Omerta - Mario Puzo [89]
After about an hour, the car came to a stop and he was helped out by two of the guards. He could feel a brick path under his feet, and then he was led up four steps and into a house. Up more stairs to a room, the door closing behind him. Only then were the glasses removed. He was in a small bed-chamber whose windows were heavily curtained. One of the guards sat in a chair beside the bed.
“Lie down and take a little snooze,” the guard said to him. “You have a tough day ahead.” Marcantonio looked at his watch. It was almost midnight.
Just after four in the morning, with the skyscrapers ghosts in darkness, Astorre and Aldo Monza were let off in front of the Lyceum Hotel; the driver waiting in front. Monza jangled his ring of keys as they ran up the three flights of stairs and then to the door of Portella’s suite.
Monza used his keys to open the door to the suite, and they entered the living room. They saw the table littered with cartons of Chinese takeout food, empty glasses, and bottles of wine and whiskey. There was a huge whipped-cream cake, half-eaten, with a crushed-out cigarette adorning the top like a birthday candle. They went to the bedroom, and Astorre flicked on the light from the wall switch. There, lying on the bed, clad only in shorts, was Bruno Portella.
The air was filled with a heavy perfume, but Bruno was alone in the bed. He was not a pretty sight. His face, heavy and slack, glistened with night sweat, and the stale smell of seafood came from his mouth. His huge chest made him appear bearish, and indeed he wore a look of teddy bear sweetness, Astorre thought. At the foot of the bed was an open bottle of red wine, which created its own island of raw fragrance. It seemed a shame to wake him, and Astorre did it gently by tapping on his forehead.
Bruno opened one eye, then the other. He didn’t seem frightened or even astonished. “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was husky with sleep.
“Bruno, there’s nothing to worry about,” Astorre said gently. “Where’s the girl?”
Bruno sat up. He laughed. “She had to go home early to get her kid off to school. I already fucked her three times, so I let her go.” He said this proudly, because of both his virility and his understanding of a working girl’s problems. He casually reached out a hand to the bedside table. Astorre gently grabbed it, and Monza opened the drawer and took out a gun.
“Listen, Bruno,” Astorre said soothingly. “Nothing bad is going to happen. I know your brother doesn’t confide in you, but he snatched my cousin Marc last night. So now I have to trade you to get him back. Your brother loves you, Bruno; he’ll make the trade. You believe that, don’t you?”
“Sure,” Bruno said. He looked relieved.
“Just don’t do anything foolish. Now, get dressed.”
When Bruno finished dressing, he seemed to have trouble tying his shoelaces. “What’s the matter?” Astorre asked.
“This is the first time I wore these shoes,” Bruno said. “Usually I wear slip-ons.”
“You don’t know how to tie shoelaces?” Astorre asked.
“These are the first shoes I’ve had with laces.”
Astorre laughed. “Jesus Christ. OK, I’ll tie them.” And he let Bruno put his foot in his lap.
When he was finished, Astorre handed Bruno the bedside phone. “Call your brother,” he said.
“At five in the morning?” Bruno said. “Timmona will kill me.”
Astorre realized that it wasn’t sleep that dulled Bruno’s brain; he was genuinely dim-witted.
“Just tell him I’ve got you,” Astorre said. “Then I’ll talk to him.”
Bruno took the phone and said in a plaintive voice, “Timmona, you got me in a lot of trouble, that’s why I’m calling you this early.”
Astorre could hear a roar over the phone, and then Bruno said hurriedly, “Astorre Viola has me and he wants to talk to you.” He quickly passed the phone to Astorre.
Astorre said, “Timmona, sorry to wake you up. But I had to snatch Bruno because you have my cousin.”
Portella’s voice came over the phone in another angry roar. “I don’t know anything about that. Now, what the hell