Stiletto Page 9

  Cesare nodded again. “If there are any changes in my plans I will leave word for you at the restaurant of the Quarter Moon in Harlem as before.”

  Emilio smiled. “It is understood.” He embraced Cesare again and then took his hand. “I will die for you,” he said.

  Cesare stared at him for a moment, then he replied, “I will die for you.” Swiftly he turned and slipped out the door.

  Emilio heard the tumbler click. He turned the key on his own side and put it back into the medicine cabinet. Then he turned off the tap and started back to his room, shaking his head. Cesare had signed his own death warrant by refusing further alliance with the Brotherhood. Now, he too must seek Cesare’s death. Too bad he did not have the time to let the others know of his change of heart.

  ***

  There is a restaurant in Manhattan on Lexington Avenue where the steaks are reputed to be the finest obtainable anywhere in the world and the spaghetti better even than in the old country. It is only natural in such a fine restaurant that the prices are so high that someone wandering in from the street could ill afford to have even bread and butter served to him. It is also only natural that the only customers who can afford such a restaurant either live on an expense account or have cash in such sufficient amounts that if necessary they could use the crisp new bills they love to carry in the large green salads served to them with spicy dressings.

  Big Dutch stuffed a large piece of rare steak into his mouth and chewed on it. A tiny dribble of gravy slipped out of the corner. He swabbed at it with a piece of bread and pushed the bread into his mouth along with the meat. He chewed a moment more then looked over at his two companions. “I don’t care what any of youse guys say,” he mumbled, “I say we should hit him.”

  Allie Fargo stared at him. “But we ain’t even sure he’s the right guy. Emilio never came right out and told us.”

  Big Dutch swallowed his mouthful. His knife began to cut another piece of steak. “What difference does it make?” he demanded. “We ain’t got time to check him out. The newspapers already said the F.B.I. has questioned the guy. Then what happens to us if he starts to sing?”

  Dandy Nick looked down at his plate with distaste. This much food was wasted on him. He didn’t eat very much anyway. “I don’t like it,” he said. “Emilio said we should sit tight and wait word from Italy. He’s takin’ it up with Lucky and Joe.”

  “Emilio says, Emilio says,” Big Dutch burst out angrily, his mouth still filled with food. He swallowed quickly and went on. “I’m getting tired of what Emilio says. Them guineas sit over there on their fat asses while we stay here stickin’ our necks out! They think just because they started the business they still own it!”

  Almost unconsciously, Dandy Nick looked around the restaurant to see if they had been overheard. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Take it easy! That kind of talk will only wind up getting you measured.”

  Big Dutch stared at him balefully. “How do you guys know that they ain’t settin’ us up? Maybe they’re figgerin’ for this guy to take over? You know how them guineas stick together.”

  Dandy Nick was silent. He looked at Allie. Allie was eating stolidly, his eyes on his plate. After a moment, Allie looked up. He put his knife and fork down carefully. “It’ll make an awful big stink,” he said softly. “This ain’t no dock walloper in one of your phony unions, Big Dutch. This is a pretty important geister.”

  “Yeah,” Dandy Nick added. “And if he ain’t the Stiletto, we’ll still be in the same boat. And we’ll have to explain to Emilio anyway.”

  Big Dutch kept on eating. It was time they made the move anyway. The Italians had had it long enough. The organization was here anyway; all the work, all the money was here. It was time they cut loose from the Mafia. What could they do from three thousand miles away if nobody wanted to work with them?

  “I say we don’t wait. We hit him.” He didn’t look up. He kept on eating. In a way it was too bad that he was in jail when they turned Roger Touhy loose. Big Dutch had already arranged a meet. The boys would have gone with Roger against the Mafia.

  Dandy Nick’s appetite was completely gone now. He pushed his plate away from him. He knew what Big Dutch was thinking. He glanced over at Allie. From the way Allie was eating he could tell that he knew too. This was more than just hitting one guy. This could be the beginning of a revolution. And he felt too old to go through another war just now. “What would we tell Emilio?” he asked, hoping to stall the decision.

