Mario Puzo - The Last Don

«How do you get him here in this Villa?» Losey said. «That's the important thing.»

«I'll tell him Giorgio flew in secretly and wants to see him,» Dante said. «Then I do the job and you clean up after me. You know crime scenes, what they'll look for.»

He said musingly, «The best way is to drop him into the desert. They may never find him.» He paused for a moment. «You know Cross ducked Giorgio the night Pippi died. He won't dare do it again.»

«But what if he does?» Losey asked. «I'll be waiting here all night jerking off.»

«Athena's Villa is next door,» Dante said. «You just tap on it and get lucky.»

«Too much heat,» Losey said.

Dante said with a grin. «We can take her out into the desert with Cross.»

«You're crazy,» Losey said. And he realized this was true.

«Why not?» Dante said. «Why not have some fun? The desert is big enough to dump two bodies.»

Losey thought of Athena's body, her lovely face, her voice, her regal air. Oh, he and Dante would have fun. He was already a murderer, he might as well be a rapist. Marlowe, Pippi De Lena, and his old partner, Phil Sharkey. He was a three-time murderer and too shy to commit rape. He was turning into one of those morons he had arrested all his life. And for a woman who sold her body to the whole world. But this little prick before him with the funny hat was really a piece of work.

«I'll give it a shot,» Losey said. «I'll invite her in for a drink and if she comes, she's asking for it.»

Dante was amused by Losey's rationalization. «Everybody asks for it,» he said. «We ask for it.»

They went over the details, and then Dante went back to his apartment. He ran a bath; he wanted to use the expensive scents in the Villa. As he lay in the hot, perfumey water, his black, horse-like Clericuzio hair soaped into a white, heavy topknot, he thought about what his fate would be. After he and Losey dumped the body of Cross into the desert, miles from Vegas, the toughest part of the operation would begin. He would have to convince his grandfather that he was innocent. If worse came to worst, he could confess to Pippi's death also, and his grandfather would forgive him. The Don had always showed him a special love.

Also, now, Dante was the Family Hammer. He would apply for appointment as Bruglione of the West and the overlordship of the Xanadu Hotel. Giorgio would oppose him, but Vincent and Petie would be neutral. They were content to live on their legal enterprises. And the old man could not live forever, Giorgio was a white-collar guy. There would come a time when the warmaker would become the emperor. He would not retreat into society. He would lead the Family back to its glory. He would never give up the power over life and death.

Dante left the bath and showered to get all the soap out of his ropy hair. He anointed his body with the colognes from their fancy bottles, sculpted his hair from delicate tubes of aromatic gels, reading the directions carefully. Then he went to the suitcase that held his Renaissance hats and chose one encrusted with precious jewels that had the shape of a custard. Its threads were gold and purple. Lying there it looked ridiculous, but when he put it on his head, Dante was enchanted. It made him look like a prince. Especially the row of studded green gems sewed along the front. This was how Athena would see him tonight, or failing that, Tiffany. But the two could wait if necessary.

As he finished dressing, Dante thought of what his life would come to be. He would live in a Villa, as luxurious as any palace. He would have an inexhaustible supply of beautiful women, a self-supporting harem dancing and singing in the Xanadu Hotel showroom. He could eat in six different restaurants with six different national cuisines. He could order the death of an enemy, reward a friend. He would be as close to being a Roman emperor as modern times allowed. Only Cross stood in the way.

Jim Losey, finally alone in his apartment, was contemplating the course his life had taken. He had been, for the first half of his career, a great cop, a true knight defending his society. He'd had an intense hatred for all criminals, especially blacks. And then gradually he had changed. He resented the charges in the media that cops were brutal. The very society he was defending from scum was attacking him. His superiors, with their gold-braided uniforms, sided with the politicians who talked shit to the people. All that bullshit about how you couldn't hate blacks. What was so bad about that? They committed most of the crimes. And wasn't he a free American who could hate whoever he wanted to hate? They were the cockroaches who would eat away all civilization. They didn't want to work, they didn't want to study, burning the midnight oil was a joke to them unless it meant shooting basketball under the light of the moon. They mugged unarmed citizens, they turned their women into whores, and they had an intolerable disrespect for the law and its enforcers. It was his job to protect the rich from the malice of the poor. And his own desire was to become rich. He wanted the clothing, the cars, the food, the drink, and above all, the women the rich could afford. And surely that was American.

It had started with bribes to protect the gambling, then some frame-ups of drug dealers to make them pay protection. He had been proud of his «hero cop» status, the recognition he received for the courage he had shown, but there was no monetary reward. He was still buying cheap clothes, he still had to be very careful with his money to make his paycheck stretch out. And he, who guarded the rich against the poor, received no reward, indeed was one of the poor. But the final straw was that in public esteem he was lower than the criminal. Some of his friends, law enforcers, had been prosecuted and sent to jail for doing their duty. Or fired from their jobs. Rapists, burglars, lethal muggers, armed robbers in broad daylight, had more rights than cops.

Over the years, Losey sold himself his story in his head. The press and TV reviled law enforcers. The fucking Miranda rights, the fucking ACLU; let those fucking lawyers do patrol for six months, they'd grow a lynching tree.

After all, he used the tricks, the beatings, and the threats to get some scumbag to confess his crime and to put him away from society. But Losey could not sell himself completely, he was too good a cop. He could not sell himself on having become a murderer.

Forget all that; he would be rich. He would fling his badge and his bravery citations into the face of the government and the public. He would be security chief for the Xanadu Hotel at ten times the salary, and from this Paradise in the desert, he would watch with pleasure as Los Angeles crumbled under the assault of criminals he would no longer fight. Tonight he would see the movie Messalina and go to the wrap party. And maybe get a shot at Athena. Here his mind cringed, even as he felt his body ache with the thought of exercising such sexual power. At the party, he'd pitch a feature film to Skippy based on his career, the greatest hero cop in the LAPD. Dante had told him that Cross wanted to invest, which was really funny. Why kill off a guy who would invest in his movie? That was simple. Because he knew Dante would kill him if he backed out. And Losey, tough as he was, knew he could not kill Dante. He knew the Clericuzio too well.

For a flash he thought of Marlowe, a good nigger, really sweet, always so cheerful and cooperative. He had always liked Marlowe, and his murder was the one thing he felt sorry about.

Jim Losey still had hours to wait before the screening and the party. He could go gamble in the main casino, but gambling was a mug's game. He decided against it. He had a big night ahead. First the movie and the party, then at three in the morning he would have to help Dante kill Cross De Lena and bury him in the desert.