The Last Don - Mario Puzo [128]
Vazzi regarded him with quiet contempt. “We know you are a violent man,” he said, “but now is the time to use your brain. Strength is of no use here. . . .”
Skannet seemed to take his advice. He was thinking hard. If they had wanted to kill him they would have done so. This was some process of intimidation to make him agree to something. Well and good, he would agree. And then he would take precautions in the future. One thing he was sure of. Athena was not involved in such an operation. He disregarded Vazzi and turned to the man sitting on the sofa.
“Who the hell are you?” he said.
Cross said, “I have a few things I want you to do and then you will be allowed to drive home.”
“And if I don’t, you’ll torture me, right?” Skannet laughed. He was beginning to think this was some jerk-off Hollywood scene, some bad movie the Studio was using.
“No,” Cross said simply. “No torture. No one will touch you. I want you to sit down at that table and write four letters for me. One to LoddStone Studios promising never to go near their lot. One to Athena Aquitane apologizing for your previous conduct and swearing never to go near her again. Another to the police authorities admitting you purchased acid to be used in another attack on your wife, and another letter to me stating what secret you hold over your wife. Simple.”
Skannet took a hobbling leap toward Cross and was pushed by one of the men so that he went sprawling onto the opposite sofa.
“Don’t touch him,” Cross said sharply.
Skannet used his arms to push himself to his feet.
Cross pointed to the desk where there was a stack of paper.
“Where’s Athena?” Skannet said.
“She’s not here,” Cross said. “Everybody out of the room, except Lia,” he said. The other men went out the door.
“Go sit at the desk,” Cross said to Skannet. Skannet did so.
Cross said to him, “I want to talk to you very seriously. Stop trying to show how tough you are. I want you to listen. Don’t do anything foolish. You have your hands free and that may give you illusions of grandeur. All I want you to do is write those letters and you’ll be free.”
Skannet said contemptuously, “You can go fuck yourself.”
Cross turned to Vazzi and said, “No use wasting time. Kill him.”
Cross had kept his voice even and yet there was something terrible in his casualness. In that moment Skannet felt a fear he had not known since he was a child. He realized for the first time the significance of all the men in the lodge, all the forces that were arrayed against him. Lia Vazzi had not yet made a move. Skannet said, “OK. I’ll do it.” He picked up a sheet of paper and began to write.
Cunningly, he wrote the letters with his left hand; like some good athletes, he could perform almost equally well with either hand. Cross came up behind him and watched. Skannet, ashamed of his sudden cowardice, braced his feet against the floor. Confident of his physical coordination, he switched the pen to his right hand and sprang up to stab Cross in the face, hoping to get the bastard in the eye. He exploded into action, his arm coming around, the whole torso of his body propelled, and was surprised that Cross had easily moved out of range. Still Skannet tried to move with his leg shackles.
Cross regarded him quietly and said, “Everybody is entitled to his once. You’ve had that. Now put down the pen and give me those sheets.”
Skannet did so. Cross studied the sheets of paper and said, “You haven’t told me the secret.”
“I won’t put it on paper. Get rid of that guy,” he motioned to Vazzi, “and I’ll tell you.”
Cross handed the sheets of paper to Lia and said, “Take care of these.”
Vazzi went out of the room.
“OK,” Cross said to Skannet, “let’s hear this big secret.”
When Vazzi left the Hunting Lodge he ran the hundred yards to the bungalow that