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The bartender appeared with Kappler’s open bottle of red wine, two others, and three more glasses. He drained the open bottle and a second one in the glasses, then turned to leave with the empties.
“Send Signore Palasota!” Müller called after him in German.
The bartender looked back and nodded, then disappeared from the room.
Does he understand German? Kappler thought. Or he just recognized the name?
“I want you to meet the fellow who runs our place,” Müller said, and leaned closer to Kappler, putting his hand on his shoulder.
“Our place”? Kappler thought, looking at him, then at the hand on his shoulder.
“I am aware,” Müller said, “that we may have had our differences in the past. And I am glad that that is where they are—in the past.”
Kappler looked at him.
What the hell is he doing?
Müller made a thin smile and held up his glass in a toast.
“Here’s to our making a fresh start and moving forward,” Müller said. “Salute!”
He tapped his full glass to Kappler’s very full one, causing some wine to spill. Müller did not seem to notice, or did not care, as he took a sip of his wine.
Kappler shrugged, then carefully sipped his wine.
“Of course.”
“And as an olive branch,” Müller went on, laughed, then said, “or perhaps, as is the case, an olive-skinned branch, you’ll allow me to treat you?” He glanced at the big-eyed young woman. “Do you like Lucia?”
Kappler looked at Müller.
What the hell are you talking about?
“Treat”?
So these are whores?
Kappler realized that the girls were looking provocatively at him. Lucia batted her big brown eyes and made a well-practiced smile. He caught himself automatically smiling back.
Then he felt an involuntarily stir in his groin, and hated himself for it.
They are!
I don’t care how attractive they are. I am not going to degrade myself by following some miserable prick who was able to come up with . . . with . . . however the hell much a whore costs!
He looked at Müller, who was looking toward the arched passageway.
And, you bastard, I certainly do not want you believing you’ve done me any favors—and not one such as this.
Scheisse!
“Ah!” Müller suddenly said. “Here comes Signore Palasota!”
[FIVE]
Palermo, Sicily
2255 30 May
