Harold Robbins Organized Crime Double

by Harold Robbins

  “But what about the girl?” Strang asked. “She was driving.”

  Baker looked at him. “The only thing we’re sure of is that she was behind the wheel.”

  “You still can’t prove anything,” Strang said.

  “Right now I can’t,” Baker said. “But I have some ideas.”

  “Going to put a tail on him?” Strang asked.

  Baker shook his head. “It would be wasted. In the circles in which that guy moves anyone we could put on him would stick out like a sore thumb. Besides it would make too much of a stink. You know how careful the chief is with important people.”

  “Then what are you going to do?” Strang asked.

  Baker smiled. “The first thing is to leak to the newspapers that he was questioned. The next thing to do is to find someone that will stick close enough to him to maybe learn something and be of real help to us.”

  “Like who?” Strang asked.

  “Like a dame,” Baker said. “He’s quite a ladies’ man. Well, we’re on to one that will fit right in. Society. Racing cars. The works.”

  “If he is the Stiletto, it might be dangerous for her,” Strang said.

  “She says she can handle him,” Baker answered. “And I’ve had a look at her record and, believe me, if she can’t, then nobody can.”

  11

  The party was in full swing when Cesare entered the stateroom. He stood in the doorway, his eyes searching for the hostess. She saw him at almost the same time as he saw her and came hurrying forward, her hand outstretched.

  “Cesare, my dear boy,” she said, as he kissed her hand. “I’m so glad you could come.”

  “I would sooner die than miss Madame’s sailing.” He smiled.

  She smiled, her somber eyes glowing under the rich gray hair. Her voice lowered and assumed a tone that was much like the voice Cesare had heard on the telephone just a few weeks ago. “This stateroom is next to his,” she whispered. “There is a connecting door between the two bathrooms. He should be aboard in about ten minutes.”

  He didn’t speak and she raised her voice as another guest approached. “And thank you for the lovely flowers.”

  “It is a pleasure, Madame,” he answered.

  He watched her turn to the other guest and move away. Once she had been a very beautiful woman, one of the most famous in international society. Her name still conjured up visions of glamorous ballrooms and princes. But now, she belonged to Don Emilio.

  He moved toward the bathroom door slowly. He heard her laughter as he opened the door. How many more like her were there who walked the borderline of the two worlds? For that matter how many more were there like himself?

  Emilio Matteo put his coat up against the wind that blew in from the chilly Hudson River as he got out of the taxicab in front of the pier. He looked up at the ship morosely as the detectives got out beside him. Without speaking, he gave one of them a bill for the driver.

  “This way,” the detective said and started for the pier.

  “I know the way,” Emilio said sourly. They walked onto the pier and over to the gangplank.

  The little steward led them down a corridor on the first-class deck. Sounds of merriment came from behind the doors where bon voyage parties were almost at their height. The Italia was due to leave in less than an hour. The steward opened a door.

  “This way, signore.” He bowed.

  Emilio entered the suite and the detectives followed him. There was a small bar set up in the corner of the room.

  The steward came in after them. “Is everything to the signore’s satisfaction?” he asked Emilio.

  Emilio gave him a bill. “Fine,” he said.

  The steward bowed again and left. The two detectives looked around. The oldest turned to Emilio. “This is pretty snazzy, Matteo,” he said.

  Emilio smiled at him. “Nothing but the best,” he said, crossing to the bar. “You didn’t think I would stay in one of those lousy cabins the government pays for, did you?”

  The detective grinned. “I guess not.”

  Emilio opened a bottle and poured himself a drink. He threw it down his throat. “Ah,” he said, “that’s good whisky. It warms you up a little after that cold wind on the docks.” He turned to the detectives. “Have a drink?”

  The detectives looked at each other and smiled. “Don’t mind if we do,” the oldest said, walking over to the bar.

  “Help yourself.” Emilio pushed the bottle toward him. He took off his overcoat and threw it on a chair. “I guess I’m getting old all right, my kidneys ain’t what they used to be. I’m going to the john.”

