by Pierre Rey
When the boss came in, Carmine Crimello and Angelo Barba got up as one man. With a wave of his hand Ettore indicated they could be seated. He opened the refrigerator, poured himself a beer that he laced with a finger of cognac, rolled up two slices of ham and gulped them down, and eyed his two advisers.
"No fun, is it, being pulled out of bed at 3:00 a.m.?"
Carmine and Angelo half-heartedly shook their heads to assure him that it didn't bother them.
"I’m sorry, but I couldn't get to sleep. I miss you boys when you're not here. I feel all alone. I guess you ought to be flattered, huh?"
He downed his boilermaker in one long gulp and then poured straight brandy into his beer glass.
"When I get bored, I start thinking, and thinking— Believe me, it's no picnic."
He swallowed half the cognac
'Incidentally, anybody heard from O'Brion?"
"Should we have?’'asked Crimello.
Ettore didn't answer directly. "Rico Gatto called me from Switzerland," he said. "What the hell business do you boys think Babe Volpone has in Zurich?"
He slowly swished the rest of his cognac around the bottom of the glass.
Crimello and Barba, all too familiar with the way Gabelotti could, pretend not to be worried, figured all hell was about to bust loose.
‘He went to the morgue," Ettore told them.
"The morgue?"
"Yes, the morgue! After all, anybody might want to go there to pay their respects." "Who for Barba asked.
"A leg."
"Whose leg?" Angelo came back, exchanging a brief look with Crimello.
"If I had smart guys working for me, I'd know," Gabelotti said softly, "That fuckin' Rico Gatto couldn't even tell me. That's a gas, isn't it?"
Crimello and Barba, ill at ease, tried to laugh.
Barba decided to jump in. "Don Ettore, why not just tell us what’s bothering you?"
"We been fucked!" Gabelotti yelled as he smashed his glass down on the coffee table. "And if I been fucked, its because I got nothin' but shitheads workin' for me. You boys don't even seem to see anything Wrong about it My partner's brother goes making courtesy calls to the morgue, and at the same time my mouthpiece dis appears!"
"O'Brion?"
"Yes, O'Brion! If any of those fuckin' Volpones harmed a single hair on his head, I'll knock off the lot of 'em!"
Cannine Crimello cleared his throat
"Padrone, what leads you to believe-?’
"Nothin'!" Gabelotti cut him off, furious. "My nose knows! Right now, we are being screwed, left, right and center, and we're sitting here holding our cocks! It just so happens I haven't heard from Mortimer since he left Nassau. He hasn't been at his office His wife doesn't know where he went And his cunt is no place around. You want I should draw you a picture? The Volpones are copping our bread!"
"Just a minute..." Barba tried to intercede.
Angelo Barba had the greatest respect for the don, but his five years in medical school before he went to work for the family made him think of a diagnosis for what was ailing his boss: paranoia (accompanied by de lusions of persecution). "Maybe O'Brion just decided to shack up with his broad for a while?" he said.
Gabelotti eyed him viciously. "While he knows two billion bucks are at stake?"
"I think you're jumping to conclusions, padrone," Carmine Crimello chimed in.
"Oh, yon do, do you? Well, if they knocked Morty off, what's gonna keep them bastards from making off with the bread?"
"Why, you can, Don Ettore’ Angelo said indig nantly. "You have the number. All you have to do is phone the bank and have the money released."
"If it's still there," grumbled Gabelotti.
"Nothing easier than checking that out"
"I just called Phil Diego," Ettore grudgingly con firmed. "He knows the banker. He's on the spot"
"At three in the morning?" Crimello said.
"In Zurich if s going on nine."
Barba was trying to find a way to tell the don, with out being disrespectful, that his, whole theory was bull shit But all he found was a stopgap.
"Look, those Volpones may be anything you say, but one thing they're not is crazy! If they pulled something like that the Commissione would give 'em all the kiss of death."
"First they'd have to find them," Gabelotti stub bornly contended.
"They're not in hiding. You just said yourself that Italo is in Switzerland."
"You're beatin' your gums for nothin’," Gabelotti thundered. "If I tell you there's been a double cross, you can believe me!"
Angelo Barba took refuge in prudent silence. There was no meeting Gabelotti head on, especially when his in stinct was dictating rather than his mind. He had to be gotten around softly, little by little, without any set-to.
"And Moshe Yudelman?" Crimello querulously asked.
"Don't think I haven't covered that!" Ettore said. "Hell be here any minute now."
"How about Italo's missus?" said Carmine, as if it were a minor matter. "Is she in town?"
Gabelotti stuck a handful of crackers in his mouth and began to chew. With his mouth full, he looked at Crimello.
"You think we can make a trade with that?" he asked. "When you're playing for two-billion bucks, how much is any woman worth?"
"Okay, but is she around?" Crimello insisted.
"Yes.’’ Ettore sloughed off me word. "And I got two guys on her tail."
