Last Don

by Mario Puzo

  Eli Marrion could endure no more. He rose, standing very straight, and spoke in a measured, serene voice. “Twelve percent,” he said, “We have a deal.”

  He paused and then looking directly at Cross, he said, “It’s not so much the money. But this could be a great picture and I don’t want to scrap it. Also, I’m very curious to see what will happen.” He turned to Molly. “Now, yes or no?”

  Molly Flanders, without even looking at Cross for a sign, said, “Yes.”

  Later, Eli Marrion and Bobby Bantz sat alone in the conference room. They were both silent. They had learned over the years that there were things that must not be said aloud. Finally Marrion said, “There’s a moral question here.”

  Bantz said, “We’ve signed to keep the agreement secret, Eli, but if you feel we must, I could make a call.”

  Marrion sighed. “Then we lose the film. This man Cross is our only hope. Plus if he found out the leak came from you there might be some danger.”

  “Whatever he is, he doesn’t dare touch LoddStone,” Bantz said. “What I worry about is letting him get a foot in the door.”

  Marrion sipped his drink, puffed his cigar. The thin, woody-smelling smoke made his body tingle.

  Eli Marrion was really tired now. He was getting too old to worry about long-term future disasters. The great universal disaster was closer.

  “Don’t make the call,” he said. “We have to keep the agreement. And besides, maybe I’m getting into my second childhood, but I’d love to see what the magician pulls out of his hat.”

  Skippy Deere, after the meeting, went back to his house and made a call summoning Jim Losey to meet with him. At their meeting he swore Losey to secrecy and told him what had happened. “I think you should put a surveillance on Cross,” he said. “You might find out something interesting.”

  But he said this only after he had agreed to sign Jim Losey to play a small part in a new movie he was making about serial murders in Santa Monica.

  As for Cross De Lena, he returned to Las Vegas and in his penthouse suite pondered the new course of his life. Why had he taken the risk? Most important, the winnings could be huge: not only the money but a new way of life. But what he questioned was an underlying motive, the vision of Athena Aquitane framed by the sea-green water, her constantly moving body, the notion that one day she might come to know him and love him, not forever, but just for a moment of time. What had Gronevelt said? “Women are never more dangerous to men than when they have to be saved. Beware, beware,” Gronevelt said, “of Beauty in Distress.”

  But he dismissed all this from his mind. Looking down on the Vegas Strip, the wall of colored light, the throngs moving through that light, ants carrying bales of money to bury in some great nest, he analyzed the whole problem for the first time in a coldly neutral way.

  If Athena Aquitane was such an angel, why then was she demanding, in effect if not in words, that the price for her returning to the picture was that someone kill her husband? Surely that had to be clear to anyone. The Studio’s offer to protect her while she completed the picture was worth less because she would be working toward her own death. After the picture was done and she was alone, Skannet would come after her.

  Eli Marrion, Bobby Bantz, Skippy Deere, they knew the problem and knew the answer. But no one would dare speak it aloud. For people like them, the risk was too great. They had risen so high, lived so well, that they had too much to lose. For them the gain did not equal the risk. They could accommodate the loss of the picture, for them it was only a minor defeat. They could not afford the great tumble from the highest level of society to the lowest. That risk was mortal.

  Also, to give them their due, they had made an intelligent decision. They were not expert in this field of endeavor; they could make mistakes. Better to treat the fifty million dollars like a loss of points in their stock on Wall Street.

  So now there were two main problems. The execution of Boz Skannet in a manner that would not injure the picture or Athena in any way. Problem number two, and far more important, was winning the approval of his father, Pippi De Lena, and the Clericuzio Family. For Cross knew the whole arrangement would not remain secret to them very long.

  CHAPTER 8

  CROSS DE LENA pleaded for Big Tim’s life for many different reasons. One, he contributed between five hundred grand and one million to the Xanadu cage every year. Second, he had a sneaking affection for the man, for his lust for life, his outrageous buffooneries.

