The Sicilian - Mario Puzo [111]
Of course there was only one thing the Maresciallo of Montelepre could do. Every night he sent patrols into the streets. Every night his garrison, beefed up to one hundred men, were at alert, guarding the entries into the town from the mountains so that Guiliano could not mount an attack.
But on the one occasion he sent his carabinieri into the mountains, Guiliano and his five chiefs—Pisciotta, Terranova, Passatempo, Silvestro and Andolini—each leading a band of fifty men, ambushed them. Guiliano showed no mercy, and six carabinieri were killed. Other detachments fled from a devastating fire of machine guns and rifles.
Rome was up in arms, but it was this very recklessness of Guiliano that could serve them all now if only Don Croce could convince this eggplant of a Minister of Justice.
“Trust me,” Don Croce said to Minister Trezza. “Guiliano can serve our purposes. I will persuade him to declare war on the Socialist and Communist parties in Sicily. He will attack their headquarters, he will suppress their organizers. He will be my military arm on a broad scale. Then of course my friends and myself will do the necessary work that cannot be done in public.”
Minister Trezza did not seem shocked by this suggestion, but he said in a supercilious voice, “Guiliano is already a national scandal. An international scandal. I have on my desk a plan from the Chief of Staff of the army to move in troops to suppress him. There is a price of ten million lire on his head. A thousand carabinieri have been alerted to move to Sicily to reinforce the ones already there. And you ask me to protect him? My dear Don Croce, I expected you to help deliver him to us as you helped with the other bandits. Guiliano is the shame of Italy. Everyone thinks he must be eliminated.”
Don Croce sipped his espresso and wiped his mustache with his fingers. He was a little impatient with this Roman hypocrisy. He shook his head slowly. “Turi Guiliano is far more valuable to us alive and doing heroic deeds in his mountains. The people of Sicily worship him; they say prayers for his soul and his safety. There is not a man on my island who will betray him. And he is far more cunning than all those other bandits. I have spies in his camp, but such is his personality that I don’t know how loyal they are to me. That is the kind of man you talk about. He inspires affection from everyone. If you send your thousand carabinieri and your army and they fail—and they have failed before—what then? I tell you this: If Guiliano decides to help the leftist parties in the next election, you will lose Sicily and therefore, as you must surely know, your party loses Italy.” He paused for a long moment and fastened his gaze on the Minister. “You must come to an accommodation with Guiliano.”
“And how would all this be arranged?” Minister Trezza asked with the polite, superior smile that Don Croce despised. It was a Roman smile and the man was Sicilian born. The Minister went on. “I have it on good authority that Guiliano has no love for you.”
Don Croce shrugged. “He has not endured for the last three years without being clever enough to forget a grudge. And I have a connection with him. Doctor Hector Adonis is one of my people, and he is also Guiliano’s godfather and most trusted friend. He will be my intermediary and make my peace with Guiliano. But I must have the necessary assurances from you in some concrete form.”
The Minister said sarcastically, “Would you like a signed letter saying I love the bandit I’m trying to catch?”
It was the Don’s greatest strength that he never took notice of an insulting tone, a lack of respect, though he stored it away in his heart. He answered quite simply, his face an inscrutable mask. “No,” he said. “Simply give me a copy of your Army Chief of Staff’s plans to mount a campaign against Guiliano. Also a copy of your order to send a thousand carabinieri reinforcements to the island. I will show them to Guiliano and promise him you will not implement the orders if he helps us to educate the Sicilian voters. That