The Piranhas

by Harold Robbins

  “What do they want from you, Uncle Rocco?” I asked.

  My uncle was quiet. “The Sicilian commission knows that I am a man of honor. And so do the Americans. They both agree that they want me to be head of the commission. They say I would be the Capo di Tutti Capi, and whatever I would say would go.”

  “Jesus,” I said. “What kind of money would you get for that?”

  “More millions than you can ever imagine,” he said. “But that doesn’t matter. I don’t want it. I told you before that I wanted to die in bed. If I do this I will die in a year. In the street. Like Castellano, Bonanno, Galante.”

  “What can I do to help, Uncle?” I asked.

  “You talk to them,” he said quietly. “You tell them that I am an old man. I have problems with my head. I forget things. That I can’t handle the complications of a responsibility like that. Tell them I am now getting ready to go into a rest home.”

  “And they’ll believe me?” I asked incredulously.

  “Maybe,” he said shrugging.

  “But they don’t even know me,” I said.

  “They know,” he said confidently. “They knew your father. They knew that he was straight and honest. And they know that you are your father’s son.”

  “Oh, God,” I said. “And when am I supposed to do this?”

  “You have some time,” he said easily. “After you straighten up the business with the film company.”

  “I don’t know when I’ll get that finished. Jarvis’s sons won’t even acknowledge my offer for their stock.”

  Uncle Rocco smiled. “We’ll get the stock,” he said confidently. “They took my money for that stock. The money came from my Canadian bank. The bank has asked them to pay the money back. That’s four hundred million plus interest, and the Jarvis Corporation hasn’t got it. They have agreed to turn over the stock to the bank in return for cancellation of the loan without penalties.”

  Alma’s voice came from behind us. I hadn’t heard her come into the room. “I also waived my suit against the Jarvis estate. They insisted on that.”

  Uncle Rocco looked at her. “You will still get three million from the estate. And if this all works out, you’ll get a good commission.”

  “I want five million dollars,” she said.

  He laughed. “You’re nothing but a Peruvian putana.”

  She laughed with him. “I’m also the mother of your grandchild.”

  I turned to my uncle. “You’re both having fun,” I said. “But I’m the only one who is short on this deal so far. I laid out eighty-five million cash and went on the line for four hundred million; so far I haven’t received a penny back.

  Uncle Rocco met my eyes. “If you’re worried, I’ll give you the money the first thing in the morning.”

  “Uncle Rocco,” I said, shaking my head, “you know I won’t be here in the morning. I have to leave at five A.M. to be back at eight o’clock in the morning for meetings.”

  “Then I’ll send you the money when you return to L.A.,” he said.

  “Sure,” I said. I knew he wouldn’t send me the money tomorrow. That wasn’t his way.

  “I am a man of honor,” he said quietly. “When you wanted to get money to start your business, I gave it to you. You will get this money too.”

  “Fuck it,” I said. “I really don’t give a shit whether I get the money or not. After all, it’s family.”

  He nodded. “Family. That is all that really matters.” He looked at his watch. “It’s ten o’clock,” he said. “We can pick up the news on the Philadelphia station.”

  He turned in his chair and clicked on the remote. The large television lit up. The announcer’s voice could not hide his excitement. “Less than twenty minutes before coming on the air tonight, we learned that one of Philadelphia’s gang lords was shot and killed as he stepped out of his limousine on his way to dinner at his favorite restaurant.” The picture suddenly changed from the face of the anchorman to the face of the man who had been murdered. The announcer was speaking over it, but Uncle Rocco was no longer interested. He turned off the set.

  I looked at him. He knew I had recognized the man. He had been in Uncle Rocco’s office earlier today. “What happened?” I asked.

  My uncle shrugged his shoulders. “I told you that he was a shit. Nobody liked him. Sooner or later somebody was going to whack him.”

  I was silent for a moment. “And this is the world they want you to control?”

  “I said I couldn’t handle it,” he said. “That’s why I want out.”

