The Dark Arena - Mario Puzo [17]
Wolf jerked his thumb at the door and told the German, still standing at attention, to wait outside. The German clicked his heels, bowed, and left hurriedly. Wolf laughed, threw the Fragebogen on the desk with a contemptuous gesture.
“Never in the Party, never in the SA, never in the Hitler Youth. Christ, I'm dying to meet a Nazi.”
They all laughed. Eddie shook his head wisely. “They all say the same thing. Walter here is a guy after your own heart, Wolf. A rough character with krauts when we were in Mil Gov together.”
“Is that so?” Wolf raised a sandy eyebrow. “That's the only way to be.”
“Yeah,” Eddie said, “we had a big problem in Mil Gov. The krauts would make the coal deliveries to all the German installations, but when it came time to deliver to those Jewish refugee camps up at Grohn on Saturday either the trucks would break down or the kraut coal administrator would say there was no coal left My boy solved the problem.”
“This I'd like to hear,” Wolf said. He had an easy, UH gradating way of speaking that was almost oily and had a trick of nodding his head up and down to assure the speaker of his complete comprehension.
Ingeborg brought in the glasses, the bottle, and the fruit juice. Eddie fixed four drinks but one without gin. He gave this to Gordon Middleton, “The only guy in the occupation who doesn't gamble, drink, or chase women. That's why the colonel wants to get rid of him. He gives the krauts a bad impression.”
“Let's hear the story,” Gordon said. IBs low, drawling voice was a reproach but a gentle one; patient
“Well,” Eddie said, “it got so that Mosca would have to ride way the hell out to the camp every Saturday to makesore the coal got there. One Saturday he was In a crap game and let the trucks go alone. No coal. He really got chewed out. Ill never forget. I drove him out to where die trucks had broken down and he gave the drivers a little speech”
Mosca rested against the desk, lit a cigar, and puffed on it nervously. He remembered the incident and knew the kind of story Eddie would make out of it. Build him up to be a real hard guy and it hadn't been that way at all. He had told the drivers that if they did not wish to drive he would see to their release without prejudice. But if they wanted to stay on the job they had better get the coal to the DP camp even if they had to carry it on their backs. One driver had quit, and Mosca had taken his name and passed cigarettes all around. Eddie was making it sound as if he had knocked the hell out of six of them in a free-for-all.
“Then he went to the coal administrator's house and had a little talk in English that I understood. That kraut was really shitting when he got through. After that he shot crap Saturday afternoon and the coal got to the camp. A real executive.” Eddie shook his head admiringly.
Wolf kept nodding his head up and down with understanding and approbation. “That's the kind of stuff we need around here,” he said. “These krauts get away with murder.”
“You couldn't do that now, Walter,” Eddie said.
“Yeah, we're teaching the krauts democracy,” Wolf said, so wryly that Mosca and Eddie laughed, and even Middleton smiled.
They sipped their drinks, and then Eddie got up to look out the window at a woman passing by on her way to the exit gate. “There's some nice gash,” he said; “how would you like to cut a piece of that?”
“That's a question for the Fragebogen” Wolf said, and as he was about to add something else, the door leading to the corridor was flung open and a tall, blond boy was shoved into the room. His wrists were handcuffed and he was crying. Behind him were two short men in dark sack suits. One of the men stepped forward
“Herr Dolman,” he said, “we have the person who has been stealing the soap.” Wolf burst out laughing.
“The soap bandit,” he explained to Eddie and Mosca. “We've been missing a lot of Red Cross soap bars we were supposed to give the German kids. These men are detectives from the city.