Omerta - Mario Puzo [29]
“How do you like that FBI guy coming on to us like he’s our best friend?” Nicole said. “He hounded Dad for years. And now he thinks we’re going to spill all our family secrets to him. What a creep.”
Cilke felt a flush coming to his cheeks. He hadn’t deserved that.
Valerius said,“He’s doing his duty, and that’s not an easy job. He must be a very intelligent man. He sent a lot of the old man’s friends to jail. And for a long time.”
“Traitors, informers,” Nicole said scornfully. “And those RICO laws they enforce very selectively. They could send half of our political leaders to jail under those laws, and most of the Fortune Five Hundred.”
“Nicole, you’re a corporate lawyer,” Marcantonio said. “Cut the crap.”
Astorre said thoughtfully, “Where do the FBI agents get those snazzy suits? Is there a special ‘Tailor to the FBI’?”
“It’s the way they wear them,”Marcantonio said. “That’s the secret. But on TV we can never get a guy like Cilke right. Perfectly sincere, perfectly honest, honorable in every way. Yet you never trust him.”
“Marc, forget your phony TV shows,” Valerius said. “We are in a hostile situation, and there are two significant intelligence aspects. The why, then the who. Why was Dad killed? Then, who could it possibly be? Everyone says he had no enemies and nothing that anyone wanted.”
“I have a petition to see Dad’s file at the Bureau,” Nicole said. “That may give us a clue.”
“What for?” Marcantonio said. “We can’t do anything about it. Dad would want us to forget it. This should be left to the authorities.”
Nicole sounded scornful. “So we don’t give a crap who killed our father? How about you, Astorre? Do you feel like that too?”
Astorre’s voice was soft, reasonable. “What can we do? I loved your father. I’m grateful he was so generous to me in his will. But let’s wait and see what happens. Actually, I like Cilke. If there’s anything to find, he’ll find it. We all have good lives, so why twist them out of shape?” He paused and then said, “Look, I have to call one of my suppliers, so I have to go. But you can stay here and talk things out.”
There was a long silence on the tape. Cilke couldn’t help feeling goodwill toward Astorre and resentment against the others. Still, he was satisfied. These were not dangerous people; they would cause him no trouble.
“I love Astorre,” Nicole’s voice said now. “He was closer to our father than any of us. But he’s such a flake. Marc, can he possibly go anywhere with that singing?”
Marcantonio laughed.“We see thousands of guys like him in our business. He’s like a football star in a small high school. He’s fun, but he hasn’t really got the goods. But he’s got a good business and he enjoys it, so what the hell?”
“He has control of multibillion-dollar banks—everything we have, and what really interests him is singing and horseback riding,” said Nicole.
Valerius said ruefully and with humor, “Sartorially splendid, but he has a lousy seat.”
Nicole said, “How could Dad do that?”
“He made something very good out of that macaroni business,” Valerius said.
“We have to protect Astorre,” Nicole said. “He’s too nice to run banks and too trusting to deal with Cilke.”
At the end of the tape Cilke turned to Boxton. “What do you think?” he asked.
“Oh, like Astorre, I think you’re a splendid fellow,” Boxton said.
Cilke laughed. “No, I mean, are these people possible suspects in the murder?”
“No,” Boxton said. “First, they are his kids, and second, they don’t have the expertise.”
“They are smart though,” Cilke said. “They ask the right question. Why?”
“Well, it’s not our question,” Boxton said. “This is local, not federal. Or do you have a connection?”
“International banks,” Cilke said. “But no sense wasting any more of the Bureau’s money; cancel all the phone taps.”
Kurt Cilke liked dogs because they could not conspire. They could not hide hostility, and they were not cunning. They did not lie awake at night planning to rob and murder other dogs. Treachery was beyond their scope. He had two German shepherds to help guard his home,