by Mario Puzo
Don Domenico believed in God, he sometimes believed in Fate, but he did not believe in coincidence. The coincidence of Jim Losey being the cop who shot the mugger who shot Pippi would be absolutely rejected by the Don. He had surely made his own investigation and discovered Dante’s connection with Losey. And he would not only know Dante’s guilt but his motive.
And what about Rose Marie, Dante’s mother? What did she know? When she had heard of Pippi’s death, she had had her most serious fit, screaming unintelligibly, weeping incessantly, so that the Don had sent her to the East Hampton psychiatric clinic he had funded many years ago. She would be there for at least a month.
Visitors to Rose Marie in the clinic had always been forbidden by the Don, except for Dante, Giorgio, Vincent, and Petie. But Cross often sent flowers and baskets of fruit. So what the hell was Rose Marie so upset about? Did she know about Dante’s guilt, understand his motive? At that moment Cross thought about the Don saying that Dante would be his heir. That was ominous. Cross decided he would visit Rose Marie at the clinic, despite the Don’s interdiction. He would go with flowers, and fruit, and chocolates and cheeses, with true affection, but with the purpose of tricking her into betraying her son.
Two days later, Cross entered the lobby of the psychiatric clinic in East Hampton. There were two guards at the door, and one escorted him to the reception desk.
The woman at the reception desk was middle-aged and well dressed. When he stated his business, she gave him a charming smile and said he would have to wait a half hour because Rose Marie was undergoing a minor medical procedure. She would notify him when it was done.
Cross sat down in the waiting room of the reception area, just off the lobby, where there were tables and soft armchairs. He picked up a copy of a Hollywood magazine. Reading it, he came across an article on Jim Losey, the detective hero of Los Angeles. The article detailed his heroic achievements, capped by his killing the mugger-murderer Marlowe. Cross was amused by two things. That his father was referred to as the owner of a financial service agency and a typical helpless victim of a brutal criminal. And by the tag line of the article, which asserted that if there were more cops like Jim Losey, street crime would be under control.
A nurse tapped him on the shoulder. She was an impressively strong-looking woman, but she said with a pleasant smile, “I’ll bring you up.”
Cross picked up the box of chocolates and the flowers he had brought and followed her up a short flight of stairs and then down a long corridor spaced by doors. At the last door the nurse used a master key and opened it. She motioned Cross inside and closed the door after him.
Rose Marie, clad in a gray robe, her hair neatly braided, was watching a small TV. When she saw Cross she jumped up from the couch and flew into his arms. She was weeping. Cross kissed her cheek and gave her the chocolates and flowers.
“Oh, you came to see me,” she said. “I thought you hated me for what I did to your father.”
“You didn’t do anything to my father,” Cross said, and led her back to the couch. Then he turned off the TV. He kneeled beside the couch. “I was worried about you.”
She reached out and stroked his hair. “You were always so beautiful,” she said. “I hated that you were your father’s son. I was glad to see him dead. But I always knew terrible things would happen. I filled the air and the earth with poison for him. Now you think my father will let this pass?”
“The Don is a just man,” Cross said. “He will never blame you.”
“He has fooled you as he has tricked everyone else,” Rose Marie said. “Never trust him. He betrayed his own daughter, he betrayed his grandson and he betrayed his nephew Pippi. . . . And now he will betray you.”
Her voice had risen to a loud pitch and Cross was afraid she would go into one of her fits.
“Quiet down, Aunt Roe,” Cross said. “Just tell me what upset you so that you had to come back here.” He stared into her eyes and thought how pretty she must have been as a young girl, the innocence still in her eyes.
Rose Marie whispered, “Make them tell you about the Santadio War, then you will understand everything.” She looked past Cross and then covered her head with her hands. Cross turned. The door opened. Vincent and Petie were standing there silently. Rose Marie jumped off the couch and ran into the bedroom and slammed the door shut.
