The Last Don - Mario Puzo [104]
It took Pippi more than an hour to tell the plan in detail. Dante said admiringly, “Giorgio always said you were the best. I was pissed off when the Don put you over me on this. But I can see he was right.”
Pippi took this flattery stone-faced. He said to Dante, “Remember this is a Communion not a Confirmation. It has to look as if he took it on the lam. With his record and all the lawsuits against him, that will be plausible. Dante, don’t wear one of your fucking hats on this operation. People have funny memories. And remember that the Don said he would like the guy to give information about the fix, but it’s not really necessary. He’s the ringleader, when he’s gone the whole fix will disappear. So don’t do anything crazy.”
Dante said coolly, “I feel unlucky without my hat.”
Pippi shrugged. “Another thing, don’t try to cheat on your unlimited credit. That comes from the Don himself, he doesn’t want the Hotel to lose a fortune on this operation. They already have to put up the Rolls.”
“Don’t worry,” Dante said. “My work is my pleasure.” He paused for a moment and then said with a sly grin, “I hope you give me a good report on this one.”
This surprised Cross. It was plain that there was some hostility between them. And he was also surprised that Dante would try to intimidate his father. That could be disastrous, grandson of the Don or not.
But Pippi seemed not to have noticed. “You’re a Cleri-cuzio,” he said. “Who am I to report on you?” He clapped Dante on the shoulder. “We have a job to do together. Let’s make it fun.”
When Rustler Snedden arrived, Dante studied him. He was big and fat but the fat was hard, it stuck to his bones and didn’t roll. His shirt was blue denim with large pockets on each breast, a white button in the middle. In one pocket he stuffed the black hundred-dollar chips, and in the other, the white-and-gold five hundreds. The red fives and green twenty-fives he stuffed into the pocket of his wide-trousered white canvas pants. On his feet were floppy brown sandals.
The Rustler played mostly craps, the best percentage game. Cross and Dante knew that he had already bet ten grand on two college basketball games and placed a five-thousand-dollar bet with the illegal books in town on a horse race in Santa Anita. The Rustler was not going to pay the taxes. And he seemed not to be worrying about his bets. He was having a grand time shooting craps.
He was the mayor of the crap table, telling other gamblers to ride with his dice, shouting good-humoredly at them not to be chicken. He was betting the blacks, stacks of them covering all the numbers, betting right all the way. When the dice came to him he hurled them vigorously so that they bounced off the opposite wall of the table and came back to his easy reach. He would then try to grab them, but the stickman was always alert to catch them in the claw of his stick and hold them so that other players could make their bets.
Dante took his place at the crap table and bet with Big Tim to win. Then he made all the ruinous side bets that would, unless he was very lucky, make him a sure loser. He bet the hard four and the hard ten. He bet the boxcars in one roll and the aces and eleven in one roll at odds of thirty and fifteen to one. He called for a twenty-thousand-dollar marker and, after signing for the black chips, spread them all over the table. He called for another marker. By this time, he had caught Big Tim’s attention.
“Hey, you with the hat. Learn to play this game,” Big Tim said.
Dante waved to him cheerily and continued his wild betting. When Big Tim sevened out, Dante took the dice and called for a fifty-thousand-dollar marker. He spread black chips all over the table hoping he wouldn’t get