  Tim Snedden, known as the Rustler, was the owner of a string of shopping malls that stretched over the northern part of the state of California. He was also a Las Vegas high roller who usually stayed at the Xanadu. He was particularly fond of and extraordinarily lucky at sports betting. The Rustler made big bets, fifty grand on football and sometimes ten grand on basketball. Thinking he was being clever, he lost small bets but almost invariably won his big bets. Cross was on to that immediately.

  The Rustler was very big, nearly six and a half feet and over three hundred fifty pounds. His appetite matched his physique, he ate everything in sight. He boasted he had had a partial stomach bypass so that food passed directly through his system and he never gained weight. He was gleeful about this as an ultimate scam on nature itself.

  For the Rustler was a natural-born scam artist, which was how he earned his nickname. At the Xanadu he fed his friends free under his comp, he absolutely destroyed room service. He tried to pay his call girls and the purchases at the gift shop under his comp. And then when he lost and had a cage full of markers, he stalled payment until his next visit to the Xanadu, instead of paying them within a month as a gentleman gambler would do.

  Though he was very lucky with his sports gambling, the Rustler was less fortunate with casino games. He was skillful, he knew the odds and bet correctly, but his natural exuberance carried him away, and his winnings on sports would be wiped out and more. So it wasn’t because of the money but because of long-range strategic reasons that the Clericuzio took an interest.

  Since the Family’s ultimate goal was the legalization of sports gambling all over the United States, any gambling scandal involving sports would hurt that aim. So an inquiry into the life of Big Tim Snedden the Rustler was launched. The results were so alarming that Pippi and Cross were summoned East to the mansion in Quogue for a conference. It was Pippi’s first operation after his return from Sicily.

  Pippi and Cross took the flight back East together. Cross worried that the Clericuzio had already found out about his movie deal on Messalina and that his father would be angry he had not been consulted. For Pippi, at fifty-seven, though retired, still was consigliere to his son the Bruglione.

  So on the plane Cross told his father about the movie and reassured him that he still valued his counsel but had not wanted to put him in a bad light with the Clericuzio. He also voiced his anxiety about being summoned back East because the Don had learned about his Hollywood plans.

  Pippi listened without saying a word, then sighed with disgust. “You’re still too young,” he said. “It won’t be about the movie deal. The Don would never show his hand this quick. He’d wait to see what happened. It looks like Giorgio runs things, that’s what Vincent and Petie and Dante think. But they’re wrong. The old man is smarter than all of us. And don’t worry about him, he’s always fair in these things. It’s Giorgio and Dante you have to worry about.” He paused for a moment as if reluctant to talk about the Family even with Cross.

  “You notice that Giorgio and Vincent and Petie’s kids know nothing about Family business? The Don and Giorgio have all planned that the children will be strictly legit. The Don planned that for Dante too, but Dante was too smart, figured everything out, and he wanted in. The Don couldn’t stop him. Think of all of us—Giorgio, Vincent, and Petie, you and me and Dante—as the rear guard, fighting so that the Cleri-cuzio clan can escape to safety. That’s the Don’s planning. It’s his strength, what makes him great. So he may even be glad you’re making your escape, i
t’s what he hoped Dante would do. That’s what it is, isn’t it?”

  “I think so,” Cross said. Not even to his father would he confess his terrible weakness. That he was doing it for the love of a woman.

  “Always play it long, like Gronevelt,” Pippi said. “When the time comes, tell the Don directly and make sure the Family wets its beak on the deal. But watch out for Giorgio and Dante. Vincent and Petie won’t give a shit.”

  “Why Giorgio and Dante?” Cross asked.

  “Because Giorgio is a greedy prick,” Pippi said. “And Dante, because he’s always jealous of you and because you’re my son. Besides, he’s a fucking lunatic.”

  Cross was surprised. It was the first time he had heard his father criticize any of the Clericuzio. “And why won’t Vincent and Petie care?” he asked.

  “Because Vincent has his restaurants and Petie has his construction business and the Bronx Enclave. Vincent wants to enjoy his old age and Petie likes the action. And both of them like you and respect me. We did jobs together when we were young.”