  I got out of my chair. “I’d better get to bed,” I said. “I have to wake up very early tomorrow.”

  Alma smiled at me. “I thought we’d have some time to talk a little.”

  “We will,” I said. “But tomorrow I have to meet with Senator Beaufort about your citizenship application.”

  I bent over and kissed Uncle Rocco’s cheek. His fingers brushed my cheek lightly. “Sleep well,” he said. “I love you.”

  “I love you,” I said to him. And I know he believed it.

  I kissed Alma’s cheek, too. “Goodnight, dear,” I said. “And your daughter is beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and I left them in the living room while I went down the steps where the guest bedrooms were located.

  * * *

  THERE WERE FOUR guest bedrooms, and mine was the last at the end of the hall. In a way it was the best room of all: large and at the corner of the hall. There were French windows on the far side of the room that opened onto a long terrace that reached along the building past each of the other bedrooms. I stretched out on the bed in nothing but my jockey shorts and turned off the light. I cursed silently. Despite the blackout curtains over the windows, light still came in from the cracks between the curtains. There was too much Las Vegas on the boardwalk outside. I turned on my side, facing the wall with my back to the windows. After a while I fell asleep.

  I don’t know how long I had been asleep, but suddenly I felt a blast of cold night air and sensed a flash of light coming from the drapes. I rolled quickly to face the windows. The drapes had already fallen closed.

  Alma’s voice came to me. “Are you awake?”

  “I am now,” I said.

  “Let me get under the covers,” she said. “I’m freezing.”

  “Stupid,” I said. “Why didn’t you come through the door?”

  “One of your uncle’s guards is sitting in the hall,” she said. “Come on. Let me in, I’m freezing.”

  I moved over and she got into bed and pulled the blankets over herself. She took my hand. “Feel,” she said. “I’m really cold.”

  She guided my hand over her breasts. She was cold. Then she placed my hand over her belly and down to her fur. “But my pussy is warm. It’s always hot.”

  “Great,” I said. “So what else is new?”

  “Do you have a hard-on?” she asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “I can fix that,” she said.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “What have you come over here for?”

  “I wanted you to know,” she said, “Angela is your child, not your cousin’s.”

  “No big deal,” I said. “I’m sure Uncle Rocco figured that out.”

  “I don’t give a damn what Uncle Rocco thought,” she said, her voice quiet but angry. “Don’t you feel anything about your own daughter?”

  I looked at her. “She’s not my child,” I said flatly. “You made a good deal with Uncle Rocco, don’t fuck it up.”

  Her open hand stung my face. “You cold-ass son of a bitch!” she snapped.

  I shook my head to clear it, then turned on the dim bedside light and smiled at her. “I’m disappointed. I thought you just came here for an auld lang syne fuck.”

  “Fuck yourself!” she answered angrily and started to swing at me again.

  This time I caught her arm. She tried to hit me with her other hand. Now she was overdoing it. I had a temper of my own. I belted her on the jaw.
She tumbled backward off the bed, falling face down across the chaise, her naked buttocks and legs hanging out of her silk robe.

  I stood over her as she stared up at me. “You have a hard-on,” she said huskily.

  “I have to take a piss,” I said.

  A faint smile began to appear on her face. “Piss on me,” she said.

  “You’re crazy,” I said. “Go back to your room.”

  She turned quickly. Pulling down my shorts, she cupped my testicles in her hand. “Your balls are heavy with come,” she said.

  “Get out,” I said angrily, “or I’ll fuck you in the ass.”

  She rose on the chaise and got on her knees, her ass in the air dog-fashion. Quickly she wet her fingers with her cunt juices and spread the moisture over her anus. “Do it,” she said. “I love it.”

  I stood there for a moment. Then she grasped my prick with her hand and pushed it inside her. I grabbed her by the sides of her buttocks to pull her to me.

  Suddenly there was a noise, and the bedroom door opened. Angela stood in the doorway far across the room, the light from the hallway framing her. “Is my mother here?” she asked in a soft voice.