Vincent’s granite face showed pity and despair. “Jesus Christ,” he said. He went to the bedroom door and knocked, then said through it, “Roe, open the door. We’re your brothers. We won’t hurt you . . .”
Cross said, “What a coincidence to meet you here. I was visiting Rose Marie too.”
Vincent never had any time for bullshit. “We’re not here to visit. The Don wants to see you in Quogue.”
Cross appraised the situation. Obviously the receptionist had called somebody in Quogue. Obviously, it was a planned procedure. And just as obviously, the Don did not want him talking to Rose Marie. That Petie and Vincent had been sent meant that it was not a hit, they would not be so carelessly exposed.
This was confirmed when Vincent said, “Cross, I’ll go with you in your car. Petie can go in his.” A hit in the Clericuzio Family would never be one on one.
Cross said, “We can’t leave Rose Marie like this.”
“Sure we can,” Petie said. “The nurse will just shoot her up.”
Cross tried to make conversation while he drove. “Vincent, you guys sure got here fast.”
“Petie drove,” Vincent said. “He’s a fucking maniac.” He paused for a moment and then said in a worried voice, “Cross, you know the rules, how come you visit Rose Marie?”
“Hey,” Cross said, “Rose Marie was one of my favorite aunts while I was growing up.”
“The Don doesn’t like it,” Vincent said. “He’s very pissed off. He says it’s not like Cross. He knows.”
“I’ll straighten it out,” Cross said. “But I was really worried about your sister. How’s she doing?”
Vincent sighed. “This time it may be for keeps. You know she was sweet on your old man when she was a kid. Who could figure Pippi being killed would throw her so much?”
Cross caught the false note in Vincent’s voice. He knew something. But Cross only said, “My father was always fond of Rose Marie.”
“In the past years she wasn’t so fond of him,” Vincent said. “Especially when she got into one of her fits. You should hear the things she said about him then.”
Cross said casually, “You were in the Santadio War. How come you guys never talk about it to me?”
“Because we never talk about operations,” Vincent said. “My father taught us it served no purpose. You just go on. There’s plenty of trouble in the present to worry about.”
“My father was a big hero though, right?” Cross said.
Vincent smiled for just a moment, his stone face almost softened. “Your father was a genius,” Vincent said. “He could plan an operation like Napoleon. Nothing ever went wrong when he planned it. Maybe once or twice because of bad luck.”
“So he planned the war against the Santadio,” Cross said.
“Ask the Don these questions,” Vincent said. “Now talk about something else.”
“OK,” Cross said. “Am I going to be knocked off like my father?”
The usually cold and stone-faced Vincent reacted violently. He grabbed the steering wheel and forced Cross to park on the side of the highway. His voice choked with emotion when he said, “Are you crazy? Do you think the Clericuzio Family would do such a thing? Your father had Clericuzio blood. He was our best soldier, he saved us. The Don loved him as much as any of his sons. Jesus Christ, why do you ask something like that?”
Cross said meekly, “I just got scared, you guys popping up.”
“Get back on the road,” Vincent said disgustedly. “Your father and me and Giorgio and Petie fought together during really rough times. There is no way we could go against each other. Pippi just got unlucky, a crazy jigaboo mugger.”
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
At the mansion in Quogue, there were the usual two guards at the gate and one man sitting on the porch. There did not seem to be any unusual activity.
Don Clericuzio, Giorgio, and Petie were awaiting them in the den of the mansion. On the bar was a box of Havana cigars and a mug filled with twisted black Italian cheroots.
Don Clericuzio sat in one of the huge brown leather armchairs. Cross went to greet him and was surprised when the Don pushed himself up to stand, with an agility that belied his age, and embraced him. After which he motioned Cross to the huge coffee table on which various dishes of cheeses and dried meats were spread.
