The Last Don - Mario Puzo [124]
Over the years Cross had gone to the Hunting Lodge for weekend vacations and the two of them had gone hunting together. Vazzi told stories of the troubles in Sicily and the difference in living in America. Cross had reciprocated by inviting Vazzi and his family to Vegas, comped RFB at the Xanadu plus a credit rating of five thousand in the casino, which Lia was never asked to pay.
Over dinner they talked generally. Vazzi marveled still at his life in America. His oldest son was taking a degree at the University of California and had no knowledge of his father’s secret life. Vazzi was uneasy with this. “Sometimes I think he has none of my blood,” he said. “He believes everything his professors tell him. He believes women are equal to men, he believes peasants should be given free land. He belongs to the swimming team at college. In all my life in Sicily, and Sicily is an island, I have never seen a Sicilian swimming.”
“Except a fisherman thrown off his boat,” Cross said laughing.
“Not even then,” Vazzi said. “They all drowned.”
When they had finished eating, they talked business. Vazzi never really enjoyed the food in Vegas, but he loved the brandy and Havana cigars. Cross always sent him a case of good brandy and a box of thin Havana cigars once a year at Christmas.
“I have something very difficult for you to do,” Cross said. “Something that must be done very intelligently.”
“That is always difficult,” Vazzi said.
“It must be at the Hunting Lodge,” Cross said. “We will bring a certain person there. I want him to write some letters, I want him to give a piece of information.” He paused to smile at Vazzi’s dismissive gesture. Vazzi had often commented on American movies where the hero or villain refused to give information. “I could make them speak Chinese,” Vazzi would say.
“The difficulty,” Cross said, “is that there must be no mark on his body, no drugs inside his body. Also this certain person is very strong-willed.”
“Only women can make a man talk with kisses,” Vazzi said amiably, savoring his cigar. “It sounds to me that you are going to be personally involved in this story.”
Cross said, “There is no other way. The men working will be your crew but first the Lodge must be cleared of the women and children.”
Vazzi waved his cigar. “They will go to Disneyland, that blessing in happiness and trouble. We always send them there.”
“Disneyland?” Cross asked, and laughed.
“I have never been,” Vazzi said. “I hope to go there when I die. Will this be a Communion or a Confirmation?”
“Confirmation,” Cross said.
Then they got down to business. Cross explained the operation to Vazzi and why and how it should be done. “How does it sound to you?” he asked.
“You are far more Sicilian than my son and you were born in America,” Vazzi said. “But what happens if he remains stubborn and won’t give you what you want.”
“Then the fault will be mine,” Cross said. “And his. And then we must pay. In that, America and Sicily are the same.”
“True,” Vazzi said. “As in China and Russia and Africa. As the Don often says, Then we can all go swim in the bottom of the ocean.”
CHAPTER 9
ELI MARRION, BOBBY BANTZ, Skippy Deere, and Melo Stuart assembled in emergency session in Marrion’s home. Andrew Pollard had reported to Bantz Cross De Lena’s secret scheme to get Athena back to work. This information had been corroborated by the detective Jim Losey, who refused to divulge his source.
“This is a stickup,” Bantz said. “Melo, you’re her agent, you’re responsible for her and all your clients. Does this mean when we are in the middle of a big picture your star refuses to go to work until they get half the profits?”
“Only if you’re crazy enough to pay it,” Stuart said. “Let this De Lena guy do it. He won’t stay in the business long.”
Marrion said, “Melo, you’re