“
Farfalline
, the beef stew pasta.”
“Make a big pot of coffee before you go, Charley. I am sick of Filargi complaining about Dom’s coffee.”
“Sure. See you in the morning.”
***
Charley made the coffee then went out of the house and got into the Chevy van. It was five after one in the
morning; no traffic. He would be at the beach by 4:30, catch a little sleep, then start back with Irene at 6:00
A.M.
He’d have to work out with Pop the way they would keep in touch. He and Irene could go over their demands for giving Filargi back to the Prizzis on the way to Brentwood. He had to remember to bring a soft, heavy sap with him because he didn’t want to hurt Dom or the Plumber, they were just workers and they were good guys. He and Irene would have to figure out a place to keep Filargi all during the negotiations. He would have to talk to Filargi and give him a feeling that he had something to hope for, the poor doomed son-of-a-bitch. They had to keep Filargi happy with the feeling that they were all screwing the Prizzis and that everything was going to work out great. A wave of bitterness hit him about losing Brooklyn, the sports book, Pop, and everything else he needed but, what the hell, he had got better than even money when he cashed in his bet on Irene. He had Irene. They could make it wherever they were going to have to go after the deal was made with the Prizzis so that the whole delayed ransom could finally get under way and so that Filargi could be sure to be arrested and tried when he was freed and reported to the police. What the hell. Filargi was an old guy. He had to be sixty-three years old and he had drunk heavy cream all his life.
***
Everything was going to depend on Pop. If they were going to get out of this with all their hair, he and Irene had to make a very hard deal, then Pop had to sell it to the Prizzis. Jesus, how he hated doing business with such devious people. Nobody in the whole deal had ever said what they meant the longest day of their life. Thank God Pop was the most devious of all of them, including even Don Corrado. Pop had a seven-tiered Sicilian brain so that when they said A to him, he knew right away that he should read it as Z
but would always stand ready to switch it to the real meaning, inside the real meaning of the false meaning, which he would read as M.
He let himself into the apartment very quietly but Irene woke up just the same.
“Hey! Charley?” she said.
“Don’t wake up. Go back. We got to leave here by six.”
“To where?”
“Pop called and—”
“Turn the light on, I can’t hear you.”
He flipped the switch. Irene was sitting up in bed and her beautiful, blind boobs were staring at him just over the tops of the bed covers. “Jesus, Irene. You got a beautiful set.”
“You already told me that. Tell me about Pop.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and talked as he undressed. “Pop called. He said things were heating up and we should get Filargi out of Brentwood by noon at the latest.”
“What happened?”
“That’s all he could say. We’re going to talk again as soon as we get Filargi stashed.”
“Where are we going to stash him?”
“Well, we got a long drive tomorrow and a real short time tonight. We’ll talk in the car. This is a bed.” He threw back the sheet that covered her, gasped with pleasure, and fell upon her.
***
They left the apartment at the beach at five minutes to six and talked about what they were going to do with Filargi all the way out to Brentwood. Irene wanted to talk about what they would demand from the Prizzis and where they would go after they beat the Prizzis, but Charley said that they had to get Filargi first, then figure out where they were going to put him. “We got a logistics thing here,” he said. “We can’t take him like to your house in LA because we
got to be near enough to deal with Pop, the middleman. We can’t take him where there are a lot of people around because by now, believe me, everybody knows his face.”
“I know. Where we can put him, I mean.”
“Where?”
“You put him to sleep in the back of the Chevy while I go out and rent a car and a big house trailer or maybe one of those trucks which are really like mobile homes and we’ll keep moving. We’ll drive out on the Island, way out, except when we have to meet Pop then we’ll come a little further in and park the trailer in a trailer park.”
“I was thinking more in the shape of a boat.”
“A boat?”
“Like a cabin cruiser and we just cruise around the Great South Bay and Pop can get us on the ship-to-shore phone.”
“That’s great if you know how to operate a boat.”
“I thought you just steer it.”
“It’s trickier than that. Besides, you ever been on a boat?”
“Once, at the boat show.”
“The whole floor moves on the water. That’s how people get seasick.”
