So amid the light snow flurries which swooped out of the cold, gray sky, was buried the clay-like shell of a man. Scores of dark eyed, squat, olive skinned men and women, standing slightly apart from the modern community, was a sign that his existence is understood, that other men of the blood, come from their neighborhood ghettos to say farewell to one of their own, would remember. They were simple people, without envy that Ettore had reached heights beyond their wildest dreams, whose eyes filled not only with tears of sorrow that a friend of their past was gone, but with pride at the sight of that tall, hard-looking fighting man who stood where his father had stood on so many occasions and who bore signs of the same strength that was in his father.
And mingled with the sorrow and pride was a cold chill that ran up their spines at the sight of the space between the two brothers and Rose. It was still there, the specter of the wild one. Where was Dominic? He had to be beyond the limits of communication to be absent at such a time. They saw men watching the crowd closely, and identified them as local police searching for Dominic, so they eyed each other with knowing glances. Men of the blood might be influenced by their passions, but they were not fools enough to put their wrists into the cuffs of the authority. Those beasts, the police, to seek a son at the time of mourning for the father.
They lowered Ettore DiStephano, stone mason and father, into his eternal hole where he could reach out his left hand to touch the beloved woman who had lived and died speaking only Italian and serving those she loved, and his second son with his right hand.
The house was opened to all, and all came. The DiStephanos stood tall and dry-eyed as they thanked those who entered. Even Eleanor, suddenly grown and fitting in with the rest of the family. Bonny walked in as the mourners thinned out. She had learned of Ettore’s death while in Montevideo checking on supplies for the expedition and had turned everyone upside down to get back in time for the funeral. Enroute she had sent a telegram to Dominic in Santo Domingo.
When all had gone, Paul took the family, Bonny, and Boranski into the formal dining room, explained what each was to say for the tapped lines, then everyone went into the kitchen and sat around the huge table. Paul took the position which Ettore had occupied for half a century. Anthony sat quietly in his usual place. Paul knew that he would never lose the belief that he had been the cause of Papa’s death. There was no sense trying to convince him otherwise. Anthony would just nod, agree, then his mind would turn inward.
“Well,” said Paul. “Another sorrowful meeting. Poor Papa, dying for such a foolish vendetta.”
“He died for what he believed in,” said Rose.
“Perhaps,” replied Paul. “But it was still waste. Cy, this thing has got to stop.”
Boranski snorted. “You don’t have the choice. Bonazzi is calling the tune. Listen, General, give me the green light. In two weeks I can have a hundred men ready to blast him out of existence. And if that’s not enough, I can field two hundred. There is nobody who can hold out against that form of pressure. In addition, I can put so much muscle on the eastern gangs that the Dons themselves will stake out Bonazzi to get us off their backs.”
“No. I want this absurd fight to stop. I’ve almost been killed twice myself now. My profession is a warlike one, but it’s senseless to fight an unnecessary war.”
“I would have been dead in the plane crash with Vito if I hadn’t gotten appendicitis,” said Rose bitterly.
“You can be killed the next time if this continues,” replied Paul. “Enough. Let’s cut our losses. Cy, you must make contact with Bonazzi. Who do you know?”
“Gobetti would be the man to talk to. He’s the top Don of Boston. But your brother, Dominic, better be cooled down. Where is he?”
“He’s in Oregon. I phoned him from Boston saying not to come to the funeral.”
“Okay, General, I’ll try to make contact. But what will you do if Bonazzi tries again to get one of the family members?”
“Then I want you to turn everything loose to destroy him.”
The phone rang. Mario took the call in the hallway and came to the kitchen. “For you, Miss Winston.”
Bonny seemed surprised, then got up and went to the hallway. In a few minutes she returned. “A friend of mine saying hello and asking when I will get back to South America,” she said casually, motioning with her hands at Paul to leave the room.
Paul signaled to the others to keep talking, then led Bonny into the living room
“It’s from Dominic,” she whispered, as if she could be overheard. “He’s here in Chicago.”
“Did he call you?” asked Paul, his face flushing with anger.
“No. Don’t worry, we’ve been careful. Dom gave me the name of a small hotel a short while back. He said that if a woman named Mildred ever phoned me, he would be at the hotel.”
Paul chuckled. “That’s more like him. Don’t tell me the name, just in case. Write it down.”
Late that night, Paul and Boranski stole out of the back of the house, passed by the one guard informed of their coming, and cut across the neighbors’ yards, as Paul had done when he went to Bonazzi’s estate. Making certain they were not being trailed, they walked to the small shopping center for a taxi. They got out a few blocks from the hotel named by Bonny and started towards it. As they came level with a parked car, a figure rose up from a reclining position on the front seat.
“Paul,” said a soft voice.
Boranski reached for his gun, but Paul stopped and walked over to the partially open window of the car. He smiled as he looked inside. Dominic leaned over to unlock the door. The two brothers shook hands, then Paul climbed inside. He motioned Boranski onto the back seat, and introduced him to Dominic. “Cy’s okay, Dom. He’s in the know.”
“What happened, Paul?” asked Dominic quietly. “I read about it in the papers after I heard from Bonny, but it was just the barest facts.”