Cross sensed that the Don was not yet ready to speak. He made himself a sandwich of mozzarella cheese and prosciutto. The prosciutto was thin slabs of dark red meat fringed with very tender white fat. The mozzarella was a white ball so fresh it was still sweating milk. It was tied off on top with a thick salty knob like the knot in a rope. The closest that the Don had ever come to boasting was that he never ate a mozzarella that was more than thirty minutes old.
Vincent and Petie were also helping themselves to food, while Giorgio served as bartender, bringing wine to the Don and soft drinks to the others. The Don only ate the dripping mozzarella, letting it melt inside his mouth. Petie gave him one of the twisted cheroots and lit it for him. What a wonderful stomach the old man had, thought Cross.
Don Clericuzio said abruptly, “Croccifixio, whatever you seek now from Rose Marie, I will tell you. And you suspect something amiss about your father’s death. You are wrong. I have had inquiries made, the story is true as it stands. Pippi was unlucky. He was the most prudent of men in his profession but such ludicrous accidents happen. Let me set your mind at rest. Your father was my nephew and a Clericuzio, and one of my dearest friends.”
“Tell me about the war with the Santadio,” Cross said.
BOOK VII
The Santadio War
CHAPTER 18
“IT IS DANGEROUS to be reasonable with stupid people,” Don Clericuzio said, as he sipped from his wine glass. He put his cheroot aside. “Pay strict attention. It’s a long story and everything was not what it seemed to be. It was almost thirty years ago . . .” He motioned to his three sons and said, “If I forget something important, help me.” His three sons smiled at the idea that he would forget something important.
The light in the den was a soft golden haze tinged with cigar smoke, and even the smell of the food was so sharply aromatic that it seemed to affect the light.
“I became convinced of that after the Santadio . . .” He paused a moment to sip his wine. “There was a time when the Santadio were our equal in power. But the Santadio made too many enemies, they drew too much attention from the authori-ties and they had no sense of justice. They created a world without any values and a world without any sense of justice cannot continue to exist.
“I proposed many arrangements with the Santadio, I made concessions, I wanted to live in a world of peace. But because they were strong, they had a sense of power that violent people have. They believe that power is all. And so it came to war between us.”
Giorgio interrupted. “Why does Cross have to know this story? How can it benefit him or benefit us?”
Vincent looked away from Cross, Petie stared at him, his head tilted back, appraising. None of the three sons wanted the Don to tell the story.
“Because we owe it to Pippi and Croccifixio,” said the Don. And then he spoke directly to Cross. “Make of this story what you will but I and my sons are innocent of the crime you suspect. Pippi was a son to me, you are to me as a grandchild. All of Clericuzio blood.”
Giorgio said again, “This can do all of us no good.”
Don Clericuzio waved his arm impatiently, then said to his sons, “It’s true, what I’ve said so far?”
They nodded and Petie said, “We should have wiped them out from the beginning.”
The Don shrugged and said to Cross, “My sons were young, your father was young, none of them yet thirty. I didn’t want to waste their lives in a great war. Don Santadio, God have mercy on his soul, had six sons but he thought of them more as soldiers than as sons. Jimmy Santadio was the oldest and he worked with our old friend Gronevelt, God have mercy on him as well. The Santadio then had half the Hotel. Jimmy was the best of the lot, the only one who saw that peace was the best solution for all of us. But the old man and his other sons were hot for blood.
“Now it was not to my interest for the war to be bloody. I wanted time to use reason, to convince them of the good sense of my proposals. I would give them all of the drugs, and they would give me all of the gambling. I wanted their half of the Xanadu and in return they would control all drugs in America, a dirty business that required a violent and firm hand. A very sensible proposal. There was far more money in drugs and it was a business that did not involve long-term strategy. A dirty business with a lot of operational work. All this added to the Santadio strength. I wanted the Clericuzio to control all of gambling, not as risky as drugs, not as profitable, but, managed cleverly, more valuable in the long term. And this added to the Clericuzio strength. I always aimed to finally be a member of society, and gambling could become a legal gold mine with none of the everyday risk and dirty work. In this, time has proved me justified.