  Cross said, “Pop, you’re not mad I didn’t clear it with you?”

  Pippi gave him a sardonic look. “Don’t bullshit me,” he said. “You knew I would disapprove and the Don would disapprove. Now when are you going to kill this Skannet guy?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Cross said. “It’s very tricky, has to be a Confirmation so that Athena will know she doesn’t have to worry about him anymore. Then she can come back to the picture.”

  “Let me plan it for you,” Pippi said. “And what if this broad, Athena, doesn’t come back to work? Then you lose fifty mil.”

  “She’ll come back to work,” Cross said. “She and Claudia are close friends and Claudia says she will.”

  “My darling daughter,” Pippi said. “She still doesn’t want to see me?”

  “I don’t think so,” Cross said. “But you can always drop around when she’s staying at the Hotel.”

  “No,” Pippi said. “If this Athena doesn’t come to work after you do the job, I’ll plan her Communion for her, no matter how big a movie star she is.”

  “No, no,” Cross said. “You should see Claudia. She’s much prettier now.”

  “That’s good,” Pippi said. “She had such an ugly mug when she was a kid. Like me.”

  “Why don’t you make up with her?” Cross asked.

  “She wouldn’t let me go to my ex-wife’s funeral, and she doesn’t like me. So what’s the point? In fact, when I die I want you to bar her from my funeral. Fuck her.” He paused for a moment. “She was a ballsy little kid.”

  “You should see her now,” Cross said.

  “Remember,” Pippi said. “Don’t volunteer anything to the Don. This meeting is about something else.”

  “How can you be sure?” Cross asked.

  “Because he would have met with me first to see if I would give you away,” Pippi said.

  As it turned out, Pippi was right.

  At the mansion, Giorgio, Don Domenico, Vincent, Petie, and Dante waited to greet them in the garden by the fig trees. As was the custom they all had lunch together before they got down to business.

  Giorgio laid it out. An investigation had shown that Rustler Snedden was fixing certain college games in the Midwest. That he possibly shaved points in the pro football and pro basketball games. He did this by bribing the officials and certain players, a very tricky and dangerous business. If this came out, it would cause a tremendous scandal and uproar that would give a near fatal blow to the Clericuzio Family’s effort to have sports gambling legalized in the United States. And it would eventually be found out.

  “The cops throw more manpower into a sports fix than into a serial murder,” Giorgio said. “Why, I don’t know. What the hell difference does it make who wins or loses? It’s a crime that hurts nobody except the bookmakers and the cops hate them anyway. If the Rustler fixed all the Notre Dame games so that they always won, the whole country would be happy.”

  Pippi said impatiently, “Why are we even talking about this? Just have somebody warn him off.”

  Vincent said, “We already tried that. This guy is a special piece of work. He doesn’t know what fear is. He’s been warned, he still keeps doing it.”

  Petie said, “They call him Big Tim, and they call him the Rustler, and he loves all that shit. He never pays his bills, he even stiffs the IRS, he fights with the California state authorities because he won’t pay the sales tax of the stores he owns in his malls. Hell, he even stiffs his ex-wife and his kids on support payments. He’s a thief in his heart. You cannot talk sense to him.”

  Giorgio said, “Cross, you know him personally from his gambling in Vegas. What do you say?”

  Cross considered. “He’s very late paying his markers. But he finally pays. He’s smart gambling, not degenerate. He’s one of those guys who is hard to like, but he’s very rich so he has lots of friends that he brings to Vegas. Actually even fixing the games and winning some of our money, he is a big plus for us. Just let it go.” As he said this he noticed Dante smiling, knowing something he didn’t know.

  “We can’t let it go,” Giorgio said. “Because this Big Tim, this Rustler, is fucking nuts. He’s laying down some crazy scheme to fix the Super Bowl game.”

  Don Domenico spoke for the first time and directly to Cross, “Nephew, is that possible?”

