The Last Don - Mario Puzo [89]
When the Don and Rose Marie had both gone to bed, Giorgio took Dante into the den. It was the room that had neither phones nor TV and no communication lines to any part of the house. And it had a very thick door. Now it was furnished with two black leather couches and black studded leather chairs. It still contained a whiskey cabinet and a small wet bar equipped with a small refrigerator and a shelf of glasses. On the table rested a box of Havana cigars. Still, it was a room with no windows, like a small cave.
Dante’s face, too sly and interesting for so young a man, always made Giorgio uneasy. His eyes were too cunningly bright and Giorgio didn’t like it that he was short.
Giorgio made them both a drink and lit up one of the Havana cigars. “Thank God you don’t wear those weird hats around your mother,” he said. “Why do you wear them anyway?”
“I like them,” Dante said. “And to make you and Uncle Petie and Uncle Vincent notice me.” He paused for a moment and then said with a mischievous grin, “They make me look taller.” It was true, Giorgio thought, that hats made him look handsomer. They framed his ferretlike face in a flattering way, his features were strangely uncoordinated when seen without his hat.
“You shouldn’t wear them on a job,” Giorgio said. “It makes an identification too easy.”
“Dead men don’t talk,” Dante said. “I kill everybody who sees me on a job.”
“Nephew, stop fucking me around,” Giorgio said. “It’s not smart. It’s a risk. The Family doesn’t take risks. Now one other thing. The word is getting around that you have a bloody mouth.”
Dante for the first time reacted with anger. Suddenly he looked deadly. He put down his drink and said, “Does Grandfather know that? Does this come from him?”
“The Don knows nothing about it,” Giorgio lied. He was a very expert liar. “And I won’t tell him. You’re his favorite, it would distress him. But I’m telling you, no more hats on the job and keep your mouth clean. You’re the Family number one Hammer now and you take too much pleasure in the business. That’s dangerous and against Family rules.”
Dante seemed not to hear. He was thoughtful now and his smile reappeared. “Pippi must have told you,” he said amiably.
“Yes,” Giorgio said. He was curt. “And Pippi is the best. We put you with Pippi so you could learn the right way to do things. And do you know why he’s the best? Because he has a good heart. It’s never for pleasure.”
Dante let himself go. He had a laughing fit. He rolled onto the sofa and then onto the floor. Giorgio watched him sourly, thinking he was as crazy as his mother. Finally Dante got to his feet, took a long swig from his drink, and said with great good humor, “Now you’re saying I don’t have a good heart.”
“That’s right,” Giorgio said. “You’re my nephew but I know what you are. You killed two men in some sort of personal quarrel without the Family OK. The Don wouldn’t take action against you, he wouldn’t even reprimand you. Then you killed some chorus girl you were banging for a year. Out of temper. You gave her a Communion so she wouldn’t be found by the police. And she wasn’t. You think you’re a clever little prick, but the Family put the evidence together and found you guilty though you could never be convicted in a court of law.”
Dante was quiet now. Not from fear but from calculation. “Does the Don know all this crap?”
“Yes,” Giorgio said. “But you’re still his favorite. He said to let it pass, that you’re still young. That you will learn. I don’t want to bring this bloody mouth business to him, he’s too old. You’re his grandson, your mother is his daughter. It would just break his heart.”
Dante laughed again. “The Don has a heart. Pippi De Lena has a heart, Cross has a chickenshit heart, my mother has a broken heart. But I don’t have a heart? How about you, Uncle Giorgio, do you have a heart?”
“Sure,” Giorgio said. “I still put up with you.”
“So, I’m the only one who doesn’t have a fucking heart?” Dante said. “I love my mother and my grandfather and they both hate each other. My grandfather loves me less as I grow older.