by Pierre Rey
'Italo!" O'Brion yelled, raising himself to all of his unimpressive height. "I have a right to know what this is all about!"
Volpone turned toward O'Brion as if seeing him for the first time,
'I’ll tell you," he answered quietly.
He took him amiably by the arm and led him to the back of the barn, far from the others. During the ride in" the car, blood had started to run from Mortimer's bruised mouth again, but he hadn't bothered to wipe it off.
"Okay," Volpone calmly told him. "My brother was murdered."
O'Brion called on the last of his nerve to find the strength not to lower his eyes.
"That can't be true!" he forced out
"Shut up!" Volpone muttered savagely, tring to con tain himself. 'I’m doing the talking. You're going to give me the code word and the number of the Zurich Trade Back account Genco deposited that money in.".
"Italo, I can't! That would mean betraying Genco!’
In order not to kill O'Brion then and there, Babe Volpone had to shut his eyes, take his own head in both his hands, and squeeze as hard as he could until the marks of his fingers were visible in his limpid flesh.
"Listen to me, you rotten dog. And get this straight! Before I kill you, I'm ready to make a deal with you. Talk right now, and I’ll finish you off like a man, clean and fast with a bullet in your head. And I give you my word nothing'll happen to your broad."
"What? You mean to say?"
"If you decide to hold out, you'll talk anyway. But I’ll pull your lousy skin off inch by inch, so you can stay alive and enjoy every bit of it. Now, which way do you want it?"
"Italo, I swear you're making a big mistake," Morti mer pleaded.'I swear that—"
"Pietro! Put that metal plate back where it belongs. And take the blonde and stand her up on it!"
"Hey, what's eating you?" Zaza protested. "What business of mine is it if you guys are fighting? I hardly even know this character."
Bellinzona twisted her arm behind her back and shoved her onto the metal plate.
"Now what do I do?" he asked.
"Hang her," said Volpone quietly.
"You bastards!" Zaza screamed.
She tried to kick Pietro, but he overwhelmed her with his big bear's arms.
Inez had an unusual reaction. "How long is all this crap gonna last? I'm cold. I want to get out of here and go home."
"Get over by that fucker," Folco Mori ordered her, pointing to O'Brion.
"I don't know what they've got against you," she said to Mortimer, "but why not talk to them? Can't you see you're dragging all of us down into this shit?"
At a wink from Volpone, Folco picked up a coil of rope and handed it to Lando. Lando held one end and flung the coil up over the beam. Then, as Bellinzona watched with interest, Lando fashioned a noose.
"Put it around her neck!" Volpone told them.
Her eyes bugging out in horror, a look of utter dis belief on her face, Zaza glanced around, trying to find some kind of help.
"Mortimer!" she screamed. "Mortimer, do some thing!"
"Leave her alone!" O'Brion yelled. "For chrissake, leave her alone!"
With one twist Bellinzona tied Zaza's wrists' behind her back while Lando attached the end of the rope to a ring that was welded into the wall.
"Mortimer!" Zaza screamed again, as loud as she could.
She could see him trying to free himself from the arms of Folco Mori, who now had him in a chest lock. "The plate!" Italo said.
Like a bronco bucking a halter, Zaza, at the ex treme of her terror, started to turn on herself in a wild, blind gyration, hammering on the metal with the heel of the one shoe she had on. Bellinzona grabbed the edge of the metal plate.with both his hands and pulled it out from under her. Zaza jiggled desperately in space.
"You motherfuckers!" Inez cried.
She bent to pick up a rusted sickle, felt a karate chop on the back of her neck, and fell groaning to her knees, while Folco Mori, who had relaxed his hold on O'Brion just long enough to chop at her, renewed his grip. Inez started to vomit silently, her lips right down on the ground so that she didn't have to see Zaza's eyes pop out of their sockets as her body convulsed through one final spasm.
"Pietro!" Volpone ordered. "Go have yourself some fun with the nigger broad!"
Bellinzona looked sideways at Lando, who had turned pale. His fists clenched, Lando was keeping a weather eye on Italo, whose arm had sprouted a Mauser.
"Baretto," Volpone called without specifically threat ening him, "go turn the saw on."
Italo's voice implied so much clear and present danger that Lando did not even flinch when Bellinzona lifted Inez to carry her, half unconscious, behind a stack of sawed wood, where he flung her on a pile of sawdust
"Baretto!" Volpone repeated. "I told you to do something!"
Lando took a few steps and dropped down into the hole. He had to push Zaza's legs away in order to get al the switch. When he turned it on, a slight hum could be heard, and the blade of the rotary saw started to turn slowly, then faster.
Mainly so he wouldn't hear what might be going on behind him, Lando got out of the hole, picked up a large hunk of wood, and moved it to test the blade. The saw sliced through it as if it were no bigger than a match-stick.
"Bring him over," Italo said to Mori.
Folco pushed Mortimer O'Brion forward, still holding his arms behind his back.
