by Mario Puzo
“An answer to my prayers,” Pippi said smoothly. “But still why does such a man run away?”
“Because in addition to all his other virtues,” the mayor said, “he is prudent. He does not challenge fate. His days are numbered here.”
“And a man who’s qualified,” Pippi said, “can he be happy as a mere soldier in America?”
The mayor bowed his head in a sorrowful commiseration. “He is a true Christian,” he said. “He has the humility that Christ has always taught us.”
“I must meet such a man,” Pippi said, “if only for the pleasure of the experience. But I can guarantee nothing.”
The mayor made a wide, expansive gesture. “Of course he must suit you,” he said. “But there is another thing I must tell you. He forbade me to deceive you about this.” For the first time the mayor was not so confident. “He has a wife and three children and they must go with him.”
At that moment Pippi knew his answer would be no. “Ah,” he said, “that makes it very difficult. When do we see him?”
“He will be in the garden after dark,” the mayor said. “There is no danger, I have seen to that.”
Lia Vazzi was a small man but with that wiry toughness that many Sicilians inherited from long-ago Arab ancestors. He had a handsome, hawklike face, a dark brown, dignified mask, and he spoke English to a degree.
They sat around the mayor’s garden table with a bottle of homemade red wine, a dish of olives from the nearby trees, and bread, crusty and freshly baked that evening, round, still warm, and beside it a whole leg of prosciutto, studded with grains of whole pepper, like black diamonds. Lia Vazzi ate and drank and said nothing.
“I have received the highest recommendations,” Pippi said respectfully. “But I worry. Can a man of your education and qualification be happy in America in the service of another man?”
Lia looked at Cross and then said to Pippi, “You have a son. What would you do to save him? I want to have my wife and children safe and for that I will do my duty.”
“There will be some danger for us,” Pippi said. “You understand that I have to think of the benefits that justify the risk.”
Lia shrugged. “I can’t be the judge of that.” He seemed resigned to being refused.
Pippi said, “If you come by yourself, it will be easier.”
“No,” Vazzi said. “My family will live together or die together.” He paused for a moment. “If I leave them here, Rome will make it very difficult for them. I would rather give myself up.”
Pippi said, “The problem is how to hide you and your family.”
Vazzi shrugged. “America is vast,” he said. He offered the plate of olives to Cross and said almost mockingly, “Would your father ever desert you?”
“No,” Cross said. “He is old-fashioned, like yourself.” He said it gravely but with a tiny trace of a smile. Then he said, “I hear you’re a farmer also.”
“Olives,” Vazzi said. “I have my own press.”
Cross said to Pippi, “How about the Family hunting lodge in the Sierras? He could take care of it with his family and earn his keep. It’s isolated. His family can help.” He turned to Lia. “Would you live in the woods?” Woods as the idiom for anything not urban. Lia shrugged.
It was the personal force of Lia Vazzi that persuaded Pippi De Lena. Vazzi was not a big man, but his body put out an electric dignity. He had a chilling effect, a man who was not daunted by death, feared neither Hell nor Heaven.
Pippi said, “It’s a good idea. Perfect camouflage. And we can call on you for special jobs and let you earn extra money. Those jobs will be your risk.”
They could see the muscles on Lia’s face loosen when he realized that he had been chosen. His voice trembled slightly when he spoke. “I want to thank you for saving my wife and children,” he said, and looked directly at Cross De Lena.
Since then Lia Vazzi had more than earned the mercy that had been shown to him. He had risen from soldier to leader of all of Cross’s operational crews. He supervised the six men who helped him care for the Hunting Lodge estate, on whose grounds he owned his own house. He had prospered, he had become a citizen, his children went away to the university. All this earned by his courage and good sense, and most of all, his loyalty. So when he received the message to meet Cross De Lena in Las Vegas, it was with a goodwill that he packed his suitcase in his new Buick and made the long drive to Vegas and the Xanadu Hotel.
