Omerta - Mario Puzo [77]
Mr. Pryor was being playful, yet he was somewhat in earnest. Astorre felt a deep rapport with him and gave him his absolute trust. Don Craxxi and Mr. Pryor were men he could rely on. Not only from friendship: Both of them earned a fortune from the ten banks the Don owned.
. . .
When Astorre and Mr. Pryor arrived at Don Craxxi’s home in Chicago, Astorre was surprised to see Pryor and Craxxi embrace each other with great warmth. They obviously knew each other.
Craxxi provided a meal of fruit and cheese and chatted with Mr. Pryor while they ate. Astorre listened with intense curiosity; he loved to hear old men tell stories. Craxxi and Mr. Pryor agreed that the old ways of doing business had been fraught with peril. “Everybody had high blood pressure, everybody had heart problems,” Craxxi said. “It was a terrible way to live. And the new element have no sense of honor. It’s good to see them being wiped out.”
“Ah,” Mr. Pryor said. “But we all had to start somewhere. Look at us now.”
All this talk made Astorre hesitate to bring up the business at hand. What the hell did these two old guys think they were doing now? Mr. Pryor chuckled at Astorre’s look. “Don’t worry, we are not yet saints, we two. And this situation challenges our own interests. So tell us what you need. We are ready to do business.”
“I need your advice, nothing operational,” Astorre said. “That’s my job.”
Craxxi said, “If it is solely for vengeance, I would advise you to go back to your singing. But I recognize, as I hope you do, that it is a matter of protecting your family from danger.”
“Both,” said Astorre. “Either reason would be sufficient. But my uncle had me trained for just this situation. I can’t fail him.”
“Good,” Mr. Pryor said. “But recognize this fact: What you are doing is in your nature. Be careful about the risks you take. Don’t be carried away.”
Don Craxxi asked mildly, “How can I help you?”
“You were right about the Sturzo brothers,” Astorre said. “They confessed to the hit, and they told me the broker was John Heskow, a man I’ve never heard of. So now I have to go after him.”
“And the Sturzo brothers?” Craxxi asked.
“They are out of the picture.”
The two old men were silent. Then Craxxi said, “Heskow I know. He has been a broker for twenty years. There are wild rumors about how he brokered some political assassinations, but I don’t believe them. Now, whatever tactics you used to make the Sturzo brothers talk won’t work with Heskow. He is a great negotiator, and he will recognize that he has to bargain his way out of death. He will know you must have information only he can give you.”
“He has a son he adores,” Astorre said. “A basketball player, and he is Heskow’s life.”
“That is an old card and he will trump it,” Mr. Pryor said, “by withholding information that is crucial and giving you information that is not crucial. You have to understand Heskow. He has bargained with death all his life. Find another approach.”
“There are a lot of things I want to know before I can go any further,” Astorre said. “Who was behind the killing, and most of all, why? Now, here’s my thought. It must be the banks. Somebody needs the banks.”
“Heskow might know some of that,” Craxxi said.
“It bothers me,” Astorre said, “that there was no police or FBI surveillance at the cathedral for the confirmation. And the Sturzo brothers told me that they had been guaranteed there would be no surveillance. Can I believe that the police and the FBI had prior knowledge of the hit? Is that possible?”
“It is,” Don Craxxi said. “And in that case you must be very careful. Especially