by Pierre Rey
The bodies of the two guards gunned down by Vittorio Pizzu had been discreetly put in the elevator, taken down to the basement garage, and loaded into a small van.
The Gabelotti family had a mausoleum large enough for some thirty departed in a small outlying cemetery. When a demise occurred under less than explainable cir cumstances, the body of the victim was taken mere with out having to go through the usual red tape of morgue, autopsy, and police. The people who ran the place were dependable, their loyalty well paid for. Don Ettore, like any good Sicilian, knew that even the worst of his killers wanted to be buried in consecrated ground and not walled into a cement block to be dropped into the high seas, and it was tins kind of thoughtfulness that made his men so devoted and respectful.
The don smiled sweetly at his chiefs of staff. "You know what the situation is now," he said to them. "Morty O'Brion tried to take us to the cleaners. I don't know if he's dead or alive, or where the hell he is. My own opinion is that our partner"—and he stopped after that word to clear his throat—"our partner Volpone cooked his goose for him. Which, of course, was a wrong thing to do. Because if I had got my hands on him, I can promise you that swine of an O'Brion would have sung his fuckin' heart out Anyway, our money, so they tell me, is still safe in the Swiss bank. Nobody's got the secret number for it not Italo Volpone and not me. Babe Vol pone means well. But that don't mean nothing. So there's only, one way to finish this thing so it don't turn bad. I got to goto Zurich myself."
The men looked at one another askance. Don Gabe lotti hated travel. People always came to him. Why should he bother to go to them? His fear of flying was always good for a laugh.
"How are you going, don?" Crimello asked inno cently, and just as innocently added, "By boat?"
"What was that?" Ettore asked in a voice pregnant with menace.
Carmine Crimello, realizing the gaffe he had made, looked around at the others. No one wanted to give him any help. All turned their eyes away from his, and Car mine, dangling alone, had to face the music.
'1 didn't say anything wrong, padrone. I just know you don't care for flying—so I thought.. ." and he added in a weaseling, cowardly effort, "besides, you're not the only one. I don't care for flying no more than you do."
"Well, from now on, worry about yourself, not me. You'll be flying out of here—tomorrow."
All of them looked up.
"And I will too," Don Ettore went on with ferocious determination; "Of course, we're not all going to Zurich as a delegation; Angelo, Thomas, and .Carlo, you go to France; not Paris, but someplace else, Lyons perhaps. From mere you take the train to Switzerland. Frankie and Simeone can fly to Milano and then take a train up north. You, Carmine, as long as you're so scared, you can fly with me right to Zurich." He stopped to give him an other look. 'I’ll hold you in my arms so you won't piss in your pants."
A few laughs greeted this sally, but they quickly dried up.
"When we're over there, well meet with Volpone's men. But the first one of you says a thing about what's been happening back here gets sent right home, under stand? As long as we ain't got our hands on our dough, we gonna have peace, absolute peace. You understand?"
"And after?" Angelo Barba inquired.
"After what?"
"After we get the dough back, then what?"
"There'll be plenty of time then to talk things over with Don Italo Volpone," Gabelotti answered.
The word Don came out of his mouth as if it were a big sloppy oyster of spit.
For Italo Volpone, things couldn't be worse. Angela had yet to be found, Gabelotti was putting spokes in his wheels and holding Yudelman hostage, Vittorio Pizzu didn't know how to do a fucking thing on his own, and Homer Kloppe didn't show any signs of cracking.
Once more Italo cursed himself for his lack of self-control. He had blown his chance with Morty O'Brion.
That runt of a lawyer wasn't any Swiss banker. Morty would have given him the secret number that had already been responsible for so many violent deaths.
Italo wanted to find his wife if it meant moving heaven and earth, but he had vowed not to leave Zurich until the money of Operation OUT was theirs again. It was a matter of his honor, his future, his life. He knew that the Commissione considered him flighty and violent And he was all of that But why couldn't they understand that it was because Genco had been born before him? Even more than their father, it was Genco who had raised him, protected him, taken care of him, made decisions for him. While his older brother's power was continually in creasing, Italo had gotten into the habit of living in Genco's shadow. Why should he go out and make it on his own when all he had to do was ask Genco? Why fight when his brother did it for him? Genco was the one who had nicknamed him Babe, and Italo had ended up so identifying with the brother he idolized that he actually thought Genco's victories were his own.
He had only come into his own when he met Angela. With her he was no longer just a little brother, but a full-fledged man, ready to do anything to keep his woman. He had tried to make Genco understand how he had changed, saying that he wanted to play a more active part in the various command posts of the family, and Genco had listened with great attention.
I’m not saying you're wrong, Genco," Italo had told him, "but maybe you're just too good to me. I feel I’m being held back. You're too big for me, and I’m not trying to fight you, but I'd like to use my own wings and try to fly."
Genco had smilingly tousled Italo's hair the way he did when they were kids.
