by Pierre Rey
"Hey, you! What do you think you're doing?"
Lando turned around. The broad from the cafe was in front of him.
"What's going on here?" she said in a strained voice. .
"He took ill," Lando stammered. And for the passers-by now bunching around them he added, "You can see how drunk he is!"
"What do you mean, drunk? We didn't even have coffee!"
"Don't just stand there! Come on! Help me get him in!"
But she remained motionless, leery, terrified. When Morty went out of the cafe, she had kept her eye on him, furious because he wouldn't let her go into the bank with him, suspecting he had some dirty trick up his sleeve. In the time it had taken her to get up and walk around three tables, there was this big guy bending over her unconscious boyfriend..
"Get him in where? What did you do to him?" she said.
Lando was beginning to feel panicky. Not only hadn't he been told about the broad, now she was threatening to have hysterics in the street And Zurich was not Chicago. He had to put an end to this. f
"Come closer, I want to show you something."
He almost pasted himself against her to keep the by standers from seeing the Mauser that he dug savagely into her ribs. Then, holding Mortimer upright with his left arm, he groaned into her ear in a muddled staccato, "Either you follow me without saying one word, or m drill your guts for you!"
If she reacted badly, if she screamed, the jig was up. Sooner or later, Lando would be a goner. She opened her two terror-stricken blue eyes as wide as she could, bit her lip, put her arm under the other shoulder of the un conscious Mortimer, and said loud and clear, almost matter-of-factly, "He's out like a fight"
This way," Lando said, and the three of them moved away quickly. When they turned the corner, there was the P9.
"Open the door!" Lando ordered.
He tossed Morty's body into the back of the car and sat down beside it
"Here are the keys. You drive."
Obediently Zaza turned on the ignition. She had been beaten up by some of her boyfriends, but no one had ever jammed a pistol into her gut. And this huge dark-haired guy sure didn't seem to be kidding! What kind of hornet's nest had that cheesy little Mortimer gotten himself into? Well, she really didn't give a damn—as long as nobody hurt her. What she couldn't understand was why anyone would want to hold him up before he went into the bank, rather than after he came out with his pockets bulging with bread.
‘‘All right You gonna start?" "Where are we going?" "Just drive straight ahead."
She knew nothing about Zurich. Following Lando's in structions, she drove around until they were on a street with an unpronounceable name: Eschwiesenstrasse.
"On the right, at the end, there's a garage. Drive down the ramp into it"
When she braked and was about to head down the garage ramp, the guy in back barked at her, "Step on the gas!"
Blocking the entrance to the garage was a police car, right up against a Pontiac Two cops were listening to the explanations of a bald little man.
"Straight ahead!" Lando yelled at Zaza.
The gas pump in the garage belonged to a friend of his, a Sicilian countryman. Why the hell did two cops have to happen to be there when he wanted to use it as a hide out? At the back end of the garage was a locked door that opened onto a nine-by-twelve closet of sorts where Lando had decided to stash O'Brion.
"Still straight ahead?" she asked. "Shut up and keep going!"
He needed to think. The hideout was not operative for the moment; he'd have to think of another place. O'Brion was coming to. He opened his two little terrified eyes, met Lando's, and saw the weapon aimed at his ribs.
"What do you want from me?"
"Clam up!"
"Zaza, whatf s happening?"
His Adam's apple kept jumping up and down uncon trollably. Without turning around, Zaza snapped, "What’s happening is that you got me into some fine pile of shit!"
"Do you want money?" Morty asked Lando, trying to convince himself that that was it But in a confused way, he knew that this had to be an organization guy, and that they had figured out what he had tried to pull. But how could they have known so quick?
"Zaza, please believe me, I don't know anything about this. I have no idea what's going on."
Without moving his gun, Lando told Zaza, "Now, turn to the right and drive by the garage once more."
She did as she was told. Porco Dio! The damn cops were still blocking the entrance.
"If you don't tell me what you're after, I'm going to jump out!" Mortimer exclaimed.
"You gonna shut your trap or not?" Lando threat ened. "And you, turn left again at the end of the street"
When he wanted to take the trouble, Lando knew how to handle women. And this bitch must be one hell of a pig to put out for the likes of O'Brion!
"When you get to the bridge, cross it and then keep going straight ahead."
Now he knew where he was taking them. A wonder fully quiet spot from which he'd have plenty of time to contact his bosses: Inez's place.
With an awful premonition in his aching heart, Italo .Volpone followed the black-clad man down a long cor ridor. Their steps echoed off spotless white partitions that were inlaid with, ceramic tiles. What surprised Volpone about the morgue was not the cold—which he expected— but the absolute absence of smell. There was neither the odor of formaldehyde nor the subtler, sweeter, more cloy ing one of death.
"If you will allow me, please." The man excused himself.
