The Last Don - Mario Puzo [3]
The Don owed a great debt of gratitude to David Redfellow. It was he who proved that lawful authorities could be bribed on drugs.
“David,” Don Clericuzio said, “You are retiring from the drug business. I have something better for you.”
Redfellow did not object. “Why now?” he asked the Don.
“Number one,” the Don said, “the government is devoting too much time and trouble to the business. You would have to live with anxiety the rest of your life. More importantly, it has become too dangerous. My son Petie and his soldiers have served as your bodyguards. I can no longer permit that. The Colombians are too wild, too foolhardy, too violent. Let them have the drug business. You will retire to Europe. I will arrange for your protection there. You can keep yourself busy by buying a bank in Italy and you will live in Rome. We will do a lot of business there.”
“Great,” Redfellow said. “I don’t speak Italian and I know nothing of banking.”
“You will learn both,” Don Clericuzio said. “And you will live a happy life in Rome. Or you can stay here if you wish, but then you will no longer have my support, Petie will no longer guard your life. Choose as you like.”
“Who will take over my business?” Redfellow asked. “Do I get a buyout?”
“The Colombians will take over your business,” the Don said. “That cannot be prevented, that is the tide of history. But the government will make their life misery. Now, yes or no?”
Redfellow thought it over and then laughed. “Tell me how to get started.”
“Giorgio will take you to Rome and introduce you to my people there,” the Don said. “And through the years he will advise you.”
The Don embraced him. “Thank you for listening to my advice. We will still be partners in Europe and believe me, it will be a good life for you.”
When David Redfellow left, the Don sent Giorgio to summon Alfred Gronevelt to the den. As the owner of the Xanadu Hotel in Vegas, Gronevelt had been under the protection of the now defunct Santadio Family.
“Mr. Gronevelt,” the Don said. “You will continue to run the Hotel under my protection. You need have no fear for yourself or your property. You will keep your fifty-one percent of the Hotel. I will own the forty-nine percent formerly owned by the Santadio and be represented by the same legal identity. Are you agreeable?”
Gronevelt was a man of great dignity and great physical presence, despite his age. He said carefully, “If I stay, I must run the Hotel with the same authority. Otherwise I will sell you my percentage.”
“Sell a gold mine?” the Don said incredulously. “No, no. Don’t fear me. I’m a businessman above all. If the Santadio had been more temperate, all those terrible things would never have happened. Now they no longer exist. But you and I are reasonable men. My delegates get the Santadio points. And Joseph De Lena, Pippi, gets all the consideration due him. He will be my Bruglione in the West at a salary of one hundred thousand a year paid by your hotel in any manner you see fit. And if you have trouble of any kind with anyone, you go to him. And in your business, you always have trouble.”
Gronevelt, a tall, spare man, seemed calm enough. “Why do you favor me? You have other and more profitable options.”
Don Domenico said gravely, “Because you are a genius in what you do. Everyone in Las Vegas says so. And to prove my esteem I give you something in return.”
Gronevelt smiled at this. “You’ve given me quite enough. My hotel. What else can be as important?”
The Don beamed at him benevolently, for though he was always a serious man, he delighted in surprising people with his power. “You can name the next appointment to the Nevada Gaming Commission,” the Don said. “There is a vacancy.”
Gronevelt for one of the few times in his life was surprised, and also impressed. Most of all he was elated, as he saw a future for his hotel that he had not even dreamed of. “If you can do that,” Gronevelt said, “we will all be very rich in the coming years.”
“It is done,” the Don said. “Now you can go out and