"You're surely right, Babe," he replied, "but don't hold it against me. Maybe I just didn't see how fast you were growing up."
"I'm thirty-eight years old."
Genco himself was only forty-six, but when Italo had been a ten-year-old kid, Genco was already boss over a dozen men. Before he was twenty, important people were coming to him for advice and protection. Those eight years between them set them up as father and son, master and pupil. To Genco, Italo would always be ten years old.
Now, to Babe, Genco would always be forty-six, the age he was when he died.
After Vittorio Pizzu called about the run-in with Gabelotti, Italo went back to the morgue. The attendant had let him look once again at his brother's leg in the casket, and Italo had remained thoughtful for a long time, letting bittersweet tears flow as an overwhelming lust for revenge invaded him.
After that, he had gone back to the villa. Folco Mori was driving him, but they didn't say a word to each other. Italo now knew.that he would carry on with his brother's work; it was the only way he could prove himself deserv ing of the love and kindness Genco had lavished on him. He swore to himself that he would prove worthy of the heavy crown he was inheriting. But in order to get in good with the Syndicate, he first had to complete the financial transfer:
As he walked into the villa's living room, he saw Pietro Bellinzona and Orlando Baretto sitting gingerly on the edge of the couch. He could see immediately that something was wrong; Lando should have been there alone.
"I thought I told you to guard the nigger broad," he shot at Bellinzona.
He noticed the big guy's bruised face.
Pietro lowered his head in distress. "She's gone."
Italo felt the blood drain from his cheeks. Inez was still scheduled to play a big role in his plans.
"Her cousins snuck up on us," Lando added hastily.
"Shut up. I'm asking Bellinzona."
Folco Mori looked out at the garden as intensely as he could. Bellinzona spread his arms in a gesture of powerlessness’
"Well?" Volpone barked.
"There was two of 'em," Bellinzona began in a hoarse voice. "We kept a sharp eye on 'em when they came in. I had my finger on the trigger of my rod. So did he. But then..."
"Then what?"
Bellinzona stared at the tips of his shoes.
‘‘I don't know what to say, padrone ." He let the sentence hang, then tried to go on, but hi his shame could only repeat, "We got taken."
"Two unbelievable giants,"
Lando chimed in.
"A giant with a bullet in his head ain't no giant any more—he's just shit!" Volpone exploded. "And you two're a couple of shits yourselves. A couple of double-dyed fuckin' idiots! I need that broad. Where the hell'd she go?"
Lando and Bellinzona didn't dare look at each other. Lando was terribly worried. He would have, given any thing not to have been there to see Bellinzona, get fucked in the ass. "Why should we do anything to you?" the two giant, black men had told him. "Your pal’ll take care of that for us. He’ll kill you!"
"I'm talking to you!" Volpone screamed. "Where is she?"
They were both silent -
"Lando, get the hell out of here. You got a job to do. And if you know what's good for you, you'll do it right." "Si, padrone."
In his depressed condition, what chance did he have to make out with the banker's daughter? Even if he got to meet her, even if he could keep his face from looking haunted, even if she noticed him and thought she liked what she saw. Even then, what? He still had to have a free mind to be in top sexual shape. Since witnessing Inez's brother's display of erectile power, his idea of his own virility had shrunk to an all-time low. But if he let Vol pone down a second time, it would be curtains for him.
"Folco, check the airport, see what’s going on at the railroad station! Three giants like that just don't disappear!, Pietro, you go with him. Get your asses out of here before I start gertin' mean!"
Bellinzona got up awkwardly. As long as he lived, he would never be able to shed his humiliation unless he got to kill the ones who hurt him. He was almost sorry that Volpone had not decided to rub him out there and then for his fuck-up. He fell in alongside Folco Mori, who was smart enough not to ask him what went wrong.
In exasperation over this new snag, Volpone rushed to his bedroom to phone New York; he could no longer stand not knowing what had happened to Angela. The
first words he heard from Vittorio Pizza made his chest swell with relief .
"Your wife is home, padrone, and she's just fine, I’ll put Moshe on. He can fill you in."
When Moshe Yudelman left Gabelotti's with Angela Volpone, Vittorio Pizzu, and the three lieutenants, he wondered at length how to act now. It was just as dangerous to tell Babe the truth as it was to keep it from him. Moshe had not been taken in the slightest bit.by Gabelotti's pious lie. Despite the imaginary threats on Angela's safety Don Ettore claimed to have heard, he had snatched them and kept them prisoners, no two ways about it He wasn't trying to protect them, as he had sworn, but had been holding them hostage to have something to dangle over Italo's head. The fact that he had not reacted against the offing of his two men didn't prove that he had forgotten the incident Gabelotti was one who never forgot and who forgive nothing. The don had simply let the two billion-dollar ante take precedence; he'd settle accounts later on.