He went and checked something in a ledger. Stand ing motionless, staring straight ahead, Italo felt he was living a nightmare. Despite his brother's patronizing attitude, Genco had always been good and fair with him. Everything Italo had, he owed to Genco, even his life, which Genco had saved twice. He clenched his jaw vio lently as the man pulled out a drawer and stood still.
Suddenly, at the moment of truth, the younger. Vol pone didn't want to know.
"Here," said the man in black after a long silence.
Italo came over, forcing himself to keep his eyes open. In the huge box, meant to hold a whole body, the leg seemed both tiny and immense. His throat contracted; he had to do violence to himself to be able to bend over to get a closer look. His eyes went from the horrible wound at the top of the thigh, which was sheared off like a side of meat, to the ankle. He saw the tiny scar, now even paler than the dead flesh around it, and he knew he would never again see his brother alive.
When they had fallen off the bicycle as children, and he had seen the blood on his big brother's sock, Genco had smilingly reassured him, "Don't be scared, Babe. It doesn't hurt."
Genco was the one who had affectionately given him the nickname that stayed with him all his life. How the family had laughed over it! Now, when it was spoken, the monosyllable—Babe—inspired awe.
"Sir, can you make the identification?"
"Get the hell out of here. I want to be alone."
"Just call me. I’ll be out in the hall."
Who could have done this to Genco? Who? And where was the rest of him? With tears in his eyes, Italo was aware that he was being ridiculous, but mere was nothing he could do to help it. He started to mumble fer vently, "Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name. ... Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven."
The rest of the words were lost in the sobs that convulsed his throat, but Italo summoned strength enough to get to the end of the prayer. He took a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and dried his eyes. It struck him that he was thirty-eight years old, about to become middle-aged. Yet before the death of those we love, everything seems empty, devoid of meaning. How would he ever break the awful news to his sister-in-law Francesca and his two nieces?
But what if Genco weren't dead? What if he had survived the accident and was lying someplace, wounded, battered? Just let him be alive. Porco Dio, just let him live!
In his fury, he tore the flesh of his palms with his nails. He looked at his hands; each one had four bloody
spots. Then, suddenly shaking, his arm outstretched over the open drawer, he started to mumble in a low voice, "Genco, Genco, fratello mio! I got no idea who did this to you, but I swear to you on the head of our sainted mother, I’ll find out! It may take my whole life, but I’ll do it I'll find out! And when I do, there won't be enough blood on the earth to wash away what they did to you! Whoever it is, wherever he'd hiding, I’ll find him and kill him with my own two hands. Him, and his family, and everybody con nected with him!"
Swollen with hate, he dashed out of the mortuary room without even trying to hide his tears.
Now he had a sacred mission: to replace Don Genco at the head of the Volpone family and do what death had not left his brother the time to accomplish. They'd find out what Italo ("Babe") Volpone was made of! And, as his first act as the new don, he figured he ought to go right over to the bank.
Ernst Fluegge, a German, was over six foot six and weighed about 260 pounds. Once a month he came from Hamburg to Zurich on business, and once a month he spent two hours with Inez. The first time, after meeting her on a referral, he had been so overwhelmed by her beauty that it was all he could do to rise to the occasion. The perfection of her body made him all the more aware how bloated, awkward, and graceless was his own. Usually he was not intimidated by whores. The money he was paying them washed away his shyness. Although she was nothing but a whore, his two hours with her cost him the eye-bug ging sum of two thousand dollars, yet Inez had such a way of keeping at a distance that he felt he ought to say "Thank you, ma'am" when she consented to pocket his money. Ernst never felt he was being ripped off. He got enough ecstasy to last throughout the ensuing thirty days, the memory of that passion helping him to put up with the temper of a shrewish wife, breweries in which his workers went on strike over the slightest grievance, to say nothing of the myriad problems he had to face as a captain of industry. Right now he was stretched out stark naked on the living room carpet, his eyes closed, his breath heavy.
Using a portrait painter's brush Inez was covering his body with long streaks of honey, not missing one square inch of his skin, from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair, by way of the bellybutton, the ear openings, and the crack between his buttocks. When she was done, she would lick it all off.
"Do you know how much a kilo of honey costs, my big doll boy?"
"Go on, please go on, I beg you."
"It’s expensive, very expensive."
"I’ll pay for it"
"You'll never pay enough."
"That's true, I know. Never enough," Ernst stam mered, dazzled by what lay ahead for his promising erec tion;
He reached out to touch her between the thighs. The doorbell rang. Ernst shuddered, opened his eyes, and saw a look of surprise in Inez's face.
"Are you expecting anyone?"
She put her finger to her lips. She was wearing a red dressing gown that opened on all sides, not hiding any de tail of her magnificent anatomy. Ernst wanted to rise to ward her, but she kept him down on the floor.
The doorbell rang again, this time to the accompani ment of loud knocks.