  3

  ALMA QUICKLY ROLLED from the chaise to the floor, and when she came to her feet her robe completely covered her. I still had half a hard-on so I turned my back to the child and grabbed for my pants. Alma spoke to her daughter angrily. “I told you never to follow me!”

  “I didn’t follow you, Mama,” Angela said quietly. “I just wanted to tell you that the guard in the hall is dead.”

  “You were watching television again,” Alma snapped.

  The child was still calm. Quietly she opened the door wide. “Look,” she said.

  Angela was right. It wasn’t television. The guard was still sitting in his chair, a look of surprise on his face, a neat bullet hole in the center of his forehead, his gun lying on the floor underneath his outstretched hand.

  “What else did you see?” I whispered to Angela, quickly crossing the room and pulling her inside.

  “I peeked through my door. There were two men. They ran up the steps toward Grandpa’s,” she answered.

  “Take her with you to my bathroom and lock the door,” I said to Alma.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “First I’m going to get the guard’s gun. Then I’ll figure out something. You get into the bathroom. Now.”

  I watched them go into the bathroom and heard the lock click shut. Then I went to my bedroom door and looked out into the hallway. It was empty except for the dead guard. I stood silently, listening for any sound. There was none. Quickly I ran across the hall to the dead guard, grabbed his gun, ran back to my bedroom, and closed the door behind me.

  I checked the gun. It was a Beretta .380 automatic with an eleven-cartridge clip. The clip was full—not a cartridge had been used. I locked the clip tight and opened the safety. Then I looked down at the telephone next to the bed. There were six intercom buttons. One was listed “Mr. Di Stefano’s Bedroom.” I picked up the receiver and pressed the button.

  There were three slow buzzes, and just as my heart sank, Uncle Rocco’s voice came on. “What the hell do you want?” he asked gruffly.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said irritably. “Now what the hell do you want?”

  “I want you to know that the guard down here has been killed,” I said. “And two gunmen have gone up the stairs.”

  “I haven’t heard anything,” he said. “Certainly I would have heard shots from the bodyguards outside my room.”

  “Maybe they’ve been whacked, too,” I said. “I heard nothing from the hall when they killed the guard. They must have used silencers.”

  “Shit,” Uncle Rocco complained. “Nobody fights fair anymore.”

  “They’ll be going into your room after you,” I said.

  “No way,” he said. “They can’t get in. My bedroom is a safe room. Steel door under the wooden panel and steel panels in the walls. And all the windows are presidential bulletproof glass.”

  “What if they have plastic explosives to blow the door?” I asked.

  “That would be embarrassing,” Uncle Rocco said calmly. “But for them, not me. Once they get through the door, I have two Uzis and a double sawed-off shotgun aimed right at them.”

  “In Nam, they threw in tear gas before going in,” I said. “You can’t see to shoot anything when you’re blind and choking.”

  “Where’s the putana and my granddaughter?” he asked.

  “They’re safe,” I said. “I have them locked in my bathroom.”

  “That don’t mean shit if those assholes come after you,” he said. “Get them to the fire stairs and have them go all the way to the main floor. The security men will take care of them.”

  “But what about you?” I asked.

  “Get them on the steps; then, if you want to be a hero, come after me,” he said.

  “Don’t be sarcastic,” I said. “I promised to help you die in bed, and not with bullets. How do I get to you?”

  “There’s an outside staircase between the terrace on your floor up to mine. It comes up to the back of my office French doors. Do you have a gun?”

  “I grabbed the guard’s gun,” I said.

  “That’s a Beretta special,” he said. “Do you know how to use it?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Okay,” he said quietly. “When you get up there, just shoot the sons of bitches in the back. Give them no warning or they’ll blow you away.”

  “Gotcha,” I said.

  “Now put a sweater on when you go out on the terrace, it’s freezing out there, and I don’t want you catching a cold,” he said.

  “I have a sweater,” I said.

  “Good,” he said. “Now check your watch. You come in my terrace doors in seven minutes exactly and start blasting. At the same time I’ll come out of my door with the shotgun. If you don’t get them, I will.”