Andrew Pollard was the first to arrive in Las Vegas. He flew from L.A. on the noon flight, relaxed by one of the Hotel Xanadu’s huge pools, gambled small-time craps for a few hours, then was secretly whisked into Cross De Lena’s penthouse office suite.
They shook hands and Cross said, “I won’t keep you long. You can fly back tonight. What I need is all the information you have on the Skannet guy.”
Pollard briefed him on everything that had happened and informed him that Skannet was now staying in the Beverly Hills Hotel. He told of his conversation with Bantz.
“So they don’t really give a shit about her, they just want to get the picture done,” he told Cross. “Also, the Studio doesn’t take characters like that seriously. I have a twenty-man section in my company that just handles harassers. Movie stars really have to worry about people like him.”
“What about the cops?” Cross asked. “Can’t they do something?”
“No,” Pollard said. “Not until after the damage.”
“What about you?” Cross asked. “You have some good personnel working for you.”
“I have to be careful,” Pollard said. “I could lose my business if I get tough. You know how the courts are. Why should I stick my neck out?”
“This Boz Skannet, what kind of guy is he?” Cross said.
“He won’t scare,” Pollard said. “In fact he scares me. He’s one of those genuinely tough guys who doesn’t care about consequences. His family has money and political power so he figures he can get away with anything. And he really enjoys trouble, you know, how some guys do. If you’re going to get into this you have to be serious.”
“I’m always serious,” Cross said. “You have Skannet under surveillance now?”
“I sure have,” Pollard said. “He is definitely capable of pulling bad shit.”
Cross said, “Pull off your surveillance. I don’t want anyone watching him. Understand?”
“OK, if you say so,” Pollard said. He paused for a moment, then said, “Watch out for Jim Losey, he’s keeping an eye out on Skannet. Do you know Losey?”
“I’ve met him,” Cross said. “I want you to do one other thing. Lend me your Pacific Ocean Security ID for a couple of hours. You’ll have it back in time to catch the midnight flight to L.A.”
Pollard was worried. “You know I’ll do anything for you Cross, but be careful; this is a very touchy case. I’ve built up a very good life out here and I don’t want it to go down the drain. I know I owe it all to the Clericuzio Family, I’m always grateful, I’m always paid back. But this is a very complicated business.”
Cross smiled at him reassuringly. “You’re too valuable to us. One other thing, if Skannet calls up to check on men from your office talking to him, you just verify it.”
At this, Pollard’s heart sank. This was going to be real trouble.
Cross said, “Now tell me anything else you can about him.” When Pollard hesitated, Cross added, “I’ll do something for you. Later on.”
Pollard thought for a moment. “Skannet claims he knows a big secret that Athena would do anything not to have anyone find out. That’s why she dropped the charges against him. A terrific secret, Skannet loves that secret. Cross, I don’t know how or why you’re involved, but maybe knowing that secret can solve your problem.”
For the first time Cross looked at him without affability and suddenly he knew why Cross had acquired his reputation. The look was cold, judging, a judging that could result in death.
Cross said, “You know why I’m interested. Bantz must have tol
d you the story. He hired you to do a background on me. Now do you have any of this big secret or does the Studio?”
“No,” Pollard said. “Nobody knows. Cross, I’m doing my best for you, you know that.”
“I do know that,” Cross said, suddenly gentle. “Let me make it easier for you. The Studio is hot to know how I’m going to get Athena Aquitane back to work. I’ll tell you. I’m going to give her half the profits of the movie. And it’s okay by me for you to tell them. You can make points, they may even give you a bonus.” He reached into his desk and took out a round leather bag and put it in Pollard’s hand. “Five grand of black chips,” he said. “I always worry when I ask you up here on business that you’ll lose money in the casino.”
He need not have worried. Andrew Pollard always turned the chips into the casino cage for cash.