“Unfortunately, the Santadio wanted everything. Everything. Think of it then, nephew, it was a very dangerous time for us all. By then the FBI knew we Families existed and cooperated with each other. The government, with its resources and technology, brought many Families down. The wall of omertà was cracking.
“Young men, born in America, were cooperating with the authorities to save their own skins. Luckily, I established the Bronx Enclave, and brought new people from Sicily to be my soldiers.
“The only thing I have never been able to understand is how women can cause so much trouble. My daughter, Rose Marie, was eighteen years old at this time. How did she become besotted over Jimmy Santadio? She said they were like Romeo and Juliet. Who were Romeo and Juliet? Who in Christ’s name were those people? Certainly not Italians. When I was told of this, I reconciled myself. I reopened negotiations with the Santadio Family, I lowered my demands so that the two Families could exist together. In their stupidity, they read this as a sign of weakness. And so began the whole tragedy that has lasted all these years.”
Here the Don broke off. Giorgio helped himself to a glass of wine, a slice of bread, and a chunk of the milky cheese. Then he stood behind the Don.
“Why today?” Giorgio asked.
“Because my great nephew here is worried about how his father died and we must dispel any suspicions he may have of us,” the Don said.
“I have no suspicions of you, Don Domenico,” Cross said.
“Everyone has suspicions of everything,” the Don said. “That’s human nature. But let me continue. Rose Marie was young, she had no knowledge of worldly affairs. She was heartbroken when at first both Families opposed the match. But she had no real idea why. And so she decided to bring everyone together, she believed love would conquer all, she later informed me. She was very loving then. And she was the light of my life. My wife died young, and I never remarried because I could not bear to share Rose Marie with a stranger. I denied her nothing and I had high hopes for her future. But a marriage with the Santadio, I could not bear. I forbade it. I was young then too. I thought my orders would be obeyed by my children. I wanted her to go to college, marry someone from a different world. Giorgio, Vincent, and Petie had to support me in this life, I needed their help. And I had hopes that their children could also escape to a better world. And my youngest son, Silvio.” The Don pointed to the photograph on the mantelpiece of the den.
Cross had never really taken a close look at the photo, he had not known its history. The photo was of a young man of twenty who looked very much like Rose Marie, only more gentle, his eyes grayer and more intelligent. It was a face that showed
such a good soul that Cross wondered if it had been retouched.
The air in the windowless room was becoming more pungent with cigar smoke. Giorgio had lit a huge Havana.
Don Clericuzio said, “I doted on Silvio even more than on Rose Marie. He had a better heart than most people. He had been accepted to the university with a scholarship. There was every hope for him. But he was too innocent.”
Vincent said, “He had no street smarts. None of us would have gone. Not like he did, without protection.”
Giorgio took up the story. “Rose Marie and Jimmy Santadio were shacked up in this Commack Motel. And Rose Marie came up with the idea that if Jimmy and Silvio talked, they could bring the two Families together. She called Silvio and he went to the motel without telling anybody. The three of them discussed strategies. Silvio always called Rose Marie ‘Roe.’ His last words to her were, ‘Everything is going to be okay, Roe. Dad will listen to me.’ ”
But Silvio was never to speak to his father. Unfortunately, two of the Santadio brothers, Fonsa and Italo, were doing a guardian-like surveillance on their brother Jimmy.
The Santadio with their violent paranoia suspected that Rose Marie was leading their brother Jimmy into a trap. Or at least luring him into a marriage that would lessen their own power in their Family. And Rose Marie was offensive to them with her ferocious courage and determination to marry their brother. She had even defied her own father, the great Don Clericuzio. She would stop at nothing.
Recognizing Silvio, when he left the motel they trapped him on the Robert Moses Causeway and shot him dead. They stripped him of his wallet and watch to make it look like a robbery. It was typical of the Santadio mentality, their act was one of savagery.