  He opened the bathroom door. The younger detective was at his side. Emilio stepped back. “Age before beauty,” he said sarcastically. “Maybe you’d better have a look first.”

  The detective looked inside the bathroom. He turned back, a sheepish expression on his face. “Okay,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Emilio said with formality. He stepped into the bathroom and began to close the door. “For some things a man must have a little privacy.”

  The door closed behind him and a burst of noise came into the stateroom from the cabin next door. “Sounds like a wild party,” the younger detective said, pouring himself a drink.

  “All it takes is money,” the other said. He held his drink up in the air. “Shalanta.”

  “Shalanta,” the other man replied. They swallowed their drinks. “This is good whisky,” he added.

  The other detective looked at him. “Like Matteo says,” he said in a bitter voice, “nothing but the best.”

  The younger man stared at him. “Yeah,” he said sarcastically. “Crime doesn’t pay.”

  Emilio walked over to the sink and turned on the tap. He waited for a moment and listened. He could hear the faint murmur of the detectives’ voices from his room. Quickly he crossed to the far end of the bathroom. There was a door there that connected with the next suite. It was locked.

  He ran his fingernails against the door, making a scraping sound. “Cesare!” he whispered.

  A scraping sound came back to him. Quickly he turned and opened the medicine cabinet. On the top shelf was a key. He put it in the door and turned it. The tumbler on his side clicked. A moment later he could hear the tumbler fall on the other side.

  The door opened slightly and Cesare slipped into the room quickly and shut the door behind him.

  Emilio smiled. “Don Cesare! My nephew!”

  Cesare smiled also. “Don Emilio! My uncle!”

  The two men embraced. “It has been a long time,” Emilio said.

  “A long time indeed,” Cesare answered formally.

  “You have done well, my nephew,” Emilio whispered. “I am proud.”

  “I have kept the oath, Don Emilio,” Cesare replied.

  “You have, and the family will be pleased when I tell them of you. It is time now that you take a place in our councils.”

  Cesare shook his head. “I am content only to keep my agreement with you, Don Emilio. I seek nothing from the Brotherhood.”

  An expression of surprise came into Emilio’s face. “You will have riches you never dreamed possible!”

  “I do not need the riches,” Cesare replied. “I have more than enough for my needs now.”

  Emilio shook his head. “The Dons will take this as an affront.”

  “It is not intended as such,” Cesare said quickly. “You will explain this to them. I will repay my debt as I am called upon to do so, but no more.”

  “Already the other three men who were with me in the trial have petitioned the council for your death!” Emilio said. “They feel that you are a danger to them as long as you are free. And they have read in the papers that you have been questioned by the authorities.”

  “They are old women,” Cesare said scornfully. “The police have learned nothing.”

  “But they are still worried.”

  “Explain to the council there is nothing to fear. There is nothing I want from any of them.”r />
  Emilio shook his head. “I will do as you ask, my nephew. But until you hear from me, be careful. They are dangerous men.”

  “I will be careful, Don Emilio.” Cesare smiled. “For their own sakes I trust they too will be careful.”

  “I will get word to them,” Emilio said.

  Cesare nodded. “Good. And when will I hear from you?”

  “Next month,” Emilio answered. “I will bring word to you of the council’s decision at the Gran Mexico sports car races. You will enter your Ferrari. Your mechanic will be detained in Italy and when you arrive in Mexico City the day before the race, you will receive a telegram that he is ill. You will hire one that I will send you. Then you will receive further instructions.”

  Cesare nodded again. “If there are any changes in my plans I will leave word for you at the restaurant of the Quarter Moon in Harlem as before.”

  Emilio smiled. “It is understood.” He embraced Cesare again and then took his hand. “I will die for you,” he said.

  Cesare stared at him for a moment, then he replied, “I will die for you.” Swiftly he turned and slipped out the door.