“The trailer is a better idea,” Charley said. “A mobile home. Listen, maybe we’ll like it. What’s a better way to stay out of sight after we stick it to the Prizzis. We take it to Canada, then Alaska, and after a couple of years maybe the whole climate is changed.”
“Sensational.”
“How do we get one?”
“The Yellow Pages,” Irene said. “There are even people who rent yo-yos in the Yellow Pages.”
***
Two miles from the house, Charley pulled the van to the side of the road. It was a fine summer morning
on the mariner’s finger that pointed out to sea from New York. Charley said, “The Plumber will be up and Dom will be down. Dom is easy but the Plumber is an old campaigner.”
“Why don’t you go in the back, then I’ll come in the front and get behind him,” Irene said.
“Yeah. Good.”
“When will the Prizzis find them?”
“Pop calls in at noon and at six. If nobody answers he’ll send people out here. Okay? You all set?”
“Me? What do I have to do except keep the Plumber from shooting you?”
Charley drove into the driveway of the isolated house. He got out of the car and moved around the house to the back door. As soon as he was out of sight, Irene left the van and moved in the opposite direction to the front of the house. As Charley was letting himself in the back door, Irene was opening the front door, under a wide porch.
Charley moved into the kitchen. Halfway to the refrigerator he heard the Plumber’s voice behind him.
“Hey, Cholly!” Melvini said.
Charley spun around. His back was to the front of the house. Melvini faced the direction of the front door with the door into the dining room at his left. Melvini had a .38 Police Special in his right hand. It was pointed at Charley’s stomach.
“What’s the piece for?” Charley asked.
“You were going to take the big banker out of here, hey, Charley? Jesus, that could make the Prizzis kind of sore.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We all got a job here, Charley. I am the telephone man. I record all the calls on a tape machine and I got you and Angelo when he called you last night.”
“Then I’m a dummy.”
“Charley, I don’t know a smarter cat than Angelo. If he has you taking the banker out of here, then we
are talking heavy money. If it’s rich enough for you and Angelo then I want in.”
“
In
?”
“If we can make a deal, I’m your man.”
“How much are the Prizzis paying you for your stand?” Charley asked.
“Fifteen dollars.”
“We’ll pay fifty.”
“When?”
“As soon as we settle with the Prizzis.”
“How much do you figure they owe you?”
“Plumber, you were okay with fifteen dollars. Now it’s fifty. That’s all you need to know.”
Melvini grinned. “You’re right, Charley. What do we do now?”
“We put the piece away.”
The Plumber tucked the revolver in his belt at the small of his back. Irene moved into the kitchen at his direct left, ten feet away, in the doorway to the dining room, holding a gun on Melvini. “You made the best deal you ever made, Plumber,” she said, smiling that gorgeous smile.
That broke the Plumber up. He laughed so hard it rattled the dishes. “They doubled on you and I make a big deal out of it,” he managed to say, “and all the time you are doubling on me.”
“What the hell, Al,” Charley said, grinning. “Doubling is just kid stuff.”
***
Charley and the Plumber tied Dom to the bed, making him as comfortable as possible. “Listen, I could starve to death here,” Dom said. “You take off with the client while I could starve here.”
“Come on,” Charley said, “how can you starve? They’ll call in at noon and when nobody picks up, they’ll come out here.”
“Listen, I’m the one who is in the shit,” Dom said. “At least I am entitled to a good breakfast.”
“All right,” Charley said. “Make him some breakfast.”
“Not him!” Dom protested. “Did you ever try to eat it when this guy cooks it? You make it, Charley. Some fried pasta with a little tomatoes, a little garlic; some scrambled eggs with little peppers. What do you say?”
“Ah, shit,” Charley said, and hit him with the sap.
When the two men went upstairs, Irene went to the classified phone directory. She found what she wanted, made the call and arranged to go into Bayshore to get one mobile home. When the two men came downstairs to organize Filargi for the journey she told Charley that the trailer was all set. “It’s one of those complete units on a big truck, Charley,” she said, “just like you wanted. But I got to drive in to get it, then I need somebody to get the Chevy back here.”
“What did I tell you?” Melvini said. “These jobs got to have three people.”