  “I want you to stay in your room,” I said.

  “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “This is family.”

  The phone clicked off. I knocked on the bathroom door. “Come on,” I said.

  Alma opened the door. She was clutching the child beside her. “What’s going on?”

  “Rocco said to get you off this floor.” I pulled on my sweater. “Now follow me.”

  It took me two minutes to find the fire staircase. I opened the door. “Now get down to the main floor. Rocco said that the security men down there will take care of you.”

  “And what about you?” Alma asked.

  “Uncle Rocco and I have a plan. Now, get going.”

  Angela looked up at me. “Uncle Jed,” she said, “you’re a real hero.”

  I laughed. “Get going, honey.”

  Two and a half minutes had elapsed by the time I got to the terrace doors. I opened the door, and the icy blast from the ocean almost took my breath away. My chest was screaming in pain as I slipped and slid up the ice-covered terrace steps. My hands felt almost frozen to the iron railing along the staircase. I don’t know how I got there, but my watch showed six and a half minutes as I crouched near the upper terrace doors.

  Damn, I cursed to myself. Uncle Rocco said seven minutes. I still had thirty seconds to wait. Thirty seconds in windy, icy hell. The Beretta turned into pure ice in my hands as I clasped it. I prayed to Jesus that I could squeeze my fingers to make the damn thing shoot. Fifteen seconds later, I rose from my crouch. As Uncle Rocco had predicted, I could see the two gunmen inside. I leaned quietly against the terrace door and turned the doorknob, but it was frozen and wouldn’t open. I tried to kick the door. It still wouldn’t move.

  By this time the two bastards had their guns on me. I didn’t know which prayers would give me the most protection: my mother’s Adonai or my father’s Blessed Mary, Mother of God. I saw the blue-white flashes from their guns, but I heard no sounds. Maybe I was already dead. But then I
heard the faint ping of the bullets hitting the terrace windows. They never touched me.

  Then, behind them, I saw Uncle Rocco come through his bedroom door, his shotgun in his arm. The sound of the two blasts could be heard even through the windows. Uncle Rocco caught both men in their backs as they turned to shoot at me through the window. They never knew what hit them. They fell on their faces, and Uncle Rocco stepped carefully around them. He dangled a large key in his hand, then opened the terrace door.

  “Get inside,” he said. “It’s freezing out there.”

  “You bastard!” I said through chattering teeth. “You could have got me killed.”

  “Impossible,” he said. “I told you that it was presidential bulletproof glass.”

  “What about pneumonia?” I asked, still shivering.

  “Wait a moment,” he said. “I have the best Sicilian grappa. One shot of this, you’ll be as good as new.”

  He crossed to the bar and poured me a shot and one for himself. “Salute,” he said.

  “Salute,” I answered. The grappa burned into my gut. I turned and looked at the two men on the floor, then looked around the room. “Where are your bodyguards?” I asked. “I don’t see them anywhere around.”

  Uncle Rocco gestured to the two dead men. “There they are.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said.

  “They’ve been reached,” he said. “Money is the root of all evil and it destroyed them.”

  I stared at him. “Who paid them off?”

  He shrugged. “Probably Nico. But I guess they didn’t know that Nico was already gone. If they did, they wouldn’t have tried it, because there was no place to get the money for it.”

  “Did you get Nico whacked?” I asked.

  “No,” he answered. “I am way above all those things.”

  “The bodyguards,” I said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “It made sense,” he said. “They didn’t have to do anything tonight. They could have whacked me in the morning when I came out for breakfast. They knew that nobody could have gotten into my bedroom.”

  “What do you really need me for, Uncle Rocco?” I asked. “It seems to me you do pretty good on your own.”

  “I don’t agree with that. If you stay in the business, sooner or later they’ll get you. I can’t handle this excitement anymore, I’m too old for it.” He looked at me. “You’re family. Look down at the floor. Is this any way to live? You’re going to have to get me out.”