  Big Dutch’s eyes flashed up at him for a moment, then down at the food again. “We’ll think of something,” he said.

  Allie came right out with it. “I don’t know,” he said. “Look what they did to Touhy. Twenty-five years they waited for him.”

  Big Dutch’s voice was scornful. “Touhy went soft in the clink. He should’ve gone right to work. Things would’ve been different then. They were afraid of him. Remember how he had Capone buffaloed?”

  “But they got him, didn’t they?” Dandy Nick asked.

  “Sure, but look how they did it,” Big Dutch retorted. “With a couple of punk amateurs. The kids were so excited they even left the cop alive. All they can count on now is the punks who go for the reputation. Even this Stiletto guy. He don’t belong. We got a business to protect. There ain’t a top man in the country who won’t go with us.”

  He put down his knife and fork and picked up the steak bone in his fingers. He waved it at them. It was time they got off the fence. “I say we hit,” he said emphatically.

  Allie looked at Dandy Nick, then back to Big Dutch. There was no room nor time left for stalling. “Okay, we hit,” he said.

  They turned to Dandy Nick. His mind was already made up. The percentage was with the house, it was heads you lose, tails they win and all anybody could do was hope to stay on his feet until it was over. “Hit,” he said.

  Big Dutch smiled. It was only the first step but he had made it and they had gone with him. The Stiletto was only a symbol, it was the Mafia that was important. It was time they returned the country to the Americans to whom it belonged. Already his mind was busy redividing the take. The sums made his head spin. He got to his feet and looked down at them.

  “I don’t know about you guys,” he said, “but this is the first night the old lady let me out of the house since I got back from the can and I’m going to Jenny’s and get laid.”

  They didn’t answer and he turned and started out of the restaurant. When he was gone they looked at each other. “Coffee,” Dandy Nick told the waiter.

  He turned back to Allie when the waiter had gone. Now was the time for them to take out an insurance policy. They had to get a message through to Emilio.

  12

  The weekly session of the Fencing Club was in full swing on the third floor of the New York Athletic Club on Central Park South. Through the small gymnasium that they used echoed the clash of foil upon foil as the white-shirted men danced back and forth, their grotesque black masks hiding their faces.

  Cesare’s foil flashed down in the white light and arced in past his opponent’s guard, coming to a stop on the little red heart emblazoned on the white shirt.

  “Touché!” his opponent said, stepping back and lifting his foil.

  Cesare flipped up his mask. He smiled. “You did very well, Hank. You still must watch your wrist though. It is too loose.”

  The opponent lifted his mask. He was breathing heavily. He smiled back at Cesare. “Are you going to enter the tournament next month, Cesare?” he asked.

  Cesare shook his head. “I don’t think so. I have entered the Gran Mexico races and probably will not be back in time. But, after all, it is for business, no?”

  The man nodded. “Too bad though. We won’t have much of a chance without you. Thanks for the lesson anyway.”

  Cesare nodded. “You are quite welcome.” He turned to the small group of onlookers and grinned. “Who is to be my next, how do you call it, pigeon?” he teased.

  They laughed a lit
tle self-consciously and looked at each other. “I guess you’ll have to wait until Fortini gets here. You’re out of our class,” one of them said, referring to the fencing coach.

  “All right, then,” Cesare said. He began to take off his mask.

  A voice came from the doorway. “How about giving me a chance?”

  Cesare turned. Baker was standing there, in uniform, smiling. “Ah, Mr. Baker,” Cesare said, no surprise in his voice, “of course.”

  Baker walked toward him, picking up a foil from the rack. He flicked it through the air, loosening his wrist. He transferred the foil to his left hand and held out his right hand. Cesare took it. Baker’s grip was firm. “Count Cardinali,” he said, “when I learned you were a member here, I could not resist the temptation—the chance to cross swords with one of the truly great fencers of our time.”

  Cesare smiled slowly. “I am honored. You are very kind. Would you like a few minutes to warm up?”