  Emilio heard the tumbler click. He turned the key on his own side and put it back into the medicine cabinet. Then he turned off the tap and started back to his room, shaking his head. Cesare had signed his own death warrant by refusing further alliance with the Brotherhood. Now, he too must seek Cesare’s death. Too bad he did not have the time to let the others know of his change of heart.

  There is a restaurant in Manhattan on Lexington Avenue where the steaks are reputed to be the finest obtainable anywhere in the world and the spaghetti better even than in the old country. It is only natural in such a fine restaurant that the prices are so high that someone wandering in from the street could ill afford to have even bread and butter served to him. It is also only natural that the only customers who can afford such a restaurant either live on an expense account or have cash in such sufficient amounts that if necessary they could use the crisp new bills they love to carry in the large green salads served to them with spicy dressings.

  Big Dutch stuffed a large piece of rare steak into his mouth and chewed on it. A tiny dribble of gravy slipped out of the corner. He swabbed at it with a piece of bread and pushed the bread into his mouth along with the meat. He chewed a moment more then looked over at his two companions. “I don’t care what any of youse guys say,” he mumbled, “I say we should hit him.”

  Allie Fargo stared at him. “But we ain’t even sure he’s the right guy. Emilio never came right out and told us.”

  Big Dutch swallowed his mouthful. His knife began to cut another piece of steak. “What difference does it make?” he demanded. “We ain’t got time to check him out. The newspapers already said the F.B.I. has questioned the guy. Then what happens to us if he starts to sing?”

  Dandy Nick looked down at his plate with distaste. This much food was wasted on him. He didn’t eat very much anyway. “I don’t like it,” he said. “Emilio said we should sit tight and wait word from Italy. He’s takin’ it up with Lucky and Joe.”

  “Emilio says, Emilio says,” Big Dutch burst out angrily, his mouth still filled with food. He swallowed quickly and went on. “I’m getting tired of what Emilio says. Them guineas sit over there on their fat asses while we stay here stickin’ our necks out! They think just because they started the business they still own it!”

  Almost unconsciously, Dandy Nick looked around the restaurant to see if they had been overheard. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Take it easy! That kind of talk will only wind up getting you measured.”

  Big Dutch stared at him balefully. “How do you guys know that they ain’t settin’ us up? Maybe they’re figgerin’ for this guy to take over? You know how them guineas stick together.”

  Dandy Nick was silent. He looked at Allie. Allie was eating stolidly, his eyes on his plate. After a moment, Allie looked up. He put his knife and fork down carefully. “It’ll make an awful big stink,” he said softly. “This ain’t no dock walloper in one of your phony unions, Big Dutch. This is a pretty important geister.”

  “Yeah,” Dandy Nick added. “And if he ain’t the Stiletto, we’ll still be in the same boat. And we’ll have to explain to Emilio anyway.”

  Big Dutch kept on eating. It was time they made the move anyway. The Italians had had it long enough. The organization was here anyway; all the work, all the money was here. It was time they cut loose from the Mafia. What could they do from three thousand miles away if nobody wanted to work with them?

  “I say we don’t wait. We hit him.” He didn’t look up. He kept on eating. In a way it was too bad that he was in jail when they turned Roger Touhy loose. Big Dutch had already arranged a meet. The boys would have gone with Roger against the Mafia.

  Dandy Nick’s appetite was completely gone now. He pushed his plate away from him. He knew what Big Dutch was thinking. He glanced over at Allie. From the way Allie was eating he could tell that he knew too. This was more than just hitting one guy. This could be the beginning of a revolution. And he felt too old to go through another war just now. “What would we tell Emilio?” he asked, hoping to stall the decision.

  Big Dutch’s eyes flashed up at him for a moment, then down at the food again. “We’ll think of something,” he said.

  Allie came right out with it. “I don’t know,” he said. “Look what they did to Touhy. Twenty-five years they waited for him.”

  Big Dutch’s voice was scornful. “Touhy went soft in the clink. He should’ve gone right to work. Things would’ve been different then. They were afraid of him. Remember how he had Capone buffaloed?”

