The Last Don - Mario Puzo [114]
Then Big Tim daydreamed about his next visit to Vegas. Finally he would get a Villa. He pondered on who to bring with him as guests. Business or pleasure? Future scam victims or maybe all women? Finally it was time to go to dinner with Pippi and Steve Sharpe. He called his ex-wife and his two kids for a chat and then was on his way.
The dinner was at a small fish restaurant down in the L.A. dock area. There was no valet service, so Big Tim put his car in a parking lot.
In the restaurant he was greeted by a tiny maître d’ who took one look at him and ushered him to a table where Pippi De Lena was waiting.
Big Tim was an expert of the abraccio and he took Pippi into his arms. “Where’s Steve? Is he jerking me around? I haven’t the time for that kind of bullshit.”
Pippi turned on all his charm. He clapped Big Tim on the shoulder. “What am I, chopped liver?” he said. “Sit down and have the best fish dinner you ever ate. We’ll be seeing Steve after.”
When the maître d’ came to take their order, Pippi told him, “We want the best of everything and the most of everything. My friend here is a champion eater and if he gets up from this table hungry, I’ll talk to Vincent.”
The maître d’ smiled confidently; he knew the quality of his kitchen. His restaurant was part of Vincent Clericuzio’s empire. When the police backtracked Big Tim’s trail, they would meet a blank wall here.
They ate a progression of clams, mussels, shrimps, and then lobsters: three for Big Tim and one for Pippi. Pippi was finished long before Big Tim. He said to him, “This guy is a friend of mine and I can tell you now he is tops in drugs. If that scares you off, tell me now.”
“That scares me as much as this lobster,” Big Tim said, waving its huge, nibbled claws in Pippi’s face. “What else?”
“He always has to launder black money,” Pippi said. “Your deal will have to include that.”
Big Tim was enjoying the food; all the briney spices of the ocean filled his nostrils. “Great, I know all that,” he said. “But where the fuck is he?”
“He’s on his yacht,” Pippi said. “He doesn’t want anybody to see you with him. That’s to your interest. He’s a very cautious guy.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck who sees me with him,” Big Tim said. “I want to see me with him.”
Finally Big Tim was finished. His dessert was fruit, with a cup of espresso. Pippi skillfully skinned a pear for him. Tim ordered another espresso. “To keep me awake,” he said. “That third lobster nearly put me away.”
No check was presented. Pippi left a twenty-dollar bill on the table and the two left the restaurant, the maître d’ silently applauding Tim’s performance at the table.
Pippi guided Big Tim to a small rental car that Tim squeezed into with difficulty. “Christ, can’t you afford a bigger car?” Big Tim said.
“It’s only a short distance,” Pippi said soothingly. And indeed it was a five-minute ride. By that time it was really dark except for the lights of a small yacht moored to the pier.
The gangplank was down, guarded by a man almost as big as Tim. There was another man on the far deck. Pippi and Big Tim went up the gangplank and onto the deck of the yacht. Then Dante appeared on the deck and came forward to shake their hands. He was wearing his Renaissance hat, which he guarded good-naturedly from Big Tim’s swipe.
Dante led them below deck to a cabin decorated as a dining room. They sat around a table in comfortable chairs screwed into the floor.
On the table was an array of liquor bottles, a bucket of ice, and a tray with drinking glasses. Pippi poured them all a brandy.
At that moment the engines started and the yacht began to move. Big Tim said, “Where the hell are we going?”
Dante said smoothly, “Just a little spin for some fresh air. Once we’re out on the open sea, we can go up on the deck and enjoy it.”
Big Tim was not that unsuspicious, but he had faith in himself, that