The Dark Arena - Mario Puzo [88]
“Christ.” Wolf slammed the door with his hand. “Goddamn it, hangin’ out with that yellow Jew and that gash hound Eddie made you lose all your guts? I thought you were a better guy than that, Walter.”
Mosca put his beer can down on the dresser. “Listen Wolf, keep my friends out. Don't talk about them any more. Now about this business. Wolf, you shrewd prick, I know you got your marriage papers; so now you can just pull off this deal and take off for the States. Meanwhile I sit here three or four months. I'm not afraid of krauts but Tm not walking around Bremen after I pull a stunt like that. If we do this it's either get out of Bremen afterward or knock the guys off when we take the money. Right now I can't do either. And I'm not going to keep looking behind me the rest of the summer, not even for a million bucks.” He paused and then said sincerely, “No shit, Wolf, I'm sorry.”
Wolf stared at the floor shaking his head up and down as if pondering on something he already knew, and then, remembering the scene at the Officers’ Club when the adjutant had made Mosca back down, he said, “You know, Walter, I can bust this whole thing up, you and Hella. All I have to do is turn in a report at the base and at the Military Police. You're breaking a Military Government law living in a German billet. And there are a couple of other things I could really go to town on.”
To his amazement and anger, Mosca burst out laughing and then said, “Wolf, for Christ's sake, have a can of beer or get the hell out I don't mind playing gangster with you but don't for Christ's sake pull that line. Fm not one of those kraut prisoners you used to scare the shit out of.”
Wolf tried to bring his head up to stare balefully at Mosca, but there was such evident power in the lightly covered body, so much force and confidence in the lean face and thin mouth, the dark serious eyes, that he could only sigh and smile weakly.
“Ah, you son of a bitch,” Wolf said resignedly, “give me a bear.” Adding ruefully, shaking his head, “A five-grand can of beer.” But as he drank he thought of some way to pay Mosca back for the desertion. He saw there was really nothing he could do. If he turned Mosca in to the MPs and then left for the States, that would not help this deal any, there would be no gain and there was always the possibility of retaliation. No, he was well off. He had a small fortune in diamonds and quite a bit of cash. Why invite any remote chance of disaster?
He sighed, sipped at his beer. It was hard to let such a fine opportunity go by. He knew he would never have the nerve to do it alone. Well, he thought, he would scrape together all the cigarettes possible, bargain around the base, buy cheaply and sell high. He might clear a thousand bucks.
Wolf held out his hand to Mosca. “No hard feelings,” he said. He was a little worried now that Mosca might take his former threat seriously, and he didn't want to keep looking around his last few weeks in Germany. ‘Tm sorry about trying to get tough, but losing all that dough-Forget what I said.” They shook hands.
“It's okay,” Mosca said. He walked Wolf to the door and said to Mm, “Maybe you can do something cm your own.”
When Mosca went into the living-room, both women looked up inquiringly; they had heard the anger in Wolfs loud voice. The baby was no longer crying, was sleeping in his carriage.
“Your friend left so quickly,” Frau Saunders said.
“He just wanted to tell me something,” Mosca said. Then to Hella who was knitting and reading at the same time, “Wolf is getting married soon; he has the papers.”
Hella looked up from her book and said absently, “Yes?” Her thin pale face went back to the book as she murmured, “I hope ours come soon.”
Mosca went into the bedroom for another can of beer and a tin of peanuts. He brought them into the living-room and offered the opened can to the two women. They both took a handful. “Sure you don't need a beer?” They both shook their heads and kept reading.
They all sat, eating peanuts, Mosca drinking beer, the two women reading and Hella knitting.