“Mickey set a trap for the three of us.” He told the story in detail watching the face of his brother turn to stone.
Dominic sat silent during the recounting, then he leaned back in the seat. “Okay, Paul. I’ll take over now.”
“Your way won’t work, Dom. Bonazzi’s place is like a fortress. I tried to reconnoiter it and almost got my head shot off. I have aerial photos of the estate so sharp that you can see the brand on a guard’s cigarette.”
“I’ll find a way.”
“We’ve already developed a plan. I was going to wait two more days for you to come before putting it into operation. Where will you stay overnight?”
“In the hotel. I’m using the name Pete Bruno.”
“Keep under cover. I’ll call tomorrow with final instructions.”
“Okay, Paul. You’re the general.” They both smiled as Paul and Boranski climbed out of the car.
Rose came up the moment they returned to the house. “You’ve had a phone call,” she said to her brother. “I think it’s Kristine.”
“How do you know? You’ve never spoken to her.”
“She had an accent. Paul, none of us mind if she comes here.”
Paul smiled wistfully. “I know, Rose. I guess it is all right now. I could never have done it with Papa still alive, though.”
Kristine was at a downtown hotel when Paul phoned. Ingrid was with her. They had flown over as soon as they heard the news about Ettore, and had stood in the background at the funeral. Paul said he would send a car for them, and to bring all their bags. He had never heard Kristine sound so flustered before and had to grin.
Boranski took two carloads of men and brought them to the house in under an hour. Meeting his daughter again after two years was almost a shock to Paul. She was a woman, through and through. He found it impossible to take his eyes from her. The family shook hands with Kristine and kissed Ingrid warmly. Eleanor was thrilled to meet the cousin she had heard about for so long, and being two years younger than Ingrid’s nineteen she looked up to her as a woman of the world.
Kristine was at ease wi
th the family, but Rose and Anthony felt awkward, Anthony especially, having been instrumental in preventing Paul from marrying her so many years ago. He knew his opposition had been the wisest course, that Paul had been a hairsbreadth from destroying the lives of all involved. From his viewpoint, it had turned out as best as could be hoped for.
They talked until bedtime. When the rest had gone upstairs, Paul took Kristine into the dining room to explain the family situation in detail. She was flabbergasted that such savagery could exist; it would be inconceivable for people in her own country to accept this situation. The police would brook no armed camps or shootouts, and possessing a handgun in her land, except for those belonging to registered gun clubs, was unthinkable.
They sat holding hands while Paul told her what must be done. When he had finished, she held his hand against her cheek and kissed it, as she had done whenever he left for his frequent travels and long wars.
They did not sleep together. This was not the proper place, they both knew. So after she said goodnight, she lay down in the twin bed next to Ingrid and tried to think of the blessings they had shared instead of the fear that gripped her heart.
CHAPTER 20
The family spent three days at the house, resting up from the hectic strain of Ettore’s death and discussing the disposition of his estate. Ettore’s will had been kept up to date, and its contents were of little surprise to anyone. A gift of cash and liberal pensions were provided to Mario and Clara, splendid sums went to church and fraternal organizations, the remainder was distributed among the family.
Rose got no money, Ettore explained, because she had all she needed, but everything that belonged to or had been used by her mother was hers. When the attorney read that part, Rose’s heart broke. It was too much. The sister she loved as a daughter, her brothers, her husband, her children, her father - what, dear God, is left. There is a thin line between the force of shock from blows and sanity itself, and Rose had reached it. Paul and Anthony helped her upstairs, and Carol put her to bed. Drugs left by Doctor Gardino were administered. Soon she was asleep, the shock lulled by narcotics and the thin line renewing itself.
Clara sat with her while the family continued with the will. Carol, since she also had all the money a person needed, was not left cash, but was given everything which had belonged to Michael. Then Ettore told her that in his heart, before his God, he had taken her as his own flesh and blood daughter. No one had ever seen this tall, coldly blond woman react so strongly. She buried her face in her hands and poured out the anguished lament of a peasant woman in grief.
Eleanor was to receive everything which belonged to Maria, plus a one hundred thousand dollar trust to be paid out to her over a ten year period beginning at age twenty-one.
Certain income property, valued at two million dollars after taxes, was to be sold and the proceeds placed in a trust to pay Dominic $l00,000 per year for life. Paul almost chuckled at how Papa had made sure Dominic would be able to squander only the income, not the principal.
Anthony was to receive half of the property which remained, also valued at approximately two million dollars after taxes, but could dispose of it as he wished.
Paul got the other half of the remaining property, but in addition he received the house and its furnishings, which was worth another quarter of a million dollars at least. Everyone understood what Papa meant by that; that perhaps someday Paul would have his own family, either by marrying Kristine at the death of her husband, or by wedding another woman. If so, another crop of DiStephano children would run shouting through its rooms. After all, Paul was only forty-two years old, and Papa had been almost fifty when Maria was born. Paul felt strange to be a sudden millionaire, for ever since the Academy at West Point, he had lived and helped support Ingrid only on his military pay, which had been meager. He had been too proud to accept gifts from the family, and many were the times his bank account was down to fifty dollars. In fact, prior to taking the position with Donager, his total savings was less than ten thousand dollars.
