by Mario Puzo
Andrew Pollard was regarding him with surprise, and a little concern. Skannet reassured him.
“I just wanted to tell you,” he said, “I’ll drive to the meet-ing in my car. Your men can ride with me and give me directions.”
Pollard shrugged. This would be none of his business. He had done what he had been instructed to do. “Fine,” he said. “But you could have called me.”
Skannet grinned at him. “Sure, but I just wanted to check on your offices. Also, I want to call Athena to make sure this is on the up-and-up. I figured you can get her on the phone for me. She might not take my call.”
“Sure,” Pollard said agreeably. He picked up the phone. He didn’t know what was going on and in his heart he hoped that Skannet would abort the meeting and he would no longer be involved in whatever Cross was planning to do. He also knew Athena would not speak to him directly.
He dialed the number and asked for Athena. He put the loudspeaker on so that Skannet could hear the call. Athena’s secretary told him that Miss Aquitane was out and was not expected back until the next day. He put down the phone and raised an eyebrow to Skannet. Skannet looked happy.
And Skannet was. He had been right. Athena was planning to use her body to make the deal. She was planning to spend the night with him. The red skin of his face took on an almost bronze sheen with the rush of blood to his brain, remembering when she was young, when she had loved him, when he had loved her.
At seven that evening, when Lia Vazzi arrived at the hotel with one of his soldiers, Skannet was waiting for him and ready to go immediately. Skannet was dressed very neatly in a boyish way. He wore heavy blue jeans, a faded blue denim shirt, and a white sports jacket. He had shaved carefully, and his blond hair was combed straight back. His red skin seemed paler, his face softened by the paleness. Lia Vazzi and his soldier showed Skannet their forged Pacific Ocean Security IDs.
Skannet was not impressed by the men. Two runts, one with a slight accent he thought might be Mexican. They would give him no trouble. These private dick agencies were so full of shit, what kind of protection was this for Athena?
Vazzi said to Skannet, “I understand you want to drive your own car. I will go with you and my friend will follow in our car. Is that agreeable to you?”
“OK,” Skannet said.
When they got out of the elevator and entered the lobby, they were stopped by Jim Losey. The detective had been waiting on a sofa by the fireplace and intercepted them on just a hunch. He had staked out there to keep an eye on Skannet just in case. Now he held his ID out to the three men.
Skannet looked at the ID and said, “What the fuck do you want?”
Jim Losey said, “Who are these two men with you?”
“None of your fucking business,” Skannet said. Vazzi and his companion remained silent as Losey studied their faces.
“I’d like to have a few words with you in private,” Losey said.
Skannet brushed him aside and Losey grabbed his arm. They were both big men. Skannet was frantic to be away. He said to Losey, his voice furious and loud, “The charges were dropped, I don’t have to talk to you. And if you don’t get your hands away, I’m going to kick the shit out of you.”
Losey dropped his hand. He was in no way intimidated, but his mind was working. The two men with Skannet seemed strange to him, there was something going on. He stepped aside but followed them to the archway where cars were brought to hotel guests. He watched Skannet get into his car with Lia Vazzi. Somehow the other man had vanished. Losey noted this and waited to see if another car pulled out of the parking lot, but there was none.
There was no use trying to follow and there was equally no purpose to be served in putting out an alert for Skannet’s car. He debated on whether to report this incident to Skippy Deere and decided against it. One thing was for certain, if Skannet got out of line again, he would regret his insults today.
It was a long drive, Skannet kept complaining and asking questions and even threatening to turn back. But Lia Vazzi was reassuring. Skannet had been told that the meeting place was a hunting lodge Athena owned in the Sierra Nevada, and the instructions were that they were to spend the night. Athena had insisted she wanted the meeting a secret from everyone, that she would settle the whole problem to everyone’s satisfaction. Skannet didn’t know what that meant. What could she do to dissolve the hatred that had grown over the last ten years? Was she stupid enough to think that a night of lovemaking and a bundle of cash would soften him? Did she think he was that simple? He had always admired her intelligence but maybe now she was just one of those arrogant Hollywood actresses who thought she could buy anything with her body and her money? And yet the thought of her beauty haunted him. Finally after all these years, she would smile at him, charm him, submit to him. No matter what happened he would have this coming night.