Leonard Sossa was just getting settled into a secured business suite at the Xanadu when Pollard’s ID was brought to him. With his own equipment he carefully forged four sets of Pacific Ocean Security IDs, complete with special flap-open billfolds. They would not have passed an inspection by Pollard, but that was not necessary, Pollard would never see these IDs. When Sossa finished the job several hours later, two men drove him to the Sierra Nevada Hunting Lodge, where he was installed in a bungalow deep in the woods.
On the porch of the bungalow that afternoon, he watched a deer and bear that wandered by. At night he cleaned his tools and waited. He didn’t know where he was or what he was going to do and he didn’t want to know. He got his hundred grand a year and lived the life of a free man in the open air. He killed time by sketching the bear and the deer he had seen on a hundred sheets of paper and then riffling them together to give the impression of the deer chasing the bear.
Lia Vazzi was greeted in an altogether different fashion. Cross embraced him, gave him dinner in his suite. During Vazzi’s years in America, Cross had been his operational chief many times. Vazzi, despite his own force of character, had never tried to usurp authority, and Cross in turn had treated him with the respect that a man gave his equal.
Over the years Cross had gone to the Hunting Lodge for weekend vacations and the two of them had gone hunting together. Vazzi told stories of the troubles in Sicily and the difference in living in America. Cross had reciprocated by inviting Vazzi and his family to Vegas, comped RFB at the Xanadu plus a credit rating of five thousand in the casino, which Lia was never asked to pay.
Over dinner they talked generally. Vazzi marveled still at his life in America. His oldest son was taking a degree at the University of California and had no knowledge of his father’s secret life. Vazzi was uneasy with this. “Sometimes I think he has none of my blood,” he said. “He believes everything his professors tell him. He believes women are equal to men, he believes peasants should be given free land. He belongs to the swimming team at college. In all my life in Sicily, and Sicily is an island, I have never seen a Sicilian swimming.”
“Except a fisherman thrown off his boat,” Cross said laughing.
“Not even then,” Vazzi said. “They all drowned.”
When they had finished eating, they talked business. Vazzi never really enjoyed the food in Vegas, but he loved the brandy and Havana cigars. Cross always sent him a case of good brandy and a box of thin Havana cigars once a year at Christmas.
“I have something very difficult for you to do,” Cross said. “Something that must be done very intelligently.”
“That is always difficult,” Vazzi said.
“It must be at the Hunting Lodge,” Cross said. “We will bring a certain person there. I want him to write some letters, I want him to give a piece of information.” He paused to smile at Vazzi’s dismissive gesture. Vazzi had often commented on American movies where the hero or villain refused to give information. “I could make them speak Chinese,” Vazzi would say.
“The difficulty,” Cross said, “is that there must be no mark on his body, no drugs inside his body. Also this certain person is very strong-willed.”
“Only women can make a man talk with kisses,” Vazzi said amiably, savoring his cigar. “It sounds to me that you are going to be personally involved in this story.”
Cross said, “There is no other way. The men working will be your crew but first the Lodge must be cleared of the women and children.”
Vazzi waved his cigar. “They will go to Disneyland, that blessing in happiness and trouble. We always send them there.”
“Disneyland?” Cross asked, and laughed.
“I have never been,” Vazzi said. “I hope to go there when I die. Will this be a Communion or a Confirmation?”
“Confirmation,” Cross said.
Then they got down to business. Cross explained the operation to Vazzi and why and how it should be done. “How does it sound to you?” he asked.
“You are far more Sicilian than my son and you were born in America,” Vazzi said. “But what happens if he remains stubborn and won’t give you what you want.”
“Then the fault will be mine,” Cross said. “And his. And then we must pay. In that, America and Sicily are the same.”
“True,” Vazzi said. “As in China and Russia and Africa. As the Don often says, Then we can all go swim in the bottom of the ocean.”
