Omerta - Mario Puzo [61]
This judge, called the Lion of Palermo, took great pride in his absolute corruption. He reduced the sentences of Mafia members convicted of murder, and he refused to allow prosecutions to go forward. He made no secret of his friendship with the Corleonesi cosca and that of Bianco. He had a great estate ten miles from Palermo, and it was here that the meeting was to take place in order to ensure that no violence would be done.
The two leaders were permitted to bring four bodyguards each. They also shared the Lion’s fee for arranging the meeting and presiding over it and, of course, the rent of his home.
With his huge mane of white hair almost obscuring his face, the Lion was the picture of respectable jurisprudence.
Astorre commanded Bianco’s group of bodyguards, and he was impressed by the affection shown between the two men. Limona and Bianco showered each other with embraces, kissing cheeks and clasping hands stoutly. They laughed and whispered intimately over the elaborate dinner the Lion presented to them.
So he was surprised when, once the party was over and he and Bianco were alone, Bianco said to him, “We have to be very careful. That bastard Limona is going to kill us all.”
And Bianco proved to be right.
A week later an inspector of police on Bianco’s payroll was murdered as he left the home of his mistress. Two weeks after that one of the society swells of Palermo, a partner in Bianco’s construction business, was killed by a squad of masked men invading his house and riddling him with bullets.
Bianco responded by increasing the number of his body-guards and taking special pains to secure the vehicles he traveled in. The Corleonesi were known for their skill with explosives. Bianco also stuck very close to his villa.
But there came a day when he had to go into Palermo to pay off two high-ranking city officials and decided to dine in his favorite restaurant there. He chose a Mercedes and a top driver/ guard. Astorre sat in the back seat with him. A car preceded him and a car followed, both with two armed men in addition to the drivers.
They were driving along a broad boulevard when suddenly a motorcycle with two riders zoomed out of a side street. The passenger had a Kalashnikov rifle and pumped bullets toward the car. But Astorre had already shoved Bianco to the floor and then returned fire as the cyclists zoomed away. The motorcycle went down another side street and vanished.
Three weeks later, under cover of night, five men were captured and brought to Bianco’s villa, where they were tied up and hidden in the cellar. “They are Corleonesi,” Bianco said to Astorre. “Come down the cellar with me.”
The men were bound in Bianco’s old peasant style, their limbs interlocked. Armed guards stood over them. Bianco took one of the guard’s rifles and without saying a word shot all five men in the back of the head.
“Throw them in the streets of Palermo,” he commanded. Then he turned to Astorre. “After you decide to kill a man, never speak to him. It makes things embarrassing for both of you.”
“Were they the cyclists?” Astorre asked.
“No,” Bianco said. “But they will serve.”
And it did. From then on peace reigned between the Palermo cosca and the Corleonesi.
Astorre had not been back to London to see Rosie for almost two months. Early one morning he received a call from her. He had given her his number, to be used only in an emergency.
“Astorre,” she said in a very calm voice. “Can you fly back right away? I’m in terrible trouble.”
“Tell me what it is,” Astorre said.
“I can’t, over the phone,” Rosie said. “But if you really love me, you’ll come.”
When Astorre asked Bianco’s permission to leave, Bianco said, “Bring money.” And he gave him a huge bundle of English pounds.
When Astorre arrived at Rosie’s apartment, she let him in quickly and then carefully locked the door. Her face was dead white, and she was huddled in a bulky bathrobe he had never seen before. She gave him a quick grateful kiss. “You’re going to be angry with me,” she said sadly.
In that moment Astorre thought she was pregnant,