But, Moshe thought the real danger was Italo Vol pone himself. His fear of not being taken seriously added to his easily piqued pride. He was still too sensitive, too unsure of himself to be able to take it without flinching and dish it back out with interest Yudelman was going to have to handle him with as much care as if he were defusing a bomb. He sent a silent prayer to the gods of improvisation and took the phone from Vittorio Pizzu.
"Everything is fine, Italo, it's all straightened out" he said.
"Where's Angela?"
"I'll tell you all about it Italo. We can really be grateful to Don Ettore. Without him—"
"What? What are you talking about?" Volpone cut him off.
"Gabelotti got us out of one tight spot. He heard that someone had been making threats against us. So, out of friendship for you, he brought us to his place for safe keeping."
"Huh?"
"Yes, Italo. He played host to us." "To who?"
"Angela and me."
"My wife went to that fat slob's? Did he lay a hand on her? Tell me that!"
Yudelman felt his self-assurance melting away. "This whole business is just one big misunderstanding, Italo."
"What about Genco? Was he a misunderstanding, too? And O'Brion? You go kissing the ass of that fat pig when I don't even know if he hasn't snatched our bread."
"listen to me, Italo—"
"Shut up! You got nothing to tell me. Did he get the tongue I sent him?"
"The tongue?"
"Yeah, the tongue of the little smart-ass he had on my tail right out of JFK. Some friend you've got! It was Rico Gatto's tongue. I sent it to him wrapped up in Gatto's passport. Now, where the hell is Angela?’'
"At your place."
'Who's watching over her?"
"Four men from Vincente's regime."
"Put on four more! If she as much as got scared, I’ll kill you with my own hands, Moshe!"
"Okay, so you can kill me. Can I get a word in?"
"No! You still don't know that my guys had to off a couple of flatfoots."
"Swiss?" Yudelman choked out
"American. Kirkpatrick's pricks. What difference does that make?"
"Oh, my God—no!"
"Yes," Italo said; "and that fuckin' banker still won't cough up the dough. Zurich is lousy with cops and stoolies. I’m moving heaven and earth. And while I'm doin' that my right hand is gettin' palsy with the bastard who kid napped my wife after having my brother knocked off."
"That's not truer’ said Yudelman. "You're making a mistake. If Gabelotti was guilty, he'd never have let us go!"
Moshe bit his tongue, but it was too late. The cat was out of the bag.
Volpone exploded, "You dirty fuckin' lyin' bastard! Did you hear what you just said to me?"
This was it Now, no more alliance was possible.
"Okay, okay," Yudelman conceded in a colorless voice. "You want the whole story, here it is. I went back to Gabetottis. And then he wouldn't let me go. On ac count of you, Italo. He asked me to call you. You had checked out of the hotel, so he got suspicious. You would have done as much in his place. He sent two of his punks to pick up Angela—" "The bastard!"
"This morning, at five o'clock, he told me we were free to go. He apologized and explained why he acted the way he did. According to him, someone was threatening to kidnap your missus—"
"Who?"
"I don't know. He said he was protecting us from them. He said we were partners and had mutual inter est..."
"And you fell for that?"
"I didn't have a choice. Especially now that you tell me about that tongue. He could've knocked off the both of us. Then Pizzu busted in, following your orders, with Aldo, Vincente, and Joe. They knocked off two of his men on guard at the door, and that didn't make things any simpler."
"You expect me to leave my wife snatched and locked up and not do nothin' about it?"
"Don't try doing anything else, Italo, please, I beg you. You're cutting the ground out from under me. You have to understand that Gabelotti's in the same boat as us. He's just as worried because he hasn't been able to get the money transferred either."
Volpone was quiet for a moment. Yudelman knew he had gotten through.
"But why couldnt he? He has the account num ber!"
"Nope. For some reason that I don't know, he hasn't got it. If he did, the transfer would be done. Italo, listen to me. Genco is dead, and you're gonna be the family capo. There's a lot of objections on the Commissione—lots Of guys don't want you, they're afraid of what you did in the past you're in their way. . . . One misstep, and they'll have you offed, Italo! If you listen to me, we got a good chance—"
"Button up, stinker! Gabelotti never woulda dared snatch Genco's woman!"
"Right! But your brother never would have waved a red flag in his face! He would have reassured him instead of scaring the shit out of him like you did. You know who's making the profit from all this fuck-up? The banker! Your enemy is that Kloppe guy, not Ettore. You don't know what those banker types are like, Italo! They're legal crooks that are worse than dogs. They're strong and evil and vicious, and they never let go! They're a lot tougher than us. Th
ey knock off governments, win wars, send chiefs of state to the firing squad! They're more dangerous than a dozen armies. They fuck up the whole world, and they make the laws 'cause they've got control of the mazuma. If we don't give 'em that fuckin' number, we'll Clever get a sniff of our two billion again. We have to make an alliance with Gabelotti, Italo, and pool all our resources. It’s the only way to win."
"What can Gabelotti do that I can't, if he ain't got the number either?" Italo asked with mounting venom.