The Last Don

CHAPTER 7

CROSS DE LENA received his sister, Claudia, and Skippy Deere in the executive penthouse suite of the Xanadu Hotel. Deere was always impressed by the difference between the two siblings. Claudia, not quite pretty and yet so likable, and Cross, so conventionally handsome with a slim but athletic body. Claudia, so naturally amiable, and Cross, so rigidly affable and distant. There was a difference between amiable and affable, Deere thought. One was in the genes, the other, learned.

Claudia and Skippy Deere sat on the couch, Cross sat opposite them. Claudia explained about Boz Skannet and then leaned forward and said, «Cross, please listen to me. This isn't only business. Athena is my dearest friend. And she is truly one of the best people I have ever known. She helped me when I needed help. And this is the most important favor I've ever asked you to do. Help Athena out of this fix and I'll never ask you for anything again.» Then she turned to Skippy Deere. «You tell Cross the money part.»

Deere always took the offensive before he asked a favor. He said to Cross, «I've been coming to your hotel over ten years, how come you never give me one of the Villas?»

Cross laughed, «They've always been full.»

Deere said, «Throw somebody out.»

«Sure,» Cross said. «When I get a profit statement from one of your pictures and when I see you lay down a ten-grand bet at baccarat.»

Claudia said, «I'm his sister and I never got one of the Villas. Stop fucking around, Skippy, and lay out the money problem.»

When Deere finished, Cross, reading off a pad on which he had made notes, said, «Let me get this straight. You and the Studio lose fifty million in cash, plus the two hundred million in projected profit, if this Athena doesn't go back to work. She won't go back to work because she's so afraid of an ex-husband called Boz Skannet. You can buy him off but she still won't go back to work because she doesn't believe he can be stopped. Is that the whole thing?»

«Yeah,» Deere said. «We promised her she'd be protected better than the president of the United States while she's making this picture. We have surveillance on this guy Skannet even now. We have her guarded twenty-four hours. She still won't come back to work.»

«I don't really see the problem,» Cross said.

«This guy comes from a powerful political family in Texas,» Deere said. «And he's a really tough guy, I tried to get our security people to lean on him …»

«Who's your security agency?» Cross asked.

«Pacific Ocean Security,» Deere said.

«Why are you talking to me?» Cross asked.

«Because your sister said you could help,» Deere said. «It wasn't my idea.»

Cross said to his sister, «Claudia, what made you think I could help?»

Claudia's face twisted up in discomfort. «I've seen you solve problems in the past, Cross. You're very persuasive, and you always seem to come up with a solution.» She smiled her innocent grin. «Besides you're my older brother, I have faith in you.»

Cross sighed and said, «Same old bullshit,» but Deere noticed the easy affection between the two.

The three of them sat silently for a while, then Deere said, «Cross, we came here as a long shot. But if you're looking for another investment, I have a project coming up that's very, very good.»

Cross looked at Claudia, then at Deere, and said thoughtfully, «Skippy, I want to meet this Athena and after that maybe I can solve all your problems.»

«Great,» Claudia said, relieved. «We can all fly out tomorrow.» She hugged him.

«OK,» Deere said. He was already trying to figure out how he could get Cross to take some of his loss on the Messalina film.

The next day they flew into Los Angeles. Claudia had talked Athena into seeing them, then Deere had taken the phone. That conversation had convinced him that Athena would never return to the picture. He was infuriated by this, but he diverted himself on the plane by scheming how he would get Cross to give him one of his fucking Villas when he visited Vegas again.

The Malibu Colony, where Athena Aquitane lived, was a section of beach that was located about forty minutes north of Beverly Hills and Hollywood. The Colony held a little over a hundred dwellings, each one of which was worth from three to six million dollars but looked very ordinary and ramshackle from the outside. Each house was enclosed by fencing and sometimes ornate entry gates.

The Colony itself could only be entered through a private road guarded by security men in a large hut who controlled the swinging barriers. The security personnel screened all visitors by phone or checklist. Residents had special car stickers that were changed every week. Cross recognized this as a «nuisance» security barrier, not a serious one.

But the Pacific Ocean Security men around Athena's house were another matter. They were uniformed, armed, and looked to be in very tough physical condition.

They entered Athena's house from the sidewalk parallel to the beach. It had its own additional security controlled by Athena's secretary, who buzzed them in from a small guest house nearby.

There were two more men with Pacific Ocean uniforms, and another at the door of the house. Passing the guest house, they walked through a long garden filled with flowers and lemon trees, which scented the salty air. They finally arrived at the main house which looked out over the Pacific Ocean itself.

A tiny South American maid let them in and led them through a huge kitchen into a living room that seemed to be filled with the ocean filtered through the huge windows. A room with bamboo furniture, glass tables, and deep-sea-green sofas. The maid led them through this room to a glass door that opened onto a terrace overlooking the ocean, a wide, long terrace that had chairs and tables and an exercise bike that glittered like silver. Beyond all of this was the ocean itself, blue-green, slanting to the sky.

Cross De Lena, when he saw Athena on that terrace, felt a shock of fear. She was far more exquisite than on film, which was very rare. Film could not capture her coloring, the depth of her eyes or their shade of green. Her body moved as a great athlete's moved, with a physical grace that seemed effortless. Her hair, cut into a rough, golden crop that would have been ugly on any other woman, crowned her beauty. She was wearing a powder-blue sweat suit that should have concealed the shape of her body but did not. Her legs were long in proportion to her torso, her feet were bare, there was no polish on her toenails.

But it was the look of intelligence on her face, the focusing of attention, that impressed him most.

She greeted Skippy Deere with the customary kiss on the cheek, embraced Claudia with a warm hug, and shook hands with Cross. Her eyes reflected the ocean waters behind her. «Claudia always talks about you,» she said to Cross. «Her handsome, mysterious brother who can make the earth stop when he wants to.» She laughed, a completely natural laugh, not the laugh of a woman frightened.

Cross felt a wonderful delight, there was no other word. Her voice was throaty, pitched low, a bewitching musical instrument. The ocean framed her, the fine-planed cheekbones, the lips unadorned, generous and the color of red wine, the radiating intelligence. Flashing through Cross's mind was one of Gronevelt's short lectures. Money can make you safe in this world, from everything except a beautiful woman.

Cross had known many beautiful women in Vegas, as many as in Los Angeles and Hollywood. But in Vegas the beauty was beauty as of itself with only a slight degree of talent; many of those beauties had failed in Hollywood. In Hollywood, beauty was married to talent and, less often, artistic greatness. Both cities attracted beauty from all over the world. Then there were the actresses who became Bankable Stars.

These were the women who in addition to their charm and beauty had a certain childlike innocence and courage. A curiosity in their craft that could be raised to an art form, which gave them a certain dignity. Though beauty was commonplace in both cities, in Hollywood Goddesses arose and received the adoration of the world. Athena Aquitane was one of those rare Goddesses.

Cross said coolly to Athena, «Claudia told me you are the most beautiful woman in the world.»

Athena said, «What did she say about my brain?»

She leaned over the balcony of the deck and stuck one leg in back of her in some sort of exercise. What would be an affectation in another woman seemed perfectly natural with her. And indeed throughout the meeting she continued doing exercises, bending her body forward and backward, stretching a leg over the railing, her arms pantomiming some of her words.

Claudia said, «Thena, you'd never think we were related, right?»

Skippy Deere said, «Never.»

But Athena looked at them and said, «You both look very much alike,» and Cross could see she was serious.

Claudia said, «Now you know why I love her.»

Athena stopped her motions for a moment and said to Cross, «They tell me you can help. I don't see how.»

Cross tried not to stare at her, tried not to look at the flaming-sun gold of her hair set against the green behind her. He said, «I'm good at persuading people. If it's true that the only thing keeping you from going back to work is your husband, maybe I can talk him into a deal.»

«I don't believe in Boz keeping his deals,» Athena said. «The Studio has already talked a deal.»

Deere said in what was for him a subdued voice, «Athena you really have nothing to worry about. I promise you.» But for some reason he was unconvincing even to himself. He watched them all carefully. He knew how Athena overwhelmed men, actresses were the most charming people in the world when they wanted to be. But Deere detected no change in Cross.

«Skippy just won't accept that I can leave movies,» Athena said. «It's so important to him.»

«And not to you?» Deere said angrily.

Athena gave a long, cool look. «It was once. But I know Boz. I have to disappear, I have to start a new life.» She gave them a mischievous smile. «I can get along anywhere.»

«I can make an agreement with your husband,» Cross said. «And I can guarantee that he'll abide by it.»

Deere said confidently, «Athena, in the movie business, there are hundreds of cases like this, harassment of stars by crazies. We have foolproof procedures. There really is no danger.»

Athena continued her exercises. One leg flew improbably above her head. «You don't know Boz,» she said. «I do.»

«Is Boz the only reason you won't go back to work?» Cross asked.

«Yes,» Athena said. «He'll track me forever. You can protect me until I finish the picture but then what?»

Cross said. «I've never failed to make a deal. I'll give him whatever he wants.»

Athena stopped her exercises. For the first time, she looked Cross directly in the eye. «I'll never believe in any deal Boz makes,» she said. She turned away in dismissal.

Cross said, «I'm sorry I wasted your time.»

«I didn't waste my time,» Athena said cheerfully. «I did my exercises.» Then she looked directly into his eyes. «I do appreciate your trying. It's just that I'm trying to look fearless like in one of my movies. Really, I'm scared to death.» Then she quickly regained her composure and said, «Claudia and Skippy are always talking about your famous Villas. If I come to Vegas, would you give me one to hide out in?»

Her face was grave, but her eyes were dancing. She was showing off her power to Claudia and Skippy. She obviously expected Cross to say yes, if merely out of gallantry.

Cross smiled at her. «The Villas are usually taken,» he said. He paused for a moment then said, with an utmost seriousness that startled the others, «But if you come to Vegas, I can guarantee no one will harm you.»

Athena spoke to him directly. «Nobody can stop Boz. He doesn't care if he gets caught. Whatever he does he'll do in public so everybody can see.»

Claudia spoke out impatiently, «But why?»

Athena said laughingly, «Because he loved me once. And because my life turned out better than his.» She looked at them all a moment. «Isn't it a shame,» she said, «that two people in love can grow to hate each other?»

At this moment the meeting was interrupted by the South American maid, who was leading a man onto the terrace.

The man was tall, handsome, and formally dressed with a touch-all-bases style: an Armani suit, Turnbull & Asser shirt, Gucci tie, and Bally shoes. He immediately murmured his apologies. «She didn't tell me you were busy, Miss Aquitane,» he said. «I guess she got scared by my shield.» He showed her the badge. «I just came to get some information on that incident the other night. I can wait. Or come back.»

His words were polite but his look was bold. He glanced at the other two men and said, «Hello, Skippy.»

Skippy Deere looked angry. «You can't talk to her without a PR and legal person around,» he said. «You know better than that, Jim.»

The detective offered his hand to Claudia and Cross and said, «Jim Losey.»

They knew who he was. The most famous detective in Los Angeles, whose exploits had even been the basis of a mini-series. He also had appeared in very minor roles in films, and he was on Deere's Christmas gift and card lists. So Deere was emboldened to say, «Jim, give me a call later and I'll arrange a meeting with Miss Aquitane properly.»

Losey smiled at him amiably and said, «Sure, Skippy.»

But Athena said, «I may not be here much longer. Why not ask me now? I don't mind.»

Losey would have been suave except for that constant wariness in his eyes, an alertness of his body that many years of crime work had planted in him.

He said, «In front of them?»

Athena's body was no longer in motion, and she had erased all her charm when she said quietly, «I trust them far more than I do the police.»

Losey took that in stride. It was familiar. «I just wanted to ask you why you dropped the charges against your husband. Did he threaten you in any way?»

«Oh, no,» Athena said scornfully. «He just threw water in my face in front of a billion people and yelled “acid.” The next day he was out on bail.»

«OK, OK,» Losey said, and held up his arms in a placating gesture. «I just thought I could help.»

Deere said, «Jim, give me a call later.»

This raised an alarm bell in Cross. He looked thoughtfully at Deere, avoided looking at Losey. And Losey avoided looking at him.

Losey said, «I will.» He saw Athena's handbag on one of the chairs and picked it up. «I saw this on Rodeo Drive,» he said. «Two thousand dollars.» He looked directly at Athena and said with a contemptuous politeness, «Maybe you can explain it to me, why anyone would pay that kind of money for something like this?»

Athena's face was like stone, she moved out of the frame of the ocean. She said, «That's an insulting question. Get out of here.»

Losey bowed to her and left. He was grinning. He had made the impression he wanted.

«So you're human after all,» Claudia said. She put her arm around Athena's shoulders. «Why did you get so mad?»

«I wasn't mad,» Athena said. «I was sending him a message.»

After the three visitors left, they drove from Malibu to Nate and Al's in Beverly Hills. Deere insisted to Cross that it was the only place west of the Rockies where you could get edible pastrami, corned beef, and Coney Island-style hot dogs.

As they ate Deere said reflectively, «Athena won't get back to work.»

«I always knew that,» Claudia said. «What I don't get is why she got so mad at that detective.»

Deere laughed and said to Cross, «Did you get it?»

«No,» Cross said.

Deere said, «One of the great legends of Hollywood is how anybody can get to fuck the stars. Now, male stars it's true, that's why you see the girls hanging around locations and the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. Female stars, not so much … a guy works on their house, a carpenter, a gardener, can get lucky, maybe she gets horny, it happened to me. Stunt men score good and other guys on the crew can get lucky. But that's fucking below the line and hurts female stars in their careers. Unless, of course, they are Superstars. Us old guys who run the show don't like that. Hell, doesn't money and power mean anything?» He grinned at them. «Now, you take Jim Losey. He's a big, handsome guy. He really kills tough guys, he's glamorous to people who live in a make-believe world. He knows that. He uses it. So he doesn't beg a star, he intimidates her. That's why he made that crack. In fact that's why he came out. It was his excuse to meet Athena and he figured he could take a shot. That insulting question was a declaration he wanted to fuck her. And Athena froze him out.»

«So she's the Virgin Mary?» Cross said.

«For a movie star,» Deere said.

Cross said abruptly, «You think she's scamming the Studio, trying to get more money?»

«She would never do anything like that,» Claudia said. «She's absolutely straight.»

«She got any grudges she's paying off?» Cross asked.

«You don't understand the business,» Deere said. «First thing, the Studio would let her scam them. Stars always do that. Second, if she has a grudge, it's right out in the open. She's just weird.» He paused for a moment. «She hates Bobby Bantz and she's not crazy about me. We've both been after her ass for years but never a tumble.»

«Too bad you couldn't help,» Claudia said to Cross. But he didn't answer her.

All during the trip from Malibu, Cross had been thinking hard. That this was the opportunity he was looking for. It would be dangerous, but if it worked he could finally make a break from the Clericuzio.

«Skippy,» Cross said, «I have a proposition I want to make to you and the Studio. I'll buy your picture right now. I'll give the fifty million you've invested, put up the money to complete it, and let the Studio distribute it.»

«You've got a hundred million?» Skippy Deere and Claudia both asked in astonishment.

«I know people who have it,» Cross said.

«You can't get Athena back. And without Athena, there's no picture,» Deere said.

«I said I'm a great persuader,» Cross said. «Can you get me a meeting with Eli Marrion?»

«Sure,» Deere said, «but only if I stay on as producer of the picture.»

The meeting was not so easy to arrange. LoddStone Studios, that is to say, Eli Marrion and Bobby Bantz, had to be convinced that Cross De Lena was not just another big-mouth hustler, that he had the money and the credentials. Certainly he owned part of the Xanadu Hotel in Vegas, but he had no personal recorded financial worth that indicated he could swing the deal he proposed. Deere would vouch for him, but the clincher was when Cross showed a fifty-million-dollar letter of credit.

On the advice of his sister, Cross De Lena hired Molly Flanders as his lawyer for the deal.

Molly Flanders received Cross in her cave of an office. Cross was very alert, he knew certain things about her. In the world he had lived all his life, he had never met a woman who wielded power in any way, and Claudia had told him that Molly Flanders was one of the most powerful people in Hollywood. Studio chiefs took her calls, monster agents like Melo Stuart sought her help on the biggest deals. Stars like Athena Aquitane used her in their quarrels with studios. Flanders had once stopped production of the top miniseries on TV when her star client's check had been delayed in the mail.

She was much better looking than Cross had expected. She was large but well-proportioned and dressed beautifully. But on that body was the face of an elfin blond witch, the aquiline nose, the generous mouth and fierce brown eyes that seemed to squint with intense, intelligent combativeness. Her hair was braided into snakes around her head. She was forbidding until she smiled.

Molly Flanders, for all her toughness, was susceptible to handsome men and liked Cross as soon as she saw him. She was surprised because she had expected Claudia's brother to be homely. More than the handsomeness, she saw a force that Claudia did not have. He had a look of awareness that the world held no surprises. All this, however, did not convince her that she wanted to take Cross on as a client. She had heard rumors about certain connections, she didn't like the world of Vegas, and she was dubious as to the extent of his determination to take such a horrendous gamble.

