Omerta - Mario Puzo [92]
Astorre reached into his pocket, pulled out a brown envelope, and emptied its contents onto the table. There was the confidential document he had signed for Cilke, the one in which he was asked to betray Portella.
Then there was the small cassette player with the tape in it.
Portella looked at the document with the FBI logo and read it. He tossed it aside. “That could be a forgery,” he said. “And why would you be so dumb to sign it?”
In answer Astorre flipped the switch on the cassette player, and Cilke’s voice could be heard asking Astorre to cooperate to trap Portella. Portella listened and tried to control the surprise and rage he felt, but his face had flushed a deep red and his lips moved in unspoken curses. Astorre clicked off the tape.
“I know you worked with Cilke over the last six years,” Astorre said. “You helped him wipe out the New York Families. And I know you got immunity from Cilke for that. But now he’s after you. Those guys who wear badges are never satisfied. They want it all. You thought he was your friend. You broke omerta for him. You made him famous, and now he wants to send you to jail. He doesn’t need you anymore. He’s going to come after you as soon as you buy the banks. That’s why I couldn’t make the deal. I would never break omerta.”
Portella was very quiet and then seemed to come to a decision. “If I solve the Cilke problem, what deal would you make for the banks?”
Astorre put everything back into his attaché case. “Outright sale,” he said. “Except for me—I keep a five percent piece.”
Portella seemed to have recovered from his shock. “OK,” he said. “We can work it out after the problem is solved.”
They shook hands on it, and Portella left first. Astorre realized he was very hungry and ordered a thick red steak for lunch. One problem solved, he thought.
. . .
At midnight Portella met with Marriano Rubio, Inzio Tulippa, and Michael Grazziella at the Peruvian consulate.
Rubio had been a superb host to Tulippa and Grazziella. He had accompanied them to the theater, the opera, and the ballet, and he had supplied discreet beautiful young women who had achieved some fame in the arts and music. Tulippa and Grazziella were having a wonderful visit and were reluctant to return to their natural environments, which were much less stimulating. They were subordinate kings being wooed by an overruling emperor who did everything to please them.
This night the consul general exceeded himself in his hospitality. The conference table was laden with exotic dishes, fruits, cheeses, and huge bonbons of chocolate; beside every chair stood a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. Small elegant pastries rested on delicate ladders of spun sugar. A huge coffee urn steamed, and boxes of Havana cigars, maduros, light brown, and green were strewn carelessly over the table.
He opened the proceedings by saying to Portella, “Now, what is so important that we had to cancel our engagements for this meeting?” Despite his exquisite courtesy there was a slight condescension in his voice that infuriated Portella. And he knew that he would be lessened in their eyes when they learned of Cilke’s duplicity. He told them the whole story.
Tulippa was eating a bonbon when he said, “You mean you had his cousin Marcantonio Aprile, and you made a deal to get your brother released without consulting us.” His voice was full of contempt.
“I could not let my brother die,” Portella said. “And besides, if I hadn’t made the deal, we would have fallen into Cilke’s trap.”
“True,” Tulippa said. “But it was not your decision to make.”
“Yeah,” Portella said. “Then who—”
“All of us!” Tulippa barked. “We are your partners.”
Portella looked at him and wondered what kept him from killing the greasy son of a bitch. But then remembered the fifty Panama hats flying in the air.
The consul general seemed to have read his mind. He said soothingly, “We all come from different cultures and have different values. We must accommodate ourselves to each other. Timmona is an American, a sentimentalist.”
“His brother