Gennaro thought Pirelli was about to kiss him. "What the hell does it mean?"
"G. L. Carolla is Luka Carolla, and I've got to be there before those bastards let him slip away. . . ."
Gennaro returned to his own headquarters, hoping to squeeze a flight to New York out of his bosses. Pirelli also harassed his superiors. He was granted an economy-class ticket to New York, plus three days' expenses. When Gennaro received his go-ahead, the two men arranged to travel together.
In New York the women divided the money, but not without argument. Rosa insisted on having her share separate from Teresa's. Then Graziella said she wanted to divide hers among them all; she wanted nothing for herself. In the end Teresa banked her money, and Sophia and Rosa banked theirs, insisting that Graziella take at least a quarter. They each traveled to a different bank, but only Teresa knew that they still retained the documents.
Luka made a call from a pay phone to Peter Salerno, requesting he arrange a meeting with Barzini's so-called partners. He was careful to make no mention of the Luciano women, sure that Barzini's phone would be tapped. Teresa stood beside the phone booth, listening.
"My clients are still interested in doing the same deal. They still have the documents and wish to do business." Luka could not repress a smile as he continued. "You see, they still have no cash, so they need to move quickly."
Salerno was sure that Barzini had cashed the banker's draft nd paid the widows, but he didn't say so. He simply stated that he would contact the parties involved. It would take a few days to set up a meeting. And he added, quietly and courteously, that he would require payment for his efforts.
Luka finally agreed to 2 percent of the final sum.
Teresa inched the door farther open and whispered, "Make sure he knows we don't have the documents at the apartment."
Luka gave her a thumbs-up. "My clients wish it to be known that all the documents are in a safety-deposit box and not at their apartment. Is that understood? I have the key, so it would be a waste of time trying to get them—"
"Who is this?"
"That is no concern of yours; I am simply acting for my clients. Please do not delay. I'll call you again, on this number, in three days."
Putting the phone down, he smiled at Teresa. "You hear? I think he's gonna play ball. He's got no option. . . . Put it there!" He held out his open hand. Teresa laughed and slapped it; then he hugged her tightly. "We did good, huh?"
She looked into his face. "I want you to promise me something. Swear to me, Johnny, there will be no more killing. I want your word, it has to stop."
Luka stepped back from her and crossed himself. "Before almighty God, it's over."
It began to snow lightly as they walked along Fifth Avenue arm in arm. Teresa stopped at a furrier's window and pointed. "I want to buy something for Rosa."
"Not a fur. She won't wear a fur. It's against her principles."
Teresa laughed. "Not mine, though. What do you think? Shall I try it on?"
Teresa arrived home laden with boxes, twirled around in her new fox fur coat, and began handing out parcels.
"Happy belated Christmas, Rosa, Mama, Sophia. . . . These are from us."
"Us?" repeated Sophia.
"Yes, Johnny and I bought them. Well, aren't you going to open them?"
Sophia took her Bergdorf Goodman parcel. "Where is the boy wonder?"
Teresa smiled. "He said he would be by shortly. I think he's arranging a surprise for us, a trip, he said. It's a good idea. We should get away for a couple of days, just in case any more men in masks decide to pay us a visit."
Teresa was in such high spirits she was almost hysterical.
"Open your present, Sophia," said Teresa. "We spent hours choosing it."
Sophia's box contained a Ferrucci cream silk shirt. It was worth a fortune. She smiled. "Thank you, I'll go try it on."
Beaming, Teresa handed the two largest boxes to Graziella and Rosa. "Come on, open them."
Suspicious, Sophia paused in the doorway. "What did Salerno say, Teresa?"
"He has to discuss it with the others. We are going to call back in three days' time."
Rosa ran her hand down Teresa's coat. "Mama, this is not Sophia's. Did you buy it?"
"Yes, but please open your gift. Come on, Mama, open your box, too."
Sophia lingered at the door. "Why did he speak with Salerno and not Barzini?"
"I don't know." With a shrug, Teresa changed the subject. "Aren't you going to try your blouse on?"
