by Mario Puzo
But he had had a long life of dealing with hypocrisy and recognized it now in himself. He had declined a new heart because it was not a good deal; a bottom-line decision. He had granted Ernest Vail his points because he desired the affection of Claudia and the respect of Molly Flanders, a sentimentality. Was it so terrible that he wanted to leave an image of goodness?
He was satisfied in the life he had lived. He had fought his way from poverty to riches, he had conquered his fellow man. He had enjoyed all the pleasure of human life, loved beautiful women, lived in luxurious homes, worn the finest silks. And he had helped in the creation of art. He had earned enormous power and a great fortune. And he had tried to do good for his fellow man. He had contributed tens of millions to this very hospital. But most of all he had enjoyed struggling against his fellow man. And what was so terrible about that? How else could you acquire the power to do good? Even now he regretted the last act of mercy to Ernest Vail. You could not simply give the spoils of your struggle to your fellow man, especially under threat. But Bobby would take care of that. Bobby would take care of everything.
Bobby would plant the necessary publicity stories featuring his refusal of a heart transplant so that someone younger could have it. Bobby would recover all the gross points that existed. Bobby would get rid of his daughter’s production company, which was a losing proposition for LoddStone. Bobby would take the rap.
Far off he could hear a tiny bell, then the snakelike rattling of the fax machine transmitting the box office receipts compiled in New York. The stuttering making a refrain for his failing heart.
The truth now. He had enough of life at its best. It was not his body that had ultimately betrayed him but his mind.
The truth now. He was disappointed in human beings. He had seen too many betrayals, too many pitiful weaknesses, too much greed for money and fame. The falseness between lovers, husbands, and wives, fathers, sons, mothers, daughters. Thank God for the films he had made that gave people hope and thank God for his grandchildren and thank God he would not see them grow up into the human condition.
The fax machine stilled its stutter, and Marrion could feel the fluttering of his failing heart. Early morning light filled his room. He saw the nurse flick off her lamp and close her book. It was so lonely to die with only this stranger in this room when he was loved by so many powerful people. Then the nurse was prying open his eyelids, putting her stethoscope to his chest. The huge doors to his hospital suite opened like the great door of some ancient temple and he could hear the rattling of dishes on the breakfast trays. . . .
Then the room filled with bright lights. He could feel fists thumping his chest and wondered why they were doing this to him. A cloud was forming in his brain, filling it with mist. Through that mist voices were screaming. A line from a movie penetrated his oxygen-starved brain. “Is this how the Gods die?”
He felt the electric shocks, the pummeling, the incision made to massage his heart with bare hands.
All of Hollywood would mourn but none more than the night duty nurse, Priscilla. She had done a double shift because she supported two small children, and it displeased her that Marrion had died on her shift. She prided herself on her reputation as one of the finest nurses in California. She hated death. But the book she had been reading had excited her and she had been planning how to talk with Marrion about making it into a movie. She would not be a nurse forever, she was a screenwriter on the side. Now she did not give up hope. This top floor of the hospital with its huge suites received the greatest men of Hollywood and she would stand guard for them against death forever.
But all this had happened in Marrion’s mind before he died, a mind saturated with thousands of movies he had watched.
In reality, the nurse had gone to his bed some fifteen minutes after he was dead, so quietly had he died. She debated for maybe thirty seconds about calling an alert to try to bring him back to life. She was an old hand with death and more merciful. Why try to revive him to all the torture of reclaiming life? She went to the window and watched the sun rise and the pigeons strutting lustfully on the stone ledges. Priscilla was the final power deciding Marrion’s fate . . . and his most merciful judge.
CHAPTER 13
SENATOR WAVVEN HAD great news, and it would cost the Clericuzio five million dollars. So said Giorgio’s courier. That demanded a mountain of paperwork. Cross would have to extract five million from the casino cage and leave a long record to account for its disappearance.
Cross also had a message from Claudia and Vail. They were in the Hotel occupying the same suite. They wanted to see him as soon as possible. It was urgent.
There was also a call from Lia Vazzi in the Hunting Lodge. He requested to see Cross personally as soon as possible. He did not have to say it was urgent, any request from him had to be urgent or he would not call, and he was already on his way.
Cross started on the paperwork for the transfer of the five million dollars to Senator Wavven. The cash itself would have too much bulk for a suitcase or large overnight bag. He called the Hotel gift shop; he remembered an antique Chinese trunk for sale that was big enough to hold the money. It was dark green decorated with red dragons and superimposed false green gems, and it had a strong locking mechanism.
Gronevelt had taught him how to make the paper trail that legitimized money skimmed from the Hotel casino. It was long and laborious work that involved transfers of money to different accounts, the payment of different suppliers for liquor and food, special training projects and publicity stunts, and a roster of players who did not exist as debtors to the cage.
Cross worked an hour on this. Senator Wavven was not due in until the next day, a Saturday, and the five million had to be put in his hands before he left early Monday morning. Finally his concentration began to wander and he had to take a break.
He called down to Claudia and Vail’s suite. Claudia picked up the phone. She said, “I’m having a terrible time with Ernest. We have to talk to you.”