“How long you going to be?” Charley asked.
“Maybe an hour, maybe more,” Irene said.
“It’s eight-twenty. Figure two hours. Be back here at half past ten and I’ll have him ready to go.”
“We going to miss the twelve o’clock call?”
“That’s what my father wants,” Charley said.
***
When Irene and the Plumber left, Charley went to the ice box and got out the stuff to make himself some fried pasta with some tomatoes and a little garlic and some scrambled eggs with peppers. At 9:20 he had eaten and cleaned up the kitchen and he went down the cellar stairs to the padlocked door. He unlocked, talking through the door as he did, then he went into the room.
“How are you?” he asked Filargi, who was fully dressed in a neat little blue suit, a white shirt, and a blue tie with small silver figures on it. The last time he had come out from New York, Charley had brought
him three new shirts, three changes of underwear and, at Filargi’s request, a tin of black shoe polish and a shoe brush.
“I’m all right,” Filargi said.
“Food all right?” It was Charley’s cooking.
“Excellent. Really delicious.”
“You got enough books?”
“Well—”
“We’ll get more books for you,” Charley said. “Tell me something, you know who grabbed you?”
The banker made one short, emphatic nod. “The Prizzis,” he answered. “And I know why. When I get out of here, if I get out, which doesn’t seem likely, I am going to spend the rest of my life pinning this on them.”
“You’re a real feisty little guy,” Charley said. “Now lissena me. We are taking you out of here. The Prizzis don’t control this anymore.”
“Why?”
“That is a private reason between me and the Prizzis. But it could be a better deal for you. At least there is nobody to tell us that we got to do the job on you. And, if it works out a certain way—” by that Charley meant if the Prizzis refused to meet his terms “—it could be a better deal for you all around because the Prizzis figured to take the bank away from you and I ain’t got no use for your bank.”
“Well, the way things are, what have I got to lose? What do you want from me?”
“Just cooperate. That’s all. Just cooperate. You ready for some breakfast?”
“Yes, I am. I certainly am.”
“Then come on. We’ll go upstairs and you can eat in the kitchen for a change.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
The two men of respect, Vincent Prizzi and Angelo Partanna, sat in the thirty-by-thirty, six-window office of Ed Prizzi on the sixty-seventh floor of the United Insurance Industries building, which Prizzi capital had built, and which the Prizzis owned.
Ed Prizzi sat behind a massive early Georgian table, which was his desk, holding in his hands the letter from Charley Partanna that threatened to wreck Corrado Prizzi’s monument, a seventy-million-dollar heist.
Vincent’s eyes had curdled. He had not been able to speak once on the journey from Brooklyn to Ed Prizzi’s office because his own man, the traitorous Charley Partanna, had deliberately emasculated him before the eyes of his father by directing the letter to his brother who was not even supposed to have anything to do with the part of the Prizzi business that this letter concerned.
Vincent had worked himself into an erratic anger but Angelo Partanna was objective, wary and cold. His single interest at the meeting was to use Ed Prizzi’s sudden superiority over his older brother to secure the survival of his own son and the assurance that he, Angelo Partanna, was the only possible choice of go-between to repossess Filargi, so that he and Charley could proceed with their plans.
“‘Dear Ed,’” Eduardo Prizzi read aloud from Charley’s letter, “‘You are probably hot right now because we took Filargi but when you hear the score at least you and your father are going to understand why there was no other way we could go.
“‘Vincent put out a contract on me.’”
Vincent roared, “What the fuck is that? He’s crazy. If I put out a contract on him he’d be blown away by now.”
“Vincent, lissena me,” Ed said. “You want to hear this letter then you sit there and keep your mouth shut. This is maybe sixty-seven million dollars here that’s got to be renegotiated to get it back. So shut up and listen to this.”
He picked up the message smoothly where he had been interrupted.
“‘Naturally, he’ll say it’s a lot of bullshit but it so happens he hired my own wife and he gave her a down payment of fifty dollars, and my wife is sitting right here beside me while I write this down, laughing like hell. I personally think Don Corrado found Vincent on his door step because Vincent is like fifty times too dumb to be a Prizzi.’”