Lia Vazzi was not worried about Skannet’s threats to turn back. He knew there were three cars on the road behind him as escort and he had his instructions. As a last resort he could simply have Skannet killed. But his instructions were also clear that Skannet should not suffer any injury short of death.
They drove through the open gate, and Skannet was surprised at the size of the Hunting Lodge. It looked like a small hotel. He got out and stretched his arms and legs. There were five or six cars parked alongside the lodge, which made him wonder for a moment.
Vazzi led him to the door and opened it. At that moment Skannet heard more cars pulling into the driveway. He turned thinking that Athena had arrived. What he saw were three cars parking and two men getting out of each one. Then Lia led him through the main entry of the lodge and into the living room with its huge fireplace. There, sitting on the sofa waiting for him, was a man he had never seen. The man was Cross De Lena.
What happened next was very quick. Skannet asked angrily, “Where’s Athena?” then two men grabbed his arms, another two men put guns to his head, and the seemingly harmless Lia Vazzi pulled his legs out from under him so that he toppled to the floor.
Vazzi said, “You can die now if you don’t do exactly as you are told. Don’t struggle. Lie still.”
Still another man shackled Skannet’s legs together and then they pulled him to his feet so that he was facing Cross. Skannet was surprised how helpless he felt even when the men released his arms. His imprisoned feet seemed to neutralize all his physical powers. He reached out to at least punch the little bastard, but Vazzi stepped back, and though Skannet gave a little hop he could not get leverage with his arms.
Vazzi regarded him with quiet contempt. “We know you are a violent man,” he said, “but now is the time to use your brain. Strength is of no use here. . . .”
Skannet seemed to take his advice. He was thinking hard. If they had wanted to kill him they would have done so. This was some process of intimidation to make him agree to something. Well and good, he would agree. And then he would take precautions in the future. One thing he was sure of. Athena was not involved in such an operation. He disregarded Vazzi and turned to the man sitting on the sofa.
“Who the hell are you?” he said.
Cross said, “I have a few things I want you to do and then you will be allowed to drive home.”
“And if I don’t, you’ll torture me, right?” Skannet laughed. He was beginning to think this was some jerk-off Hollywood scene, some bad movie the Studio was using.
“No,” Cross said simply. “No torture. No one will touch you. I want you to sit down at that table and write four letters for me. One to LoddStone Studios promising never to go near their lot. One to Athena Aquitane apologizing for your previous conduct and swearing never to go near her again. Another to the police authorities admitting you purchased acid to be used in another attack on your wife, and another letter to me stating what secret you hold over your wife. Simple.”
Skannet took a hobbling leap toward Cross and was pushed by one of the men so that he went sprawling onto the opposite sofa.
“Don’t touch him,�
�� Cross said sharply.
Skannet used his arms to push himself to his feet.
Cross pointed to the desk where there was a stack of paper.
“Where’s Athena?” Skannet said.
“She’s not here,” Cross said. “Everybody out of the room, except Lia,” he said. The other men went out the door.
“Go sit at the desk,” Cross said to Skannet. Skannet did so.
Cross said to him, “I want to talk to you very seriously. Stop trying to show how tough you are. I want you to listen. Don’t do anything foolish. You have your hands free and that may give you illusions of grandeur. All I want you to do is write those letters and you’ll be free.”
Skannet said contemptuously, “You can go fuck yourself.”
Cross turned to Vazzi and said, “No use wasting time. Kill him.”
Cross had kept his voice even and yet there was something terrible in his casualness. In that moment Skannet felt a fear he had not known since he was a child. He realized for the first time the significance of all the men in the lodge, all the forces that were arrayed against him. Lia Vazzi had not yet made a move. Skannet said, “OK. I’ll do it.” He picked up a sheet of paper and began to write.