Sophia was sure Teresa was up to something. She watched as Graziella and Rosa lifted the lids from their big boxes.
Rosa's face fell. "Oh, Mama, how could you? I won't wear it!"
Teresa snatched the coat from the box and shook it out. "Oh, yes, you will, because it's a fake."
Graziella held up her own fake mink jacket. "What is it?"
Teresa tried to help Graziella into the coat. "It's supposed to be mink, but it's a fake."
"What's fake? I don't understand—"
"It's a fake fur, Mama, you know, it's not real? And this isn't fox fur; it's a fake, too, a fake."
"Fake? What animal is a fake?"
Teresa threw her hands up in despair. "Man-made, the animal is man-made. . . . What do you think, Rosa?"
Rosa's face was a picture; she loathed her coat. "Well, Mama, it still means that it looks real, and someone will throw a pot of paint over me. It's just as bad as wearing a real fur because it still encourages—"
Teresa snapped, "Fine, forget it. I should have known there's no pleasing you. Take the receipt and change the goddamn thing!"
Graziella stood looking at her reflection in the hall mirror, a deep frown on her face. She gestured for Sophia to come to her side. "Fake? This is a fake, you mean, like a painting is fake?"
"Si, Mama, it's because so many people don't like to wear the real thing."
Graziella nodded and adjusted the collar. "It's okay . . . Teresa, grazie . . . You think it'll be warm enough? It's very light—"
Just then the front door opened, and Luka walked in, wearing a fur hat. Sophia collapsed laughing. Luka doffed his hat with a bow.
"It's not real, Rosa. It's fake fur, see? It says, 'man-made fiber.' " He looked from one smiling woman to the next. "Teresa bought it for me. ..."
Luka was beaming. He had brought flowers and champagne. He told them proudly that he had hired a limo for a surprise trip early the next morning. Stern-faced, he instructed them to be ready before eight.
He excused himself for not staying; he wanted to get everything ready for tomorrow. Before he left, he went to Rosa's side and whispered, "This is for you. I knew you wouldn't like the coat, but she wouldn't listen to me."
He handed her a small jewelry box and left quickly. Rosa flushed as she opened it. Then she gasped. The diamond was in the shape of a tear, on a fine, thin gold chain. She hurried after him.
"Johnny . . . Johnny, wait!"
He turned and watched her as she ran down the stairs. "It's so beautiful, it's just lovely, thank you. . . ."
"I'm glad you like it, I picked it out myself."
She stopped two steps above him and leaned down to hug him tightly. "Thank you."
She tried to kiss him, but he took her hands, held them tight. "It's just a friendship gift, Rosa, because I like you. . . · Don't read anything into it."
Rosa looked into the clear blue eyes. "Has Mama been talking to you?"
He released her hands and turned away. "I have to go. I have things to do."
She ran down the stairs and caught his arm. "Wait, please—"
He jerked himself free. "No."
"Johnny, please." She grabbed him again, pulling him back. He resisted at first, then relaxed as she said, "You know how I feel about you. You do, don't you?"
For a moment he seemed confused, and she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him tenderly. He didn't respond, and she looked at him questioningly. His eyes were those of a child. She held him tighter, kis
sed his neck, his cheek. ... As she found his lips, she felt his arms squeezing her roughly.
"Rosa, Rosa, come back here."
Luka released her and pressed his back against the wall. They both looked up at Sophia, standing above them, eyes blazing. "You'd better go, Johnny."
He ran down the stairs and out of sight. Rosa marched back up to the landing to confront Sophia. "What's the matter, jealous?"
Sophia pushed her into the hallway. "Don't be childish. Teresa, you'd better talk to your daughter. I found her on the stairs with Johnny. Talk to her. Make her see sense—"
Rosa turned on her aunt in fury. "Why don't you mind your own damned business? I'll do what I want. You don't have the right to tell me what to do; nobody has—"
The telephone rang, the shrill, insistent ring striking fear into them. With a glance toward the study Teresa said lightly, "So, the telephone's ringing; it could be my hairdresser." But no one made any attempt to pick up the phone.