«Mr. De Lena,» she said, «let me make one thing clear. I represent Athena Aquitane as a lawyer not an agent. I've explained the consequences she must bear if she persists in her course of action. I'm convinced she will persist in it. Now, if you make your deal with the Studio and Athena still doesn't go back to work, I will represent her if you pursue legal action against her.»

Cross looked at her intently. He had no way he could read a woman like this. He had to put most of his cards on the table. «I'll sign a waiver that I won't sue Miss Aquitane if I do buy the picture,» he said. «And I have a check for two hundred thousand dollars here if you take me on. That's just for openers. You can bill me for more.»

«Let's see if I understand this,» Molly said. «You pay the Studio the fifty million they invested. Right now. You put up the money to complete the picture, minimum another fifty million. So you're going to gamble a hundred million that Athena goes back to work. Plus you're gambling that the picture will be a hit. It could be a flop. That's an awful risk.»

Cross could be charming when he wanted to be. But he sensed that charm would not help with this woman. «I understand that with the foreign money, video, and TV sales, the picture can't lose money even if it's a flop,» he said. «The only real problem is getting Miss Aquitane back to work. And maybe you can help on that.»

«No, I can't,» Molly said. «I don't want to mislead you. I've tried and failed. Everybody tried and failed. And Eli Marrion doesn't ever bullshit. He'll close down the picture and take the loss, then he'll try to ruin Athena. But I won't let him.»

Cross was intrigued. «How will you do that?»

«Marrion has to get along with me,» she said. «He's a smart man. I'll fight him in the courts, I'll make his Studio miserable on every deal. Athena won't be able to work again but I won't let them take her to the cleaners.»

«If you represent me, you can save your client's career,» Cross said. From the inside of his jacket he took an envelope and handed it to her. She opened it, studied it, then picked up the phone and made some calls that established the check was good.

She smiled at Cross and said, «I'm not insulting you, I do this with the biggest movie producers in town.»

«Like Skippy Deere?» Cross said, laughing. «I invested in six of his pictures, four of them were hits and still I haven't made money.»

«Because you didn't have me representing you,» Molly said. «Now before I agree, you have to tell me how you can get Athena back to work.» She paused. «I've heard some rumors about you.»

Cross said, «And I've heard about you. I remember years ago when you were a criminal defense lawyer, you got some kid off a murder rap. He killed his girlfriend and you got an insanity plea. He was walking the streets less than a year later.» He paused for a moment, deliberately letting his irritation show. «You didn't worry about his reputation.»

Molly looked at him coldly. «You have not answered my question.»

Cross decided that a lie should carry a little charm. «Molly,» he said. «May I call you Molly?» She nodded her head. Cross went on. «You know I run a hotel in Vegas. I've learned this. Money is magic, you can overcome any kind of fear with money, so I'm going to offer Athena fifty percent of any money I make from the movie. If you structure the deal right and we're lucky, that means thirty million for her.» He paused for a minute and said earnestly, «Come on, Molly, would you take a chance for thirty million?»

Molly shook her head. «Athena doesn't really care about money.»

«The only thing that puzzles me is why the Studio doesn't give her the same deal,» Cross said.

For the first time in their meeting, Molly smiled at him. «You don't know movie studios,» she said. «They worry that all the stars will pull the same stunt if they set such a precedent. But let's go on. The Studio will take your deal, I think, because they will make a great deal of money just distributing the film. They will insist on that. Also, they will want a percentage of the profits. But I'm telling you again, Athena will not take your offer.» She paused, then said with a teasing smile, «I thought you Vegas owners never gambled.»

Cross smiled back at her. «Everybody gambles. I do when the percentages are right. And besides I plan to sell the Hotel and make a living in the movie business.» He paused for a minute, letting her look into him to see the desire to be part of that world. «I think it's more interesting.»

«I see,» Molly said. «So this is not just a passing fancy.»

«A foot in the door,» Cross said. «Once I do that, I'll need your help further on.»

Molly was amused by this. «I'll represent you,» she said. «But as for us doing business further on, let's see first if you lose that hundred million.»

She picked up the phone. She spoke into it. Then she hung up and said to Cross, «We have our meeting with their Business Affairs people to set out the rules before then. And you have three days to reconsider.»

Cross was impressed. «That was fast,» he said.

«Them, not me,» Molly said. «It's costing them a fortune to tread water on this picture.»

«I don't have to say this, I know,» Cross said. «But the offer I plan to make Miss Aquitane is confidential, between you and me.»

«No, you didn't have to say it,» Molly said.

They shook hands, and after Cross left, Molly remembered something. Why had Cross De Lena mentioned that long-ago case when she had gotten that kid off, that famous victory of hers. Why that particular case? She had gotten plenty of murderers off.

Three days later Cross De Lena and Molly Flanders met in her office before going to LoddStone Studios so that she could check over the financial papers that Cross was bringing to the meeting. Then Molly drove both of them to the Studio in her Mercedes SL 300.

When they had been cleared through the gate, Molly said to Cross, «Check the lot. I'll give you a dollar for any American car you see.»

They passed a sea of sleek cars of all colors, Mercedeses, Aston Martins, BMWs, Rolls-Royces. Cross saw one Cadillac and pointed it out. Molly said cheerily, «Some poor slob of a writer from New York.»

LoddStone Studios was a huge area on which were scattered small buildings housing independent production companies. The main building was only ten floors and looked like a movie set piece. The Studio had kept the flavor of the 1920s when it had started up, with only the necessary repairs being done. Cross was reminded of the Enclave in the Bronx.

The offices in the Studio Administration Building were small and crowded except for the tenth floor, where Eli Marrion and Bobby Bantz had their executive suites. Between the two suites was a huge conference room with a bar and bartender far off to one side and a small kitchen adjoining the bar. The seats around the conference table were plush armchairs of dark red. Framed posters of LoddStone movies hung on the wall.

Waiting for them were Eli Marrion, Bobby Bantz, Skippy Deere, the chief counsel of the Studio, and two other lawyers. Molly handed the chief counsel the financial papers, and the three opposing lawyers sat down to read them through. The bartender brought them drinks of their choice, then disappeared. Skippy Deere made the introductions.

Eli Marrion, as always, insisted that Cross call him by his first name. Then told them one of his favorite stories, which he often used to disarm opponents in a negotiation. His grandfather, Eli Marrion said, had started the company in the early 1920s. He had wanted to call the firm Lode Stone Studios, but he still had a severe German accent that confused the lawyers. It was only a ten-thousand-dollar company then and when the mistake was discovered, it didn't seem worth the trouble to change it. And here now it was a seven-billion-dollar company with a name that didn't make sense. But, as Marrion pointed out — he never told a joke that didn't make a serious point — the printed word was not important. It was the visual image with the lodestone attracting light from every corner of the universe that made the company logo so powerful.

Then Molly presented the offer. Cross would pay the Studio the fifty million it had spent, would give the Studio distribution rights, keep Skippy Deere as producer. Cross would put up the money to finish the picture. LoddStone Studios would also get 5 percent of the profits.

They all listened intently. Bobby Bantz said, «The percentage is ridiculous, we would have to have more. And how do we know that you people and Athena are not in a conspiracy? That this isn't a stickup?»

Cross was astonished by Molly's reply. For some reason he had assumed that negotiations would be much more civil than he had been used to in his Vegas world.

But Molly was almost screaming, her witchlike face blazing with fury. «Fuck you, Bobby,» she said to Bantz. «You have the fucking balls to accuse us of a conspiracy. Your insurance doesn't cover you on this, you take this meeting to get off the hook and then insult us. If you don't apologize, I'll take Mr. De Lena right out of here and you can eat shit.»

Skippy Deere broke in, «Molly, Bobby, come on. We're trying to save a picture here. Let's talk this through at least… .»

Marrion had observed all this with a quiet smile but did not say anything. He would speak only to give a yes or no.

«I think it's a reasonable question,» Bobby Bantz said. «What can this guy offer Athena to make her come back that we can't?»

Cross sat there smiling. Molly had told him to let her answer whenever possible.

She said, «Mr. De Lena obviously has something special to offer. Why should he tell you? If you offer him ten million to give you that information I'll confer with him. Ten million would be cheap.»

Even Bobby Bantz laughed at this.

Skippy Deere said, «They think Cross wouldn't be risking all that money unless he had a sure thing. That makes them a little suspicious.»

«Skippy,» Molly said, «I've seen you lay out a million for a novel that you never made into a picture. How is this different?»

Bobby Bantz broke in. «Because Skippy gets our studio to put up the million.»

They all laughed. Cross wondered about this meeting. He was losing patience. Also, he knew he must not look too eager, so it wouldn't hurt if he showed his irritation. He said in a low voice, «I'm going on a hunch. If it's too complicated, we can just forget the whole thing.»

Bantz said angrily, «We are talking about a lot of money here. This picture could gross a half billion worldwide.»

«If you could get Athena back,» Molly shot in quickly. «I can tell you I talked with her this morning. She already cut off all her hair to show she's serious.»

«We can wig her. Fucking actresses,» Bantz said. Now he was glowering at Cross, trying to read him. He was pondering something. He said, «If Athena does not come back and you lose your fifty million and can't go on to finish the picture, who gets the footage already done?»

«I do,» Cross said.

«Aha,» Bantz said. «Then you just release it the way it is. Maybe as soft porn.»

«That's a possibility,» Cross said.

Molly shook her head at Cross, warning him to keep quiet. «If you agree to this deal,» she said to Bantz, «everything can be negotiated on foreign, video, TV, and profit participation. There's only one deal-breaker. The agreement must be secret. Mr. De Lena only wants credit as a coproducer.»

«That's OK with me,» Skippy Deere said. «But my money deal with the Studio still stands.»

For the first time Marrion spoke. «That's separate,» he said, meaning no. «Cross, do you give your lawyer full discretion on negotiations?»

«Yes,» Cross said.

«I want to go on record on this,» Marrion said. «You must know we planned to scrap the picture and take the loss. We are convinced Athena will not come back. We do not represent to you that she may come back. If you make this deal and pay us fifty million, we are not liable. You would have to sue Athena and she doesn't have that kind of money.»

«I would never sue her,» Cross said. «I'd forgive and forget.»

Bantz said, «You don't have to answer to your money people?»

Cross shrugged.

Marrion said, «That is a corruption. You can't let your personal attitude betray the money people who trust you. Just because they're rich.»

Cross said, straight-faced, «I never think it's a good idea to get on the wrong side of rich people.»

Bantz said in exasperation, «This is some kind of trick.»

Masking his face with benign confidence, Cross said, «I've spent my whole life convincing people. In my Vegas hotel I have to convince very smart men to gamble their money against the odds. And I do that by making them happy. That means I give them what they really want. I'll do that with Miss Aquitane.»

Bantz disliked the whole idea. He was sure his studio was being screwed. He said bluntly, «If we find out Athena has already agreed to work with you, we will sue. We will not honor this agreement.»

«I want to be in the movie business for the long haul,» Cross said. «I want to work with LoddStone Studios. There's money enough for everyone.»

Eli Marrion had been studying Cross all during the meeting, trying to come to an assessment. The man was very low key, not a bluffer or a bullshit artist. Pacific Ocean Security could not establish any real link with Athena, there was no likely conspiracy. A decision had to be made, but it was not really as difficult a decision as the people in this room were pretending. Marrion was so weary now he could feel the weight of his clothing on his skeletal frame. He wanted this to be over.

Skippy Deere said, «Maybe Athena is just nuts, maybe she's gone over the edge. Then we can bail out with the insurance.»

Molly Flanders said, «She's saner than anyone in this room. I can have all of you certified before you get her.»

Bobby Bantz looked Cross directly in the face. «Will you sign papers that you have no agreement with Athena Aquitane at this point in time?»

«Yes,» Cross said. He let his dislike for Bantz show.

Marrion, observing this, felt satisfaction. At least this part of the meeting was going according to plan. Bantz was now established as the bad guy. It was amazing how people almost instinctively disliked him, and it really wasn't his fault. It was the role chosen for him to play, though admittedly it suited his personality.

«We want twenty percent of the profits of the picture,» Bantz said. «We distribute it domestic and foreign. And we will be partners in any sequel.»

Skippy Deere said in exasperation, «Bobby, they are all dead at the end of the picture, there can be no sequel.»

«OK,» Bantz said, «rights in any prequel.»

«Prequel, sequel, bullshit,» Molly said. «You can have them. But you get no more than ten percent of the profits. You'll make a fortune on distribution. And you have no risk. Take it or leave it.»

Eli Marrion could endure no more. He rose, standing very straight, and spoke in a measured, serene voice. «Twelve percent,» he said, «We have a deal.»

He paused and then looking directly at Cross, he said, «It's not so much the money. But this could be a great picture and I don't want to scrap it. Also, I'm very curious to see what will happen.» He turned to Molly. «Now, yes or no?»

Molly Flanders, without even looking at Cross for a sign, said, «Yes.»

Later, Eli Marrion and Bobby Bantz sat alone in the conference room. They were both silent. They had learned over the years that there were things that must not be said aloud. Finally Marrion said, «There's a moral question here.»

Bantz said, «We've signed to keep the agreement secret, Eli, but if you feel we must, I could make a call.»

Marrion sighed. «Then we lose the film. This man Cross is our only hope. Plus if he found out the leak came from you there might be some danger.»

«Whatever he is, he doesn't dare touch LoddStone,» Bantz said. «What I worry about is letting him get a foot in the door.»

Marrion sipped his drink, puffed his cigar. The thin, woody-smelling smoke made his body tingle.

Eli Marrion was really tired now. He was getting too old to worry about long-term future disasters. The great universal disaster was closer.

«Don't make the call,» he said. «We have to keep the agreement. And besides, maybe I'm getting into my second childhood, but I'd love to see what the magician pulls out of his hat.»

Skippy Deere, after the meeting, went back to his house and made a call summoning Jim Losey to meet with him. At their meeting he swore Losey to secrecy and told him what had happened. «I think you should put a surveillance on Cross,» he said. «You might find out something interesting.»

But he said this only after he had agreed to sign Jim Losey to play a small part in a new movie he was making about serial murders in Santa Monica.

As for Cross De Lena, he returned to Las Vegas and in his penthouse suite pondered the new course of his life. Why had he taken the risk? Most important, the winnings could be huge: not only the money but a new way of life. But what he questioned was an underlying motive, the vision of Athena Aquitane framed by the sea-green water, her constantly moving body, the notion that one day she might come to know him and love him, not forever, but just for a moment of time. What had Gronevelt said? «Women are never more dangerous to men than when they have to be saved. Beware, beware,» Gronevelt said, «of Beauty in Distress.»

But he dismissed all this from his mind. Looking down on the Vegas Strip, the wall of colored light, the throngs moving through that light, ants carrying bales of money to bury in some great nest, he analyzed the whole problem for the first time in a coldly neutral way.

If Athena Aquitane was such an angel, why then was she demanding, in effect if not in words, that the price for her returning to the picture was that someone kill her husband? Surely that had to be clear to anyone. The Studio's offer to protect her while she completed the picture was worth less because she would be working toward her own death. After the picture was done and she was alone, Skannet would come after her.

Eli Marrion, Bobby Bantz, Skippy Deere, they knew the problem and knew the answer. But no one would dare speak it aloud. For people like them, the risk was too great. They had risen so high, lived so well, that they had too much to lose. For them the gain did not equal the risk. They could accommodate the loss of the picture, for them it was only a minor defeat. They could not afford the great tumble from the highest level of society to the lowest. That risk was mortal.

Also, to give them their due, they had made an intelligent decision. They were not expert in this field of endeavor; they could make mistakes. Better to treat the fifty million dollars like a loss of points in their stock on Wall Street.

So now there were two main problems. The execution of Boz Skannet in a manner that would not injure the picture or Athena in any way. Problem number two, and far more important, was winning the approval of his father, Pippi De Lena, and the Clericuzio Family. For Cross knew the whole arrangement would not remain secret to them very long.

CHAPTER 8

CROSS DE LENA pleaded for Big Tim's life for many different reasons. One, he contributed between five hundred grand and one million to the Xanadu cage every year. Second, he had a sneaking affection for the man, for his lust for life, his outrageous buffooneries.

Tim Snedden, known as the Rustler, was the owner of a string of shopping malls that stretched over the northern part of the state of California. He was also a Las Vegas high roller who usually stayed at the Xanadu. He was particularly fond of and extraordinarily lucky at sports betting. The Rustler made big bets, fifty grand on football and sometimes ten grand on basketball. Thinking he was being clever, he lost small bets but almost invariably won his big bets. Cross was on to that immediately.

The Rustler was very big, nearly six and a half feet and over three hundred fifty pounds. His appetite matched his physique, he ate everything in sight. He boasted he had had a partial stomach bypass so that food passed directly through his system and he never gained weight. He was gleeful about this as an ultimate scam on nature itself.

