Omerta - Mario Puzo [72]
“Take his jacket off,” Astorre said. “But check his cuffs and shackles.”
“I figured it out,” Stace said to him calmly. “You know we have a stash. I can arrange for you to pick it up and end this nonsense.”
“I just had a talk with Franky,” Astorre said. “I was disappointed in him. You and your brother are supposed to be very smart guys. Now you talk to me about money, and you know this is about you hitting the Don.”
“You have it wrong,” Stace said.
Astorre said gently, “I know you weren’t in Tahoe, and I know Franky wasn’t in Vegas. You are the only two freelancers who had the balls to take the job. And the shooters were lefties like you and Franky. So all I want to know is, who was your broker?”
“Why should I tell you?” Stace said. “I know the story is over. You guys didn’t wear masks, you exposed Rosie, so you are not going to let us out of here alive. No matter what you promise.”
Astorre sighed. “I won’t try to con you. That’s about it. But you have one thing you can bargain for. Easy or hard. I have a very Qualified Man with me, and I’m going to put him to work on Franky.” As he said this, Astorre felt a queasiness in his stomach. He remembered Aldo Monza working on Fissolini.
“You’re wasting your time,” Stace said. “Franky won’t talk.”
“Maybe not,” Astorre said. “But he’ll be taken apart piece by piece, and each piece will be brought to you to check. I figure you to talk to save him from that. But why even start down that road? And Stace, why would you want to protect that broker? He was supposed to cover you, and he didn’t.”
Stace didn’t answer. Then he said, “Why don’t you let Franky go?”
Astorre said, “You know better than that.”
“How do you know I won’t lie to you?” Stace said.
“Why the hell should you?” Astorre said. “What do you gain? Stace, you can keep Franky from going through something really terrible. You have to see it clear.”
“We were just the shooters, doing a job,” Stace said. “The guy higher is the one you want. Why can’t you just let us go?”
Astorre was patient. “Stace, you and your brother took the job of killing a great man. Big price, big ego thing. Come on. It boosted you. You guys took your shot and lost, and now you have to pay or else the whole world is on a tilt. It has to be. Now, all you have is the choice, easy or hard. In an hour from now you can be looking at a very important piece of Franky on that table. Believe me, I don’t want to do that, I really don’t.”
Stace said, “How do I know you’re not full of shit?”
Astorre said, “Think, Stace. Think how I set you up with Rosie. A lot of time and patience. Think, I got you to this place and have seven armed men. A lot of expenses and a lot of trouble. And just before Christmas Eve. I’m a very serious fellow, Stace, you can see that. I’ll give you an hour to think it over. I promise if you talk, Franky will never know it’s coming.”
Astorre went down to the kitchen again. Monza was waiting for him.
“So?” Monza said.
“I don’t know,” Astorre said. “But I have to be at Nicole’s Christmas Eve party tomorrow, so we have to end this tonight.”
“It won’t take me over an hour,” Monza said. “He’ll either talk or be dead.”
Astorre relaxed by the roaring fire for a short time and then went upstairs again to see Stace. The man looked weary and resigned. He had thought it over. He knew Franky would never talk—Franky thought there was still hope. Stace believed Astorre had put all the cards on the table. And now Stace comprehended the fears of all the men he had killed, their last despairing and fruitless hopes for some fate to save them. Against all probabilities. And he didn’t want Franky to die like that, piece by piece. He studied Astorre’s face. It was stern, implacable despite his youth. He had the gravity of a high judge.
The heavily falling snow was coating