The Sicilian - Mario Puzo [120]
Pisciotta said again with his slight smile, “But if we become model citizens, how do we eat, Guiliano and his men and their families? Is there perhaps a way of the government paying us? After all, we’re doing their dirty work.”
Don Croce who had been listening with his eyes shut, like a sleeping reptile, spoke quickly to stop the angry reply of the Minister of Justice who was bursting with fury that this bandit dared to ask the government for money.
“A joke, Your Excellency,” Don Croce said. “He’s a young lad his first time out of Sicily. He doesn’t understand the strict moralities of the outside world. The question of support does not concern you in the least. I will arrange that with Guiliano myself.” He gave Pisciotta a warning glance to keep still.
But the Minister suddenly had a smile on his face and said to Pisciotta, “Well, I’m glad to see the youth of Sicily have not changed. I was like that once. We’re not afraid to ask what’s due us. Maybe you would like something more concrete than promises.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a red-bordered laminated card. Tossing it to Pisciotta, he said, “This is a special pass signed by me personally. You can move anyplace in Italy or Sicily without the police bothering you. It’s worth its weight in gold.”
Pisciotta bowed his thanks and put the pass in his jacket pocket, inside next to his breast. On their journey to Rome he had seen Don Croce use such a pass; he knew he had received something of value. But then the thought struck him: What if he were captured with it? There would be a scandal that would shake the country. The second in command of Guiliano’s band carrying a security pass issued by the Minister of Justice? How could that be? His mind raced to solve the puzzle, but he could come up with no answer.
The gift of such an important document showed an act of faith and good will on the Minister’s part. The magnificence of Don Croce’s hospitality on the trip was gratifying. But all this did not convince Pisciotta. Before he left he asked Trezza to write a note to Guiliano verifying that the meeting had taken place. Trezza refused.
When Pisciotta returned to the mountains Guiliano questioned him closely, making him repeat every word he could remember. As Pisciotta showed him the red-bordered pass and voiced his puzzlement as to why it had been given him and the dangers the Minister ran in signing such a pass, Guiliano patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a true brother,” he said. “You’re so much more suspicious than I am, and yet your loyalty to me has blinded you to the obvious. Don Croce must have told him to give you the pass. They hope you will make a special trip to Rome and become their informer.”
“That whore’s goat,” Pisciotta said with terrible anger. “I’ll use this pass to go back and slit his throat.”
“No,” Guiliano said. “Keep the pass. It will be useful to us. And another thing. That may look like Trezza’s signature, but of course it’s not. It’s a forgery. If it suits their purpose they can deny the pass is legitimate. Or if it suits their purpose they can say certainly it’s in order and produce records that the pass was authorized by Trezza. If they claim it’s a forgery they just destroy the records.”
Pisciotta recognized the truth of this. With each day he felt a growing amazement that Guiliano who was so open and honest in his feelings could fathom the twisted schemes of his enemies. He realized that at the root of Guiliano’s romanticism was the brilliant penetration of paranoia.
“Then how can we believe they will keep their promises to us?” Pisciotta said. “Why should we help them? Our business isn’t politics.”
Guiliano considered this. Aspanu had always been cynical, and a little greedy too. They had quarreled a few times about the spoils of some robberies, Pisciotta