The Dark Arena - Mario Puzo [20]
“For Christ sake,” Mosca said, “you know I want to get out of hero. Get those krauts on the ball.”
Eddie went to the door and yelled, “Hey, Meyer, snap it up.” And then to Mosca, “She probably knocked off a quickie with Yergen. She loves it” They could hear her coming down the stairs.
She came in with an armful of bedclothing and behind her came Yergen. In his hand was a hammer and in his mouth some nails. He was a short, slender German of vigorous middle age, dressed in overalls and an American Army khaki shirt. There was an air of quiet competence and dignity about him that would have inspired trust and confidence if it had not been for the bunched and wrinkled skin beneath his eyes which gave him an air of shrewd cunning.
He shook hands with Eddie Cassin and then extended to Mosca the same greeting. Mosca shook hands to be polite. The occupation was getting real friendly, he thought
“I am the Jack-of-all-trades here,” Yergen said. He brought out the phrase with a stilted relish. “Times you want anything fixed just call on me.”
“I'll need a bigger bed,” Mosca said, “some furniture, a radio, some other stuff I'll think of later.”
Yergen unbuttoned the pocket of his khaki shirt and took out a pencil. “Of course,” he said briskly, “they furnish these rooms very badly. Regulations. But I have helped other of your comrades. A small or large radio?”
“How much?” Mosca asked.
“Five to ten cartons.”
“Money,” Mosca said. “I have no cigarettes.”
“American dollars or scrip?”
“Money orders.”
“I tell you,” Yergen said slowly, “I think you need here a radio, some table lamps, four or five chairs, a couch, and a large bed. I get you all these thinp, we talk about the price later. If you have no cigarettes now, I can wait. I'm a businessman; I know when to give credit. And besides you are a friend of Mr. Cassin.”
“That's fine,” Mosca said. He stripped to the waist and opened the blue gym bag for a soap and towel.
“And if you want someone to do your laundry, please let me know. I'll give the order to the maid.” Frau Meyer smiled at him. She liked his long torso with its white ornamental scar that she guessed ran to his groin,
“What does it cost?” Mosca asked. He had opened a suitcase and was laying out a fresh change of clothing.
“Oh, please, no payment. Give me a few bars of chocolate a week, and I'll see to it that the maids are happy.”
“Okay, okay,” Mosca said impatiently. And then to Yergen, “See if you can get that stuff in here tomorrow.”
After the two Germans left, Eddie Cassin shook his head sadly in mock reproof. “Times have changed, Walter,” he said. “The occupation has entered into a new phase. We treat people like Frau Meyer and Yergen with respect, shake their hands and always, always, give them a cigarette to smoke when we talk business to them. They can do us favors, Walter.”
“Screw ‘em,” Mosca said. “Where's the washroom?”
Eddie Cassin led him down the hall. The bathroom was an enormous one, with three sinks, the biggest bathtub Mosca had ever seen, and a toilet bowl Reside which stood a small table littered with magazines and Stateside newspapers.
“Real class,” Mosca said. He began to wash and Eddie sat on the toilet bowl to keep him company.
“You going to move your girl friend in here?” Eddie asked.
“If I find her and she wants to come back,” Mosca said.
“You going out to see her tonight?”
Mosca wiped himself dry and fixed a blade in the razor. “Yeah,” he said and glanced at the partly open window. The last light of evening was melting away. “I'll try it tonight.”
Eddie got up and went to the door. “If it doesn't click, come up to Frau Meyer's rooms when you get back and have a drink.” He gave Mosca a pat. “If everything works out, then I'll see you tomorrow morning at the air base.” He went out and down the hall.
Alone, Mosca felt