  “But they got him, didn’t they?” Dandy Nick asked.

  “Sure, but look how they did it,” Big Dutch retorted. “With a couple of punk amateurs. The kids were so excited they even left the cop alive. All they can count on now is the punks who go for the reputation. Even this Stiletto guy. He don’t belong. We got a business to protect. There ain’t a top man in the country who won’t go with us.”

  He put down his knife and fork and picked up the steak bone in his fingers. He waved it at them. It was time they got off the fence. “I say we hit,” he said emphatically.

  Allie looked at Dandy Nick, then back to Big Dutch. There was no room nor time left for stalling. “Okay, we hit,” he said.

  They turned to Dandy Nick. His mind was already made up. The percentage was with the house, it was heads you lose, tails they win and all anybody could do was hope to stay on his feet until it was over. “Hit,” he said.

  Big Dutch smiled. It was only the first step but he had made it and they had gone with him. The Stiletto was only a symbol, it was the Mafia that was important. It was time they returned the country to the Americans to whom it belonged. Already his mind was busy redividing the take. The sums made his head spin. He got to his feet and looked down at them.

  “I don’t know about you guys,” he said, “but this is the first night the old lady let me out of the house since I got back from the can and I’m going to Jenny’s and get laid.”

  They didn’t answer and he turned and started out of the restaurant. When he was gone they looked at each other. “Coffee,” Dandy Nick told the waiter.

  He turned back to Allie when the waiter had gone. Now was the time for them to take out an insurance policy. They had to get a message through to Emilio.

  12

  The weekly session of the Fencing Club was in full swing on the third floor of the New York Athletic Club on Central Park South. Through the small gymnasium that they used echoed the clash of foil upon foil as the white-shirted men danced back and forth, their grotesque black masks hiding their faces.

  Cesare’s foil flashed down in the white light and arced in past his opponent’s guard, coming to a stop on the little red heart emblazoned on the white shirt.

  “Touché!” his opponent said, stepping back and lifting his foil.

  Cesare flipped up his mask. He smiled. “Y
ou did very well, Hank. You still must watch your wrist though. It is too loose.”

  The opponent lifted his mask. He was breathing heavily. He smiled back at Cesare. “Are you going to enter the tournament next month, Cesare?” he asked.

  Cesare shook his head. “I don’t think so. I have entered the Gran Mexico races and probably will not be back in time. But, after all, it is for business, no?”

  The man nodded. “Too bad though. We won’t have much of a chance without you. Thanks for the lesson anyway.”

  Cesare nodded. “You are quite welcome.” He turned to the small group of onlookers and grinned. “Who is to be my next, how do you call it, pigeon?” he teased.

  They laughed a little self-consciously and looked at each other. “I guess you’ll have to wait until Fortini gets here. You’re out of our class,” one of them said, referring to the fencing coach.

  “All right, then,” Cesare said. He began to take off his mask.

  A voice came from the doorway. “How about giving me a chance?”

  Cesare turned. Baker was standing there, in uniform, smiling. “Ah, Mr. Baker,” Cesare said, no surprise in his voice, “of course.”

  Baker walked toward him, picking up a foil from the rack. He flicked it through the air, loosening his wrist. He transferred the foil to his left hand and held out his right hand. Cesare took it. Baker’s grip was firm. “Count Cardinali,” he said, “when I learned you were a member here, I could not resist the temptation—the chance to cross swords with one of the truly great fencers of our time.”

  Cesare smiled slowly. “I am honored. You are very kind. Would you like a few minutes to warm up?”

  Baker nodded. “Thank you, no. I am about as good as I ever will be. I only hope to give you a few interesting moments.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Cesare smiled again. They moved out into the open space and took up positions. “I did not know you were a member here.”

  Baker smiled back at him. “I’m afraid I don’t have very much time to spend. My work usually keeps me pretty occupied.” He flipped down his mask. “Ready?”