For the Rustler was a natural-born scam artist, which was how he earned his nickname. At the Xanadu he fed his friends free under his comp, he absolutely destroyed room service. He tried to pay his call girls and the purchases at the gift shop under his comp. And then when he lost and had a cage full of markers, he stalled payment until his next visit to the Xanadu, instead of paying them within a month as a gentleman gambler would do.

Though he was very lucky with his sports gambling, the Rustler was less fortunate with casino games. He was skillful, he knew the odds and bet correctly, but his natural exuberance carried him away, and his winnings on sports would be wiped out and more. So it wasn't because of the money but because of long-range strategic reasons that the Clericuzio took an interest.

Since the Family's ultimate goal was the legalization of sports gambling all over the United States, any gambling scandal involving sports would hurt that aim. So an inquiry into the life of Big Tim Snedden the Rustler was launched. The results were so alarming that Pippi and Cross were summoned East to the mansion in Quogue for a conference. It was Pippi's first operation after his return from Sicily.

Pippi and Cross took the flight back East together. Cross worried that the Clericuzio had already found out about his movie deal on Messalina and that his father would be angry he had not been consulted. For Pippi, at fifty-seven, though retired, still was consigliere to his son the Bruglione.

So on the plane Cross told his father about the movie and reassured him that he still valued his counsel but had not wanted to put him in a bad light with the Clericuzio. He also voiced his anxiety about being summoned back East because the Don had learned about his Hollywood plans.

Pippi listened without saying a word, then sighed with disgust. «You're still too young,» he said. «It won't be about the movie deal. The Don would never show his hand this quick. He'd wait to see what happened. It looks like Giorgio runs things, that's what Vincent and Petie and Dante think. But they're wrong. The old man is smarter than all of us. And don't worry about him, he's always fair in these things. It's Giorgio and Dante you have to worry about.» He paused for a moment as if reluctant to talk about the Family even with Cross.

«You notice that Giorgio and Vincent and Petie's kids know nothing about Family business? The Don and Giorgio have all planned that the children will be strictly legit. The Don planned that for Dante too, but Dante was too smart, figured everything out, and he wanted in. The Don couldn't stop him. Think of all of us — Giorgio, Vincent, and Petie, you and me and Dante — as the rear guard, fighting so that the Clericuzio clan can escape to safety. That's the Don's planning. It's his strength, what makes him great. So he may even be glad you're making your escape, it's what he hoped Dante would do. That's what it is, isn't it?»

«I think so,» Cross said. Not even to his father would he confess his terrible weakness. That he was doing it for the love of a woman.

«Always play it long, like Gronevelt,» Pippi said. «When the time comes, tell the Don directly and make sure the Family wets its beak on the deal. But watch out for Giorgio and Dante. Vincent and Petie won't give a shit.»

«Why Giorgio and Dante?» Cross asked.

«Because Giorgio is a greedy prick,» Pippi said. «And Dante, because he's always jealous of you and because you're my son. Besides, he's a fucking lunatic.»

Cross was surprised. It was the first time he had heard his father criticize any of the Clericuzio. «And why won't Vincent and Petie care?» he asked.

«Because Vincent has his restaurants and Petie has his construction business and the Bronx Enclave. Vincent wants to enjoy his old age and Petie likes the action. And both of them like you and respect me. We did jobs together when we were young.»

Cross said, «Pop, you're not mad I didn't clear it with you?»

Pippi gave him a sardonic look. «Don't bullshit me,» he said. «You knew I would disapprove and the Don would disapprove. Now when are you going to kill this Skannet guy?»

«I don't know yet,» Cross said. «It's very tricky, has to be a Confirmation so that Athena will know she doesn't have to worry about him anymore. Then she can come back to the picture.»

«Let me plan it for you,» Pippi said. «And what if this broad, Athena, doesn't come back to work? Then you lose fifty mil.»

«She'll come back to work,» Cross said. «She and Claudia are close friends and Claudia says she will.»

«My darling daughter,» Pippi said. «She still doesn't want to see me?»

«I don't think so,» Cross said. «But you can always drop around when she's staying at the Hotel.»

«No,» Pippi said. «If this Athena doesn't come to work after you do the job, I'll plan her Communion for her, no matter how big a movie star she is.»

«No, no,» Cross said. «You should see Claudia. She's much prettier now.»

«That's good,» Pippi said. «She had such an ugly mug when she was a kid. Like me.»

«Why don't you make up with her?» Cross asked.

«She wouldn't let me go to my ex-wife's funeral, and she doesn't like me. So what's the point? In fact, when I die I want you to bar her from my funeral. Fuck her.» He paused for a moment. «She was a ballsy little kid.»

«You should see her now,» Cross said.

«Remember,» Pippi said. «Don't volunteer anything to the Don. This meeting is about something else.»

«How can you be sure?» Cross asked.

«Because he would have met with me first to see if I would give you away,» Pippi said.

As it turned out, Pippi was right.

At the mansion, Giorgio, Don Domenico, Vincent, Petie, and Dante waited to greet them in the garden by the fig trees. As was the custom they all had lunch together before they got down to business.

Giorgio laid it out. An investigation had shown that Rustler Snedden was fixing certain college games in the Midwest. That he possibly shaved points in the pro football and pro basketball games. He did this by bribing the officials and certain players, a very tricky and dangerous business. If this came out, it would cause a tremendous scandal and uproar that would give a near fatal blow to the Clericuzio Family's effort to have sports gambling legalized in the United States. And it would eventually be found out.

«The cops throw more manpower into a sports fix than into a serial murder,» Giorgio said. «Why, I don't know. What the hell difference does it make who wins or loses? It's a crime that hurts nobody except the bookmakers and the cops hate them anyway. If the Rustler fixed all the Notre Dame games so that they always won, the whole country would be happy.»

Pippi said impatiently, «Why are we even talking about this? Just have somebody warn him off.»

Vincent said, «We already tried that. This guy is a special piece of work. He doesn't know what fear is. He's been warned, he still keeps doing it.»

Petie said, «They call him Big Tim, and they call him the Rustler, and he loves all that shit. He never pays his bills, he even stiffs the IRS, he fights with the California state authorities because he won't pay the sales tax of the stores he owns in his malls. Hell, he even stiffs his ex-wife and his kids on support payments. He's a thief in his heart. You cannot talk sense to him.»

Giorgio said, «Cross, you know him personally from his gambling in Vegas. What do you say?»

Cross considered. «He's very late paying his markers. But he finally pays. He's smart gambling, not degenerate. He's one of those guys who is hard to like, but he's very rich so he has lots of friends that he brings to Vegas. Actually even fixing the games and winning some of our money, he is a big plus for us. Just let it go.» As he said this he noticed Dante smiling, knowing something he didn't know.

«We can't let it go,» Giorgio said. «Because this Big Tim, this Rustler, is fucking nuts. He's laying down some crazy scheme to fix the Super Bowl game.»

Don Domenico spoke for the first time and directly to Cross, «Nephew, is that possible?»

The question was a compliment. It was the Don acknowledging that Cross was the expert in the field.

«No,» Cross said to the Don. «You can't fix the Super Bowl officials because no one knows who they will be. You can't fix the players because the important ones make too much money. Also, you can never fix one game in any sport a one hundred percent sure thing. If you are a fixer you have to be able to fix fifty or a hundred games. That way if you lose three or four, you don't get hurt. And so unless you can do a lot of them it's not worth the risk.»

«Bravo,» the Don said. «Then why does this man, who is rich, want to do something so foolhardy?»

«He wants to be famous,» Cross said. «To fix the Super Bowl he would have to do something so risky he is sure to be found out. Something so crazy I can't even think what it will be. The Rustler will think it clever. And he is a man who believes he can get out of every jam he gets in.»

«I have never met a man like that,» the Don said.

Giorgio said, «They grow them only in America.»

«But then he is very dangerous to what we want to do,» the Don said. «From what you tell me, he is a man who will not listen to reason. So there is no choice.»

Cross said, «Wait. He means at least a half million dollars' profit every year to the casino.»

Vincent said, «It's a matter of principle. The Books pay us money to protect them.»

Cross said, «Let me talk to him. Maybe he'll listen to me. The whole thing is small potatoes. He can't fix the Super Bowl. It's not worth our taking action.» But then he got a look from his father and he realized that in some way it was not proper for him to make such arguments.

The Don said with a terminal determination, «The man is dangerous. Don't talk to him, nephew. He doesn't know who you really are. Why give him the advantage? The man is dangerous because he is stupid, he is stupid as an animal is stupid, he wants to feed on everything. And then when he is caught he wants to wreak as much havoc as he can. He will implicate everyone whether true or not.» He paused for a moment and then looked at Dante. «Grandson,» he said, «I think you should do the job. But let Pippi do the planning on this one, he knows the territory.»

Dante nodded.

Pippi knew he was on dangerous ground. If anything happened to Dante, he would be held responsible. And another thing was clear to him. The Don and Giorgio were determined some day Dante would head the Clericuzio Family. But at present they did not trust his judgment.

In Vegas Dante registered in a suite at the Xanadu. The Rustler, Snedden, was not due in Vegas for a week, and during that time Cross and Pippi indoctrinated Dante.

«Rustler is a high roller,» Cross said. «But not high enough to rate a Villa. Not in the class of Arabs and Asians. His RFB is enormous, he wants everything free he can get. He puts friends on restaurant tabs, orders the best wines, he even tries to put the gift shop on his tab. We don't give that even to the Villa guys. He's a claim artist, so the dealers have to watch him. He'll claim he made a bet just before the number hit on the crap table. He'll try to make a bet in baccarat after the first card shows. At blackjack he'll claim he wanted to hit an eighteen when the next card is three. He's very late paying his markers. But he gives us a half million a year, even after we take off what he beats the sports book for. He's cute. He even draws chips for his friends and puts them on his marker so we'll think he gambles bigger than he actually does. All that chicken shit stuff like the garment center guys used to pull in the old days. But then he goes berserk when his luck goes bad. Last year he dropped two million and we made him a party and gave him a Cadillac. He bitched that it wasn't a Mercedes.»

Dante was outraged. «He draws chips and money from the cage and doesn't gamble it?»

«Sure,» Cross said. «A lot of guys do it. We don't mind. We like to look stupid. It gives them more confidence at the tables. They outsmart us again.»

«Why do they call him the Rustler?» Dante asked.

«Because he takes things without paying for them,» Cross said. «When he has girls he bites them as if he wants to take a chunk of their flesh. And he gets away with it. He's a great, great bullshit artist.»

Dante said dreamily, «I can't wait to hear him.»

«He could never talk Gronevelt into giving him a Villa,» Cross said. «So I don't.»

Dante looked at him sharply. «How come I didn't get a Villa?»

«Because it could cost the Hotel a hundred grand to a million bucks a night,» Cross said.

Dante said, «But Giorgio gets a Villa.»

«OK,» Cross said, «I'll clear it with Giorgio.» They both knew Giorgio would be outraged by Dante's request.

«Fat chance,» Dante said.

«When you get married,» Cross said, «you'll get a Villa for your honeymoon.»

Pippi said, «My operational plan depends on Big Tim's character. Cross you have to cooperate just here in Vegas to set the guy up. You have to let Dante draw unlimited credit in the cage and then make his markers disappear. Timewise, the arrangements in L.A. are set. You have to make sure the guy gets here and doesn't cancel his reservation. So you give him a party to present him with a Rolls-Royce. Then when he's here you have to introduce him to Dante and me. After that you're through.»

It took Pippi more than an hour to tell the plan in detail. Dante said admiringly, «Giorgio always said you were the best. I was pissed off when the Don put you over me on this. But I can see he was right.»

Pippi took this flattery stone-faced. He said to Dante, «Remember this is a Communion not a Confirmation. It has to look as if he took it on the lam. With his record and all the lawsuits against him, that will be plausible. Dante, don't wear one of your fucking hats on this operation. People have funny memories. And remember that the Don said he would like the guy to give information about the fix, but it's not really necessary. He's the ringleader, when he's gone the whole fix will disappear. So don't do anything crazy.»

Dante said coolly, «I feel unlucky without my hat.»

Pippi shrugged. «Another thing, don't try to cheat on your unlimited credit. That comes from the Don himself, he doesn't want the Hotel to lose a fortune on this operation. They already have to put up the Rolls.»

«Don't worry,» Dante said. «My work is my pleasure.» He paused for a moment and then said with a sly grin, «I hope you give me a good report on this one.»

This surprised Cross. It was plain that there was some hostility between them. And he was also surprised that Dante would try to intimidate his father. That could be disastrous, grandson of the Don or not.

But Pippi seemed not to have noticed. «You're a Clericuzio,» he said. «Who am I to report on you?» He clapped Dante on the shoulder. «We have a job to do together. Let's make it fun.»

When Rustler Snedden arrived, Dante studied him. He was big and fat but the fat was hard, it stuck to his bones and didn't roll. His shirt was blue denim with large pockets on each breast, a white button in the middle. In one pocket he stuffed the black hundred-dollar chips, and in the other, the white-and-gold five hundreds. The red fives and green twenty-fives he stuffed into the pocket of his wide-trousered white canvas pants. On his feet were floppy brown sandals.

The Rustler played mostly craps, the best percentage game. Cross and Dante knew that he had already bet ten grand on two college basketball games and placed a five-thousand-dollar bet with the illegal books in town on a horse race in Santa Anita. The Rustler was not going to pay the taxes. And he seemed not to be worrying about his bets. He was having a grand time shooting craps.

He was the mayor of the crap table, telling other gamblers to ride with his dice, shouting good-humoredly at them not to be chicken. He was betting the blacks, stacks of them covering all the numbers, betting right all the way. When the dice came to him he hurled them vigorously so that they bounced off the opposite wall of the table and came back to his easy reach. He would then try to grab them, but the stickman was always alert to catch them in the claw of his stick and hold them so that other players could make their bets.

Dante took his place at the crap table and bet with Big Tim to win. Then he made all the ruinous side bets that would, unless he was very lucky, make him a sure loser. He bet the hard four and the hard ten. He bet the boxcars in one roll and the aces and eleven in one roll at odds of thirty and fifteen to one. He called for a twenty-thousand-dollar marker and, after signing for the black chips, spread them all over the table. He called for another marker. By this time, he had caught Big Tim's attention.

«Hey, you with the hat. Learn to play this game,» Big Tim said.

Dante waved to him cheerily and continued his wild betting. When Big Tim sevened out, Dante took the dice and called for a fifty-thousand-dollar marker. He spread black chips all over the table hoping he wouldn't get lucky. He didn't. Now Big Tim was watching him with more than ordinary interest.

Big Tim the Rustler ate in the coffee shop, which was also the restaurant that served plain American fare. Big Tim rarely ate in the Xanadu's fancy French restaurant or its Northern Italian restaurant or its authentic English Royal Pub restaurant. Five friends joined him for dinner, and Big Tim the Rustler made out Keno tickets for everybody so they could watch the numbers board while eating. Cross and Dante sat in a corner booth.

His short-cut blond hair made the Rustler resemble a Brueghel painting of a jolly German burgher. He ordered a great variety of dishes, the equivalent of three dinners, but to his credit he ate most of them while also dipping into his companions' plates.

«It's really too bad,» Dante said. «I never saw a guy who enjoyed life so much.»

«That's one way to make enemies,» Cross said. «Especially when you enjoy it at other people's expense.»

They watched Big Tim sign the check, which he did not have to pay, and order one of his companions to tip in cash. After they left, Cross and Dante relaxed over their coffee. Cross loved this huge room with glass walls showing the night lit outside by pink lamps, green from the grass and trees outside reflecting into the room, softening the chandeliers.

«I remember one night about three years ago,» Cross said to Dante. «The Rustler had a great streak at the crap table. I think he won over a hundred grand. It was about three in the morning. And when the pit boss took his chips to the cage, the Rustler jumped up on the crap table and pissed all over it.»

«What did you do?» Dante asked.

«I had the security guards take him to his room and charged him five grand for the piss on the table. Which he never paid.»

«I would have ripped his fucking heart out,» Dante said.

«If a man gives you a half million a year, wouldn't you let him piss on a table?» Cross said. «But to tell the truth, I always held it against him. In fact, if he had done that in the Villas' casino, who knows?»

The next day Cross had lunch with Big Tim to brief him on his party and the presentation of the Rolls-Royce. Pippi joined them and was introduced.

Big Tim always pushed for more. «I appreciate the Rolls but when do I get one of your Villas?»

«Yeah, you deserve it,» Cross said. «The next time you come to Vegas, you get a Villa. That's a promise, even if I have to kick somebody out.»

Big Tim the Rustler said to Pippi, «Your son is a much nicer man than that old prick, Gronevelt.»

«He was a little funny in his last years,» Pippi said. «I was maybe his best friend and he would never give me a Villa.»

«Well, fuck him,» Big Tim said. «Now that your son is running the Hotel, you can get a Villa whenever you want.»

«Never,» Cross said, «he's not a gambler.» They all laughed.

But now Big Tim was on another tack. «There's a weird little guy who wears a funny hat and is the worst crapshooter I ever saw,» he said. «This guy signed nearly two hundred grand in markers in less than an hour. What can you tell me about him? You know I'm always looking for investors.»