The meeting was notable for its brevity. Marjorie showed Philip Diego into Homer Kloppe's office at 9:01. At 9:04 he was out again.
Philip Diego was not yet forty, but he was one of the most promising lawyers of the younger generation. He had a staff of twenty-three in offices that overlooked the river, hard by the Rathaus, where the Parliament of the commune and the canton met He also had an apart ment in Paris, a hideaway in London, a chalet at Gstaad, an estate at Saint-Paul-de-Vence, and a packet of real estate in the Bahamas. A self-made man, he combined the virtues of charm and experience with physical fitness, a cunning mind, and the touch of thoughtful skepticism that always catches a client off guard.
Kloppe and he. had met on several occasions involv ing international deals in which each of them, delighted with the other's efficiency, had come out with great bene fit to himself and those he represented. Now, when he came into the banker's lair, Diego called on all his re sources as a man of action.
"My dear friend, I am too well acquainted with the ethics of your business to expect you to be able to an swer my question. However, a mere indication would be enough to reassure one of my clients, who also happens to be a client of yours. He just called from New York, and he seems very concerned. His name is Ettore Gabelotti. You know him, don't you?"
Homer Kloppe remained expressionless. All Philip Diego could do was carry on with a smile.
"For one operation—just one, but a very important one—he has pooled his interests with those of Genco Volpone. That's what's rather curious about this whole thing. Gabelotti is terrified of flying. As you can imagine, that's a great drawback when- it comes to checking on his various enterprises. As far as you are concerned, he was represented by his lawyer with power of attorney, Mortimer O'Brion. Now, it so happens that his partner, Genco Volpone, has not been in touch with him for three days, nor has O'Brion. Naturally, my client is concerned.
Before giving you the instructions to transfer the funds, he felt he owed it to his partner to have me contact you. He wants to be sure that neither O'Brion nor Volpone has made any move without informing him. My question— that is, his question—therefore, is simply this: Is that sum of money still on deposit with you at the Zurich Trade Bank?"
Homer Kloppe got up out of his armchair, walked over to the bay window that was framed in light wood, looked out at the few white clouds in the pure blue sky, and said in a completely neutral voice, "What a glorious day!"
Diego hid his defeat behind a burst of laughter that was irresistible. Irresistible to anyone but Kloppe.
"At any rate," sa
id Diego, 'I’ll be able to tell my client that I tried."
"It’s been delightful to see you again," Homer said.
"Likewise," said Diego. "After all, Gabelotti has the account number. I’ll just tell him hell have to come over here himself ."
"Good day, then, counselor," said the banker.
If Moshe Yudelman had agreed to come to see Ettore Gabelotti at 3:00 a.m., it was only to keep war from breaking out on the spot between the two families. In just a few hours the situation had become so tense that even the slightest misstep might set the powder on fire. When file don heard what Moshe had to say, there was no telling what his reaction would be.
After his phone call to Italo, Yudelman hadn't been able to make up his mind: Should he tell Gabelotti the whole truth; should he try to pacify him with blank reas surances; or should he just give him a few details with out the overall picture? A quick review of the alternatives made Moshe decide on the first solution. If Gabelotti wanted to see him, the don already smelled something rotten. Moshe might as well put all the cards on the table.
That Ettore had requested the appointment at such an ungodly hour was worrisome enough. By a reflex as childish as it was useless, Moshe had asked Vittorio Pizzu to go with him. Pizzu had been a sottocapo in the Volpone family for fifteen years, outranking Genco's three capiregime: Aldo Amalfi, Vincente Bruttore, and Joseph Dotto.
In the past, these three lieutenants had often come to grips with the Gabelotti family. They got their orders from Vittorio Pizzu and transmitted them to the soldiers, each of whom had authority over several punks. In the old days, when showdowns were frequent, Amalfi. Bruttore, and Dotto had given ample proof of their guts and their loyalty. Before acceding to his high position, Pizzu him self had not been above doing some of the dirty work, in which his natural cruelty, along with a total absence of sensitivity, made him stand out.
Just as their car came to a halt in front of Gabelotti's place, Yudelman had an idea. "Are you loaded?" he asked Vittorio.
"Always."
"Leave your rod in the car." "Why?"
'To make me happy. We're not at war with them."
"You want to walk out of here?"
"Vittorio, don't act like a kid. If they wanted to get us, it would be easy, with or without your gun. Leave it in the glove compartment"
Pizzu shook his head. "What’d you bring me along for?"
"I want to have a witness. And I want you to back me up, if need be. But not by shooting it out"
"With Gabelotti, I never feel sure of anything. You think he'll be alone?"
"I don't know, but believe me, leave it here."
Grudgingly Pizzu slipped the Smith and Wesson 39 Parabellum out of its holster and put it into the glove compartment under some road maps.
"Some idea!" he commented. "With those faggots in there, it's like my balls was hanging out"
"Come on!"