  Baker nodded. “Thank you, no. I am about as good as I ever will be. I only hope to give you a few interesting moments.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Cesare smiled again. They moved out into the open space and took up positions. “I did not know you were a member here.”

  Baker smiled back at him. “I’m afraid I don’t have very much time to spend. My work usually keeps me pretty occupied.” He flipped down his mask. “Ready?”

  Cesare nodded. He closed his mask. The foils crossed in midair. “En garde!” Baker called.

  Baker lunged forward and Cesare deflected the thrust and stepped back. He knew at once that Baker was no ordinary amateur. He smiled beneath his mask. He waited for Baker to lead again. There might be some fun in this encounter after all.

  People began to drift across the gymnasium. There was a curious kind of tension that was immediately felt in the room. Baker pressed forward with a furious kind of concentration. Cesare’s foil flashed as he parried attack after attack. Slowly, step by step, he began to fall back. The onlookers began to sense an upset. A low murmur began to fill the room.

  Baker still kept pressing forward. He was beginning to feel confident. Cardinali didn’t seem to be anywhere near as good as his reputation. He slashed in and Cesare locked foils with him. Baker tried to free his foil but Cesare held him easily. Baker pushed with all his strength at the man in front of him. Cesare didn’t move. It seemed to Baker as if he were pushing against a steel coil. Suddenly he realized that Cardinali had only been toying with him.

  At the same moment Cesare pushed him away. Baker fell back a few steps and recovered in time to block a simple thrust. He lunged forward in a feint, then turned his foil quickly. Cesare was waiting for him.

  Cesare laughed. “Very good,” his voice came patronizingly from beneath the mask. “Maestro Antonelli?”

  “Yes,” Baker answered, watching Cardinali carefully. “Rome, 1951.”

  “My compliments,” Cesare said, beginning his attack. “Signor Antonelli is very careful about his pupils. He accepts only the best.”

  Baker was busy defending himself now. There was no time left for him to launch an attack. “Apparently I didn’t spend enough time with him,” he managed to say wryly.

  Cesare laughed again. “The sword is a very demanding master. And in our time, as I said before, there are other weapons much more in fashion.”

  Cesare’s foil seemed to suddenly have a life of its own. Baker could feel himself running out of breath. His own foil seemed to weigh a ton in his hand. Cesare seemed to sense his weariness and slowed down his attack.

  Baker could feel the perspiration running down his face inside his mask. Each breath began to come more labored to his throat. Every motion was an effort now and still Cesare was moving gracefully, breathing easily. There were a dozen times he felt Cesare could have scored and each time Cesare purposely turned his foil away. A little more of this and he would fall exhausted to the floor.

  His rising anger brought a wave of strength back to his arms. He summoned all his reserves for a last attack. He deflected Cesare’s foil and thrust forward.

  “Touché,” the sound came from the spectators.

  Baker stopped suddenly and looked down. Cesare’s foil was resting on his heart. It had come so quickly that he hadn’t even seen it.

  He lowered his foil and opened his mask. “You’re much too good for me, Count Cardinali,” he said, breathing heavily.

  Cesare saluted him with his foil. “I am lucky that you do not have more time for practice,” he said smiling.

  Baker forced a smile to his lips. “Now, you are being kind.”

  “Perhaps you will join me in a drink, Mr. Baker?” Cesare asked.

  “Thanks,” Baker said quickly. “I could use one right now. I’ve had it.”

  ***

  They sat in front of an open fire in the lounge. Cesare’s long legs were stretched out in front of him. He looked at Baker sitting opposite him and lifted his drink. “You did not come here merely to fence, Mr. Baker.”

  Baker looked at him. In some ways Cardinali wasn’t very European at all. In this, for example, he came right out and spoke his mind. “That’s true, Count Cardinali,” he said. “Actually I’ve come to warn you and offer our help.”

  Cesare lifted an eyebrow. “That’s very kind of you, but for what reason do I need warning?”

  “We’ve had word downtown that your life is being threatened,” Baker said.

  Cesare laughed. “How very melodramatic!”

