Omerta - Mario Puzo [81]
Heskow didn’t say anything. Just kept watching Astorre, trying to judge him.
“The Sturzos are dead,” Astorre continued. “You can join them. But I have a proposition, and you have to be very alert here. In the next thirty minutes you will have to convince me you’re on my side, that you will act as my agent. If you don’t, you will be buried beneath your flowers in the shed. Now let me tell you better news. I will never involve your son in this affair. I don’t do that, and besides, such action would make you my enemy and ready to betray me. But you must realize that I am the one who keeps your son alive. My enemies want me dead. If they succeed, my friends will not spare your son. His fate rests on mine.”
“So what do you want?” Heskow asked.
“I need information,” Astorre said. “So you talk. If I’m satisfied, we have a deal. If I’m not, you’re dead. So your immediate problem is staying alive tonight. Begin.”
Heskow did not speak for at least five minutes. First he evaluated Astorre—such a nice-looking guy, not brutal or terrorizing. But the Sturzo brothers were dead. Then the breaking through the security of his house and the finding of the guns. Most ominous was Astorre waiting for him to reach for the nonexistent gun. So this was not a bluff, and certainly not a bluff he could call. Finally Heskow drank his coffee and made his decision, with reservations.
“I have to go with you,” he said to Astorre. “I have to trust you to do the right thing. The man who hired me to broker the deal and gave me the money is Timmona Portella. The NYPD nonsurveillance I bought. I was Timmona’s bagman and gave the NYPD chief of detectives, Di Benedetto, fifty grand and his deputy, Aspinella Washington, twenty-five. As for the FBI guarantee, Portella gave it to me. I insisted on credentials, and he told me he had this guy, Cilke, New York Bureau chief, in his pocket. It was Cilke who gave the OK for the hit on the Don.”
“You worked for Portella before?”
“Oh, yeah,” Heskow said. “He runs the drugs in New York, so he has a lot of hits for me. None in the league of the Don. I never did get the connection. That’s it.”
“Good,” Astorre said. His face was sincere. “Now I want you to be careful. For your own good. Is there anything more you can tell me?”
And suddenly Heskow knew he was seconds from death. That he had not done the job of convincing Astorre. He trusted his instincts. He gave Astorre a weak smile. “One more thing,” he added, very slowly. “I have a contract with Portella right now. On you. I’m going to pay the two detectives a half million to knock you off. They come to arrest you, you resist arrest, and they shoot you.”
Astorre seemed a little bemused. “Why so complicated and expensive?” he said. “Why not hire a straight hit man?”
Heskow shook his head. “They put you higher than that. And after the Don, a straight hit would draw too much attention. You being his nephew. The media would go wild. This way there’s cover.”
“Have you paid them yet?” Astorre asked.
“No,” Heskow said. “We have to meet.”
“OK,” Astorre said. “Set up the meeting out of traffic. Let me know the details beforehand. One thing. After the meeting, don’t leave with them.”
“Oh, shit,” Heskow said. “Is that how it is? There will be enormous heat.”
Astorre leaned back in his chair. “That’s how it is,” he said. He got up out of the chair and gave Heskow a half hug of friendship. “Remember,” he said, “we have to keep each other alive.”
“Can I hold out some of the money?” Heskow asked.
Astorre laughed. “No. That’s the beauty of it. How do the cops explain the half million they have on them?”
“Just twenty,” Heskow said.
“OK,” Astorre said good-naturedly. “But no more. Just a little sweetener.”
Now it was imperative for Astorre to have another meeting with Don Craxxi and Mr. Pryor for their advice on the wide operational plan he had to execute.
But circumstances had changed. Mr. Pryor insisted on bringing his two nephews to Chicago to act as bodyguards.