“OK,” Cross said. “Why don’t the two of you go down and gamble and I’ll pick you up in the dice pit an hour from now.” He paused. “Then we can go for dinner and you can tell me your troubles.”
“We can’t gamble,” Claudia said. “Ernest went over his credit limit and you won’t give me credit anymore except for a lousy ten grand.”
Cross sighed. That meant Ernest Vail owed the casino a hundred grand that was just so much toilet paper. “Give me an hour and then come up to my suite. We’ll have dinner here.”
Cross had to make another phone call, to Giorgio to confirm the payment to the senator, not that the courier was suspect but it was one of the built-in routines. This they did with verbal code already established. The name was in arbitrary prearranged numbers, the money designated in arbitrary prearranged alphabetical letters.
Cross tried to continue his paperwork. But again his mind wandered. For five million, Senator Wavven was going to have something important to say. For Lia to make the long drive to Vegas, he had to have serious trouble.
There was a ring at the door, Security had brought Claudia and Ernest to the penthouse. Cross gave Claudia an extra warm hug because he didn’t want her to think he was mad at her for losing in the casino.
In the living room of his suite, he handed them the room service menu and then ordered for them. Claudia sat stiffly on the sofa, Vail slouched back disinterestedly.
Claudia said, “Cross, Vail is in terrible shape. We have to do something for him.”
Vail didn’t look so bad to Cross. He seemed truly relaxed, his eyes half closed, a pleased smile on his lips. This irritated Cross.
“Sure, first thing I’ll do is cut off all his credit in this town. That will save money, he’s the most incompetent gambler I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s not about gambling,” Claudia said. And she told him the whole story about Marrion promising to give Vail gross on all the sequels to his book, and then dying.
“So?” Cross asked.
> “Now Bobby Bantz won’t honor that promise,” Claudia said. “Since Bobby became head of LoddStone Studios, he’s gone crazy with power. He’s trying his best to be like Marrion but he just hasn’t got the intelligence or the charisma. So Ernest is out in the cold again.”
“Just what the hell do you think I can do?” Cross asked.
“You’re partners with LoddStone in Messalina,” Claudia said. “You must have some clout with them. I want you to ask Bobby Bantz to keep Marrion’s promise.”
It was at times like this that Cross despaired of Claudia. Bantz would never give way, that was part of his job and his character.
“No,” Cross said. “I’ve explained to you before. I can’t take a position unless I know the answer will be yes. And here there’s no chance.”
Claudia frowned. “I never understood that,” she said. She paused for a moment. “Ernest is serious, he will kill himself so that his family can get back the rights.”
At this, Vail took an interest. He said, “Claudia, you dumbbell, don’t you understand about your brother? If he asks somebody for something and they say no, then he has to kill them.” He gave Cross a big grin.
Cross was enraged that Vail would dare to speak that way in front of Claudia. Luckily, at that moment room service arrived with their rolling tables and set dinner up in the living room. Cross controlled himself as they sat down to eat, but he couldn’t help saying, with a cold smile, “Ernest, you can solve everything if you knock yourself off, as I understand it. Maybe I can help. I’ll move your suite up to the tenth floor and you can just step out the window.”
Now Claudia was angry. “This is not a joke,” she said. “Ernest is one of my best friends. And you’re my brother who always claims to love me and will do anything for me.” She was in tears.
Cross got up and went over to hug her. “Claudia, there’s nothing I can do. I’m not a magician.”
Ernest Vail was enjoying his dinner. No man looked less likely to kill himself. “You’re too modest, Cross,” he said. “Look, I haven’t got the nerve to jump out of a window. I have too much imagination, I’d die a thousand deaths on the way down thinking how I would look splattered all over the place. And I might even land on some innocent person. I’m too chicken to cut my wrists, I can’t stand the sight of blood and I’m scared to death of guns and knives and traffic. I don’t want to end up a vegetable with nothing accomplished. I don’t want that fuckin’ Bantz and Deere laughing at me and keeping all my money. There is one thing you can do: Hire somebody to kill me. Don’t tell me when. Just get it done.”
Cross began laughing. He gave Claudia a reassuring pat on the head and went back to his chair. “Do you think this is a fuckin’ movie?” he said to Ernest. “You think killing somebody is sort of a joke?”
Cross left the table and went to his office desk. He unlocked the drawer and took out a purse of black chips. He threw the purse at Ernest and said, “Here’s ten grand. Take your last shot at the tables, maybe you’ll get lucky. Just stop insulting me in front of my sister.”
Vail was cheerful now. “Come on Claudia,” he said. “Your brother is not going to help.” He put the purse of black chips into his pocket. He seemed anxious to get started gambling.
Claudia seemed abstracted. She was adding up everything in her head but refused to come to a sum total. She looked at the serene handsome face of her brother. He could not be what Vail was saying he was. She kissed Cross on the cheek, and said, “I’m sorry, but I’m worried about Ernest.”
“He’ll be all right,” Cross said. “He likes to gamble too much to die. And he is a genius, isn’t he?”
Claudia laughed. “So he always says, and I agree,” she said. “And he’s such a terrible coward.” But she reached out to touch Vail affectionately.