"No one must know I am here!" he whispered.
She motioned, to him to keep still, gave him a reas suring twitch of her lips, then got up and went to look through the peephole in the door. For all her composure, she almost had a seizure: it was Lando with another man and a blond girl! Orlando had never presumed to drop in on her without letting her know in advance, and he had never dragged any strangers to her place. This was not owing to his good manners as much as to his appreciation of her professional endeavors, from which he derived a good share of his income.
She could hear him becoming impatient "Well, you gonna open, or what? You know that I’m here!"
‘I’m busy now. Come back later."
"I can't" Lando demanded. "Open now."
"Don't open it" begged Ernst Ftuegge, lying on the carpet his hands crossed over his genitals—the erection all but disappeared—not knowing whether to jump under the shower to get rid of his film of honey, put his clothes on right over it, or hide in the bedroom until Inez could get him out of this unspeakable situation.
In stark terror he saw her open the door!
"It's my brother," she whispered to him. I’m sor ry..."
He expected to see a black warrior nine feet tall. Instead there was a petite blonde whose eyes nearly popped out at the sight before her, followed by an undersized man and a big dark intimidating character.
Fluegge rushed into the bathroom.
"Who's that?" said Lando.
"What right do you have to come here?" Inez an swered in an icy tone, as completely in control of herself as if she had not been half nude.
She saw Lando's pistol aimed at the ground.
"Have you lost your mind or what? Get the hell out of here!"
He looked at her with an evil air and threatened in a low voice, "Shut up! Get that fucker out of here, and make some coffee for my friends."
"Make it yourself, and get the hell on out!"
She never even saw the slap come at her, but it made her head swing back and forth like a Ping-Pong ball. Stunned, she brought her hand to her cheek. Lando had never struck her before.
In a toneless voice she said, "That was a mistake, Or lando.'‘
"Make the fuckin’ coffee!"
She started toward the kitchen and calmly took the phone from its hook as she went by. Her fingers punched the various buttons.
Lando raised the point of his.gun slightly toward her. "Hang up. Two lumps."
Inez hesitated. Then she understood that the man be fore her had nothing in common with the Lando she knew.
"I don't know what you want, or why you're acting this way, but after you step outside that door, you'll never set foot in here again."
Lando turned toward O'Brion and Zaza, who stood frozen near the door.
"How many you take?"
"What?" O'Brion asked in surprise.
"How many lumps of sugar?" Lando repeated pa tiently.
"None. No sugar."
"You?’
"No coffee at all," Zaza hissed at him, her eyes darting fury.
A plaintive voice came out of the bathroom, "Inez! Inez!"
She wanted to go to him. Lando stopped her with a gesture, went over to the door, and opened it Ernst Fluegge, huge and pitiful, was standing in the shower stall, just about to turn on the faucets.
"Can I help you?" Lando asked him courteously.
"Excuse me," the fat man muttered, "but if you could give me my clothes. Please. They're in the living room."
Lando took two giant steps forward, grabbed the Ger man by the arm, and dragged him out swinging him around in the same motion.
"Get 'em yourself, and fuck off!"
Lando looked at his hand and bawled, amazed and disgusted, "The fat slob is all sticky!"
"It’s honey," Inez calmly put in. "Don't you like honey?"
Nonplussed, Lando looked in turn at Ernst Fluegge, Zaza Finney, Mortimer O'Brion, and finally Inez.
'"It's what?"
"Ernst pays me for covering him with honey. If that's the way he likes it, what’s it to you?"
Lando burst Out laughing. At first, no one else joined in. But then, giving way to his nerves, his terror, his exhaustion, O'Brion hummed a slight hiccup that quickly turned into uncontrollable giggles. Zaza, succumbing in turn, tried to hold back by biting her lips, but she couldn't. Holding her sides with laughter, she finally bent over, tears streaming from her eyes. It was a weird spectacle, like a sad clown, Fluegge was doing his best to get into his undershirt, but the minute it touched his skin, the material stuck to the honey and wouldn't budge.
"Hurry up!" Lando ordered him between hysterical laughs.
When the brewer tried to get into his socks, it was more than Inez could stand. Until then she had kept a straight face, but now she broke into raucous laughter, suc ceeding only in saying between spasms, "Don’t hold it against me, Ernst! This isn't my fault He
's a real bastard, I’ll make him pay for it!"
When Fluegge finally got out of the place, ac companied by everyone's jeering laughter, carrying his shoes but feeling lucky to get out without further damage, Morti mer O'Brion turned to Lando and said, with eyes full of tears and terror, "Tell me, are you planning to keep us here long?"
Despite his gut panic, the absurdity of the situation —made up of a honey-drenched colossus, a giant naked black princess, and this guy he'd never seen before threat ening him with a gun—sent him off into another fit of hysterical laughter.