A scream came from the pile of sawdust Lando stood stock-still. Volpone pretended he hadn't noticed anything. Bellinzona's voice rang out "Fuckin’ bitch!" and there were the heavy thumps of blows being struck and someone fighting back violently.
"Baretto, lay him down in front of the saw, and make' sure he holds still..."
O'Brion, now beyond terror, wanted to talk. But all he could do was make desperate signs. No sound came out of his mouth. Roughly held by Folco Mori and Lando, he was lying on the steel apron before the electric saw, his neck only four inches or so from the humming metal blade.
Volpone grabbed him by the hair, raised his head, and said, "I'm all ears."
Vomiting a long spew of bile, Mortimer, who wanted to stay alive, succeeded in overcoming his fright long enough to repeat the code words chosen by Don Genco: "Mamma mia! Mamma mia!"
But Italo did not grasp the fact that he had just been given half the answer he was looking for. He thought that those words, wrenched from O’Brion's gut as he ap proached his death agony, were a final appeal for help.
In a second, Italo's face was covered with sweat as blazzling white streaks passed before his eyes. He remembered his brother after he fell from his bike, consoling him. ‘Don’t worry! It won't hurt! Then he thought of his wife, Angela. his tongue could almost taste her taut nipples, his brother's image rose again, alive, then dead; then he could see only the severed leg.
"Son of a bitch!" he screamed. "You bastard!"
He had completely forgotten who he was, where he was, and what he had come here to do.
When the luminous filaments stopped dancing be fore his eyes, Babe Volpone saw that he was still holding Mortimer O'Brion's head by the hair. He raised his stupid ly staring eyes at Orlando Baretto and Folco Mori, who turned away in embarrassment He had blood all over him.
Then he noticed that there was no longer any con nection between Mortimer O'Brion's head and body. Along with the head, he had just cut himself off from the last link to two billion dollars.
Part Two
IMPASSE
9
Renata Kloppe rang for Manuella to bring her break fast—strong coffee, chilled grapefruit juice, bacon and eggs, toast, and strawberry jam. Stifling a yawn, she got up, opened a closet, and erased one of the three chalk marks inside the closet door.
'Two to go," she said. "Two to go ..."
"Good morning, miss. I hope you had a good night. Only two days to go," Manuella chirped.
"Good morning, Manuella," she replied. "Where's the pepper?"
"rngoforit''
"Manuella, a
thousand francs if you can answer this one right: Why am I marrying him?’' "Because you love him." "Wrong."
'I’ll bring you the pepper. Meantime, maybe you'd better take a look at your wedding menu." "Is it here?" "On the tray."
And Manuella burst out laughing again before going out. Renata picked up the card with the details of her wedding meal spelled out in fancy script. She could not help smiling over the subversive little masterpiece she and Kurt had so carefully prepared.
April 26,1979
Grande Fine Champagne 1936...
Coffee
Passionate Sherbet
Charlotte au chocolat
Cheeses
Saddle of Lamb with Provengal Aromatics
Striped Bass in Pastry Shell with Tomato Sauce
Pate de foie gras
Belon Oysters
Aperitifs
Dom Perignon 1961
Clicquot rose1929
Louis Philippon, the world-famous French chef who was due at the Kloppes' the next day with his entire staff, had made no comment when Renata had given him the menu. This upside down and backward meal had left the arrogant Frenchman as cold as ice.
Renata had taunted Kurt to see how far she could push him, and he had finally said no when she proposed that he dress in a bridal gown and she in a tuxedo. When she accused him of turning chicken, he got angry and he swore that he was up to it but that he was worried about the reactions of his students.
"Your pepper, miss."
"Manuella, I know! I know why I'm marrying him! I need a guy whom I can torture—morning, noon, and night."
"Yes, until the day he starts to torture you," her chambermaid answered tartly. ‘I’ve laid out your beige suit"
"Thanks, m be wearing the sky blue."
'Tough! That’s laid out too." It was Renata's turn to laugh. She adored Manuella and was delighted with the way the maid matched her, thrust for thrust Renata rewarded her with last season's dresses, which infuriated Kurt.
"You treat her like a servant!" he would storm.'
"Manuella! My fiancé" says I’m treating you like a servant" Renata relayed.
"Well, I am a servant!" Manuella would burst out gleefully, keeping up her end of the game.
There was one thing Renata really liked about Kurt
In bed, he was absolutely passive. She could use him as if he were some familiar object to be bent to whatever fantasy she created. In her vast experience around the world, she had gone through the gamut of macho cocks-men who knew just what they wanted; somehow, they al ways left her peculiarly unfulfilled. Now, having decided that she wouldn't cheat on her husband after she was mar ried, she was sorry she had never encountered the blind ing climactic lights some of her girl friends claimed to have achieved.
Were they really telling the truth?