«I can't tell you anything about my players,» Cross said. «How would you like it if I gave out information about you? I can tell you he can get a Villa anytime, but he never asks. He likes to keep a low profile.»

«Just give me an intro,» Big Tim said. «If I make a deal, you'll get a piece.»

«No,» Cross said. «But my father knows him.»

«I could use some dough,» Pippi said.

Big Tim said, «Good. Give me a big buildup.»

Pippi turned on his charm. «You two guys would make a great team. This guy has a lot of money but he doesn't have your flair for big business. I know you're a fair guy, Tim, so just give me what you think I deserve.»

Big Tim beamed at this. Pippi would be another of his suckers. «Great,» he said. «I'll be at the crap table tonight, so bring him around.»

When the introductions were made at the crap table, Big Tim the Rustler startled both Dante and Pippi by snatching Dante's Renaissance cap off his head and replacing it with a Dodger baseball cap he was wearing. The result was hilarious. The Renaissance cap on Big Tim's head made him look like one of Snow White's dwarfs.

«To change our luck,» Big Tim said. They all laughed but Pippi didn't like the malevolent gleam in Dante's eyes. Also, he was angry that Dante had ignored his instructions and was wearing the hat. He had introduced Dante as Steve Sharpe and had pumped Big Tim up with stories that Steve was the overlord of a drug empire on the Eastern Seaboard and had to «wash» many millions. Also that Steve was a degenerate gambler who had bet a million on the Super Bowl and had lost without batting an eye. And his markers in the casino cage were pure gold. Paid them right up.

So now Big Tim threw his massive arm over Dante's shoulders and said, «Stevie, we have to talk. Let's have a little bite in the coffee shop.»

There, Big Tim took a secluded booth. Dante ordered coffee but Big Tim ordered a whole array of desserts: strawberry ice cream, napoleons, and banana cream pie plus a dish of assorted cookies.

Then he launched into an hour-long selling speech. He owned a small mall he wanted to get rid of, a long-term moneymaker, and he could arrange that the payment would be mostly under-the-table cash. There was a meat-packing plant and carloads of fresh produce that could be sold for undercover cash, then resold for a profit for white money. He had an «in» with the movie business so that he could help finance pictures that went direct to video or to porno theaters. «Great business,» Big Tim said. «You get to meet the stars and fuck the starlets and turn your money white.»

Dante enjoyed the performance. Everything Big Tim said was with such confidence and brio that the victim could only believe in future riches. He asked questions that betrayed his eagerness but made a show of coyness.

«Give me your card,» he said. «I'll give you a call or have Pippi call you and then we can set up a dinner meeting and have a full discussion so I can make a commitment.»

Big Tim gave him his card. «Let's do it real quick,» he said. «I have one particular “no lose” deal I'll cut you in on. But we would have to move fast.» He paused for a moment. «It's a sports thing.»

Now Dante showed an enthusiasm he had not shown before. «Jesus, that has always been my dream. I love sports. You mean maybe buy a major league baseball team?»

«Not that big,» Big Tim said hastily. «But big enough.»

«So when do we meet?» Dante asked.

Big Tim said proudly, «Tomorrow the Hotel is giving me a party and a Rolls. For being one of their best suckers. I go back to L.A. the day after. How about that night?»

Dante pretended to give the question some thought. «Okay,» he said. «Pippi's coming to L.A. with me and I'll have him give you a call to set it up.»

«Great,» Big Tim said. He wondered a bit about the man's cautiousness but knew better than to queer a deal with unnecessary questions. «And tonight I'm going to show you how to shoot craps so that you have some chance of winning.»

Dante made himself look sheepish. «I know the odds, I just like to fuck around. And then the word gets out and I can get a whack at the chorus girls.»

«Then there's no hope for you,» Big Tim said. «But you and me, we'll make some money together anyway.»

The next day the party for Big Tim the Rustler was held in the great ballroom of the Xanadu Hotel, which was often used for special events: the New Year's Eve party, Christmas buffets, weddings for high rollers, presentations of special awards and gifts, Super Bowl parties, the World Series, and even political conventions.

It was a huge, high-ceilinged room, with balloons floating everywhere and two enormous buffet tables, splitting the room in half. The buffets were shaped like huge ice glaciers, and encrushed in the ice were exotic fruits of all colors. Crenshaw melons, split open to show their yellow-gold flesh, great purple grapes with their juice bursting against the skin, porcupine pineapples, kiwi and kumquat, nectarines and lichee nuts, and a huge log of watermelon. Buckets of twelve different kinds of ice cream were buried like submarines. Then there was a passageway of hot dishes: a baron of beef as big as a buffalo, a huge turkey, a white, fat-ringed ham. Then there was a tray of different pastas, sprinkled green with pesto and red with tomato sauce. And then a great red pot, as big as a garbage can, with silver handles and steaming with a «wild boar» stew that was really a pork, beef, and veal mixture. Then came bread of all kinds and rolls heavy with flour. Another bank of ice held desserts, cream puffs, whipped-cream-filled doughnuts, an assortment of tiered cakes decorated with replicas of the Hotel Xanadu. Coffee and hard liquor would be served to the guests by the best-looking waitresses at the Hotel.

Big Tim the Rustler was already wreaking havoc on these tables before the first guest arrived.

In the full center of the room, mounted on a ramp separated by ropes from the crowd, was the Rolls-Royce. Creamy, white, luxurious, with true elegance and a certain genius in design, it stood in sharp contrast to the pretensions of this Vegas world. A wall of the room had been replaced by heavy golden draperies to allow its entrance and departure. Then off in a corner of the room was a purple Cadillac that was to be awarded as a door prize to those with numbered invitations: high rollers invited to the party and casino managers of the biggest hotels. This had been one of Gronevelt's best ideas. These parties increased the Drop at the Hotel significantly.

The party was a huge success because Big Tim was so flamboyant. Attended by his two waitresses, he almost single-handedly destroyed the buffet table. He loaded up three plates and gave an exhibition of eating that nearly made Dante's mission unnecessary.

Cross made the presentation speech for the Hotel. Then Big Tim made his acceptance speech.

«I want to thank the Xanadu Hotel for this wonderful gift,» he said. «That two-hundred-thousand-dollar car is now mine for nothing. It's my reward for coming to the Xanadu the last ten years, during which they treated me like a prince and emptied my wallet. I figure if they give me fifty Rolls we would be about even but what the hell, I can only drive one car at a time.»

Here he was interrupted by applause and cheers. Cross grimaced. He was always embarrassed by these rituals that exposed the falseness of the Hotel's goodwill.

Big Tim threw his arms around the two waitresses flanking him. He squeezed their breasts in a friendly way. He waited like an experienced comic for the applause to die down.

«No kidding, I'm truly grateful,» he said. «This is one of the happiest days of my life. Right up there with my divorce. One little thing. Who's going to give me gas money to drive this car back to L.A.? The Xanadu cleaned me out again.»

Big Tim knew when to stop. As the applause and cheers broke out again, he climbed the ramp and got into the car. The golden draperies that had replaced the wall now parted, and Big Tim drove out.

The party speedily broke up after the Cadillac was won by a high roller. The festivities had lasted for four hours and everybody wanted to get back to the gambling tables.

That night Gronevelt's ghost would have been overjoyed with the results of the party. The Drop was nearly double the average. Sexual coupling could not be confirmed but the smell of semen seemed to seep out into the hallways. The great-looking call girls that had been invited to Big Tim's party had quickly snuggled into relationships with less dedicated high rollers, who gave them black chips to gamble.

Gronevelt had often remarked to Cross that male and female gamblers had different sex patterns. And that it was important for casino owners to know them.

First Gronevelt proclaimed the primacy of pussy, as he called it. Pussy could overcome anything. It could even make a degenerate gambler go straight. There had been many important men of the world who had been guests at the Hotel. Nobel Prize-winning scientists, billionaires, great religious revivalists, eminent literary icons. A Nobel Prize-winner in physics, the best brain maybe in the world, had frolicked with a whole line of chorus girls during his six-day stay. He didn't gamble much but it was an honor for the Hotel. Gronevelt himself had to give gifts to each of the girls, it had never occurred to the Nobel Prize-winner to do so. The girls had reported he was the best screw in the world, eager, ardent, and skillful, no tricks, with one of the most beautiful cocks they had ever seen. And best of all, amusing, never boring them with serious talk. As gossipy and bitchy as any of the girls. For some reason this cheered Gronevelt up. That such a brain could please the opposite sex. Not like Ernest Vail, such a great writer but a middle-aged kid with a perpetual hard-on and no small talk to go with it. Then there was Senator Wavven, a possible future president of the United States, who treated sex like a game of golf. To say nothing of the dean of Yale, the cardinal of Chicago, the leader of the Civil Rights National Committee, and the crusty Republican bigwigs. All of them reduced to children by pussy. The only possible exceptions were the gays or druggies, but after all they were not typically gamblers.

Gronevelt noted that male gamblers called for hookers before they set out to gamble. Women, however, preferred sex after they gambled. Since the Hotel had to cater to the sexual needs of everyone and there were no male hookers, just gigolos, the Hotel used barmen croupiers and junior pit boys for the women, and that was their report. So Gronevelt made a jump. Males need sex to prepare them to go into battle with confidence. Women need sex to assuage the sorrow of losing or as part of the reward for their victory.

It was true that Big Tim called for a hooker an hour before his party and then went to bed with his two waitresses in the early morning after losing a big sum of money. They were reluctant, they were straight girls. Big Tim solved the problem in his own particular way. He put up ten thousand dollars worth of black chips and told them it was theirs if they spent the night with him. Accompanied with his usual vague promise of more if they had a really good night. He loved the way they studied the chips thoughtfully before agreeing. The joke was they got him so drunk that he fell asleep, gorged with food and drink, before he got past the fondling stage. He fell asleep between the two of them, his huge frame pushing them to the edges, both girls clinging to him until finally they fell on the floor to sleep.

Late that night Cross received a call from Claudia. «Athena disappeared,» she said. «The Studio is frantic and I'm worried. Except ever since I've known her Athena has disappeared at least one weekend a month. But this time I thought you should know. You better do something before she runs away forever.»

«It's OK,» Cross said. He didn't tell her he had his own men covering Skannet.

But that call focused his mind on Athena. That magical face, which seemed to show her every emotion; the long, beautiful stretch of her legs. And the intelligence of her eyes, the vibration from some invisible instrument of inner being.

He picked up the phone and called a chorus girl he sometimes dated called Tiffany.

Tiffany was the captain of the chorus line of the Xanadu's big cabaret show. This entitled her to extra pay and perks for keeping discipline and preventing the usual quarrels and outright fights the girls fell into. She was a statuesque beauty who had failed screen tests because she simply was too big for celluloid. Where on the stage her beauty was commanding, on film she looked huge.

When she arrived, she was surprised at the quickness of Cross's lovemaking. He simply grabbed her and stripped her of her clothes and then seemed to devour her body with kisses. He entered her quickly and came to a climax quickly. This was so different from his usual style that she said, almost ruefully, «This time it must be true love.»

«It sure is,» Cross said, and began to make love to her again.

«Not me, you dope,» Tiffany said. «Who's the lucky girl?»

Cross was annoyed that he was so easy to read. And yet he could not stop his devotion to the flesh beside him. He could not have enough of her succulent breasts, her silky tongue, the velvet mound between her thighs, all radiating an irresistible heat. When finally, hours later, the lustful fever was gone, he could not stop thinking about Athena.

Tiffany picked up the phone and ordered room service for them both. «I pity that poor girl when you finally get her,» Tiffany said.

After she left, Cross felt free. It was a weakness to be so much in love, but satisfied lust gave him confidence. At three in the morning he made his last tour of the casino.

In the coffee shop he saw Dante with three good-looking, vivacious women. Though one of them was Loretta Lang, the singer he had helped to break her contract, he did not recognize her. Dante waved him over, but he declined with a shake of his head. Up in his penthouse suite he took two sleeping pills before going to bed, but he still dreamed of Athena.

The three women at Dante's table were famous ladies of Hollywood, wives of Bankable Stars and minor stars in their own right. They had been guests at Big Tim's party, not by invitation but by having wangled their way in on their charms.

The oldest was Julia Deleree, who was married to one of the most famous Bankable Stars in the movies. She had two children, and the family often appeared in magazines as the exceptional couple that had no problems, were ecstatic with their marriage.

The second was Joan Ward. She was still very attractive, nearly fifty. She played second leads now, usually as the intelligent woman, the suffering mother of a doomed child, or in the role of a deserted woman whose tragedy leads to a second happy marriage. Or as a fiery fighter for the feminist viewpoint. She was married to the head of a studio who paid her charge cards without complaint, no matter how huge, and whose only demand on her was to be the hostess for the many social-business parties he gave. She had no children.

The third star was Loretta, who by now was first choice as the comedy lead in kooky comedies. She, too, had married well, to a Bankable Star of empty-headed action films that took him on location in other countries for the best part of the year.

These three had become friends by being cast in the same movies and by shopping on Rodeo Drive and having lunches at the Beverly Hills Hotel's Polo Lounge, where they compared notes on their husbands and their charge cards. About the cards, they had no complaints. It was like having a shovel to dig in a gold mine, and their husbands never questioned their bills.

Julia complained that her husband didn't spend enough time with her kids. Joan, whose husband was acclaimed as a discoverer of new stars, complained she was childless. Loretta complained that her husband should branch out into more serious roles. But there came a day when Loretta, with her usual vivaciousness, said, «Let's stop bullshitting ourselves. We're all happily and very suitably married to very important guys. What we really hate is that our husbands send us out on Rodeo Drive so they feel less guilty about fucking other women.» The three of them laughed. It was so true.

Julia said, «I love my husband but he's been in Tahiti for a month shooting a picture. And I know he's not sitting on the beach masturbating. But I don't want to spend a month in Tahiti, so he's either screwing his leading lady or the local talent.»

«Which he would be doing even if you were there,» Loretta said.

Joan said wistfully, «And even though my husband hasn't the sperm of a fucking ant, his cock is like a water wand. How come most of the stars he discovers are females? He screen-tests them by finding out how much of his cock they can swallow.»

They were all half tipsy by now. They believed that wine had no calories.

Loretta said crisply, «We can't blame our husbands. The most beautiful women in the world show it to them. They really have no choice. But why should we suffer? Fuck the charge cards, let's have some fun.»

And so had followed their sacred once-a-month girl's night out. When their husbands were gone, which was often, they would go on overnight adventures.

Since they were recognizable to most Americans, they had to disguise themselves. This proved to be extraordinarily easy to do. They used wigs to change the style and color of their hair. They used makeup, thickened their lips or thinned them. They dressed in the style of middle-class women. They downgraded their beauty, which didn't matter because, like most actresses, they could be enormously charming. And they delighted in the role playing. They loved to listen to different kinds of men bare their hearts to them in hope of getting into bed with them, often successfully. It was a breath of real life, the characters still mysterious, not doomed to a written script. And there were delightful surprises. Sincere offers of marriage and true love; men sharing their pain because they thought they would never see them again. The admiration they received not because of their hidden status, but because of their innate charms. And they loved creating new personas for themselves. Sometimes they would be computer operators on vacation, sometimes off-duty nurses or dental technicians or social workers. They would bone up for their parts by reading about their new professions. Sometimes they would pretend to be legal secretaries in the office of a big showbiz lawyer in L.A. and spread scandal about their own husbands and other of their actor friends. They had great times but always went out of town; Los Angeles was too dangerous, they might run into friends who would easily recognize them despite their disguise. They discovered that San Francisco was also risky. Some gay men seemed to know their true identity at a glance. Their favorite place was Las Vegas.

Dante had picked them up at the Xanadu Club Lounge, where tired gamblers took a break and listened to a band, a comic, and a girl singer. Loretta had once performed there at the beginning of her career. There was no dancing. The Hotel wanted their customers to get back to the tables as soon as they were rested.

Dante was attracted to them by their vivaciousness, their natural charm. They were attracted to him because they had watched him gamble and lose enormous amounts of money with his unlimited credit. After the drinks, he took them to the roulette wheel and staked them each to a thousand dollars' worth of chips. They were charmed by his hat and the extravagant courtesy showed to him by the croupiers and the pit boss. And his sly charm, which was touched by a vicious humor. Dante was witty in a vulgar and sometimes chilling way. And the extravagance of his gambling excited them. Of course they themselves were rich, they earned enormous amounts of money, but his was hard cash and that had its own magic. Certainly they had spent tens of thousands on Rodeo Drive in one day, but they had received luxurious goods in return. When Dante signed a hundred-thousand-dollar marker, they were awed, though their husbands had bought them cars that cost more. But Dante was throwing away money.

They didn't always sleep with men they picked up, but when they went to the ladies room they conferred on which one would get Dante. Julia begged and she said she had a real yen to pee in Dante's funny hat. The others gave in.

Joan had hoped to score five or ten grand. Not that she really needed it, but it was cash, real money. Loretta was not as charmed as the others by Dante. Her life in Las Vegas cabaret had partly inured her to such men. They were too full of surprises, most of them not pleasant.