The two men casually guarding the vestibule did not insult them by frisking them. Vittorio Pizzu felt the worse for it But when he followed Moshe into Gabelotti's office, he was surprised to see that the don had three of his men with him: Angelo Barba and Carmine Crimello, his two consiglieri and Cario Badaletto, who had jumped ship from the Volpones. Badaletto had once been under Pizzu's command, and Vittorio relished the thought that his onetime subordinate had to wear a denture since the time that Italo Volpone had butted his teeth out.
Seeing Yudelman and Pizzu come in, Ettore Gabelot ti bowed his head by way of greeting. His bright eyes were underlined by two heavy dark pouches of fat Yudel man immediately sensed the change in the atmosphere. Three days before, in Nassau, when the representatives of the two clans had gotten together, the climate had been almost euphoric.
"Be seated," Gabelotti said.
Yudelman and Pizzu sat on the edge of their chairs, side by side, facing the don. Ettore wasted no time. "Moshe, I called you here to ask you a few straight ques tions."
I’m all ears," said Moshe.
"When Genco cabled us, the money was supposed to be transferred the next day, or at the latest the day after that, out of the Swiss bank. You've let time go by with out calling to reassure me, and I expected that a friend like you would at least phone and keep me posted. That, you didn't do. Don Genco didn't either. I must say, I'm disappointed, so I have to ask you right out: Have our two billion dollars been transferred or not?" "Not yet, Don Gabelotti."
"Why, may I ask?"
"Even if you hadn't called me, I was just about to get in touch with you, so we could discuss it"
"Why did you bring Pizzu with you?"
Moshe didn't dare point out that Gabelotti was sur rounded by three of his own henchmen, so he said noth ing.
"Were you afraid you wouldn't get a cordial wel come?" Gabelotti asked with pointed sarcasm.
Yudelman only smiled politely, and Badaletto snick ered under Vittorio Pizzu's cold gaze.
"I can leave," Pizzu offered, looking at the as sembled group.
"Don't move," said Gabelotti. 'You're very wel come, Vittorio. After all, aren't we all partners in this?"
Then, without transition, turning to Moshe, he said, “I’m listening."
Moshe gathered his thoughts and clasped his hands in front of him. "There's been a slight delay."
"Why?" asked Gabelotti sympathetically.
"We have had a great tragedy." He saw Gabelotti exchange glances with Crimello and Barba. "Don Genco Volpone is no longer among the living."
The tension in the room increased, evidenced by the quality of the silence.
"That is indeed a very great tragedy," Gabelotti said after a moment 'Tell me what happened."
"Don Genco had an accident in Zurich. His leg was found on the cowcatcher of a railroad engine."
"His leg?" Ettore asked, visibly moved. "But what about him? Where is he?"
"His body hasn't been found. His brother is now in Switzerland investigating.'‘
"How did you find out about the tragedy?"
"We were notified here, by the New York Police Department"
"You mean to say it was the cops who identified Don Genco's leg?"
"Don Genco got his shoes from Biasca's. The Swiss cops sent the shoe over to the cops here. Biasca con firmed that it was one he had made for Don Genco. Un fortunately, after that Italo was able to identify the leg as really being his brother's."
"This makes me very unhappy, Moshe," Ettore said. "And all of my men, too. Don Genco was a wise man, un uomo di rispetto. In the name of all my people, of all my family, I express our deepest and most heartfelt sympathy. When will the burial take place?"
"I guess Italo won't make any decision about that until the rest of Genco's body is found."
"If anyone told me three days ago that such a thing could happen, I wouldn't have believed it" Gabelotti as sured him. "Just what did Don Genco die of, anyway?"
Yudelman, not the least bit taken in by Ettore's sym pathetic manner, wondered for the merest fraction of a second whether he should go any further.
' Gabelotti caught his hesitation. "Go on, Moshe, you can talk. We're all friends here. Death is waiting for all of us, and we have to help each other whenever we can."
"Don Ettore, for the time being, nobody knows any thing much more about this whole sad business."
"What do you mean, Moshe?"
‘In spite of the family tragedy, and before he even started to investigate, Italo took steps to protect our mutual interests."
"In what way?"
"He went to the bank where the money had been deposited for the transfer, as we had agreed;"
Gabelotti suddenly looked upset 'Italo? What busi ness was it of his? Did someone authorize him to handle my affairs without consulting me?"
"Not at all," Yudelman interrupted. "No, Don Et tore! Italo just wanted to be helpful, so we would not have any loss of time."
"Excuse me, Moshe, but I don't follow you. Did some one ask Italo to step in and be helpful to us? If so, how was he helpful? And who was it
that asked him?"
Despite the uneasiness he was beginning to feel, Vittorio Pizzu was doing his best to remain calm. The in terrogation was turning sour. If Moshe hadn't forced him to leave his gun in the car, they might have a chance to get out of this hornet's nest alive. Discreetly Vittorio's index finger rubbed against his right thumb, as if it were on an imaginary trigger. Embarrassed, Yudelman cleared his throat