The Sicilian - Mario Puzo [96]
He picked two young picciotti to go with him, that is, apprentice killers, who had not yet been admitted to the Mafia but hoped for that honor. They journeyed into the mountain haunts of Guiliano carrying knapsacks and lupare and sure enough were picked up by a roving patrol headed by Pisciotta.
Pisciotta listened to Stefan Andolini’s story with an impassive face. Andolini told him that the carabinieri and Security Police were looking for him because of the murder of a Socialist agitator in Corleone. This was quite true. What Andolini did not say was that the police and carabinieri had no proof and were merely seeking him for questioning. A questioning that would be more kindly than exhaustive due to the influence of Don Croce. Andolini also told Pisciotta that the two picciotti with him were men who were also being sought by the police as co-conspirators in the killing. This was also true. But as he was telling this story Stefan Andolini felt a mounting uneasiness. Pisciotta was listening with the expression of a man who has met someone he has known before or of whom he has heard a great deal.
Andolini said that he had come into the mountains in the hope of joining Guiliano’s band. And then he played his trump card. He had the stamp of approval from Guiliano’s father himself. He, Stefan Andolini, was a cousin of the great Don Vito Corleone, in America. Pisciotta nodded. Andolini went on. Don Vito Corleone had been born an Andolini in the village of Corleone. His father killed, himself hunted as a boy, he had escaped to America where he had become the great Godfather. When he had returned to Sicily to wreak vengeance on his father’s murderers, Stefan Andolini had been one of his picciotti. Thereafter he had visited the Don in America to receive his reward. While there he had met Guiliano’s father who worked as a bricklayer on the Don’s new mansion on Long Island. They had become friends, and Andolini, before he came into the mountains, had stopped in Montelepre to receive the blessing of Salvatore Guiliano Senior.
Pisciotta’s face became thoughtful as he listened to this story. He distrusted this man, his red hair, his face of a murderer. And Pisciotta didn’t like the look of the two picciotti with Malpelo, for so he called him in the Sicilian style.
Pisciotta said to him, “I’ll take you to Guiliano, but keep your lupare strapped to your shoulders until he’s spoken to you. Don’t unsling them without permission.”
Stefan Andolini grinned widely and said with the utmost affability, “But I recognized you, Aspanu, I trust you. Take my lupara off my shoulder and your men can do the same with my picciotti here. After we speak with Guiliano I’m sure he’ll return our guns.”
Pisciotta said, “We’re not pack animals to carry your weapons for you. Carry them yourselves.” And he led the way through the mountains to Guiliano’s hideout on the edge of the cliff overlooking Montelepre.
More than fifty of the band were scattered around the cliff cleaning guns and repairing equipment. Guiliano was seated at the table, watching through his binoculars.
Pisciotta talked to Guiliano before he had the new recruits brought forward. He told all the circumstances and then he said, “Turi, he seems a little ‘moldy’ to me.” “Moldy,” the Sicilian idiom for a man who informs.
“And you think you’ve seen him before?” Guiliano asked.
“Or heard of him,” Pisciotta said. “He is familiar to me somehow, but redheaded men are rare. I should remember him.”
Guiliano said quietly, “You heard about him from La Venera. She called him Malpelo—she didn’t know his name was Andolini. She told me about him too. He joined her husband’s band. A month later her husband was ambushed and killed by the carabinieri. La Venera didn’t trust him either. He was full of little tricks, she said.”
Silvestro came over to them. “Don’t trust that redhead. I’ve seen him at Palermo headquarters for private visits with the Commandant of Carabinieri.”
Guiliano said, “Go down to Montelepre and bring my father here. Meanwhile