Finally Teresa answered. She turned her back on the others, who were waiting impatiently to know who it was. "She's not at home right now. . . . Yes, she is staying here. ... Of course, yes."
She covered the mouthpiece and said to Sophia, "It's someone asking about you. It's a detective from Milan. Gennaro. Do you know him?"
Sophia shook her head, and Teresa said into the phone, yes yes, I'll tell her as soon as she returns. Do you have a number where she can call you?"
Teresa wrote down the number on a used envelope. As she did, she covered the mouthpiece again. "He's in New York. ..." Then she asked Gennaro, "May I know what this is about? . . . Oh, I see. . . . Well, then, I will get her to call you."
Sophia was at her side. "What does he want?"
Teresa gestured to her to keep quiet. "Yes. ... I will, thank you."
Replacing the phone, she turned to Sophia. "He's been trying to contact you, something to do with Nino Fabio. You'll have to get rid of him. The last thing we want right now is the police coming around. What do you think he wants?"
Sophia sat down and lit a cigarette. She was shaking, and her face had lost its color. Teresa told Graziella and Rosa to stay in the kitchen. Then she shut the study door.
With a searching look she asked, "What's it all about?"
"I'll show you," Sophia replied. She went to her bedroom and returned with the suitcaseful of Nino's drawings. "Johnny gave them to me. I tried to tell you about them."
"Yes, I remember. But why would he come all the way to New York to talk to you about them? Oh, shit, did Johnny steal them?"
Sophia bit her lip. "I think so. . . ."
Teresa tore off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "That stupid boy . . . My God, this is all we need. It's your fault, you know. He's got this thing about you, never mind about him and Rosa. . . . It's you he's always staring at, has been since you came back. Did anything happen between the two of you in Rome?"
Sophia slammed the case case shut. "Don't be ridiculous. . . . Do you think I would encourage him? I was the one who wanted you to get rid of him at the very beginning; he's the one who got us into—"
Teresa interrupted. "I don't want to hear that now, Sophia. If it weren't for him, we would all have been shot. Anyway, are they worth money? The drawings? Is that why the detective is here?"
"Yes! They are worth a lot of money. It's almost his entire collection, but—"
She was trapped. If she told Teresa about Nino Fabio's murder and Johnny's part in it, Teresa would know that the detective wasn't in New York just to inquire about the theft of designs. Sophia's mind was so scrambled that she couldn't think what she should admit to knowing. . . .
Teresa was pacing up and down the cluttered room. "Okay, let's take it step by step. Do they know about your connection with Fabio?"
"Yes, of course." Sophia rubbed her head. "I went to his factory when I tried to buy them from him. Johnny was with me; he was driving the car. I told you that."
"Did anyone see you there?"
Helplessly Sophia shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I can't think."
"Well, start thinking. Who saw you there?"
"No one, I didn't see anyone. Wait, when I was leaving, I saw a girl who used to be my receptionist. She was still working for Nino. I talked to her outside the building."
"So she also saw Johnny?"
"Yes, of course. He was driving the car."
Teresa sighed. "Okay, first of all, get rid of the drawings: Burn them, do anything, but get rid of them. They mustn't be found anywhere near us. Next, call this detective, seem very willing to see him, and tell him you saw Fabio but you left. Come on real innocent."
Sophia sat immobile.
"Are you listening, Sophia?"
She nodded. "Yes, yes, I'm listening."
"Okay. You have to call him before he calls again. Otherwise it'll look suspicious. Tell him you don't know anything about anything, admit you wanted the designs, but when Fabio refused to let you have them, you gave up your business and came to the States. It all makes sense, doesn't it?"
"Yes . . . Yes, when should I call?"
"I don't know." She looked searchingly at Sophia, then asked again, "That is all there is to it? You sure there isn't anything else you need to tell me?"
