behind him, then threw a ten-dollar bill on the table. “I got you,” he said.
Mosca picked up the bill and threw it back at die adjutant. “Don't you fade me.” He said it in a cold, deliberate voice. One of the other officers threw some money down and Mosca rolled the dice.
“You're pretty touchy about that Fr&uldn” the adjutant said. He was in a good humor, did not sense any of the tension around him. “Maybe you think those Frduleins have a pure, disinterested love for your homely mugs. If it were up to me I wouldn't let any of you chumps marry here.”
Mosca let the dice drop onto the table. In an almost indifferent, casual voice he asked, “That why you held up my papers, you sneaky bastard?”
TTie adjutant smiled with real delight. ‘Til have to deny that and ask where you got your information.” He said this with his coldly formal, official manner, in it a note of menace and command.
Mosca picked up the dice. He bad stopped thinking or caring. He was just waiting for the adjutant to pass him.
“Where did you get that information?” The adjutant asked. His bland face was serious, had its familiar look of youthful sternness. “Where did you get that information?” he repeated.
Mosca rattled the dice and threw them out carelessly. He said to the adjutant, “You stupid prick, go scare some krauts.”
Eddie Cassin broke in, “I told him and if die colonel wants to know, I'll tell him the story. That you let the papers lay for two weeks before you sent them to Frankfort.“ He turned to Mosca, “Come on, Walter, let's get out of here.”
The adjutant was on that side of the table hemmed by the wall and window. Mosca wanted him to come out, to squeeze by the corner. He thought for a moment, then said, “You think this fuck gets away with it tonight?”
There was a split second before the adjutant recognized the threat. Then he shouted angrily, ‘Let's see what you'll do about it,” and started to come around the table. Mosca waited until the corner would pin his arms. Then he swung as hard as he could at the profiled face. The blow glanced off the adjutant's cheekbone and skull not hutting him, but making him fall. Mosca kicked viciously underneath the table. He felt the heel meet with a solid shock against bone. Then an officer and Eddie were pulling him away. The adjutant, really hurt now, was put on his feet Submissively Mosca let the officer and Eddie push him toward the wood. Suddenly Mosca whirled and ran across the room. The adjutant was standing straight up. Running he swung as hard as he could into the adjutant's side and they both fell on the floor. The adjutant screamed with pain. The look on Mosca's face and his attack on the defenseless man so horrified the other men that for one second they were frozen motionless. Then three of the officers swarmed over Mosca as he put his fingers inside the adjutant's ear and tried to tear the side of his face off. One of them hit Mosca a stunning blow on the temple and then they were hustling him down the stairs and out of the club. There was no thought of retaliation in this, Eddie was helping them. The cold night air cleared Mosca's brain.
He and