Cunningly, he wrote the letters with his left hand; like some good athletes, he could perform almost equally well with either hand. Cross came up behind him and watched. Skannet, ashamed of his sudden cowardice, braced his feet against the floor. Confident of his physical coordination, he switched the pen to his right hand and sprang up to stab Cross in the face, hoping to get the bastard in the eye. He exploded into action, his arm coming around, the whole torso of his body propelled, and was surprised that Cross had easily moved out of range. Still Skannet tried to move with his leg shackles.
Cross regarded him quietly and said, “Everybody is entitled to his once. You’ve had that. Now put down the pen and give me those sheets.”
Skannet did so. Cross studied the sheets of paper and said, “You haven’t told me the secret.”
“I won’t put it on paper. Get rid of that guy,” he motioned to Vazzi, “and I’ll tell you.”
Cross handed the sheets of paper to Lia and said, “Take care of these.”
Vazzi went out of the room.
“OK,” Cross said to Skannet, “let’s hear this big secret.”
When Vazzi left the Hunting Lodge he ran the hundred yards to the bungalow that housed Leonard Sossa. Sossa was waiting. He looked at the two sheets of paper and said disgustedly, “This is left-handed. I can’t do left-handed script. Cross knows that.”
“Look at it again,” Vazzi said. “He tried to stab Cross with his right hand.”
Sossa studied the pages again. “Yeah,” he said. “This guy is not a real lefty. He’s just dicking you around.”
Vazzi took the sheets and went back to the Hunting Lodge and entered the library. By Cross’s face he knew something had gone wrong. Cross had a look of bewilderment, and Skannet was lying down on the sofa, his shackled legs extended over the arm, smiling happily up at the ceiling.
“These letters are no good,” Vazzi said. “He wrote them left-handed and the analyst says he’s a rightie.”
Cross said to Skannet, “I think you’re too tough for me to handle. I can’t scare you, I can’t make you do what I want. I give up.”
Skannet rose from the sofa and said malevolently to Cross, “But what I told you is true. Everybody falls in love with Athena, but nobody knows her the way I do.”
Cross said quietly, “You don’t know her. And you don’t know me.” He went to the door and motioned. Four men came into the room. Then Cross turned to Lia. “You know what I want. If he doesn’t give it to me, then just get rid of him.” He walked out of the room.
Lia Vazzi gave a visible sigh of relief. He admired Cross, had been a willing subordinate all these years, but Cross was too patient. It was true that all the great Dons in Sicily excelled in patience, but they knew when to stop. Vazzi suspected that there was an American softness in Cross De Lena that would prevent his rise to greatness.
Vazzi turned to Skannet and said silkily, “You and I, we begin.” He turned to the four men. “Secure his arms, but gently. Don’t hurt him.”
The four men pounced on Skannet. One of the men produced handcuffs, and in a moment Skannet was completely helpless. Vazzi pushed him to the floor on his knees, the other men forced Skannet to stay in place.
“The comedy is finished,” Vazzi said to Skannet. His wiry body seemed relaxed, his voice was conversational. “You will scribble those letters with your right hand. Or you can refuse.” One of the men produced a huge revolver and a box of bullets and handed them to Lia. He loaded the revolver, showing each of the bullets to Skannet. He went to the window and fired into the forest until the gun was empty. Then he went back to Skannet and put one bullet in. Spinning the cylinder, he put the gun under Skannet’s nose.
“I don’t know where the bullet is,” Lia said. “You don’t know where it is. If you still refuse to write the letters, I pull the trigger. Now is it yes or no?”
Skannet looked into Lia’s eyes and did not answer. Lia pulled the trigger. There was just the click of an empty chamber. Lia nodded approvingly. “I was rooting for you,” he said to Skannet.
