The Devil's Opera(198)
Gotthilf stopped and looked down at him. “If she will have me.”
“Good.”
They resumed walking, and after a while, Simon spoke up. “Ursula is special.”
“I know she is.”
“And she’s been hurt a lot, so you’d better take really good care of her.”
They stopped again, and Simon stared up at the detective with all the fire he could muster. Gotthilf didn’t laugh; he just considered Simon, soberly and carefully. After a moment, he nodded.
“Understood.”
“All right then.”
* * *
Ursula leaned back against the closed door. The book was clasped in her arms and held to her bosom. She bent her head and smelled the rich leather of the binding.
A courting gift. From Gotthilf Hoch.
If only Hans could have seen it.
The tears welled up, but she managed a tremulous smile at how her brother would have ranted.
* * *
Marla’s eyes got wide when Franz announced the arrival of the first royalty check from Trommler Records for “Do You Hear the People Sing?”
“How many zeros?”
Her eyes got wider when she grabbed the check from his hands and read it for herself.
* * *
“I quite despaired of you, you know, for some time,” Johann Möritz Hoch said to his son Gotthilf as they walked home from church on a Sunday after services. He was taller than his son, but otherwise they looked very much alike, walking side by side with their hands clasped behind their backs.
“How so?” Gotthilf asked. “I mean, you had made it clear that you thought I lacked initiative, that I was lazy. But what occasioned despair?”
“I thought that you had no will, no spine, no inner fire to excel,” the elder Hoch said matter-of-factly.
“I didn’t.”
“Mmm, no,” Johann disagreed. “I was wrong then, and so are you now. I would say now that you did not lack the fire, but rather that you had not found the matter that would awaken it.”
Gotthilf considered that. “Point,” he responded.
They walked some distance before the elder Hoch spoke again. “I was not happy to see you join the city watch,” he said. “I did not consider it a service that would add to your reputation. And this new Polizei which took its place seemed at first like more of the same.” Gotthilf looked over at his father, who held up a hand. “I have spoken with Otto Gericke—or, I should say, he has spoken with me. He made it clearer to me the nature of the work that you do. He is quite your champion, the mayor is.”
Gotthilf felt some inner warmth at that thought. Before he could respond, his father spoke one last thought.
“It is not the work I would have chosen for you, Gotthilf. But you are a man, and you have chosen for yourself. And in the end, considering all, it is a worthy work. It occurs to me that I have reason to be proud of you. And so I am.”
That thought was one that Gotthilf stored away in his heart, for it had been long indeed since he had last heard those words from the elder Hoch.
“Thank you, Father,” he managed to reply.
Herr Hoch seemed to hear what Gotthilf was trying to say. He nodded gravely, and they continued to pace side by side, enjoying the sun, the afternoon, and the new aspect of their relationship in companionable silence.
* * *
Gustav looked at one of the Marine guards in his fancy dress uniform.
“Hmm. It has a certain style, I think. I wonder what it would look like in purple velvet.”
Caroline Platzer rolled her eyes.
“I want one too,” Kristine insisted, bouncing.
Ulrik rolled his eyes.
* * *
“Once we promised to keep him away from Achterhof and the CoC, Burckardt started singing like a canary,” Byron said.
“Spilling his guts, huh?” Bill Reilly asked.
“Yah,” Honister responded. “He seems to be proud of what he had done, pitting Schmidt and Schardius against each other, and maneuvering the two Italians to eventually take both of them down.”
“Although he thought One-Eye was going to shoot Schardius for him,” Byron said. “He was surprised that Gotthilf and I got him instead. It was apparently his idea to kill One-Eye all along.”
“He had some grandiose idea of taking over both men’s businesses,” Gotthilf added, “both the licit and the illicit. He had picked up a pretty good understanding of what Schardius was trying to become: one of those crime bosses you described way back when. If he hadn’t gotten nervous about how we were closing in fast, he might have gotten away with a lot of money, and maybe even a foothold in the crime boss racket.”
“He does know he’s going to hang for this, doesn’t he?” Reilly asked.
“Yah,” Gotthilf responded. “He just wants to stay out of Achterhof’s hands. He has no desire to experience the Old Testament, ah…”