Omerta - Mario Puzo [67]
But Astorre motioned for them. “We’ll stay in sight,” he told them. “Enjoy your drinks.”
The four of them strolled down the beach just out of reach of the surf, Astorre and Nello in front and the two women behind them. When the women had gone fifty yards, they began to strip off their bathing suits. Buji took down her shoulder straps to show her breasts and cupped them to hold the sun.
They all jumped into the surf, which was mild and rippling. Nello was a first-class swimmer, and he dove underwater and came up between Stella’s legs so that when he stood she was on his shoulders. He shouted to Astorre, “Come on out!!” and Astorre waded to where he could swim, Buji holding on to him from behind. He pushed her underwater, sinking with her below the surface, but instead of being frightened, Buji tugged at his shorts to uncover his behind.
Submerged, he felt a throbbing in his ears. At the same time he saw Buji’s exposed white breasts suspended in the green water below the sea and her laughing face close to his. Then the throbbing in his ears came to a roar, and he surfaced, Buji clinging to his bare hips.
The first thing he saw was a speedboat roaring toward him, its motor a thunderstorm churning up air and water. Nello and Stella were on the beach. How did they get there so fast? Far off, he could see his bodyguards, trousers rolled, starting to run toward the sea from the villa. He pushed Buji underwater and away from him and tried to wade to the beach. But he was too late. The speedboat was very close, and he saw a man with a rifle aiming carefully. The noise of the shots was muffled by the roar of the motor.
The first bullet spun Astorre around so that he was a broad target to the gunman. His body seemed to jump out of the water, then collapsed below the surface. He could hear the boat receding, and then he felt Buji tugging at him, dragging him, and trying to lift him onto the beach.
When the bodyguards arrived they found Astorre facedown in the surf, a bullet in his throat, Buji weeping at his side.
It took Astorre four months to recover from his wounds. Bianco had him hidden in a small private hospital in Palermo where he could be guarded and given the best treatment. Bianco visited him every day, and Buji came on her days off from the club.
It was near the end of his stay that Buji brought him a two-inch-wide gold neckband from the center of which hung a gold disk etched with an image of the Virgin Mary. She put it around his neck like a collar and positioned the medallion over his wound. It had been treated with adhesive that made it stick to the skin. The disk was no bigger than a silver dollar, but it covered the wound and looked like an adornment. Still, there was nothing effeminate about it.
“That does the job,” Buji said affectionately. “I couldn’t bear looking at it.” She kissed him gently.
“You just wash off the adhesive once a day,” Bianco said.
“I’ll get my throat slit by somebody who wants gold,” Astorre said wryly. “Is this really necessary?”
“Yes,” Bianco said. “A man of respect cannot flaunt an injury inflicted by an enemy. Also, Buji is right. Nobody can bear the sight of it.”
The only thing that registered with Astorre was that Bianco had called him a man of respect. Octavius Bianco, that ultimate Mafioso, had done him the honor. He was surprised and flattered.
After Buji left—for a weekend with the wealthiest wine merchant in Palermo—Bianco held a mirror up for Astorre. The band of gold was handsomely made. The Madonna, Astorre thought; she was all over Sicily, in roadside shrines, in cars and houses, on children’s toys.
He said to Bianco, “Why is it the Madonna Sicilians worship, instead of the Christ?”
Bianco shrugged. “Jesus was, after all, a man, and so cannot be fully trusted. Anyway, forget all that. It’s done. Before you go back to America, you will spend a year with Mr. Pryor in London to learn about the banking business. Your uncle’s orders. There is another thing. Nello must be killed.”
Astorre had gone over the whole affair many times in his mind and knew Nello was guilty.