  “It’s not funny,” Baker said. “Certain men want you killed.”

  “Me? What men?”

  Baker looked at him. “Big Dutch, Allie Fargo, Dandy Nick.”

  Cesare’s face was impassive. “Who are they?”

  “The defendants in the trial where the witnesses were killed. You see, they think you’re the Stiletto.”

  Cesare’s laugh was genuine and clear. “In that case why should they want to kill me? If I am the one who saved their miserable lives?”

  Baker leaned forward. “That’s just it. They are afraid of you. They think you might turn against them.”

  “They are stupid,” Cesare said, taking a sip of his drink.

  “But they are dangerous,” Baker said earnestly. “There is no protection against a bullet in the back.”

  Cesare got to his feet. “I can look after myself,” he said shortly. “I have survived worse dangers in the war than those men. You must know that by now. I hear your office is very thorough.”

  Baker nodded. “Yes, but we would still like to be of help.”

  Cesare’s voice grew cold. “Your office has been all the help to me I want. Perhaps if you were not so eager to obtain publicity in the newspapers, these men would not even know of me.”

  Baker stood up. “We’re sorry about that, Count Cardinali. I don’t know how the newspapers got wind of our conversation, but if you should have any trouble don’t hesitate to call on us.” He held out his hand.

  Cesare took it. “Thank you, Mr. Baker. But I don’t think it will be necessary.”

  ***

  Cesare opened the door and entered the small foyer of his apartment. He began to take off his topcoat. “Tonio!” he called.

  He stood there for a moment, then dropped his coat into a chair. He crossed to the kitchen door and opened it. “Tonio,” he called again. There was no answer.

  Shaking his head, he crossed back into the living room and walked toward his bedroom. He would have to do something about that boy, whether or not he was Gio’s nephew. A servant should go only so far. Too often Tonio was not around when he arrived home. America had spoiled him.

  He opened the door and walked into the bedroom. He turned on the light and started for the bathroom. The sound of running water came from it. He stopped. “Tonio!” he called again.

  There was no answer. He started for the bathroom quickly, then stopped. Baker’s warning flashed through his mind. He moved his hand and the stiletto appeared in it. Silently he stepped to the door and
flung it open.

  A girl was just stepping from the shower, a towel held in her hand. She stared up at him, a startled expression on her face. “Cesare!”

  “Ileana!” His voice was an echo of her surprise. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in California!”

  Ileana raised the towel to her bosom. “I am taking a shower,” she said. Her eyes fell to the stiletto in his hand. “What are you doing with that knife? Who did you think would be in your bathroom?”

  Cesare let go of the stiletto and it disappeared into his sleeve. Ileana ran to him, threw a moist arm around him and kissed him, holding the towel with her other hand. “Oh, Cesare, I need your help!”

  Cesare looked down at her skeptically. It wasn’t Ileana who usually needed help. “What happened to your rich Texan?” he asked.

  Ileana looked up at him. “You are angry with me,” she said. “I can tell. Because I did not wait for you in Monte Carlo.”

  Cesare began to smile. “Ileana, you didn’t answer my question,” he said softly.

  She turned away from him and went over to the dressing table and sat down before it. She looked up at his reflection in the mirror. “Be kind to me, Cesare,” she said in a small voice. “I have gone through a terrible experience.” She took a small towel from the rack and held it back toward him. “Please dry my back, I can never reach it.”

  He took the towel from her. “The Texan, Ileana. What about him?”

  Her eyes were wide. “I don’t want to talk about it. It was too horrible. Do you think I’ve lost weight, Cesare?”

  He was smiling now. He began to pat her back with the towel. “You look all right. What happened?”

  Ileana closed her eyes for a moment. “I am relieved,” she said. “I was sure I had lost weight.” She opened her eyes and turned toward him. “The Texan, he was married.”

  “You knew that.” Cesare smiled.

  “Of course,” Ileana retorted. “I am not a child. But his wife was a horrible woman. Not very understanding. Really very provincial. She even reported me to the Department of Immigration. Do you know, Cesare, they are very stupid men?”