The women had a three-bedroom suite in the Xanadu. They always stuck close together on these outings, for reasons of safety and so they could gossip together about their adventures. They made it a rule not to spend the entire night with the men they picked up.

So Julia wound up with Dante, who had no say in the matter, though he preferred Loretta. But he insisted Julia go to his suite, which was just below hers. «I'll walk you up to your suite,» he said coolly. «We'll just be an hour. I have to get up early in the morning.» It was then Julia realized he thought they were soft hookers.

«Come up to my suite,» Julia said. «I'll walk you down.»

Dante said, «You got your two horny buddies up there. How do I know you won't all jump me and sodomize me? I'm just a little guy.»

That amused Julia enough to go to his suite. She had missed the slyness of his smile. On their way to his room, she said jokingly, «I want to pee in your hat.»

Dante said to her, stone-faced, «If it's fun for you, it's fun for me.»

Once in his suite there was very little chitchat. Julia threw her purse on the sofa and then pulled down the top of her dress so that her breasts showed, they were her best feature. But Dante seemed to be the exception, a male who was not interested in breasts.

He led her into the bedroom and then pulled off her dress and underclothes. When she was naked, he shed his own clothes. She could see his penis was short, stubby, and uncircumcised. «You have to use a condom,» she said.

Dante threw her on the bed. Julia was a robust woman, but he picked her up and threw her without seeming to make an effort. Then he straddled her.

«I insist you use a condom,» she said. «I mean it.»

In the next moment there was an explosion of light in her head. She realized he had slapped her so hard that she had almost lost consciousness. She tried to wriggle away but for so small a man he was incredibly strong. She felt two more slaps that suffused her face with a hot glow and made her teeth ache. Then she felt him enter her. His driving thrusts lasted for only a few seconds and then he slumped over her.

They lay entwined and then he began to turn her over. She could see that he still had an erection and she knew he wanted to penetrate her anally. She whispered to him, «I love that but I have to get some Vaseline from my purse.»

He let her slide out from under him and she went into the living room. Dante came to the door of the bedchamber. They were both still naked and he still had an erection.

Julia fumbled in her purse and then, with a dramatic flourish, took out a tiny silver handgun. It was a prop from a movie she had worked in and she had always fantasized about using it in a real-life situation. She pointed it at Dante, took the crouch stance she had been taught in the movie, and said, «I'm going to dress and leave. If you try to stop me, I'll shoot.»

To her surprise, the naked Dante burst out in a good-humored laugh. But Julia noted with satisfaction that he immediately lost his erection.

She was enjoying the situation. She was imagining that she was back upstairs with Joan and Loretta and how they would laugh about this. She tried to get up the courage to ask for his hat so she could pee in it.

But now Dante surprised her. He started walking toward her slowly. He was smiling, he said gently, «That's such a small caliber, it won't even stop me unless you get a lucky shot to the head. Never use a small gun. You can put three bullets to my body and then I'll strangle you. Also, you're holding that gun wrong, you don't need that stance, there's no kick in it. Plus the chances are you won't even hit me, those little bitty things are inaccurate. So throw it away and we'll talk this over. Then you can leave.»

He continued walking toward her so she threw the gun on the sofa. Dante picked it up and looked at it, shook his head. «A fake gun?» he said. «That's the sure way to get killed.» He shook his head in an almost affectionate disapproval. «Well, if you were a real hooker, this would be a real gun. So who are you?»

He pushed Julia down on the sofa and imprisoned her there with his leg, his toes pushed against her pubic hair. Then he opened her purse and spilled the contents onto the coffee table. He fished into the purse pockets and took out her wallet of credit cards and her driver's license. He studied them carefully and then grinned in pure delight. He said to her, «Take off that wig.» Then he reached over with a doily from the sofa and wiped her face clean of makeup.

«Jesus Christ, you are Julia Deleree,» Dante said. «I'm fucking a movie star.» He gave another delighted laugh. «You can pee in my hat anytime.»

His toes were searching her crotch. Then he pulled her to her feet. «Don't be scared,» he said. He kissed her and then turned her around and pushed her so that she was bent over the back of the sofa, breasts hanging down, her buttocks presented, tilted up to him.

Julia said to him tearfully, «You promised to let me leave.»

Dante was kissing her buttocks, his fingers probing. Then he entered her savagely and she gave a yell of pain. When he finished, he patted her buttocks tenderly.

«You can get dressed now,» he said. «I'm sorry I broke my word. I just couldn't miss the chance of telling my friends that I fucked Julia Deleree up her great ass.»

The next morning Cross had a wakeup call push him out of bed early. It would be a busy day. He had to pull all of Dante's markers out of the casino cage and do the necessary paperwork to make them disappear. He had to get the pit bosses' marker books out of their hands and have them redone. Then he had to make arrangements so that the papers on the Rolls for Big Tim would be revoked. Giorgio had had the legal papers prepared so that the official change of ownership would not be valid until a month in the future. That was vintage Giorgio.

In the middle of all this he was interrupted with a call from Loretta Lang. She was in the Hotel and urgently wanted to see him. Because he thought it might be something about Claudia, he had Security bring her up to the penthouse.

Loretta kissed him on both cheeks and then told him the whole story about Julia and Dante. She said the man had introduced himself as Steve Sharpe and had lost a hundred grand at the crap table. They were impressed, and Julia decided to sleep with him. The three of them had only come to relax and have a night of gambling. Now they were terrified that Steve might cause a scandal.

Cross nodded sympathetically. He was thinking, What a stupid thing for Dante to do before a big operation, and the son of a bitch was giving away black chips for his pickups to gamble with. He said to Loretta calmly, «I know the man, of course. Who are the two women with you?»

Loretta knew better than to dally with Cross. She told him the two names. Cross smiled. «Do you three do this often?»

«We have to have a little fun,» Loretta said. Cross gave her a sympathetic smile.

«OK,» he said. «Your friend went to his room. She undressed. She wants to scream rape? What?»

Loretta said hastily, «No, no. We just want him to keep quiet. If he talks it could be absolute disasters for our careers.»

«He won't talk,» Cross said. «He's a funny kind of guy. Keeps a low profile. But take my advice, don't get mixed up with him again. You girls should be more careful.»

Loretta was annoyed by this last remark. The three women had decided to continue their outings. They were not going to be frightened by one mishap. Nothing really terrible had happened. She said, «How do you know he won't talk?»

Cross looked at her gravely. «I'll ask him the favor,» he said.

When Loretta left, Cross called for the secret camera file that showed all the guests at the registration desk. He studied them. Now that he had the information, it was easy to penetrate the disguises of the two women with Loretta Lang. It was dumb for Dante not to have gotten that info.

Pippi came by the penthouse office to have lunch before he left for Los Angeles to check off the logistics of the Big Tim operation. Cross told him the story Loretta had told.

Pippi shook his head. «The little bastard could have ruined the whole operation by throwing the timing off. And he keeps wearing that fucking hat after I told him not to.»

Cross said, «Be careful on this operation. Keep your eye on Dante.»

«I planned it, he can't fuck it up,» Pippi said. «And when I see him in L.A. tonight, I'll give him another briefing.»

Cross told him about how Giorgio had prepared the papers on the Rolls so that Big Tim would not acquire legal ownership for a month and so that after his death, the Hotel could regain the car.

«Typical Giorgio,» Pippi said. «The Don would have let the estate keep his car for his kids.»

Big Tim the Rustler Snedden left Vegas two days later, owing sixty grand in markers to the Xanadu Hotel. He took the late-afternoon plane to Los Angeles, went to his office and worked for a few hours, and then drove to Santa Monica to have dinner with his ex-wife and his two children. His pockets had wads of five-dollar bills, which he gave to his kids along with a cardboard container, a quart of silver dollars. To his wife he gave the support and alimony check due, without which he would not be allowed to visit. He conned his wife with sweet talk after the children went to bed but she wouldn't give him a screw, which he didn't really want after Vegas. But he had to try, it was something for nothing.

The next day Big Tim the Rustler had a very busy day indeed. Two Internal Revenue Agents tried to frighten him into paying some disputed taxes. He told them he would go to tax court and threw them out. Then he had to visit a warehouse of canned foods and another warehouse of over-the-counter drugs, all acquired at rock-bottom prices because their expiration dates were coming up. Those expiration dates would have to be changed. At lunch he met with a supermarket-chain vice president who would accept the shipment of these goods. During lunch he slipped the executive an envelope that held ten thousand dollars.

After lunch he received a surprise call from two FBI agents who wanted to ask him about his relationship with a congress-man who was under indictment. Big Tim told them to go fuck themselves.

Big Tim the Rustler had never known fear. Perhaps because of his bulk, or maybe there was a piece of his brain missing. For he not only lacked physical fear, he lacked mental fear. He had not only taken the offensive against man but against nature itself. When the doctors told him he was eating himself to death and he should seriously diet, he had opted instead for the stomach bypass operation, which was more hazardous. And it had turned out perfectly. He ate as he wished without apparent harmful effect.

He had built his financial empire the same way. He made contracts that he refused to honor when they became unprofitable, he betrayed partners and friends. Everybody sued him, but they always had to settle for less than they would have received on the original terms. It was a life of success for one who took no precautions for the future. He always thought he would win in the end. He could always collapse corporate entities, shmooze over personal animosities. With women he was even more merciless. He promised them whole malls, apartments, boutiques. Then they settled for a small piece of jewelry at Christmas, a small check on their birthdays. Significant sums but not up to the original promises. Big Tim did not want a relationship. He just wanted to make sure he could have a friendly screw when he needed it.

Big Tim loved all this rustling, it made life interesting. There had been an independent bookmaker in L.A. that he had stiffed for a seventy-grand bet on football games. The bookmaker held a gun to his head and Big Tim said, «Go fuck yourself,» then offered ten grand to settle the debt. The bookmaker took it.

His fortune, his ruddy health, his imposing bulk, his lack of guilt made Big Tim successful in everything he touched. His belief that all humanity was corruptible gave him a certain air of innocence that was useful not only in a woman's bed but also in the courts of law. And his gusto for life gave him a certain charm. He was a con man who let you peek at his cards.

So Big Tim did not wonder at the mystery of the arrangement Pippi De Lena had made with him for that night. The man was a hustler like himself and could be dealt with appropriately. Big promises and small rewards.

As for Steve Sharpe, Big Tim smelled a great opportunity, a multiyear scam. The little guy had dropped at least a half million in one day at the tables that he observed. Which meant he had an enormous credit line at the casino and must be in a position to earn a great deal of black money. He would be perfect in the Super Bowl fix. Not only could he supply the betting money, but he had the confidence of bookmakers. After all, those guys didn't take mammoth bets from just anybody.

Then Big Tim daydreamed about his next visit to Vegas. Finally he would get a Villa. He pondered on who to bring with him as guests. Business or pleasure? Future scam victims or maybe all women? Finally it was time to go to dinner with Pippi and Steve Sharpe. He called his ex-wife and his two kids for a chat and then was on his way.

The dinner was at a small fish restaurant down in the L.A. dock area. There was no valet service, so Big Tim put his car in a parking lot.

In the restaurant he was greeted by a tiny maître d' who took one look at him and ushered him to a table where Pippi De Lena was waiting.

Big Tim was an expert of the abraccio and he took Pippi into his arms. «Where's Steve? Is he jerking me around? I haven't the time for that kind of bullshit.»

Pippi turned on all his charm. He clapped Big Tim on the shoulder. «What am I, chopped liver?» he said. «Sit down and have the best fish dinner you ever ate. We'll be seeing Steve after.»

When the maître d' came to take their order, Pippi told him, «We want the best of everything and the most of everything. My friend here is a champion eater and if he gets up from this table hungry, I'll talk to Vincent.»

The maître d' smiled confidently; he knew the quality of his kitchen. His restaurant was part of Vincent Clericuzio's empire. When the police backtracked Big Tim's trail, they would meet a blank wall here.

They ate a progression of clams, mussels, shrimps, and then lobsters: three for Big Tim and one for Pippi. Pippi was finished long before Big Tim. He said to him, «This guy is a friend of mine and I can tell you now he is tops in drugs. If that scares you off, tell me now.»

«That scares me as much as this lobster,» Big Tim said, waving its huge, nibbled claws in Pippi's face. «What else?»

«He always has to launder black money,» Pippi said. «Your deal will have to include that.»

Big Tim was enjoying the food; all the briney spices of the ocean filled his nostrils. «Great, I know all that,» he said. «But where the fuck is he?»

«He's on his yacht,» Pippi said. «He doesn't want anybody to see you with him. That's to your interest. He's a very cautious guy.»

«I don't give a flying fuck who sees me with him,» Big Tim said. «I want to see me with him. »

Finally Big Tim was finished. His dessert was fruit, with a cup of espresso. Pippi skillfully skinned a pear for him. Tim ordered another espresso. «To keep me awake,» he said. «That third lobster nearly put me away.»

No check was presented. Pippi left a twenty-dollar bill on the table and the two left the restaurant, the maître d' silently applauding Tim's performance at the table.

Pippi guided Big Tim to a small rental car that Tim squeezed into with difficulty. «Christ, can't you afford a bigger car?» Big Tim said.

«It's only a short distance,» Pippi said soothingly. And indeed it was a five-minute ride. By that time it was really dark except for the lights of a small yacht moored to the pier.

The gangplank was down, guarded by a man almost as big as Tim. There was another man on the far deck. Pippi and Big Tim went up the gangplank and onto the deck of the yacht. Then Dante appeared on the deck and came forward to shake their hands. He was wearing his Renaissance hat, which he guarded good-naturedly from Big Tim's swipe.

Dante led them below deck to a cabin decorated as a dining room. They sat around a table in comfortable chairs screwed into the floor.

On the table was an array of liquor bottles, a bucket of ice, and a tray with drinking glasses. Pippi poured them all a brandy.

At that moment the engines started and the yacht began to move. Big Tim said, «Where the hell are we going?»

Dante said smoothly, «Just a little spin for some fresh air. Once we're out on the open sea, we can go up on the deck and enjoy it.»

Big Tim was not that unsuspicious, but he had faith in himself, that he could handle anything that happened in the future. He accepted the explanation.

Dante said, «Tim, my understanding is that you want to go into business with me.»

«No, I want you to go into business with me, « Big Tim said with boastful good humor. «I run the show. You get your money washed without paying a premium. And make a good bit extra. I have a mall I'm building outside Fresno and you can get a piece for five million or ten. I have a lot of other deals all the time.»

«That sounds very good,» Pippi De Lena said.

Big Tim gave him a cold stare. «Where do you shine in? I've been meaning to ask.»

«He's my junior partner,» Dante said. «My advisor. I have the money but he has the brains.» He paused and then said sincerely, «He's told me a lot of good things about you, Tim, that's why we're talking.»

The yacht was moving very swiftly now, the glasses trembled on the tray. Big Tim debated whether he should cut this guy in on the Super Bowl fix. Then he had one of his hunches, and they were never wrong. He leaned back in his chair, sipped his brandy, and gave both men a serious questioning look, which he often gave and had in fact rehearsed. The look of a man about to bestow his trust. In a best friend. «I'm going to let you guys in on a secret,» he said. «But first, are we going to do business? You want a piece of the mall?»

«I'm in,» Dante said. «Our lawyers will get together tomorrow and I'll put up some good faith money.»

Big Tim emptied his brandy glass and then leaned forward. «I can fix the Super Bowl,» he said. With a dramatic flourish he signaled to Pippi to fill his glass. He was gratified to see the look of astonishment on their faces. «You think I'm full of shit, right?» he said.

Dante took off his Renaissance hat and looked at it thoughtfully. «I think you're peeing in my hat,» he said with a reminiscing smile. «A lot of people try. But Pippi is the expert on this stuff. Pippi?»

«Can't be done,» Pippi said. «The Super Bowl is eight months away and you don't even know who'll be in it.»

«Then fuck you,» Big Tim said. «You don't want part of a sure thing, that's okay with me. But I'm telling you I can fix it. If you don't want it okay, let's do the mall. Turn this boat around and stop wasting my fucking time.»

«Don't be so touchy,» Pippi said. «Just tell us how the fix works.»

Big Tim gulped his brandy and said in a regretful voice, «I can't tell you that. But I'll give you a guarantee. You bet ten million and we split the winnings. If anything goes wrong, I'll give you ten million back. Now is that fair?»

Dante and Pippi looked at each other with amused grins. Dante ducked his head, and his Renaissance hat made him look like a cunning squirrel. «You give me the money back in cash?» he asked.

«Not exactly,» Big Tim said. «I'll make it up on another deal. Take ten million off the price.»

«Do you fix the players?» Dante asked.

«He can't,» Pippi said. «They make too much money. It must be the officials.»

Big Tim was enthusiastic now. «I can't tell you but it's foolproof. And never mind the money. Think of the glory. It will be the biggest fix in sports history.»

«Sure, they'll toast us in jail,» Dante said.

«That's the beauty of me not telling you anything,» Big Tim said. «I go to jail, you guys don't. And my lawyers are too good and I have too many connections.»