He looked into the cylinder and put the bullet in the first chamber. He went to the window and fired. The explosion seemed to rock the room. Lia went back to the table, took another bullet from the box, loaded the gun with it, spinning the cylinder.
“We will try again,” Lia said. He put the revolver beneath Skannet’s chin. But this time Skannet flinched.
“Call back your boss,” Skannet said. “I have a few more things I can tell him.”
“No,” Lia said, “that foolishness is over. Now answer yes or no.”
Skannet looked into Lia’s eyes and saw not a threat but a mournful regret. “OK,” Skannet said. “I’ll write.”
He was immediately hauled to his feet and seated at the writing desk. Vazzi sat on the sofa while Skannet busied himself writing. He took the papers from Skannet and went to Sossa’s bungalow. “Is that OK?” he asked.
“This will do fine,” Sossa said.
Vazzi went back to the Hunting Lodge and reported to Cross. Then he went to the library and said to Skannet, “It’s all over. I’ll drive you back to L.A. as soon as I’m ready.” Then Lia walked Cross out to his car.
Cross said, “You know everything you have to do. Wait until morning, I should be back in Vegas by then.”
“Don’t worry,” Vazzi said. “I thought he would never write. What an animal.” He could see that Cross was preoccupied. “What did he tell you when I was away?” Vazzi asked. “Something I should know?”
Cross said, with savage bitterness Vazzi had never seen before, “I should have killed him straight out. I should have taken my chances. I hate being so fucking clever.”
“Ah well,” Vazzi said, “it’s done now.”
He watched Cross drive through the gates. For one of the few times in ten years, he was homesick for Sicily. In Sicily men never became so distraught about a woman’s secret. And in Sicily there would never have been all this fuss. Skannet would have been swimming at the bottom of the ocean a long time ago.
As dawn broke, a closed van pulled up to the Hunting Lodge.
Lia Vazzi collected the forged suicide notes from Leonard Sossa and put him into the car that would take him back to Topanga Canyon. Vazzi cleaned up the bungalow, burned the letters Skannet had written, removing all traces of occupancy. Leonard Sossa had never seen either Skannet or Cross during his stay.
Then Lia Vazzi prepared for the execution of Boz Skannet.
Six men were involved in this operation. They had blindfolded and gagged Skannet and put him in the van. Two of the men got into the van with him. Skannet was completely helpless, shackled hand and foot. Another man drove the van, and another man rode shotgun for the driver. The fifth man drove Skannet’s car. Lia Vazzi and the sixth man drove an
other car that went in front.
Lia Vazzi watched the sun slowly rise from the shadows of the mountains. The caravan drove nearly sixty miles and then turned into a road deep in the woods.
Finally the caravan halted. Vazzi directed exactly how Skannet’s car should be parked. Then he had Skannet taken out of the van. Skannet made no resistance, he seemed to have accepted his fate. Well, he’s finally figured it all out, Vazzi thought.
Vazzi took the rope out of the car. He measured the length carefully and hung one end to the thick limb of a nearby tree. Two men were holding Skannet up straight so that he could slip the noose around the man’s neck. Vazzi took out the two suicide notes that Leonard Sossa had forged and slipped them into Skannet’s jacket pocket.
It took four of the men to lift Skannet to the roof of the van and then Lia Vazzi threw his fist out in the direction of the driver. The van shot ahead and Skannet flew off the roof and dangled in the air. The sound of his neck cracking resounded through the forest. Vazzi checked the corpse and removed the shackles from the body. The other men removed the blindfold and the gag. There were little scrapes around the mouth, but a couple of days hanging in the forest and they would not be significant. He checked the arms and legs for signs of restraint. Again, there were slight marks, but they would not be conclusive. He was satisfied. He did not know if it would work, but everything Cross ordered had been done.
Two days later, alerted by an anonymous tip, the county sheriff found Skannet’s body. He had to scare off an inquisitive brown bear who was hitting the rope to make the body sway back and forth, and when the coroner and his assistants arrived, they found the body’s rotting skin eaten by insects.