“Why the hell do you stick with him?” Cross said. “Why are you sharing a suite with him?”
“Because I’m his best and last friend,” Claudia said angrily. “And I love his books.”
After the two left, Cross spent the rest of the night completing the plan to transfer the five million to Senator Wavven. When he finished, he called the casino manager, a high-ranking member of the Clericuzio Family, and told him to bring the money to his penthouse suite.
The money was brought up in two huge sacks by the manager and two security guards who were also of the Clericuzio. They helped Cross stack the money into the Chinese trunk. The casino manager gave Cross a little grin and said, “Nice trunk.”
After the men left, Cross took the huge quilt from his bed and wrapped it around the trunk. Then he ordered room service to bring two breakfasts. Within a few minutes, Security called to tell him Lia Vazzi was waiting to see him. He gave the OK to bring him up.
Cross embraced Lia. He was always delighted to see him.
“Good news or bad news?” Cross asked him after room service delivered breakfast.
“Bad,” Lia said. “That detective who stopped me in the lobby of the Beverly Hills Hotel when I was with Skannet. Jim Losey. He showed up at the Hunting Lodge and asked me questions about my relationship with Skannet. I brushed him off. The bad part is how he knew who I was and where I was. I’m not in any police file, I’ve never been in trouble. So that means there’s an informer.”
That startled Cross. A turncoat was rare in the Clericuzio Family and was always mercilessly rooted out.
“I’ll report it to the Don himself,” Cross said. “How about you? Do you want to take a vacation down in Brazil until we find out what it’s all about?”
Lia had eaten very little. He helped himself to the brandy and Havana cigars Cross put out.
“I’m not nervous, not yet,” Lia said. “I’d just like your permission to protect myself against this man.”
Cross was alarmed. “Lia, you can’t do that,” he said. “It’s very dangerous to kill a police officer in this country. This is not Sicily. So I have to tell you something you shouldn’t know. Jim Losey is on the Clericuzio pad. Big money. I think he’s just nosing around to claim a bonus for laying off you.”
“Good,” Vazzi said. “But it remains a fact. There must be an informer.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Cross said. “Don’t worry about Losey.”
Lia puffed on his cigar. “He’s a dangerous man. Be careful.”
“I will,” Cross said. “But no preemptive strikes on your part, OK?”
“Of course,” Lia said. He seemed to relax. Then he said casually, “What’s under that quilt?”
“A little gift to a very important man,” Cross said. “Do you want to spend the night in the Hotel?”
“No,” Lia said. “I’ll go back to the Lodge and you can tell me what you learn at your leisure. But my advice would be to get rid of Losey right now.”
“I’ll talk to the Don,” Cross said.
Senator Warren Wavven and his entourage of three male aides were checked into their Xanadu Villa at three in the afternoon. As usual, he had traveled in an unmarked limo and without any sort of escort. At five, he summoned Cross to his Villa.
Cross had two of the security guards put the quilt-wrapped trunk in the back of a motorized golf cart. One of the guards drove and Cross sat in the passenger seat keeping an eye on the trunk, which rested in the cargo space that usually held golf clubs and ice water. It was only a five-minute run through the grounds of the Xanadu to the separately secured compound that held the seven Villas.
Cross always loved the sight of them, the sense of power. Small palaces of Versailles, each with a diamond-shaped emerald swimming pool, and in the center a square holding the pearl-shaped private casino for the Villa occupants.
Cross carried the trunk into the Villa himself. One of the senator’s aides led him into the dining room where the senator was enjoying a sumptuous array of cold food and iced jugs of lemonade. He no longer drank alcohol.
Senator Wavven was as handsome and affable as ever. He had risen high in the political councils of the nation, was the head of s
everal important committees, and was a dark horse in the next presidential race. He sprang up to greet Cross.
Cross whipped the quilt off the trunk and put it on the floor.
“A little gift from the Hotel, Senator,” he said. “Have a pleasant stay.”
The senator clasped Cross’s hand with both of his. His hands were smooth. “What a delightful present,” he said. “Thank you, Cross. Now, could I have a few confidential words with you?”
“Of course,” Cross said and gave him the key to the trunk. Wavven slipped it into his trouser pocket. Then he turned to his aides and said, “Please put the trunk in my bedroom and one of you stay with it. Now, let me have a few moments alone with my friend Cross.”
They left and the senator began to pace the room. He frowned, “I have good news naturally, but I also have bad news.”
Cross nodded and said amiably, “That’s usually the case.” He thought that for the five mil the good news had to be a hell of a lot better than the bad.
Wavven chuckled. “Isn’t that the truth? The good news first. And very good news it is. I’ve devoted my attention in the last few years to passing legislation that would make gambling legal all over the United States. Even the provision to make sports gambling legal. I think I finally have the votes in the Senate and the House. The money in the trunk will swing some key votes. It is five, isn’t it?”
“It’s five,” Cross said. “And money well spent. Now, what’s the bad news?”
The senator shook his head sadly. “Your friends won’t like this,” he said. “Especially Giorgio, who is so impatient. But he’s a fabulous fellow, truly fabulous.”