Sophia picked up the suitcase. "I'll go down to the basement. Luka lay on his small bed, staring up at the light bulb. He had arranged every detail of the weekend trip with care. The small satchel containing all of Paul Carolla's papers was stashed by his bed, and he put his hand out to touch it, then slid his hand inside to feel the folded papers and bundles of bank notes. Then he rolled over onto his belly and pulled the pillow over his head. Paul Carolla's dream of the good life was now contained in one small bag. He saw clearly the potbellied man who had foolishly tried to be his father, could smell the cigar smoke, feel the way the fat hands used to grip him, hold him in that bear hug. . . . He giggled, hugging the pillow.
CHAPTER 21
Pirelli unpacked his overnight case and went down to the lobby of his hotel, then down farther into the bar.
Gennaro was already sitting on a stool. He ordered a beer for Pirelli and munched on a handful of peanuts from a bowl at his elbow.
"I put in a call to the Luciano place. They didn't know where Signora S. was, but she's in New York. I left the number here for her to call. . . ."
Pirelli sat on a stool and flicked open a new package of Marlboros. He searched his pockets for his lighter, then picked up a strip of courtesy matches from the ashtray. He struck a match and looked at his hand; it was shaking. It was after ten, but Pirelli couldn't sleep. He picked up his book and tried to read, but he couldn't concentrate. He was going to see her and didn't know how to handle it. He and Lisa were arguing more than ever, especially since he had canceled the promised vacation. He threw the sheets off and took a miniature brandy fromthe fridge. As he unscrewed the bottle top, the light on his phone blinked.
The operator informed him that the caller had asked for Gennaro, but there was no reply from his room. "He requested that in his absence any calls should be passed on to your room, Mr. Pirelli. Do you wish to take the call?"
Pirelli reached for a cigarette. "Sure, who is it?"
"The caller would not give her name, Mr. Pirelli."
"Put the call through."
A husky voice asked if he was Detective Gennaro.
"No, it's me, Sophia. It's Joe."
There was a long pause. Then: "Joe?"
"Yes. I'm here on an investigation; we came together."
"I was asked to call; he wants to see me."
Pirelli paused and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke drift from his nostrils. "I want to see you, too."
She did not reply. Eventually he asked, "Sophia, are you still there?"
"Yes . . ."
"I can't discuss Gennaro's case, you understand?"
"Of course . . . Well, I'll call him tomorrow. I'm sorry I called so late."
"It's not that late. . . . How are you?"
/> "I'm fine."
He had to warn her. "Sophia, he'll ask your whereabouts the night we went to the opera. He knows we were together, but nothing more. ..."
Again he waited. When she spoke, her voice was faint. "Is it about Nino Fabio?"
"You know about him?"
"I know. I called his office. They told me."
"I guess that's what he wants to talk to you about."
"Why?"
"I can't really discuss it."
"No, I guess not."
"I'll come to see you with him."
"Oh, are you on the case, too?"
"No, but I'll be with him."
"When does he want to see me?"
"As soon as possible."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes . . . about nine?"
Again there was a pause. "Make it a little later. My sister-in-law and mother-in-law are going out shopping later, so the apartment will be empty. It will be easier to talk."
"Okay, how much later?"
"About eleven?" said Sophia.
"I'll tell Gennaro."
There was another long pause. Then Pirelli said, "I have missed you, Sophia."
Silence. "You hear me?" he said.
"Yes, I hear you. ..."
"I'll see you tomorrow morning then?"
"Is there a reason for you to come tomorrow?"
"Yes, I have some questions I need to ask you."
"What about?"
"It would be best to tell you when I see you."
"Until tomorrow then." Her voice was very soft.
"I still love you," he said quietly. But she had hung up.
Teresa stared hard at Sophia. "Well? That wasn't Gennaro?"
Sophia shook her head. "No, it was Commissario Pirelli; they're together. They are coming here at eleven."
"Yes, I heard. Did he say why they wanted to see you?"
Sophia lit a cigarette. "Nino Fabio's been murdered."
Teresa gasped, "What? They think you had something to do with it?"
Sophia shrugged. "They think it was robbery, but I was seen at his warehouse, so I guess they have to question me."
Teresa squinted. She was not wearing her glasses. Sophia's face seemed blurred. "What are you going to do?"
BELLA MAFIA Page 48
