The Last Don - Mario Puzo [32]
First he summoned Pippi De Lena to the hotel and showed him the documents and the film of the Eye in the Sky. Pippi knew Fuberta but not the other four men, so Gronevelt had snapshots made from isolated video stills and gave them to Pippi.
Pippi shook his head. “How the hell did Danny think he could get away with this? I thought he was a smart hustler.”
“He’s a gambler,” Gronevelt said. “They believe their cards are always winning cards.” He paused for a moment. “Danny will convince you he’s not in on this. But remember, he had to certify that they were good for the money. He’ll say he did it on the basis of their ID. A junket master has to certify that they are who they are. He had to know.”
Pippi smiled and patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, he won’t convince me.” They both laughed. It didn’t matter if Danny Fuberta was guilty. He was responsible for his mistakes.
Pippi flew to New York the next day. To present the case to the Clericuzio Family in Quogue.
After passing through the guarded gates, he drove up the long paved road that cut through a long plateau of grass, its wall armed with barbed wire and electronics. There was a guard at the door of the mansion. And this was in a time of peace.
Giorgio greeted him, and he was led through the mansion into the garden at the rear. In the garden were tomato and cucumber plants, lettuce, and even melons, all framed by large-leafed fig trees. The Don had no use for flowers.
The Family was seated at the round wooden table eating an early lunch. There was the Don, glowing with health despite his near seventy years, visibly drinking in the fig-perfumed air of his garden. He was feeding his ten-year-old grandson, Dante, who was handsome but imperious for a boy the same age as Cross. Pippi always had the urge to give him a smack. The Don was putty in the hands of his grandson; he wiped his mouth, crooned endearments. Vincent and Petie looked sour. The meeting could not start until the kid finished eating and was led away by his mother, Rose Marie. Don Domenico beamed at him as the boy walked away. Then he turned to Pippi.
“Ah, my Martèllo,” he said. “What do you think of Fuberta, that rascal? We gave him a living and he grows greedy at our expense.”
Giorgio said placatingly, “If he repays, he could still be a moneymaker for us.” The only valid plea for mercy.
“It’s not a small sum of money,” the Don said. “We must have it back. Pippi, what do you think?”
Pippi shrugged. “I can try. But these are people who don’t save for a rainy day.”
Vincent, who hated small talk, said, “Let’s see the photos.” Pippi produced the pictures and Vincent and Petie studied the four armed robbers. Then Vincent said, “Me and Petie know them.”
“Good,” Pippi said. “Then you can straighten out those four guys. What do you want me to do with Fuberta?”
The Don said, “They have shown contempt for us. Who do they think we are? Some helpless fools who have to go to the police? Vincent, Petie, you help Pippi. I want the money back and these mascalzoni punished.” They understood. Pippi was to be in charge. The sentence on the five men was death.
The Don left them for his walk in the garden.
Giorgio sighed. “The old man is too tough for the times we live in. This is more risk than the whole thing is worth.”
“Not if Vinnie and Pete handle the four hoods,” Pippi said. “That OK with you, Vince?”
Vincent said, “Giorgio, you’ll have to talk to the old man. Those four won’t have the money. We have to make a deal. They go out and earn and pay us back and they’re home free. If we bury them, no money.”
Vincent was a realistic enforcer who never let the lust for blood overcome more practical solutions.
“OK, I can sell Pop that,” Giorgio said. “They were just helpers. But he won’t let Fuberta off.”