  The question was a compliment. It was the Don acknowledging that Cross was the expert in the field.

  “No,” Cross said to the Don. “You can’t fix the Super Bowl officials because no one knows who they will be. You can’t fix the players because the important ones make too much money. Also, you can never fix one game in any sport a one hundred percent sure thing. If you are a fixer you have to be able to fix fifty or a hundred games. That way if you lose three or four, you don’t get hurt. And so unless you can do a lot of them it’s not worth the risk.”

  “Bravo,” the Don said. “Then why does this man, who is rich, want to do something so foolhardy?”

  “He wants to be famous,” Cross said. “To fix the Super Bowl he would have to do something so risky he is sure to be found out. Something so crazy I can’t even think what it will be. The Rustler will think it clever. And he is a man who believes he can get out of every jam he gets in.”

  “I have never met a man like that,” the Don said.

  Giorgio said, “They grow them only in America.”

  “But then he is very dangerous to what we want to do,” the Don said. “From what you tell me, he is a man who will not listen to reason. So there is no choice.”

  Cross said, “Wait. He means at least a half million dollars’ profit every year to the casino.”

  Vincent said, “It’s a matter of principle. The Books pay us money to protect them.”

  Cross said, “Let me talk to him. Maybe he’ll listen to me. The whole thing is small potatoes. He can’t fix the Super Bowl. It’s not worth our taking action.” But then he got a look from his father and he realized that in some way it was not proper for him to make such arguments.

  The Don said with a terminal determination, “The man is dangerous. Don’t talk to him, nephew. He doesn’t know who you really are. Why give him the advantage? The man is dangerous because he is stupid, he is stupid as an animal is stupid, he wants to feed on everything. And then when he is caught he wants to wreak as much havoc as he can. He will implicate everyone whether true or not.” He paused for a moment and then looked at Dante. “Grandson,” he said, “I think you should do the job. But let Pippi do the planning on this one, he knows the territory.”

  Dante nodded.

  Pippi knew he was on dangerous ground. If anything happened to Dante, he would be held responsible. And another thing was clear to him. The Don and Giorgio were determined some day Dante would head the Clericuzio Family. But at present they did not trust his judgment.

  In Vegas Dante registered in a suite at the Xanadu. The Rustler, Snedden, was not due in Vegas for a week, and
during that time Cross and Pippi indoctrinated Dante.

  “Rustler is a high roller,” Cross said. “But not high enough to rate a Villa. Not in the class of Arabs and Asians. His RFB is enormous, he wants everything free he can get. He puts friends on restaurant tabs, orders the best wines, he even tries to put the gift shop on his tab. We don’t give that even to the Villa guys. He’s a claim artist, so the dealers have to watch him. He’ll claim he made a bet just before the number hit on the crap table. He’ll try to make a bet in baccarat after the first card shows. At blackjack he’ll claim he wanted to hit an eighteen when the next card is three. He’s very late paying his markers. But he gives us a half million a year, even after we take off what he beats the sports book for. He’s cute. He even draws chips for his friends and puts them on his marker so we’ll think he gambles bigger than he actually does. All that chickenshit stuff like the garment center guys used to pull in the old days. But then he goes berserk when his luck goes bad. Last year he dropped two million and we made him a party and gave him a Cadillac. He bitched that it wasn’t a Mercedes.”

  Dante was outraged. “He draws chips and money from the cage and doesn’t gamble it?”

  “Sure,” Cross said. “A lot of guys do it. We don’t mind. We like to look stupid. It gives them more confidence at the tables. They outsmart us again.”

  “Why do they call him the Rustler?” Dante asked.

  “Because he takes things without paying for them,” Cross said. “When he has girls he bites them as if he wants to take a chunk of their flesh. And he gets away with it. He’s a great, great bullshit artist.”

  Dante said dreamily, “I can’t wait to hear him.”

  “He could never talk Gronevelt into giving him a Villa,” Cross said. “So I don’t.”

  Dante looked at him sharply. “How come I didn’t get a Villa?”