Warren Murphy: Murder's Shield

So Don Mario had sent the consigliore who would explain that the great don wished to help if possible. That the great don did not like to make requests many times over. That the great don could not allow in his territory an unknown operation. That the don, in return, was willing to offer extra protection, if necessary. Perhaps their two businesses could blend. The don paid for what he got. The don expected as a personal sign of respect at least a meeting. There could be no refusal on this.

The consigliore had returned to the well-guarded fortress home of Don Mario Panza. His face was set. With due respect, he relayed the answer to the offer that could not be refused.

"No."

"Was that all this Remo Bednick said?" asked the don.

"He added, 'Some other time perhaps.'"

"I see."

"And the Oriental servant wanted to know why we hadn't produced an autographed picture of Rad Rex."

"I see. They still make light of us. Well, perhaps it is our fault. We have not shown them we should be respected. This Oriental servant? Is our Mr. Bednick close to him?"

"I imagine, Don Mario. I never saw the servant serve and he interrupts incessantly without fear of Mr. Bednick."

"So he is not a servant."

"I would think not, Don Mario."

"Is he old?"

"Very."

"How big?"

"If he weighs ninety pounds, he has filled his pockets with lead."

"I see. Well, I have a plan to show Mr. Bednick our force and our power, to show that we could kill him if we wish and that we will stop at nothing to gain our ends. Then he will gladly come-shaking."

The consigliore nodded and when he heard the plan, he was once again astounded by the brilliance of his don, by his uncanny knowledge of human psychology, his wisdom and foresight.

"Magnificent, Don Mario."

"Carefully thought," said Don Mario.

"Oh, another thing," said the consigliore. "They sent this." From his briefcase, he removed a white lotus blossom.

The don thought about the blossom a moment.

"Did they say anything when they gave you the blossom?"

"It was the old man. He wanted to trade for an autographed picture of…"

"Yes, yes, yes… Enough. I have had enough of them," said the don in a rare display of anger. So they insisted upon creating greater insult. Don Mario threw the blossom into a wastebasket.

"Get me Rocco. Rocco. And three others. They can come from any of the regimes. Rocco."

The consigliore nodded. He would have to approach Rocco himself and even though they were on the same side, it was a moment of terror. The mountainous man was terror personified and one did not approach him lightly.

When Don Mario received Rocco, he stood to receive the formal greeting of his greatest enforcer. Rocco towered high above the don, his face like a great granite crag, his hands the size of shovels. The width of his chest extended beyond a refrigerator, and his eyes were like the darkness beyond the universe.

"It is with great respect that I receive you, Rocco," said Don Mario.

"It is with great respect that I come, Don Mario."

And then Don Mario explained the play because one should explain everything very clearly to Rocco. There would be three assisting him. One for lookout, one to hold the old man, and one to use the ropes. If Mr. Bednick awoke during the night, he should see Rocco's face and then be put to sleep.

"For just a night, Rocco. Not forever," said Don Mario, nervousness in his voice. "Just for the night. We need him. He holds secrets I need. Do you understand? Just for the night he must sleep. As a personal favor to me, Rocco. Just for the night."

When Rocco was being dismissed, Don Mario added:

"Just for the night, Rocco. That is the purpose."

Then Don Mario retired to his safe bed, surrounded by bodyguards and houses rented to his men and a high brick wall. Safe above the turmoil of his business. There would be no such sleep for Mr. Bednick. He would awake to find his servant bound hand and foot, hanging over the bed. Hopefully alive, but distinctly showing the great don's power to kill this Remo Bednick if he wished. He would also show that he would not stop at doing it. There was only one problem. Rocco. But Rocco had been warned and he had been very good for the last few years. His temper had run away with him only twice.

So with high prospects for a productive evening, Don Mario had slipped into his bed alone, safe in his fortress. He drifted into the dark, comfortable sleep of a man who has planned well. He slept the night and when he awoke, he felt something strange. His toe was touching something soft and thin, like a flower petal. What was a flower petal doing in his bed? He pushed the toe farther and it felt as if it touched drying mud on the sheets. Further, and there was something cold, like clay. No. Liver. Don Mario pulled off the covers and when he saw what was in the bed with him, he let out a terrified shriek, screaming like an unbridled fear-stricken child.

"Aaaahhhhhhh." The voice floated to the bodyguards outside the door and into the courtyard he had supposed safe from attack. The men came running but Don Mario would not let them enter his room. He ordered them to stay out. They must not see this, this loss of power. For in the bed with a lotus blossom in its mouth was the head of the giant Rocco.

That afternoon, when Rad Rex refused to sign his autograph before the taping, a technician's union struck. Word got back to him that the strike would be settled immediately if he merely autographed a picture.

So, looking at his beautiful face for the hundredth time that day, Rad Rex resigned himself to the vicissitudes of life.

"All right. Who should I make it out to?"

"Chiun," said one of the burly pair of men. "To the wisest, most wonderful, kind-hearted, sensitive gift of man. Undying respect. Rad Rex."

"You've got to be kidding."

"That, word for word, will be on your picture or on your face."

"Could you give it to me again?" said Rad Rex.

"Yeah. Chiun. To the wisest, most wonderful… you got that, most wonderful?… kind-hearted, sensitive gift of man. Undying respect. Rad Rex."

Rad Rex scribbled away and dramatically offered the autographed picture to the barbarian who even smelled bad.

"Uh, oh," said the man. "You gotta add humble."

"You didn't say humble."

"Well, we want humble."

"Humble Rad Rex or humble Chiun?"

"Chiun. Between kind-hearted and sensitive."

The picture and two-hundred dozen pairs of dark socks were promptly delivered to a one-family home in upper middle class Queens.

When Chiun saw the picture and the words he conveniently forgot he had requested, a small tear came to his old eyes.

"The bigger they are," said Chiun, "the nicer they are."

He later pointed this out to Remo, but Remo was not interested. He was leaving the house to try to get a line on Inspector William McGurk, too preoccupied even to wonder what 4,800 dark socks were doing in his bedroom.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

But Inspector William McGurk was not at police headquarters. He was farther uptown, in an old building at Twentieth Street and Second Avenue, which had once been the pistol range for training city police. The building now had a clothing store on the first floor, and at the top of the second floor landing, a heavy double steel door, under a small sign M.O.T.S., blocked the way to the old gymnasium and pistol range.

Inside, the range reeked of gunpowder despite air conditioning designed to suck off the smoke and fumes. That was not the only change from the old days, nor was the heavy soundproofing asbestos sheeting that covered the walls. The major change was that instead of lanes, each with a target, there was only one target at the end of the building. And instead of pistols held at arm's length in standard police pose, there were machine guns.