For the first time, Dante varied Pippi's script. He said, «Are we far enough out?»

Pippi said, «Yeah, but I think if we talk a little more, Tim will tell us.»

«Fuck Tim,» Dante said pleasantly. «You hear that, Big Tim? Now I want to hear how the fix works and no bullshit.» His tone was so contemptuous that Big Tim's face flushed red.

«You little prick,» he said, «you think you can scare me? You think you're tougher than the FBI, and the IRS, and the toughest shylock on the West Coast? I'll shit in your hat.»

Dante leaned back in his chair and banged on the wall of the cabin. A few seconds later two large, tough-looking men opened the door, then stood guard. In answer, Big Tim stood up and swept the table clean with one huge arm. Liquor bottles, the bucket of ice, and the tray of glasses crashed to the cabin floor.

«No Tim, listen to me,» Pippi shouted. He wanted to spare the man unnecessary suffering. Also, he did not want to be the shooter, that was not part of the plan. But Big Tim was rushing toward the door, ready to do battle.

Then suddenly Dante was slipping inside Big Tim's arms, nestled against his huge body. They broke apart and Big Tim sagged to his knees. It was a frightening sight. Half his shirt had been sliced away and where once his hairy right breast had been there was just a huge red patch from which an enormous gush of blood poured, staining half the table.

In Dante's hand was the knife he had used, the blood crimson on its broad blade up to the hilt.

«Put him in a chair,» Dante said to the guards, and then he took the cloth off the table to staunch Big Tim's bleeding. Big Tim was nearly unconscious with shock.

Pippi said, «You could have waited.»

«No,» Dante said. «He's a tough guy. Let's see how tough.»

«I'll get things ready on the deck,» Pippi said. He didn't want to watch. He had never done torture. There were really no secrets so important that justified that kind of work. When you killed a man, you merely separated him from this world so that he could do you no harm.

Up on the deck he saw that two of his men had already prepared. The steel cage was ready on its hook, the slatted bars closed. The deck was covered with a plastic sheet.

He felt the balmy air fragrant with salt, the night ocean purple and still. The yacht was slowing down and then it stopped.

Pippi gazed down at the ocean for a full fifteen minutes before the two men who had stood guard at the door appeared, carrying Big Tim's body. It was so terrible a sight that Pippi averted his eyes.

The four men put Big Tim's body into the cage and then lowered it over the water. One of the men adjusted the slats so that the cage was open for the denizens of the ocean deep to slide between the bars and feast on the body. Then the hook was released and the cage plunged to the bottom of the sea.

Before the sun rose, there would be only the skeleton of Big Tim's body swimming eternally in its cage on the ocean floor.

Dante came up on deck. He had obviously taken a shower and changed his clothes. Underneath the Renaissance hat his hair was slick and wet. There was no trace of blood.

«So he already made his Communion,» Dante said. «You could have waited for me.»

Pippi said, «Did he talk?»

«Oh yeah,» Dante said. «The fix was really simple. Except maybe he was full of shit right up to the end.»

The next day Pippi flew East to give the Don and Giorgio a full report. «Big Tim was crazy,» he said. «He bribed the caterer who supplies the food and drink to the teams in the Super Bowl. They were going to use drugs to make the team they bet against weaker as the game went on. The coaches and players would notice even if the fans didn't, and the FBI, too. You were right, Uncle, the scandal would have set back our program maybe forever.»

«Was he an idiot?» Giorgio asked.

«I think he wanted to be famous,» Pippi said. «Rich wasn't enough.»

«What about the others involved in the scheme?» the Don asked.

«When they don't hear from the Rustler, they'll be scared off,» Pippi said.

Giorgio said, «I agree.»

«Very good,» the Don said. «And my grandson, did he perform well?»

It seemed an offhand remark, but Pippi knew the Don well enough to understand that this was a very serious question. He answered as carefully as he could but with a certain purpose.

«I told him not to wear his hat on this operation in Vegas and L.A. He did anyway. Then he didn't follow the script of the operation. We could have got the information with more talk but he wanted blood. He cut the guy to pieces. He cut off his cock and nuts and breasts. That wasn't necessary. He enjoys doing it and that is very dangerous for the Family. Somebody really has got to talk to him.»

«It will have to be you,» Giorgio said to the Don. «He doesn't listen to me.»

Don Domenico pondered this a long time. «He's young, he'll grow out of it.»

Pippi saw that the Don would not do anything. So he told them about Dante's indiscretion with the movie star the night before the operation. He saw the Don flinch and Giorgio grimace with distaste. There was a long silence. Pippi wondered if he had gone too far.

Finally, the Don shook his head and said, «Pippi, you have planned well, as always, but you can set your mind at rest. You will never have to work with Dante again. But you must understand, Dante is my daughter's only child. Giorgio and I must do our best with him. He will grow wiser.»

Cross De Lena sat on the balcony of his executive penthouse suite in the Xanadu Hotel and examined the dangers of the course of action he was taking. From his vantage point he could see the full length of the Strip, the line of luxury casino hotels on either side, the crowds of people in the street. He could see the gamblers on the Xanadu golf course, superstitiously trying for a hole in one to ensure the victory at the gaming tables later.

First danger: In this Boz operation he was making a crucial move without consulting the Clericuzio Family. It was true that he was the administrative Baron of the Western District, which comprised Nevada and the southern part of California. It was true that the Barons operated independently in many areas and were not strictly under the Clericuzio Family as long as they wet the Clericuzio beak with a percentage of earnings. But there were very strict rules. No Baron, or Bruglione, could embark on an operation of such magnitude without the approval of the Clericuzio. For one simple reason. If a Baron did so and got into trouble, he would receive no prosecutorial indulgence, no judicial intervention. In addition, he would receive no support against any rising chief in his own territories, and his money would not be laundered and tucked away for his old age. Cross knew he should see Giorgio and the Don for an OK.

This operation could be enormously sensitive. And he was putting up part of his 51 percent equity in the Xanadu, left to him by Gronevelt, to finance the movie deal. It was true it was his own money, but it was money allied to the hidden interest that the Clericuzio shared in the Hotel. And it was money that the Clericuzio had helped him earn. It was a peculiar and yet somehow very human quirk of the Clericuzio that they felt a proprietary interest in the fortunes of their subordinates. They would resent his investing this money without their advice. Their quirk, though it had no legal foundation, resembled a medieval courtesy: no baron could sell his castle without royal consent.

And the magnitude of the money involved was a factor. Cross had inherited Gronevelt's fifty-one points, the Xanadu was worth a billion dollars. But he was gambling fifty million, investing another fifty million for a total of a C million. The economic risk was enormous. And the Clericuzio were notoriously prudent and conservative, as indeed they had to be to survive the world they moved in.

Cross remembered another thing. Long ago, when the Santadio and Clericuzio Families were on good terms, they had gained a foothold in the movie business. But it had not turned out well. When the Santadio Empire was crushed, Don Clericuzio had ordered that all attempts to infiltrate the movie business be halted. «Those people are too clever,» the Don said. «And they have no fear because the rewards are so high. We should have to kill them all and then we would not know how to run the business. It is more complicated than drugs.»

No, Cross decided. If he asked permission it would be denied. And then it would be impossible to proceed. When it was done he could do penance, he could let the Clericuzio beak drown itself in his profits, success often excused the most impudent of sins. And if he failed, then most likely he would be finished anyway, approval or not. Which brought up a final doubt.

Why was he doing this? He thought of Gronevelt's «Beware of damsels in distress.» Well, he had met damsels in distress before and had left them to their dragons. Vegas was full of damsels in distress.

But he knew. He yearned for the beauty of Athena Aquitane. It wasn't just for the loveliness of her face, her eyes, her hair, her legs, her breasts. He yearned to see the look of intelligence and warmth in her eyes, in the very bones of her face, in the delicate curve of her lips. He felt that if he could know her, be in her presence, the whole world would take on a different light, the sun a different heat. He saw the ocean behind her, rolling green and capped with white flume, like a halo around her head. And the thought strayed into his mind: Athena was the woman his mother had dreamed of becoming.

Astonished, he felt a well of longing to see her, to be with her, to listen to her voice, to watch her move. And then he thought, Oh shit, is this why I'm doing this?

He accepted it and was pleased that finally he knew the real reason for his actions. It made him resolute and it made him focus. At the present time the main problem was operational. Forget Athena. Forget the Clericuzio. There was the difficult problem of Boz Skannet, a problem that had to be solved quickly.

Cross knew he had put himself in too naked a position, another complication. To publicly profit if anything happened to Skannet was dangerous.

Cross resolved on the three people he needed for the planned operation. The first was Andrew Pollard, who owned Pacific Ocean Security and was already involved in the whole mess. The second was Lia Vazzi, the caretaker of the Clericuzio hunting lodge in the Nevada mountains. Lia headed a crew of men who also served as caretakers but were on call for special duties. The third man was Leonard Sossa, a retired counterfeiter on Family retainer to do odd jobs. All three came under Cross De Lena's control as the Western Bruglione.

It was two days later that Andrew Pollard got the phone call from Cross De Lena. «I hear you're working too hard,» Cross said. «How about coming to Vegas for a little vacation? I'll comp you RFB — room, food, beverage. Bring the wife. And if you get bored pop up to my office for a chat.»

«Thanks,» Pollard said, «I'm pretty busy right now, but how about next week?»

«Sure,» Cross said. «But then I'll be out of town, so I'll miss you.»

«I'll come tomorrow then,» Pollard said.

«Great,» Cross said and hung up.

Pollard leaned back in his chair, pondering. The invitation had been a command. He would have to walk a very thin line.

Leonard Sossa enjoyed life as only a man reprieved from a terrible death sentence can enjoy life. He enjoyed the sunrise, he enjoyed the sunset. He enjoyed the grass growing and the cows who ate the grass. He enjoyed the sight of beautiful women and confident young men and clever children. He enjoyed a crust of bread, a glass of wine, a knob of cheese.

Twenty years before, the FBI had arrested him for making hundred-dollar bills for the now-extinct Santadio Family. His confederates had copped a plea, sold him out, and he had believed the flower of his manhood would wither in prison. Counterfeiting money was a far more dangerous crime than rape, murder, arson. When you counterfeited money, you attacked the machinery of government itself. When you committed the other crimes you were only some scavenger taking a bite out of the carcass of the huge beast that composed the expendable human chain. He expected no mercy and was given none. Leonard Sossa was sentenced to twenty years.

Sossa did only a year. A fellow inmate, overcome with admiration for Sossa's skills, his genius with ink and pencil and pen, recruited him for the Clericuzio Family.

Suddenly he had a new lawyer. Suddenly he had an outside doctor he had never met. Suddenly there was a hearing for clemency on the ground that his mental capacity had deteriorated to that of a child and he was no longer a menace to society. Suddenly Leonard Sossa was a free man and an employee of the Clericuzio Family.

The Family had a need for a first-rate forger. Not for currency, they knew that to the authorities counterfeiting was an unforgivable crime. They needed a forger for far more important tasks. In the mountains of paperwork Giorgio had to handle, juggling different national and international corporations, signing legal documents by nonexistent corporate officers, making deposits and withdrawals of vast sums of money, a variety of signatures and imitations of signatures were needed. Then, as time went on, other uses were found for Leonard.

The Xanadu Hotel used his skills very profitably. When a very rich high roller died and had markers in the cage, Sossa was brought in to sign another million dollars. Of course the dead man's estate would not pay the markers. But then the whole amount could be charged as loss on the Xanadu's taxes. This happened far more often than was natural. There seemed to be a high mortality rate in pleasure. The same was done to high rollers who reneged on their debts or settled dimes on the dollar.

For all this Leonard Sossa was paid a hundred thousand dollars a year and barred from doing any other kind of work, especially counterfeiting currency. This fit in with Family policy in general. The Clericuzio had an edict that prohibited all crime-family members from engaging in counterfeiting and kidnapping. These were the crimes that made all the Federal enforcement agencies come down with crushing force. The rewards were simply not worth the risk.

So for twenty years Sossa enjoyed life as an artist in his little house that nestled in Topanga Canyon, not far from Malibu. He had a small garden, a goat, a cat, and a dog. He painted during the day and drank at night. There was an endless supply of young girls who lived in the Canyon and were free spirits and fellow painters.

Sossa never left the Canyon except to shop in Santa Monica or when he was called to duty by the Clericuzio Family, which was usually twice a month for a period of no more than a few days. He did the work they wanted him to do and never asked questions. He was a valued soldier in the Clericuzio Family.

So when a car came to pick him up and the driver told him to bring his tools and clothes for a few days, Sossa turned his goat, dog, and cat loose into the Canyon and locked his house. The animals could take care of themselves; after all, they were not children. It was not that he was not fond of them, but animals had a short life span, especially in the Canyon, and he had gotten used to losing them. His year in prison had made Leonard Sossa a realist, and his unexpected release had made him an optimist.

Lia Vazzi, the caretaker of the Clericuzio Family's hunting lodge in the Sierra Nevada, had arrived in the United States when he was only thirty years old and the most wanted man in Italy. In the ten years since then he had learned to speak English with only a very slight accent and could read and write it to a fair degree. In Sicily he had been born to one of the most learned and powerful Families on the island.

Fifteen years before, Lia Vazzi had been the leader of the Mafia in Palermo, a Qualified Man of the first rank. But he had reached too far.

In Rome, the government had appointed an examining magistrate and given him extraordinary powers to wipe out the Mafia in Sicily. The examining magistrate had arrived in Palermo with his wife and children, protected by army troops and a horde of police. He gave a fiery speech, promising to show no mercy to those criminals who had ruled the beautiful island of Sicily for centuries. The time had come for the law to rule, for the elected representatives of the people of Italy to decide the fate of Sicily, not the ignorant thugs with their shameful secret societies. Vazzi took his speech as a personal insult.

The examining magistrate was heavily guarded day and night, as he heard the testimony of witnesses and issued arrest orders. His court was a fortress, his living quarters rimmed by a perimeter of army troops. He was seemingly impregnable. But after three months Vazzi learned the magistrate's itinerary, which had been kept secret to prevent surprise attacks.

The magistrate traveled to the big towns in Sicily to gather evidence and issue arrest warrants. He was scheduled to return to Palermo to be given a medal for his heroic attempt to rid the island of its Mafia scourge. Lia Vazzi and his men mined a small bridge that the magistrate had to pass over. The magistrate and his guards were blown into such tiny bits that the bodies had to be brought out of the water with sieves. The government in Rome, infuriated, replied with a massive search for the culprits responsible, and Vazzi had to go underground. Though the government had no proof, he knew that if he fell into their hands he would be better off dead.

Now the Clericuzio sent Pippi De Lena to Sicily every year to recruit men to live in the Bronx Enclave and soldier for the Clericuzio Family. The bedrock of the Don's faith was that only Sicilians with their centuries-long tradition of omerta could be trusted not to turn traitor. The young men in America were too soft, too lightheaded with vanity, could be too easily turned into informants by the more ferocious of the district attorneys who were sending so many of the Brugliones to prison.

As a philosophy, omerta was quite simple. It was a mortal sin to talk to the police about anything that would harm the Mafia. If a rival Mafia clan murdered your father before your eyes, you were forbidden to inform the police. If you yourself were shot and lay dying, you were forbidden to inform the police. If they stole your mule, your goat, your jewelry, you were forbidden to go to the police. The authorities were the Great Satan a true Sicilian could never turn to. Family and the Mafia were the avengers.

Ten years before, Pippi De Lena had taken his son, Cross, on his trip to Sicily as part of his training. The task was not so much recruiting as screening, there were hundreds of willing men whose greatest dream was to be picked to go to America.

They went to a little town fifty miles from Palermo, into the countryside of villages built of stone, decorated with the bright flowers of Sicily. There they were welcomed into the home of the mayor himself.

The mayor was a short man with a rounded belly, the belly figurative as well as literal, for «a man with a belly» was the Sicilian idiom for a Mafia chief.

The house had a pleasant garden with fig and olive and lemon trees, and it was here that Pippi did his interviews. The garden strangely resembled the Clericuzio garden in Quogue, except for the brilliantly colored flowers and the lemon trees. The mayor was obviously a man who loved beauty, for in addition he had a comely wife and three lusciously pretty daughters who, though in their early teens, were fully developed women.

But Cross saw that his father, Pippi, was a different man in Sicily. There was none of his carefree gallantry here, he was soberly respectful to the women, his charm erased. Late that night, in the room they shared, he lectured Cross. «You have to be careful with Sicilians. They distrust men who are interested in women. You screw one of their daughters, we'll never get out of here alive.»

Over the next few days men came to be interviewed and screened by Pippi. He had criteria. The men could not be older than thirty-five or younger than twenty. If they were married, they could not have more than one child. Finally, they had to be vouched for by the mayor. He explained this. If the men were too young, they might be too influenced by the American culture. If they were too old, they could not make the adjustment to America. If they had more than one child, they would be of too cautious a temperament to take the risks their duties would demand.

