Omerta - Mario Puzo [82]
Mr. Pryor’s nephews, Erice and Roberto, were lean and athletic, expert in firearms, and they clearly adored their uncle. They also seemed to know Astorre’s history in Sicily and treated him with enormous respect, performing the smallest personal services for him. They carried his luggage. They poured his wine at dinner, brushing him off with their napkins; they paid his tips and opened doors, making it plain they regarded him as a great man. Astorre good-humoredly tried to put them at ease, but they would never descend to familiarity.
The men guarding Don Craxxi were not so polite. They were courteous but rigid, steady men in their fifties, completely focused on their job. And they were all armed.
That evening when Don Craxxi, Mr. Pryor, and Astorre had finished dinner and were eating fruit for their dessert, Astorre said to the Don, “Why all the security?”
“Just a precaution,” his host answered calmly. “I’ve heard some disturbing news. An old enemy of mine, Inzio Tulippa, has arrived in America. He is a very intemperate man and very greedy, so it is always best to be prepared. He comes to meet with our Timmona Portella. They whack up their drug profits and whack out their enemies. It is best to be ready. But now, what is on your mind, my dear Astorre?”
Astorre told them both the information he had learned and how he had turned Heskow. He told them about Portella and Cilke and the two detectives.
“Now I have to go operational,” he said. “I need an explosives guy and at least ten more good men. I know you two can supply them, that you can call on the Don’s old friends.” He carefully skinned the greenish yellow pear he was eating. “You understand how dangerous this will be and do not want to be too closely involved.”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Pryor said impatiently. “We owe our destiny to Don Aprile. Of course we will help. But remember, this is not vengeance. It is self-defense. So you cannot harm Cilke. The federal government will make our lives too hard.”
“But that man must be neutralized,” Don Craxxi said. “He will always be a danger. However, consider this. Sell the banks and everybody will be happy.”
“Everybody except me and my cousins,” Astorre said.
“It is something to consider,” Mr. Pryor said. “I’m willing to sacrifice my share in the banks with Don Craxxi, though I know it will grow to be an enormous fortune. But certainly there is something to be said for a peaceful life.”
“I’m not selling the banks,” Astorre said. “They killed my uncle and they have to pay the price, not achieve their purpose. And I can’t live in a world where my place is granted by their mercy. The Don taught me that.”
Astorre was surprised that Don Craxxi and Mr. Pryor looked relieved by his decision. They tried to hide little smiles. He realized that these two old men, powerful as they were, held him in respect, saw in him what they themselves could never acquire.
Craxxi said, “We know our duty to Don Aprile, may he rest in peace. And we know our duty to you. But one note of prudence: If you are too rash, and something happens to you, we will be forced to sell the banks.”
“Yes,” Mr. Pryor said. “Be prudent.”
Astorre laughed. “Don’t worry. If I go down, there will be nobody left.”
They ate their pears and peaches. Don Craxxi seemed to be lost in thought. Then he said, “Tulippa is the top drug man in the world. Portella is his American partner. They must want the banks to launder the drug money.”
“Then how does Cilke fit in?” Astorre asked.
“I don’t know,” Craxxi said. “But still, you cannot attack Cilke.”
“That would be a disaster,” Mr. Pryor said.
“I’ll remember that,” Astorre said.
But if Cilke was guilty, what could he do?
Detective Aspinella Washington made sure her