The Sicilian - Mario Puzo [11]
His voice had a cool mocking tone, a tone that invited you to take offense if you dared. His smile seemed to question the motive behind every action, as if to say, “Yes, it’s true you are doing a good deed, but for what purpose of your own?” Yet it was not at all disrespectful, he knew Michael’s history, they were fellow murderers.
Michael said, “I follow my father’s orders. I am to wait in Trapani until Guiliano comes to me. Then I will take him to America.”
Pisciotta said more seriously, “And once Turi is in your hands, you guarantee his safety? You can protect him against Rome?”
Michael was aware of Guiliano’s mother watching him intently, her face strained with anxiety. He said carefully, “As much as a man can guarantee anything against fate. Yes, I’m confident.”
He saw the mother’s face relax, but Pisciotta said harshly, “I am not. You put your trust in Don Croce this afternoon. You told him your plan of escape.”
“Why should I not?” Michael fired back. How the hell did Pisciotta know the details of his lunch with Don Croce so quickly? “My father’s briefing said that Don Croce would arrange Guiliano’s delivery to me. In any case I told him only one escape plan.”
“And the others?” Pisciotta asked. He saw Michael hesitate. “Speak freely. If the people in this room cannot be trusted then there is no hope for Turi.”
The little man, Hector Adonis, spoke for the first time. He had an extraordinarily rich voice, the voice of a born orator, a natural persuader of men. “My dear Michael, you must understand that Don Croce is Turi Guiliano’s enemy. Your father’s information is behind the times. Obviously we can’t deliver Turi to you without taking precautions.” He spoke the elegant Italian of Rome, not the Sicilian dialect.
Guiliano’s father broke in. “I trust Don Corleone’s promise to help my son. Of that there can be no question.”
Hector Adonis said, “I insist, we must know your plans.”
“I can tell you what I told Don Croce,” Michael said. “But why should I tell anyone my other plans? If I asked you where Turi Guiliano was hiding now, would you tell me?”
Michael saw Pisciotta smile with genuine approval of his answer. But Hector Adonis said, “It’s not the same thing. You have no reason for knowing where Turi hides. We must know your plans to help.”
Michael said quietly, “I know nothing about you.”
A brilliant smile broke across the handsome face of Hector Adonis. Then the little man stood up and bowed. “Forgive me,” he said with the utmost sincerity. “I was Turi’s schoolteacher when he was a little boy and his parents honored me by making me his godfather. I am now a Professor of History and Literature at the University of Palermo. However, my best credentials can be vouched for by everyone at this table. I am now, and have always been, a member of Guiliano’s band.”
Stefan Andolini said quietly, “I too am a member of the band. You know my name and that I am your cousin. But I am also called Fra Diavalo.”
This too was a legendary name in Sicily that Michael had heard many times. He has earned that murderer’s face, Michael thought. And he, too, was a fugitive with a price on his head. Yet that afternoon he had sat down to lunch next to Inspector Velardi.
They were all waiting for him to answer. Michael had no intention of telling them his final plans, but he knew he must tell them something. Guiliano’s mother was staring at him intently. He spoke directly to her. “It’s very simple,” Michael said. “First I must warn you I can wait no longer than seven days. I have been away from home too long and my father needs my help in troubles of his own. Of course you understand how anxious I am to return to my family. But it is my father’s wish that I help your son. My last instructions from the courier were that I visit Don Croce here, then proceed to Trapani. There I stay at the villa of the local Don. Waiting there will be men from America whom I can trust absolutely. Qualified men.” He paused for a moment. The word “qualified” had a special meaning in Sicily, usually applied