Some of the men who came were so seriously compromised in the eyes of the law that they had to leave Sicily. Some were simply seeking a better life in America no matter the cost. Some were too clever to rely on fate and desperately wanted to soldier for the Clericuzio, and these were the best.

At the end of the week Pippi had his quota of twenty men, and he gave his list to the mayor, who would approve them and then arrange for their emigration. The mayor crossed out one name on the list.

Pippi said, «I thought he would be perfect for us. Have I made a mistake?»

«No, no,» the mayor said. «You have done cleverly as always.»

Pippi was puzzled. All of the recruits would be treated very well. The single men would be given apartments, the married men with a child a small house. They would all have steady jobs. They would all live in the Bronx Enclave. And then some would be chosen as soldiers in the Clericuzio Family and make a handsome living with a bright future. The man whose name had been crossed out by the mayor had to be in very bad odor. But then why had he been cleared for an interview? Pippi sensed a Sicilian rat.

The mayor was observing him shrewdly, seeming to read his mind and pleased by what he read.

«You are too much of a Sicilian for me to deceive you,» the mayor said. «The name I crossed out is a man my daughter intends to marry. I want to keep him here a year longer for my daughter's happiness, then you can have him. I could not refuse his interview. The other reason is that I have a man who I think you should take in his place. Will you do me the favor of seeing him?»

«Of course,» Pippi said.

The mayor said, «I don't want to mislead you, but this is a special case and he must leave immediately.»

«You know I have to be very careful,» Pippi said. «The Clericuzio are particular.»

«It will be to your interest,» the mayor said. «But it is a little dangerous.» He then explained about Lia Vazzi. The assassination of the magistrate had made world headlines, so Pippi and Cross were familiar with the case.

«If they have no proof, why is this situation so desperate for Vazzi?» Cross said.

The mayor said, «Young man, this is Sicily. The police are also Sicilians. The magistrate was a Sicilian. Everybody knows it was Lia. Never mind your legal proof. If he falls into their hands, he will be dead.»

Pippi said, «Can you get him out of the country and into America?»

«Yes,» said the mayor. «The difficulty is keeping him hidden in America.»

Pippi said, «He sounds like he's more trouble than he's worth.»

The mayor shrugged. «He's a friend of mine, I confess. But put that aside.» He paused and smiled benignly to make sure that it was not put aside. «He is also an ultimate Qualified Man. He is expert in explosives and that is always a very tricky business. He knows the rope, an old and very useful skill. The knife and gun of course. Most important of all he is intelligent, a man of all parts. And steadfast. Like a rock. He never talks. He listens and has the gift of loosening tongues. Now tell me, can you not use a man like that?»

«An answer to my prayers,» Pippi said smoothly. «But still why does such a man run away?»

«Because in addition to all his other virtues,» the mayor said, «he is prudent. He does not challenge fate. His days are numbered here.»

«And a man who's qualified,» Pippi said, «can he be happy as a mere soldier in America?»

The mayor bowed his head in a sorrowful commiseration. «He is a true Christian,» he said. «He has the humility that Christ has always taught us.»

«I must meet such a man,» Pippi said, «if only for the pleasure of the experience. But I can guarantee nothing.»

The mayor made a wide, expansive gesture. «Of course he must suit you,» he said. «But there is another thing I must tell you. He forbade me to deceive you about this.» For the first time the mayor was not so confident. «He has a wife and three children and they must go with him.»

At that moment Pippi knew his answer would be no. «Ah,» he said, «that makes it very difficult. When do we see him?»

«He will be in the garden after dark,» the mayor said. «There is no danger, I have seen to that.»

Lia Vazzi was a small man but with that wiry toughness that many Sicilians inherited from long-ago Arab ancestors. He had a handsome, hawk-like face, a dark brown, dignified mask, and he spoke English to a degree.

They sat around the mayor's garden table with a bottle of homemade red wine, a dish of olives from the nearby trees, and bread, crusty and freshly baked that evening, round, still warm, and beside it a whole leg of prosciutto, studded with grains of whole pepper, like black diamonds. Lia Vazzi ate and drank and said nothing.

«I have received the highest recommendations,» Pippi said respectfully. «But I worry. Can a man of your education and qualification be happy in America in the service of another man?»

Lia looked at Cross and then said to Pippi, «You have a son. What would you do to save him? I want to have my wife and children safe and for that I will do my duty.»

«There will be some danger for us,» Pippi said. «You understand that I have to think of the benefits that justify the risk.»

Lia shrugged. «I can't be the judge of that.» He seemed resigned to being refused.

Pippi said, «If you come by yourself, it will be easier.»

«No,» Vazzi said. «My family will live together or die together.» He paused for a moment. «If I leave them here, Rome will make it very difficult for them. I would rather give myself up.»

Pippi said, «The problem is how to hide you and your family.»

Vazzi shrugged. «America is vast,» he said. He offered the plate of olives to Cross and said almost mockingly, «Would your father ever desert you?»

«No,» Cross said. «He is old-fashioned, like yourself.» He said it gravely but with a tiny trace of a smile. Then he said, «I hear you're a farmer also.»

«Olives,» Vazzi said. «I have my own press.»

Cross said to Pippi, «How about the Family hunting lodge in the Sierras? He could take care of it with his family and earn his keep. It's isolated. His family can help.» He turned to Lia. «Would you live in the woods?» Woods as the idiom for anything not urban. Lia shrugged.

It was the personal force of Lia Vazzi that persuaded Pippi De Lena. Vazzi was not a big man, but his body put out an electric dignity. He had a chilling effect, a man who was not daunted by death, feared neither Hell nor Heaven.

Pippi said, «It's a good idea. Perfect camouflage. And we can call on you for special jobs and let you earn extra money. Those jobs will be your risk.»

They could see the muscles on Lia's face loosen when he realized that he had been chosen. His voice trembled slightly when he spoke. «I want to thank you for saving my wife and children,» he said, and looked directly at Cross De Lena.

Since then Lia Vazzi had more than earned the mercy that had been shown to him. He had risen from soldier to leader of all of Cross's operational crews. He supervised the six men who helped him care for the Hunting Lodge estate, on whose grounds he owned his own house. He had prospered, he had become a citizen, his children went away to the university. All this earned by his courage and good sense, and most of all, his loyalty. So when he received the message to meet Cross De Lena in Las Vegas, it was with a goodwill that he packed his suitcase in his new Buick and made the long drive to Vegas and the Xanadu Hotel.

Andrew Pollard was the first to arrive in Las Vegas. He flew from L.A. on the noon flight, relaxed by one of the Hotel Xanadu's huge pools, gambled small-time craps for a few hours, then was secretly whisked into Cross De Lena's penthouse office suite.

They shook hands and Cross said, «I won't keep you long. You can fly back tonight. What I need is all the information you have on the Skannet guy.»

Pollard briefed him on everything that had happened and informed him that Skannet was now staying in the Beverly Hills Hotel. He told of his conversation with Bantz.

«So they don't really give a shit about her, they just want to get the picture done,» he told Cross. «Also, the Studio doesn't take characters like that seriously. I have a twenty-man section in my company that just handles harassers. Movie stars really have to worry about people like him.»

«What about the cops?» Cross asked. «Can't they do something?»

«No,» Pollard said. «Not until after the damage.»

«What about you?» Cross asked. «You have some good personnel working for you.»

«I have to be careful,» Pollard said. «I could lose my business if I get tough. You know how the courts are. Why should I stick my neck out?»

«This Boz Skannet, what kind of guy is he?» Cross said.

«He won't scare,» Pollard said. «In fact he scares me. He's one of those genuinely tough guys who doesn't care about consequences. His family has money and political power so he figures he can get away with anything. And he really enjoys trouble, you know, how some guys do. If you're going to get into this you have to be serious.»

«I'm always serious,» Cross said. «You have Skannet under surveillance now?»

«I sure have,» Pollard said. «He is definitely capable of pulling bad shit.»

Cross said, «Pull off your surveillance. I don't want anyone watching him. Understand?»

«OK, if you say so,» Pollard said. He paused for a moment, then said, «Watch out for Jim Losey, he's keeping an eye out on Skannet. Do you know Losey?»

«I've met him,» Cross said. «I want you to do one other thing. Lend me your Pacific Ocean Security ID for a couple of hours. You'll have it back in time to catch the midnight flight to L.A.»

Pollard was worried. «You know I'll do anything for you Cross, but be careful; this is a very touchy case. I've built up a very good life out here and I don't want it to go down the drain. I know I owe it all to the Clericuzio Family, I'm always grateful, I'm always paid back. But this is a very complicated business.»

Cross smiled at him reassuringly. «You're too valuable to us. One other thing, if Skannet calls up to check on men from your office talking to him, you just verify it.»

At this, Pollard's heart sank. This was going to be real trouble.

Cross said, «Now tell me anything else you can about him.» When Pollard hesitated, Cross added, «I'll do something for you. Later on.»

Pollard thought for a moment. «Skannet claims he knows a big secret that Athena would do anything not to have anyone find out. That's why she dropped the charges against him. A terrific secret, Skannet loves that secret. Cross, I don't know how or why you're involved, but maybe knowing that secret can solve your problem.»

For the first time Cross looked at him without affability and suddenly he knew why Cross had acquired his reputation. The look was cold, judging, a judging that could result in death.

Cross said, «You know why I'm interested. Bantz must have told you the story. He hired you to do a background on me. Now do you have any of this big secret or does the Studio?»

«No,» Pollard said. «Nobody knows. Cross, I'm doing my best for you, you know that.»

«I do know that,» Cross said, suddenly gentle. «Let me make it easier for you. The Studio is hot to know how I'm going to get Athena Aquitane back to work. I'll tell you. I'm going to give her half the profits of the movie. And it's okay by me for you to tell them. You can make points, they may even give you a bonus.» He reached into his desk and took out a round leather bag and put it in Pollard's hand. «Five grand of black chips,» he said. «I always worry when I ask you up here on business that you'll lose money in the casino.»

He need not have worried. Andrew Pollard always turned the chips into the casino cage for cash.

Leonard Sossa was just getting settled into a secured business suite at the Xanadu when Pollard's ID was brought to him. With his own equipment he carefully forged four sets of Pacific Ocean Security IDs, complete with special flap-open billfolds. They would not have passed an inspection by Pollard, but that was not necessary, Pollard would never see these IDs. When Sossa finished the job several hours later, two men drove him to the Sierra Nevada Hunting Lodge, where he was installed in a bungalow deep in the woods.

On the porch of the bungalow that afternoon, he watched a deer and bear that wandered by. At night he cleaned his tools and waited. He didn't know where he was or what he was going to do and he didn't want to know. He got his hundred grand a year and lived the life of a free man in the open air. He killed time by sketching the bear and the deer he had seen on a hundred sheets of paper and then riffling them together to give the impression of the deer chasing the bear.

Lia Vazzi was greeted in an altogether different fashion. Cross embraced him, gave him dinner in his suite. During Vazzi's years in America, Cross had been his operational chief many times. Vazzi, despite his own force of character, had never tried to usurp authority, and Cross in turn had treated him with the respect that a man gave his equal.

Over the years Cross had gone to the Hunting Lodge for weekend vacations and the two of them had gone hunting together. Vazzi told stories of the troubles in Sicily and the difference in living in America. Cross had reciprocated by inviting Vazzi and his family to Vegas, comped RFB at the Xanadu plus a credit rating of five thousand in the casino, which Lia was never asked to pay.

Over dinner they talked generally. Vazzi marveled still at his life in America. His oldest son was taking a degree at the University of California and had no knowledge of his father's secret life. Vazzi was uneasy with this. «Sometimes I think he has none of my blood,» he said. «He believes everything his professors tell him. He believes women are equal to men, he believes peasants should be given free land. He belongs to the swimming team at college. In all my life in Sicily, and Sicily is an island, I have never seen a Sicilian swimming.»

«Except a fisherman thrown off his boat,» Cross said laughing.

«Not even then,» Vazzi said. «They all drowned.»

When they had finished eating, they talked business. Vazzi never really enjoyed the food in Vegas, but he loved the brandy and Havana cigars. Cross always sent him a case of good brandy and a box of thin Havana cigars once a year at Christmas.

«I have something very difficult for you to do,» Cross said. «Something that must be done very intelligently.»

«That is always difficult,» Vazzi said.

«It must be at the Hunting Lodge,» Cross said. «We will bring a certain person there. I want him to write some letters, I want him to give a piece of information.» He paused to smile at Vazzi's dismissive gesture. Vazzi had often commented on American movies where the hero or villain refused to give information. «I could make them speak Chinese,» Vazzi would say.

«The difficulty,» Cross said, «is that there must be no mark on his body, no drugs inside his body. Also this certain person is very strong-willed.»

«Only women can make a man talk with kisses,» Vazzi said amiably, savoring his cigar. «It sounds to me that you are going to be personally involved in this story.»

Cross said, «There is no other way. The men working will be your crew but first the Lodge must be cleared of the women and children.»

Vazzi waved his cigar. «They will go to Disneyland, that blessing in happiness and trouble. We always send them there.»

«Disneyland?» Cross asked, and laughed.

«I have never been,» Vazzi said. «I hope to go there when I die. Will this be a Communion or a Confirmation?»

«Confirmation,» Cross said.

Then they got down to business. Cross explained the operation to Vazzi and why and how it should be done. «How does it sound to you?» he asked.

«You are far more Sicilian than my son and you were born in America,» Vazzi said. «But what happens if he remains stubborn and won't give you what you want.»

«Then the fault will be mine,» Cross said. «And his. And then we must pay. In that, America and Sicily are the same.»

«True,» Vazzi said. «As in China and Russia and Africa. As the Don often says, Then we can all go swim in the bottom of the ocean.»

CHAPTER 9

ELI MARRION, BOBBY BANTZ, Skippy Deere, and Melo Stuart assembled in emergency session in Marrion's home. Andrew Pollard had reported to Bantz Cross De Lena's secret scheme to get Athena back to work. This information had been corroborated by the detective Jim Losey, who refused to divulge his source.

«This is a stickup,» Bantz said. «Melo, you're her agent, you're responsible for her and all your clients. Does this mean when we are in the middle of a big picture your star refuses to go to work until they get half the profits?»

«Only if you're crazy enough to pay it,» Stuart said. «Let this De Lena guy do it. He won't stay in the business long.»

Marrion said, «Melo, you're talking strategy, we're talking right this minute. If Athena goes back to work, then you and your client are sticking us up like bank robbers. Will you permit that?»

They were all astonished. It was rare that Marrion cut so quickly to the bone, at least since his younger days. Stuart was alarmed.

«Athena knows nothing about this,» he said. «She would have told me.»

Deere said, «Would she take the deal if she knew?»

Stuart said, «I would advise her to take it and then in a side letter split her half with the Studio.»

Bantz said crisply, «Then all her protestations of fear would be a mockery. Bullshit, in short. And Melo, you're full of shit. You think this studio would settle for half of what Athena gets from De Lena? All that money rightfully belongs to us. And she may get away rich with De Lena but it means the end of her career in the movies. No studio will ever hire her again.»

«Foreign,» Skippy said. «Foreign would take a chance.»

Marrion picked up the phone and handed it to Stuart. «This is all to no purpose. Call Athena. Tell her what Cross De Lena is going to offer and ask if she is going to accept.»

Deere said, «She disappeared over the weekend.»

«She's back,» Stuart said. «She often disappears on weekends.» He pushed the buttons on the phone.

The conversation was very brief. Stuart hung up and smiled. «She said she has received no such offer. And no such offer would make her come back to work. She doesn't give a shit about her career.» He paused for a moment and then said admiringly, «I'd like to meet this guy Skannet. Any man who can scare an actress out of her career has some good in him.»

Marrion said, «It's settled then. We've recouped our loss out of a hopeless situation. But it's a pity. Athena was such a great star.»

Andrew Pollard had his instructions. The first had been to inform Bantz of Cross De Lena's intention regarding Athena. The second was to pull the surveillance team off Skannet. The third was to visit Boz Skannet and offer a proposition.

Skannet was in his undershirt when he let Pollard into his Beverly Hills Hotel suite, and he smelled of cologne. «Just finished shaving,» he said. «This hotel has more bathroom perfumes than a whorehouse.»

«You are not supposed to be in this town,» Pollard said reproachfully.

Skannet slapped him on the back. «I know, but I'll leave tomorrow. I just have a few loose ends to tie up.» His malicious glee while saying this, his massive torso, would have frightened Pollard before, but now that Cross was involved it only evoked pity. But he would have to be careful.

«Athena is not surprised that you haven't left,» he said. «She feels the Studio doesn't understand you but she does. So she would like to meet with you personally. She thinks that just the two of you alone can strike a deal.»

When he saw the momentary rush of joy on Skannet's face, he knew that Cross had been right. This guy was still in love, he would buy the story.

Boz Skannet was suddenly wary. «That doesn't sound like Athena. She can't stand the sight of me, not that I blame her.» He laughed. «She needs that pretty mug of hers.»

Pollard said, «She wants to make a serious offer. A lifetime annuity. A percentage of her earnings for the rest of her life if you want. But she wants to talk to you personally and secretly. There's something else she wants.»

