The Dark Arena - Mario Puzo [62]
Yergen sat on the couch against one wall and Wolf sat beside him. Mosca drew up the only other chair in the room.
“Can you go out with us tonight?” Wolf asked. “We're going over to Honny's place. He is the man I am counting on.”
Yergen shook his head. “I can't tonight” He rubbed his cheek against his daughter's wet one. “My little girl had a fright earlier this evening. Someone came up and kept knocking on the door, and she knew it wasn't me because we have a special signal. I have to leave her so much alone and the woman who takes care of her goes home at seven. When I came she was so frightened and in such shock I had to give her one of the pills.”
Wolf shook his head. “She is too young. That should not be done often. But I hope you don't think we came.
You know I respect your wishes and come only by appointment”
Yergen held his daughter closely. “I know, Wolfgang, I know you are dependable. And I know I should not give her drugs. But she was in such a state that I was frightened.” Mosca was surprised to see the look of love on Yergen's proud face, and the sadness and despair.
“Do you think Honny has some news yet?” Wolf asked.
Yergen shook his head. “I don't think so, but, forgive me for saying this. I know you and Honny are very good friends. But if he does have news I am not so sure that he will tell it immediately.”
Wolf smiled. “I know that. So Tm bringing Mosca to see him tonight, to convince him I have a man witfi five thousand cartons.”
Yergen looked into Mosca's eyes and for the first time Mosca realized that Yergen was their accomplice, a partner. And he saw that in Yergen's eyes was a look of fascinated fear as if he were looking at someone he knew would perform an act of murder. For the first time he realized concretely the exact role his two partners had pven him. He stared back at Yergen until Yergen bowed his head.
They left. Out in the street the blackness of the night had become thinner as if the moon had spread itself against the sky and diluted the shadows without giving light. Mosca felt refreshed, alert, and the cold wind cleared his head. He walked briskly beside Wolf. He lit a cigarette and the smoke was mellow and warm on his tongue. They were silent. Once Wolf said, “This is a long walk, but one more stop will end the night and we'll get treated good. Combine business with pleasure.”
They took short cuts through ruined buildings until Mosca lost all sense of direction, and then suddenly they were in a street that seemed cut off from the rest of the city, a little village surrounded by a desert of rubble. Wolf stopped at the last house at the end of the street and gave a quick series of raps on the door.
It opened, and facing them stood a short, blond man, the front of his head completely bald, the golden hair covering the back and top of his head like a skullcap. He was very neatly dressed.
The German grasped Wolfs hand and said, “Wolfgang, just in time for a midnight snack.” He let them in and bolted the door. He put his arm around Wolfs shoulder and hugged him. “Ah, it is good to see you. Come in.” They went into a living-room that was luxurious, with a china closet stuffed full of cut glass and tableware, the floor covered by rich, dark-red rugs. There was a wall of books and glowing yellow lamps and soft armchairs, and in one of the armchairs, her feet over a yellow hassock, sat a thick-bodied, thick-lipped woman with bright-red hair. She was reading a brightly covered American fashion magazine. The blond man said to her, “Here is our Wolfgang and the friend he told us about.” She extended