CHAPTER 9
ELI MARRION, BOBBY BANTZ, Skippy Deere, and Melo Stuart assembled in emergency session in Marrion’s home. Andrew Pollard had reported to Bantz Cross De Lena’s secret scheme to get Athena back to work. This information had been corroborated by the detective Jim Losey, who refused to divulge his source.
“This is a stickup,” Bantz said. “Melo, you’re her agent, you’re responsible for her and all your clients. Does this mean when we are in the middle of a big picture your star refuses to go to work until they get half the profits?”
“Only if you’re crazy enough to pay it,” Stuart said. “Let this De Lena guy do it. He won’t stay in the business long.”
Marrion said, “Melo, you’re talking strategy, we’re talking right this minute. If Athena goes back to work, then you and your client are sticking us up like bank robbers. Will you permit that?”
They were all astonished. It was rare that Marrion cut so quickly to the bone, at least since his younger days. Stuart was alarmed.
“Athena knows nothing about this,” he said. “She would have told me.”
Deere said, “Would she take the deal if she knew?”
Stuart said, “I would advise her to take it and then in a side letter split her half with the Studio.”
Bantz said crisply, “Then all her protestations of fear would be a mockery. Bullshit, in short. And Melo, you’re full of shit. You think this studio would settle for half of what Athena gets from De Lena? All that money rightfully belongs to us. And she may get away rich with De Lena but it means the end of her career in the movies. No studio will ever hire her again.”
“Foreign,” Skippy said. “Foreign would take a chance.”
Marrion picked up the phone and handed it to Stuart. “This is all to no purpose. Call Athena. Tell her what Cross De Lena is going to offer and ask if she is going to accept.”
Deere said, “She disappeared over the weekend.”
“She’s back,” Stuart said. “She often disappears on weekends.” He pushed the buttons on the phone.
The conversation was very brief. Stuart hung up and smiled. “She said she has received no such offer. And no such offer would make her come back to work. She doesn’t give a shit about her career.” He paused for a moment and then said admiringly, “I’d like to meet this guy Skannet. Any man who can scare an actress out of her career has some good in him.”
Marrion said, “It’s settled then. We’ve recouped our loss out of a hopeless situation. But it’s a pity. Athena was such a great star.”
Andrew Pollard had his instructions. The first had been to inform Bantz of Cross De Lena’s intention regarding Athena. The second was to pull the surveillance team off Skannet. The third was to vi
sit Boz Skannet and offer a proposition.
Skannet was in his undershirt when he let Pollard into his Beverly Hills Hotel suite, and he smelled of cologne. “Just finished shaving,” he said. “This hotel has more bathroom perfumes than a whorehouse.”
“You are not supposed to be in this town,” Pollard said reproachfully.
Skannet slapped him on the back. “I know, but I’ll leave tomorrow. I just have a few loose ends to tie up.” His malicious glee while saying this, his massive torso, would have frightened Pollard before, but now that Cross was involved it only evoked pity. But he would have to be careful.
“Athena is not surprised that you haven’t left,” he said. “She feels the Studio doesn’t understand you but she does. So she would like to meet with you personally. She thinks that just the two of you alone can strike a deal.”
When he saw the momentary rush of joy on Skannet’s face, he knew that Cross had been right. This guy was still in love, he would buy the story.
Boz Skannet was suddenly wary. “That doesn’t sound like Athena. She can’t stand the sight of me, not that I blame her.” He laughed. “She needs that pretty mug of hers.”
Pollard said, “She wants to make a serious offer. A lifetime annuity. A percentage of her earnings for the rest of her life if you want. But she wants to talk to you personally and secretly. There’s something else she wants.”
“I know what she wants,” Skannet said. Skannet had a curious look on his face. Pollard had seen that look on the faces of wistfully repentant rapists.
“Seven o’clock,” Pollard said. “Two of my men will come to pick you up and bring you to the meeting place. They will stay with her to be her bodyguards. Two of my best men, armed. Just so you won’t get any funny ideas.”
