The Dark Arena - Mario Puzo [50]
The smile faded from Wolfs face, and into it, as if it were a mask he had always ready, came the look of power, a confident quiet sternness.
He put his briefcase on the table and leaned over it to look directly into the old woman's circled eyes.
“You are too clever and too proud,” he said with measured harshness. “You think you have some power, that you are safe, that your age and your men protect you. I don't like insolent Germans. You don't understand Americans, you and your giant.” The woman was alert now, her eyes a beady, flashing black. The little German with his bulging coat had a frightened look. The pant at the door moved toward Wolf. Mosca drew the Hungarian pistol from his briefcase and clicked off the safety catch” They all turned to him.
He didn't point the gun, held it down to the floor. In German he said to the giant, “Turn around.” The giant moved toward him. Mosca took a step forward and the old woman, seeing his face, called out a sharp command to the giant. He gave her a bewildered look, then retreated to the far wall and turned his back.
Wolf leaned toward the woman again. “Do you like my friend?” he asked her.
She didn't answer. She kept her eyes on Mosca. The little German, without a command, joined the giant against the wall. Wolf went on. “My friend is a very pride-ful and irritable man. If your giant had pushed him instead of me there would be no speeches, you would be very sad people here. There would be no words, words I speak so calmly. Now listen. I am reasonable. I hold no grudge for this incident. But if on my rounds I learn you have given information about me, then you can see the other side of my face.”
He stopped and looked into the old woman's eyes. There was no fear in them. She was regarding him quite calmly, without compliance. But this was in his province, this was his life work, this challenged the genius he knew he had. He understood that look as no one else could. That words meant nothing, threats no hindrance or persuasion to the human will. He smiled because he knew the answer. He went over to the giant and pushed and turned him around.
“You lump, take off your belt and stand before your mistress,” he said. The giant did so. Wolf stepped away. He drew his gun from his briefcase, for effect really, and said to the woman, “Tell him to give you three hard strokes on your back.” He made his voice malignant. “If yoil Cty out I'll kill the three of you. Now. Tell him three strokes.”
The old woman was still calm. “You do not understand” she said. “If I order him he will take me quite seriously and injure me terribly. He will strike with all his power.”
Wolf said good-humoredly, “I understand perfectly.”
Her fat cheeks creased with a faint doubtful smile. “You have made your point, it is not necessary to go any further. I will say nothing, I promise. Now, please, I have many people waiting.”
Wolf paused for a long moment, and then with a deliberately cruel smile he said, “One stroke. To seal our bargain.”
For the first time the woman seemed frightened. Her face sagged, there was a quaver in her voice. “I shall scream for help,” she said.
Wolf didn't answer her. He spoke to Mosca, slowly, so that the woman would be sure to understand. “When the woman goes down, kill the big man.” !He swung the gun up to the woman's face.
She turned her head away. She said to the giant in German, “Johann, give me one hard stroke across the back.” She sat on the chair with her head bowed on the table, her rounded fat shoulders hunched for the blow. The giant swung his belt down and when it hit, they could hear a terrible crackling split of skin and meat beneath cloth. The woman raised her head. Her face was bloodless with pain and fright and shock.
Wolf looked at her with cold, emotionless eyes. “Now you understand,” he said. Then, mimicking her insolent voice and manner, “There is nothing to be done.” He walked to the door and said, “Come on, Walter,” and they went through the rooms they had come by and out the front door.
In the jeep going back to town, Wolf laughed