«I know what she wants,» Skannet said. Skannet had a curious look on his face. Pollard had seen that look on the faces of wistfully repentant rapists.

«Seven o'clock,» Pollard said. «Two of my men will come to pick you up and bring you to the meeting place. They will stay with her to be her bodyguards. Two of my best men, armed. Just so you won't get any funny ideas.»

Skannet smiled. «Don't worry about me,» he said.

«Right,» Pollard said and left.

When the door closed, Skannet shot his right hand up in the air. He would see Athena again with only two half-assed private detectives to protect her. And he would have proof that she initiated the meeting, he would not be violating the judge's restraining order.

For the rest of the day he dreamed of their reunion. It was really a surprise to him, and thinking about it he knew that Athena would use her body to persuade him into the bargain. He lay on his bed imagining how it would be to be with her again. The image of her body was clear. Her white skin, the gentle curve of her belly, her breasts with their pink nipples, her eyes so green they were another kind of light, her warm delicate mouth, her breath, her flaming hair like the sun turning into smoky brass under a night sky. For a moment his old love swept over him, his love of her intelligence and her brave character that he had broken down into fear. Then for the first time since he was sixteen, he was fondling himself. His mind formed clear figures of Athena urging him on, until he climaxed. For that one moment he was happy and he loved her.

And then everything turned around. He felt a sense of shame, of humiliation. He hated her again. Suddenly he was convinced it was some sort of trap. What did he really know about this guy Pollard, anyway. Skannet dressed hurriedly and studied the card Pollard had given him. The office was only a twenty-minute drive from the hotel. He rushed down to the hotel entrance and a valet brought his car.

When he entered the Pacific Ocean Security Building, he was surprised at the size and opulence of the operation. He made his way to the reception desk and stated his business. An armed security guard escorted him to Pollard's office. Skannet noticed that the walls were decorated with awards from the L.A. Police Department, the Association to Help the Homeless, and other organizations, including the Boy Scouts of America. There was even some sort of a movie award.

Andrew Pollard was regarding him with surprise, and a little concern. Skannet reassured him.

«I just wanted to tell you,» he said, «I'll drive to the meeting in my car. Your men can ride with me and give me directions.»

Pollard shrugged. This would be none of his business. He had done what he had been instructed to do. «Fine,» he said. «But you could have called me.»

Skannet grinned at him. «Sure, but I just wanted to check on your offices. Also, I want to call Athena to make sure this is on the up-and-up. I figured you can get her on the phone for me. She might not take my call.»

«Sure,» Pollard said agreeably. He picked up the phone. He didn't know what was going on and in his heart he hoped that Skannet would abort the meeting and he would no longer be involved in whatever Cross was planning to do. He also knew Athena would not speak to him directly.

He dialed the number and asked for Athena. He put the loudspeaker on so that Skannet could hear the call. Athena's secretary told him that Miss Aquitane was out and was not expected back until the next day. He put down the phone and raised an eyebrow to Skannet. Skannet looked happy.

And Skannet was. He had been right. Athena was planning to use her body to make the deal. She was planning to spend the night with him. The red skin of his face took on an almost bronze sheen with the rush of blood to his brain, remembering when she was young, when she had loved him, when he had loved her.

At seven that evening, when Lia Vazzi arrived at the hotel with one of his soldiers, Skannet was waiting for him and ready to go immediately. Skannet was dressed very neatly in a boyish way. He wore heavy blue jeans, a faded blue denim shirt, and a white sports jacket. He had shaved carefully, and his blond hair was combed straight back. His red skin seemed paler, his face softened by the paleness. Lia Vazzi and his soldier showed Skannet their forged Pacific Ocean Security IDs.

Skannet was not impressed by the men. Two runts, one with a slight accent he thought might be Mexican. They would give him no trouble. These private dick agencies were so full of shit, what kind of protection was this for Athena?

Vazzi said to Skannet, «I understand you want to drive your own car. I will go with you and my friend will follow in our car. Is that agreeable to you?»

«OK,» Skannet said.

When they got out of the elevator and entered the lobby, they were stopped by Jim Losey. The detective had been waiting on a sofa by the fireplace and intercepted them on just a hunch. He had staked out there to keep an eye on Skannet just in case. Now he held his ID out to the three men.

Skannet looked at the ID and said, «What the fuck do you want?»

Jim Losey said, «Who are these two men with you?»

«None of your fucking business,» Skannet said. Vazzi and his companion remained silent as Losey studied their faces.

«I'd like to have a few words with you in private,» Losey said.

Skannet brushed him aside and Losey grabbed his arm. They were both big men. Skannet was frantic to be away. He said to Losey, his voice furious and loud, «The charges were dropped, I don't have to talk to you. And if you don't get your hands away, I'm going to kick the shit out of you.»

Losey dropped his hand. He was in no way intimidated, but his mind was working. The two men with Skannet seemed strange to him, there was something going on. He stepped aside but followed them to the archway where cars were brought to hotel guests. He watched Skannet get into his car with Lia Vazzi. Somehow the other man had vanished. Losey noted this and waited to see if another car pulled out of the parking lot, but there was none.

There was no use trying to follow and there was equally no purpose to be served in putting out an alert for Skannet's car. He debated on whether to report this incident to Skippy Deere and decided against it. One thing was for certain, if Skannet got out of line again, he would regret his insults today.

It was a long drive, Skannet kept complaining and asking questions and even threatening to turn back. But Lia Vazzi was reassuring. Skannet had been told that the meeting place was a hunting lodge Athena owned in the Sierra Nevada, and the instructions were that they were to spend the night. Athena had insisted she wanted the meeting a secret from everyone, that she would settle the whole problem to everyone's satisfaction. Skannet didn't know what that meant. What could she do to dissolve the hatred that had grown over the last ten years? Was she stupid enough to think that a night of lovemaking and a bundle of cash would soften him? Did she think he was that simple? He had always admired her intelligence but maybe now she was just one of those arrogant Hollywood actresses who thought she could buy anything with her body and her money? And yet the thought of her beauty haunted him. Finally after all these years, she would smile at him, charm him, submit to him. No matter what happened he would have this coming night.

Lia Vazzi was not worried about Skannet's threats to turn back. He knew there were three cars on the road behind him as escort and he had his instructions. As a last resort he could simply have Skannet killed. But his instructions were also clear that Skannet should not suffer any injury short of death.

They drove through the open gate, and Skannet was surprised at the size of the Hunting Lodge. It looked like a small hotel. He got out and stretched his arms and legs. There were five or six cars parked alongside the lodge, which made him wonder for a moment.

Vazzi led him to the door and opened it. At that moment Skannet heard more cars pulling into the driveway. He turned thinking that Athena had arrived. What he saw were three cars parking and two men getting out of each one. Then Lia led him through the main entry of the lodge and into the living room with its huge fireplace. There, sitting on the sofa waiting for him, was a man he had never seen. The man was Cross De Lena.

What happened next was very quick. Skannet asked angrily, «Where's Athena?» then two men grabbed his arms, another two men put guns to his head, and the seemingly harmless Lia Vazzi pulled his legs out from under him so that he toppled to the floor.

Vazzi said, «You can die now if you don't do exactly as you are told. Don't struggle. Lie still.»

Still another man shackled Skannet's legs together and then they pulled him to his feet so that he was facing Cross. Skannet was surprised how helpless he felt even when the men released his arms. His imprisoned feet seemed to neutralize all his physical powers. He reached out to at least punch the little bastard, but Vazzi stepped back, and though Skannet gave a little hop he could not get leverage with his arms.

Vazzi regarded him with quiet contempt. «We know you are a violent man,» he said, «but now is the time to use your brain. Strength is of no use here… .»

Skannet seemed to take his advice. He was thinking hard. If they had wanted to kill him they would have done so. This was some process of intimidation to make him agree to something. Well and good, he would agree. And then he would take precautions in the future. One thing he was sure of. Athena was not involved in such an operation. He disregarded Vazzi and turned to the man sitting on the sofa.

«Who the hell are you?» he said.

Cross said, «I have a few things I want you to do and then you will be allowed to drive home.»

«And if I don't, you'll torture me, right?» Skannet laughed. He was beginning to think this was some jerk-off Hollywood scene, some bad movie the Studio was using.

«No,» Cross said simply. «No torture. No one will touch you. I want you to sit down at that table and write four letters for me. One to LoddStone Studios promising never to go near their lot. One to Athena Aquitane apologizing for your previous conduct and swearing never to go near her again. Another to the police authorities admitting you purchased acid to be used in another attack on your wife, and another letter to me stating what secret you hold over your wife. Simple.»

Skannet took a hobbling leap toward Cross and was pushed by one of the men so that he went sprawling onto the opposite sofa.

«Don't touch him,» Cross said sharply.

Skannet used his arms to push himself to his feet.

Cross pointed to the desk where there was a stack of paper.

«Where's Athena?» Skannet said.

«She's not here,» Cross said. «Everybody out of the room, except Lia,» he said. The other men went out the door.

«Go sit at the desk,» Cross said to Skannet. Skannet did so.

Cross said to him, «I want to talk to you very seriously. Stop trying to show how tough you are. I want you to listen. Don't do anything foolish. You have your hands free and that may give you illusions of grandeur. All I want you to do is write those letters and you'll be free.»

Skannet said contemptuously, «You can go fuck yourself.»

Cross turned to Vazzi and said, «No use wasting time. Kill him.»

Cross had kept his voice even and yet there was something terrible in his casualness. In that moment Skannet felt a fear he had not known since he was a child. He realized for the first time the significance of all the men in the lodge, all the forces that were arrayed against him. Lia Vazzi had not yet made a move. Skannet said, «OK. I'll do it.» He picked up a sheet of paper and began to write.

Cunningly, he wrote the letters with his left hand; like some good athletes, he could perform almost equally well with either hand. Cross came up behind him and watched. Skannet, ashamed of his sudden cowardice, braced his feet against the floor. Confident of his physical coordination, he switched the pen to his right hand and sprang up to stab Cross in the face, hoping to get the bastard in the eye. He exploded into action, his arm coming around, the whole torso of his body propelled, and was surprised that Cross had easily moved out of range. Still Skannet tried to move with his leg shackles.

Cross regarded him quietly and said, «Everybody is entitled to his once. You've had that. Now put down the pen and give me those sheets.»

Skannet did so. Cross studied the sheets of paper and said, «You haven't told me the secret.»

«I won't put it on paper. Get rid of that guy,» he motioned to Vazzi, «and I'll tell you.»

Cross handed the sheets of paper to Lia and said, «Take care of these.»

Vazzi went out of the room.

«OK,» Cross said to Skannet, «let's hear this big secret.»

When Vazzi left the Hunting Lodge he ran the hundred yards to the bungalow that housed Leonard Sossa. Sossa was waiting. He looked at the two sheets of paper and said disgustedly, «This is left-handed. I can't do left-handed script. Cross knows that.»

«Look at it again,» Vazzi said. «He tried to stab Cross with his right hand.»

Sossa studied the pages again. «Yeah,» he said. «This guy is not a real lefty. He's just dicking you around.»

Vazzi took the sheets and went back to the Hunting Lodge and entered the library. By Cross's face he knew something had gone wrong. Cross had a look of bewilderment, and Skannet was lying down on the sofa, his shackled legs extended over the arm, smiling happily up at the ceiling.

«These letters are no good,» Vazzi said. «He wrote them left-handed and the analyst says he's a rightie.»

Cross said to Skannet, «I think you're too tough for me to handle. I can't scare you, I can't make you do what I want. I give up.»

Skannet rose from the sofa and said malevolently to Cross, «But what I told you is true. Everybody falls in love with Athena, but nobody knows her the way I do.»

Cross said quietly, «You don't know her. And you don't know me.» He went to the door and motioned. Four men came into the room. Then Cross turned to Lia. «You know what I want. If he doesn't give it to me, then just get rid of him.» He walked out of the room.

Lia Vazzi gave a visible sigh of relief. He admired Cross, had been a willing subordinate all these years, but Cross was too patient. It was true that all the great Dons in Sicily excelled in patience, but they knew when to stop. Vazzi suspected that there was an American softness in Cross De Lena that would prevent his rise to greatness.

Vazzi turned to Skannet and said silkily, «You and I, we begin.» He turned to the four men. «Secure his arms, but gently. Don't hurt him.»

The four men pounced on Skannet. One of the men produced handcuffs, and in a moment Skannet was completely helpless. Vazzi pushed him to the floor on his knees, the other men forced Skannet to stay in place.

«The comedy is finished,» Vazzi said to Skannet. His wiry body seemed relaxed, his voice was conversational. «You will scribble those letters with your right hand. Or you can refuse.» One of the men produced a huge revolver and a box of bullets and handed them to Lia. He loaded the revolver, showing each of the bullets to Skannet. He went to the window and fired into the forest until the gun was empty. Then he went back to Skannet and put one bullet in. Spinning the cylinder, he put the gun under Skannet's nose.

«I don't know where the bullet is,» Lia said. «You don't know where it is. If you still refuse to write the letters, I pull the trigger. Now is it yes or no?»

Skannet looked into Lia's eyes and did not answer. Lia pulled the trigger. There was just the click of an empty chamber. Lia nodded approvingly. «I was rooting for you,» he said to Skannet.

He looked into the cylinder and put the bullet in the first chamber. He went to the window and fired. The explosion seemed to rock the room. Lia went back to the table, took another bullet from the box, loaded the gun with it, spinning the cylinder.

«We will try again,» Lia said. He put the revolver beneath Skannet's chin. But this time Skannet flinched.

«Call back your boss,» Skannet said. «I have a few more things I can tell him.»

«No,» Lia said, «that foolishness is over. Now answer yes or no.»

Skannet looked into Lia's eyes and saw not a threat but a mournful regret. «OK,» Skannet said. «I'll write.»

He was immediately hauled to his feet and seated at the writing desk. Vazzi sat on the sofa while Skannet busied himself writing. He took the papers from Skannet and went to Sossa's bungalow. «Is that OK?» he asked.

«This will do fine,» Sossa said.

Vazzi went back to the Hunting Lodge and reported to Cross. Then he went to the library and said to Skannet, «It's all over. I'll drive you back to L.A. as soon as I'm ready.» Then Lia walked Cross out to his car.

Cross said, «You know everything you have to do. Wait until morning, I should be back in Vegas by then.»

«Don't worry,» Vazzi said. «I thought he would never write. What an animal.» He could see that Cross was preoccupied. «What did he tell you when I was away?» Vazzi asked. «Something I should know?»

Cross said, with savage bitterness Vazzi had never seen before, «I should have killed him straight out. I should have taken my chances. I hate being so fucking clever.»

«Ah well,» Vazzi said, «it's done now.»

He watched Cross drive through the gates. For one of the few times in ten years, he was homesick for Sicily. In Sicily men never became so distraught about a woman's secret. And in Sicily there would never have been all this fuss. Skannet would have been swimming at the bottom of the ocean a long time ago.

As dawn broke, a closed van pulled up to the Hunting Lodge.

Lia Vazzi collected the forged suicide notes from Leonard Sossa and put him into the car that would take him back to Topanga Canyon. Vazzi cleaned up the bungalow, burned the letters Skannet had written, removing all traces of occupancy. Leonard Sossa had never seen either Skannet or Cross during his stay.

Then Lia Vazzi prepared for the execution of Boz Skannet.

Six men were involved in this operation. They had blindfolded and gagged Skannet and put him in the van. Two of the men got into the van with him. Skannet was completely helpless, shackled hand and foot. Another man drove the van, and another man rode shotgun for the driver. The fifth man drove Skannet's car. Lia Vazzi and the sixth man drove another car that went in front.

Lia Vazzi watched the sun slowly rise from the shadows of the mountains. The caravan drove nearly sixty miles and then turned into a road deep in the woods.

Finally the caravan halted. Vazzi directed exactly how Skannet's car should be parked. Then he had Skannet taken out of the van. Skannet made no resistance, he seemed to have accepted his fate. Well, he's finally figured it all out, Vazzi thought.

Vazzi took the rope out of the car. He measured the length carefully and hung one end to the thick limb of a nearby tree. Two men were holding Skannet up straight so that he could slip the noose around the man's neck. Vazzi took out the two suicide notes that Leonard Sossa had forged and slipped them into Skannet's jacket pocket.

It took four of the men to lift Skannet to the roof of the van and then Lia Vazzi threw his fist out in the direction of the driver. The van shot ahead and Skannet flew off the roof and dangled in the air. The sound of his neck cracking resounded through the forest. Vazzi checked the corpse and removed the shackles from the body. The other men removed the blindfold and the gag. There were little scrapes around the mouth, but a couple of days hanging in the forest and they would not be significant. He checked the arms and legs for signs of restraint. Again, there were slight marks, but they would not be conclusive. He was satisfied. He did not know if it would work, but everything Cross ordered had been done.

Two days later, alerted by an anonymous tip, the county sheriff found Skannet's body. He had to scare off an inquisitive brown bear who was hitting the rope to make the body sway back and forth, and when the coroner and his assistants arrived, they found the body's rotting skin eaten by insects.