A guest arrived unexpectedly that afternoon. He was closely questioned by the guards at the gate before one of them phoned via the system Boranski installed to report that a Mister Wilfried Holfmeyer desired to speak with Ingrid. She flew out of the house and down the slippery walk to where he was standing, telling the guards in English that he was quite all right and greeting him in animated German while leading him into the house. He was taken directly to Paul and formally introduced. Paul looked into the clear blue eyes of a young blond man of twenty-five or so, almost as tall as himself, who bowed in the German manner as he shook hands. It took but one glance at Ingrid’s face to know his hand gripped that of a possible son-in-law.
Wilfried bowed low over Kristine’s hand. “Frau Baronin,” he said, speaking slowly and carefully, his accent fully noticeable. “I intrude, of course.”
Kristine smiled warmly. “Not at all, Willy. I’m sure General DiStephano and his family are delighted to meet a friend of Ingrid’s.”
Ingrid made the introductions all about, and Eleanor was close to swooning. During a free moment in the conversation, Kristine had a quiet word with Paul. “I had no idea he would come here,” she said, explaining that the two had met the previous summer at the Bodensee and had since been writing each other weekly. They had planned to meet again at Davos during the Christmas vacation, but Ettore’s death had intervened.
“Who is he?” asked Paul, suddenly feeling like a father.
“He’s from a distinguished titled family. Düsseldorf, I believe. His father, Graf Holfmeyer, owns some industries and property in that area. Willy is finishing his law studies.”
“I have to hand it to the boy, following Ingrid across the ocean.” He looked over at Wilfried speaking with Anthony, and was surprised to see his brother responding with some of his old spirit.
“I think it was poor taste, imposing himself like this,” remarked Kristine.
Paul grinned. “It worked with her father.”
She laughed. “Touché.”
Paul looked at her wistfully. “You’ll have to leave tomorrow.”
“I know, Liebling. May I stay in this country for a few more days? New York, perhaps, or Washington?”
“Certainly. Washington is the best, though.”
“Thank you, Liebling. You will try to phone me if you can?”
“Yes.” He turned round as Rose came down the steps, again under control. She was introduced to Wilfried, and her tired eyes softened when she saw the sparks of romance flash between him and Paul’s daughter. Wilfried was invited to supper, and accepted with such alacrity that Ingrid and Eleanor laughed.
They ate in the formal dining room that evening, candlelight and wine reviving the spirits at the table. Anthony told Bonny some of his experiences as a parish priest so many years ago; Eleanor compared records with her cousin and her handsome boyfriend; Rose and Carol suddenly decided that Kristine was an extraordinarily interesting and comfortable person; Paul spoke with Boranski about everything under the sun, except what was nearest to their minds.
Wilfried left late in the evening, planning to return early the next morning with his luggage to accompany Kristine and Ingrid to Washington. When the house was quiet, Paul had a talk with Anthony in the dining room.
“I guess you’re leaving tomorrow morning, too,” he said.
Anthony eyed him carefully. “You have something planned, Paul. I’d like to know what it is.”
“It’s not your cup of tea, Tony. But all right, I’ll tell you. We’re going after Bonazzi.”
“I gathered as much. Where is Dom?”
“He’s here - hiding out.”
Anthony took a deep breath. “I want to come along.”
Paul looked hard at his brother for a few seconds, then shook his head. “I can’t let you do it, Tony.”
“It’s not what you think. I won’t interfere. I just want to accompany my brothers. I promise to stay out of the way.”
Paul was
definitely unhappy about the complication, but he knew Anthony too well to argue with him. “Okay. But you must promise not to sermonize.”
“I agree.” He stood up. “When do you start?”
“Tomorrow night - New Year’s Eve.”
The movement of the family out of Chicago went like clockwork. Kristine, Ingrid and Wilfried, after appropriate farewells, were escorted to the Chicago-O’Hare airport and put on a plane to Washington.
A short while later Bonny was taken to the same airport and placed aboard a flight to Portland, Oregon.
In mid-afternoon, two heavily guarded limousines took Paul, Anthony, Rose, Carol, Eleanor and Boranski to the private airport where their jet, as heavily guarded as the vehicles, was waiting. Soon they were airborne, Anthony suffering his usual terror, but realizing there was no other way to join his brothers. The jet’s flight plan read Chicago-Boston. A little over an hour later, the jet set down onto a private field south of Cleveland. Boranski stepped out first and waited for a black sedan to drive up. He looked inside, then nodded up at Paul. At once, Paul and Anthony, muffled against the cold, climbed out of the plane. The door to the sedan opened and three men got out, wearing coats, hats and scarves similar to those of Paul, Anthony and Boranski. Paul signaled to Boranski that he had selected the decoys well, even to the height needed for him and Anthony and a short, pudgy figure for himself. The three men climbed into the jet. Anthony and Paul raised their hands in salute to the women seated by the windows, then they stepped into the sedan. In minutes, the jet was airborne again. By putting on a little speed, it would meet the expected time of arrival at Boston.
I Contadini (The Peasants) Page 35
