Omerta - Mario Puzo [78]
Mr. Pryor said coolly, “Astorre, your primary goal is to save the banks and protect Don Aprile’s children. Vengeance is a minor goal that can be abandoned.”
“I don’t know,” Astorre said, noncommittal now. “I’ll have to think about that.” He gave both men a sincere smile. “But we’ll see how it works out.”
The two old men did not believe him for a moment. In their lifetimes they had known and recognized young fellows like Astorre. They saw him as a throwback to the great Mafia leaders of the early days, men they had not become themselves because of a certain lack of charisma and will that only the great ones had:the men of respect who had dominated provinces, defied the rules of the state, and emerged triumphant. They recognized in Astorre that will, that charm, that single-mindedness that he himself was not aware of. Even his foolishness, his singing, his riding of horses were weaknesses that did not harm his destiny. They were merely youthful joys and showed his good heart.
Astorre told them about the consul general, Marriano Rubio, and about Inzio Tulippa trying to buy the banks. About Cilke trying to use him to trap Portella. The two old men listened carefully.
“Send them to me the next time,” Mr. Pryor said. “From my information Rubio is the financial manager of the world drug trade.”
“I won’t sell,” Astorre said. “The Don instructed me.”
“Of course,” Craxxi said. “They are the future and can be your protection.” He paused and then went on. “Let me tell you a little story. Before I retired I had an associate, a very straight businessman, a credit to society. He invited me to lunch at his office building, in his private dining room. Afterward he took me on a tour and showed me these enormous rooms that held a thousand computer cubicles manned by young men and women.
“He said to me, ‘That room earns me a billion dollars a year. There are nearly three hundred million people in this country, and we are devoted to making them buy our products. We plan special lotteries, prizes, and bonuses, we make extravagant promises, all legally defined to make them spend their money for all our companies. And you know what is crucial? We must have banks who will supply these three hundred million people credit to spend money they don’t have.’ Banks are the name of the game, you must have banks on your side.”
“That’s true,” Mr. Pryor said. “And both sides profit. Though interest rates are high, those debts spur people on, make them achieve more.”
Astorre laughed. “I’m glad that keeping the banks is smart. But it doesn’t matter. The Don told me not to sell. That’s enough for me. And that they killed him makes a difference.”
Craxxi said to Astorre very firmly, “You cannot do harm to that man Cilke. The government is now too strong to take such ultimate action against. But I agree he is a danger of some kind. You must be clever.”
“Your next step is Heskow,” Pryor said. “He is crucial, but again you have to be careful. Remember, you can call on Don Craxxi for help, and I myself have resources. We are not fully retired. And we have an interest in the banks—not to mention our affection for Don Aprile, rest in peace.”
“OK,” Astorre said. “After I see Heskow, we can meet again.”
. . .
Astorre was acutely aware of his dangerous position. He knew that his successes were small, despite his punishment of the assassins. They were only a thread pulled out of the mystery of Don Aprile’s murder. But he relied on the infallible paranoia drilled into him during his years of training in Sicily’s endless treacheries. He had to be especially careful now. Heskow seemed like an easy target, but he could also be booby-trapped.
One thing surprised him. He had thought himself happy in his life as a small businessman and amateur singer, but now he felt an elation that he had never experienced before. A feeling that he was back in a world in which he belonged. And that he had a mission. To protect the children of Don Aprile, to avenge the death of a man he had loved. He simply had to crack the will of the enemy. Aldo Monza had brought