Castillo thought: You can’t honestly say there’s no excuse for Billy’s behavior. There is. He obviously regards Friedler’s murder as far more than the loss of a faithful employee under sordid circumstances. There was an emotional relationship between the two—maybe even father and son-like—but whatever it was, it was apparently a lot closer than anyone, maybe even Otto, suspected.
Maybe Billy started out blaming Otto for putting Friedler on the story, knowing it was dangerous. But Billy has had plenty of time to think that through, time to conclude that maybe Otto didn’t know that Friedler was in the line of fire.
And if Otto didn’t, the blame for that was not Otto’s; it was his.
And now Billy knows it, and that hurts.
Otto has known the pecking order around Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H., from the time he came here. He wasn’t in on Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H., from the beginning; Billy was.
Even as a kid I knew that order: Grandpa—the Herr Oberst—was Lord and Master of all he surveyed. Then came Onkel Billy, Tier Two. Then Onkel Willi, Tier Three. And finally Otto, Tier Four.
Otto might’ve jumped to the top after Onkel Willi went off the bridge with Grandpa. But Grandpa’s will hadn’t left him much money—and not a single share of Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H. And my mother didn’t marry him.
And since she didn’t have a clue on how to run the business, she turned to Uncle Billy, who not only knew how to run it but owned a quarter-share of it.
And the wisdom of that was confirmed when my other grandpa got in the act when my mother died. Otto moved into the Herr Oberst’s office, took on the titles and ran things—and was paid damned well for it. But Don Fernando’s bimonthly trips to Vienna and Billy’s bimonthly trips to San Antonio or Midland had nothing to do with Grandpa having discovered Wiener schnitzel or Billy having a new-found interest in the Wild West.
Grandpa controlled my three-quarter interest in the firm, and he and Billy decided between them that Otto, with the proper guidance, was well qualified to run the firm. And that they—with every right to do so— would provide that guidance to Otto.
It worked out well, and certainly a lot of the credit for its success goes to Otto. He’s paid an enormous salary and has a lot of perks. But the bottom line is that he doesn’t own any of Gossinger.
Billy and I own all of it.
Including this house.
I guess I should have gone into that when I was delivering the soap opera scenario in the car on the way here. The explanation would have helped to avoid the unease the others are feeling.
But I didn’t, and it’s too late now with Otto here.
There is, of course, a silver lining for me in the black cloud of Billy’s embarrassingly bad manners. He gave me what I so far hadn’t worked up the courage to ask him for: “The Tages Zeitung newspapers will do whatever we can toward that objective. Starting with doubling that reward to a hundred thousand euros. And—if I have to say this—by providing our Karlchen-the-intelligence-officer and his friends with whatever we have in the files that might help them to find these bastards.”
Kocian drained his glass of Slivovitz and looked around for Sandor Tor, who was nowhere in sight— probably taking Billy’s luggage to his room, Castillo decided—and then, muttering, headed for the bar, which was actually an enormous antique sideboard, obviously intending to get a refill.
Castillo got up and followed him.
“Easy on the sauce, Billy,” Castillo said softly.
Kocian raised one bushy, snow-white eyebrow.
“What did you say?”
“I said go easy on the Slivovitz.”
“You don’t dare tell me what to do, Karlchen!”
“I don’t like her any more than you do, Billy, but we don’t need to humiliate her, or Otto, and make everybody else uncomfortable. Including Hermann and Willi.”
“Go fuck yourself, Karlchen!”
Castillo shrugged.
“Suit yourself,” he said. “I know better than to argue with an old drunk wallowing in self-pity.”
“Self-pity? You arrogant little ...”
By then Castillo was halfway back to his chair.
That was not one of my smartest moves, Charley thought as he went.
Why the hell did I do that?
Not as a considered move.
I guess the Boy Scout in me suddenly bubbled up and escaped.
Well, I certainly managed to make things worse than they were.
Helena reappeared several minutes later.
“It’ll be just a few more minutes, Billy,” she said.
Castillo looked at Kocian, who he found was already glaring at him.
Kocian drained his second glass of Slivovitz.
“Helena,” Kocian said, “it has been pointed out to me that my behavior toward you and your family tonight has been shameful.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Billy,” she said.
“Pray let me finish.” He waited until she nodded, then went on: “I can only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive an old drunk wallowing in self-pity over the loss of a man who was like a son to him.”
“Billy, you’ve not said nor done anything to apologize to me for.”
“Otto,” Kocian announced, “your wife is a lousy liar. One with a kind and gracious heart. She’s much too good for you.”
Helena went to Kocian and kissed him.
Kocian looked at Castillo.
“In case you’re curious, Karlchen, that was my heart speaking, not the Slivovitz.”
Castillo felt his throat tighten and his eyes start to water. He quickly got out of his chair.
“Did you drink all the Slivovitz, Onkel Billy? Or can I have one?”
“I think,” Otto Gorner said, “that we should get into the arrangements for tomorrow.”
[TWO]
Das Haus im Wald
Near Bad Hersfeld
Kreis Hersfeld-Rotenburg
Hesse, Germany
0830 27 December 2005
The drapes over the plateglass windows had been opened, and everyone at the breakfast table could see what Castillo was describing in what he called Lesson Seven, Modern European History 202.
“You see that thing that looks sort of like a control tower? In the middle of the field?”
“There was an airstrip, Charley?” Jack Davidson asked.
“No. And don’t interrupt teacher again unless you raise your hand and ask permission first.”