Anyway, she had one chance left. Ranata had de termined that, as a final gesture before entering conjugal life and motherhood, she would give herself a proper send-off. On the afternoon before her wedding night, she planned to go out on the street and pick up the first at tractive man she saw. Perhaps those very circumstances would at last give her the fulfillment she had sought for so long.
The saw was coming back at him at regular inter vals, marked by a disagreeable vibration each time it sliced off a part of one of his limbs. Italo twisted to get away from its teeth, cried out, and opened his eyes. The phone was ringing. He was bathed in perspiration and the light was flooding into his bedroom through the blinds. The night before, he had not even had the presence of mind to draw the curtains. He picked up the phone, which continued ringing in his ears; he belched into the mouthpiece, "Hold the line," got shakily out of bed, went straight to the bathroom, and there tried to piss and douse his face with cold water at the same time. What a way to wake up! He had -been asleep only two hours. Before that, he had played solitaire all night, losing every game. Even his miniature roulette wheel had not been able to calm him. None of the numbers he mentally bet on had paid off. He had played the zero 108 times with out its coming up, and when he finally dropped the zero for eleven, the ball, as if to plague him, went into zero three times in a row! He hadn't been able to concentrate. All he could think of was O'Brion's bloody head.
Why had he let him die so quickly, so painlessly? He would have liked to torture the bastard for hours. By dying, O'Brion had played one last filthy trick on him. With Genco dead and O'Brion's head cut off, the thread was broken. Now the two billion bucks belonging to the Volpone and Gabelotti families could only be restored to their rightful owners by the decision of the banker.
He came back and grabbed the phone.
"Hello," he yelled into it as he stretched out on the
bed.
"Itato?”
He recognized Moshe's voice and figured he was in for a lecture. . "Italo? Can you hear mer "You don't have to yell!' "What about Genco? Anything new?" "Not a thing."
"That's too bad. Listen. Things aren't going well. Gabelotti just sent for me."
"You're not going?" Italo raged. "Since when are you taking orders from that tub of lard?"
"Don't forget, we're partners.'‘
"Tell him where he can shove it!"
"Hell want to know where we stand on Opera tion OUT. That’s his right."
"Stall for time! I'll have it settled by noon."
"I thought I told you—’’
"Dry up! I know what I have to do!"
"Italo, if Genco were alive, he'd be telling you the same thing. You won't get anywhere that way. Our only way to get out of this in one piece is to find O'Brion."
"Hold the phone," Italo gulped.
Things were moving too fast for him. He didn't dare tell Moshe that Mortimer was no longer in one piece. He needed more time to think.
He picked up the phone again. 'That was a guy bringing me some aspirin. My skull's killing me."
"What am I supposed to ten Ettore about Genco? If you agree, I think I better let him in on it If we don't, he’ll find out anyway."
Italo looked at his watch. It was 9:10 a.m. In less than three hours he'd be playing his last trump with Kloppe. The problem was, he couldn't really carry out any of the threats he had made. From now, on, nothing was more precious to him than that goddamned banker's life. The most he could do was scare him shitless.
"Moshe! If you don't do what I tell you, you don't belong to the family anymore."
"Okay. You're entitled. But I still have an obligation to Genco. He didn't want any war! I'll do everything to see that his orders are carried out For his sake, and for yours—for your own goodl"
"Go fuck yourself!"
"Well, if I strike out you can do whatever you want"
"You're full of shit!"
"Listen to me, don't go back to that bank. At least wait until I've seen Ettore. I just have to talk to him—"
Italo Volpone slammed the receiver down. If he lis tened further, he might be won over by the consigliere's logic. And he was firm in his decision not be swayed, even though he knew Moshe was absolutely right
Up to now, no one, not even his brother, had been able to keep Italo from doing as he pleased. No one could start now.
He had warned Kloppe he would be back to see him at noon, and he planned to be prompt.
When Ettore Gabelotti came out of the sauna next to his bathroom, he stepped on the scale and noted that the needle went beyond the highest figure shown. Dis gusted, Gabelotti looked down at his body. His stomach was distended, even though the rolls of fat didn't com pletely bide his powerful muscles. Years ago, when he was thirty, he had been able to pick up two guys, one in each hand, and toss them ten feet away like empty peanut bags. Today he had to leave it to his punks to do that kind of work.
Carmine Crimello and Angelo Barba, his two consiglieri, were waiting for him in the next room. He put on a white shirt, a black tie, and a dark blue suit that made him look seventy-five pounds lighter. Then, he sprayed himself with toilet water.
Ettore had not b
een enthusiastic about the tempo rary alliance between his family and the Volpones, but he had given in to Moshe Yudelman's persuasion. Over a ten-year period the two dons had inflicted heavy losses on each other, and when they finally realized that their feuds were benefiting nobody but the feds, they had signed a nonaggression pact, carefully defining the spheres of con trol each of them would have. Still, that didn't mean they willingly pooled their resources! Ettore Gabelotti, who trusted no one, had had a feeling that Volpone would try to screw him. And now it was happening.