The Dark Arena - Mario Puzo [87]
He must be the only fat kraut in Bremen, Wolf thought, the only one who could pose for those posters and travel folders showing the tremendous, jolly German who illustrated the good living of his country. In his basement he had the fattest kraut in Germany. A goddamn cannibal. A twenty-pound ham in three days. Jesus Christ.
Wolf jumped off the Strassenbahn as it passed the mouth of the Kurfiirsten Allee and walked briskly past the Metzer Strasse to farther on where Mosca lived in the white stone house. Though the sun was going down the air was still hot and Wolf kept under the shade of the trees that lined the Allee. He hoped Mosca was home, but if not there was still time to pick him up at the Rathskellar or the club. No telephone on this.
Wolf opened the gate that cut the path from the sidewalk. He went up the stairs, knocked on the door, and Mosca opened it He was dressed only in suntan trousers and a T shirt, bis feet were bare. In his band be held a can of PX beet.
“Come on in, Wolf,” Mosca said. They went through the ball and through the door to the living-room. Fran Saunders was sitting in one corner of the sofa reading a magazine. Hella was rocking the cream-colored carriage serving now as a crib. The baby was crying.
Wolf said hello to the women, and though he was impatient, looked at the baby and complimented Hella on its beauty. Then he said to Mosca, “Can I see you for a minute alone, Walter?”
“Sure,” Mosca said. Still holding the can of bear he led Wolf into the bedroom.
“Listen, Walter,” Wolf said excitedly, “it's finally come through, the contact cm that scrip deal. I've got to meet the guy now and settle details. I want you to come with me just in case everything goes quick. Okay?”
Mosca took a dp of beer. In the other room he could hear the murmur of voices as Fran Saunders and Hella spoke to each other and spaced in between, the tentative, discontented wailing of the baby. He was surprised and the shock was unpleasant. He had written the whole deal off and now he found he had no taste for it
“I don't go for that any more, Wolf,” Mosca said. “YouTl have to get a new partner.”
Wolf had already started toward the door of the bedroom. Now, stunned, he turned back again to Mosca, his white face angry and full of disbelief.
“What the hell kind of crap is that, Walter?” hf said. “We knock our balls off all winter and now, everything all set, you back out? That's no good, Walter. That doesn't go.”
Mosca grinned at Wolfs anger and excitement. It was an excuse not to feel ashamed of backing out. He knew he was giving Wolf a dirty deal But he was glad die pasty-faced bastard was getting tough.
“What the hell, Wolf,” he said, “we're not gangsters. It was an idea. Maybe I would have gone through with it six months ago. Now I've got a dame and kid to think about If something screws up, what happens to them? Besides my marriage papers are coming through in a few months. I won't need all that money.”
Wolf restrained his outraged anger. “Look, Walter,” he said in a friendly, reasonable voice, “you're going back to the States in three or four months. Maybe you saved a thousand bucks while you've been here, maybe you made another thousand on the black market. That thousand I helped you make, Walter. In the States you have to set up a home, look for a job, a lot of other crap. You'll need dough.” And then letting a hurt tone come into his voice he said earnestly, “And you're not treating me right, Walter. I lose out, too. I can't go running around for another partner. I need a guy I can trust. Come on, Walter, it'll be easy, you don't have to worry about cops, they can't turn us in. And since when have you been afraid of a couple of lousy krauts?”
“No dice,” Mosca said, and took another sip from the can of beer. With his free hand he flapped out his T shirt and