Dutchman and the Devil : The Lost Story (9781456612887) Read Free Page B

speculating on how much to confide in this Gypsy.
    Raoul persisted, “What are you really after?”
    Deciding to trust the Gypsy, Weiser said, “Money an’ a place in society that I can’t rise to in Germany. I want enough money to go to America.”
    “I can get you that money, if you’re willing to invest six months getting it,” Raoul said.
    “I can do that,” Weiser said. “What’s your plan?”
    Raoul bent his head over the table an inch from Weiser’s forehead, and whispered, “I will teach Schultz enough to make him club champion. When he has achieved that title, I have a ringer who can defeat him. My man will be content with taking home the prize money, while you an’ I will make a fortune betting against Shultz.”
    “I like this idea,” Weiser said. “It may not get me all the way to America, but it sounds like a damn good start!” He started to stand, then paused as if in afterthought, and said, “Who’s your fighter?”
    “You don’t know him,” Raoul replied in an equally offhand manner.
    Weiser, who was always attentive to the details of his schemes, would not be put off. “I want to know who my money is riding on!”
    “Don’t you trust me?” Raoul said, with a slight frown.
    “As far as I can throw you,” Weiser said firmly. “No name, no deal.”
    “All right, if you must know, my man is Jacob Waltz,” Raoul said.
    Weiser sat back down, thought for a moment, and said, “Can you guarantee Waltz will beat Schultz?”
    “I can guarantee it will be a slaughter.” Raoul replied, showing his gold-star grin. “But are you concerned that Schultz will get hurt?”
    Weiser didn’t hesitate. “I don’t care who gets hurt, as long as I get my money.”
    Schultz’s father knew a thing or two about the manly sport of boxing, and he also knew Raoul’s reputation as a trainer. Pleased as punch at his son’s interest, Herr Schultz reached into his wallet, pulled out a handful of bills, and sent his son off to become a man.
    For his part, Schultz worked hard at his training and even ran five miles to Raoul’s training ring every day. Once there, he punched a sandbag until his fists ached, then went on to spar with the young Gypsies. As he improved, he began asking Jacob Waltz for tips and advice. Completely unaware of his teacher’s scheme, Waltz was more than happy to help Schultz. The two were fast becoming friends, until Raoul stepped in to keep Waltz from unknowingly tipping their hand.
    The day finally came when Schultz hit one of the Gypsies hard enough to knock him out. It certainly wasn’t confirmation that Schultz was the greatest fighter in the world, but it showed he was good enough to beat the rest of the dilettantes at the club. And to convince Schultz he was a contender. Raoul put his arm around Schultz’s shoulder, smiled his gold-tooth smile, and said, “Good work, Schultz. You’re ready to go back to your Boxing Club.”
    As Shultz neared the top of the club’s ladder, his betting odds changed and it was time for Weiser and Raoul to bring Jacob Waltz into their scheme. Weiser began by following Waltz to Otto’s and waiting until Waltz was seated before he sat down and ordered his own pint.
    Waltz paid no attention to Weiser. He was worried about his mother, who had been bedridden for a month. She needed expensive medicine and he didn’t have enough money to pay for it.
    Looking for a way to strike up a conversation, Weiser spotted a dish of salted nuts on the bar. He reached for the nuts and, as if it were accidental, brushed Waltz’s half-empty glass with his sleeve. The glass tipped over and beer poured out, soaking Waltz’s trousers.
    Startled out of his normal politeness, Waltz jumped to his feet and burst out, “You idiot!”
    Weiser grabbed his napkin to dab at the spill, then looked more closely at Waltz and said, “Aren’t you Jacob Waltz, the famous Gypsy fighter? Please accept my apology, and don’t smack me for my clumsiness.”
    By this time,