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Authors: Jack Higgins
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on each cheek to show I was considered family.
He held me away from him and I could feel the strength in those hands. "You're looking good, boy. Where've you been keeping yourself?"
"Here and there," I said. "You don't look any older. You must keep a portrait in the attic or something." He frowned in puzzlement and I added hastily, "An English joke."
He thumped his chest and grinned. "I'm fine. Never been better. Different girl every night."
He roared with laughter and took out a cheap Egyptian cheroot. It was really quite amazing. He just didn't seem to age. Although there was a silver hair or two in the sweeping moustache, the face was tanned and healthy and the teeth were as bad as ever. Some things never changed.
He glanced over my shoulder at Langley. "Who's your friend?"
"No friend, Aldo," I said. "I'm in trouble. Bad trouble."
His face went very still and the gray eyes suddenly had the same sort of shine that you get when light gleams on the edge of a cut throat razor. "And you came to me, boy? That's good. I like that. Tell me about it."
He gave me one of those vile Egyptian cheroots of his and we sat on the edge of a tomb and I told him the whole story. As I talked, he kept eyeing Langley who waited at the end of the path twenty or thirty yards away, sheltering under the umbrella.
When I was finished he said softly, "And this is one of them, this bastard here?"
I nodded.
He said, "I know of this Stavrou. A big man with Mafia in the States, but not anymore. Why don't you let me get a few friends together and we'll all go down to Capo Passero and break his skull."
"It wouldn't work," I said. "My sister's on borrowed time now. I've got to go through with it. It's the only way."
"It's possible, then?"
"I think so."
"Good." He smiled cheerfully. "We'll go back to my place and you tell me how we're going to do it."
I don't think I've ever felt so relieved in my life as I turned and followed him along the path. As we reached Langley he grinned, "Everything all right, old stick?"
Barzini looked him over. "And this is one of them, this girl-boy?" He shook his head. "Mother of God, what's the world coming to?" He took me by the arm, dismissing Langley completely and said as we moved away, "You know, my friend, there are days when I feel like climbing into one of my own coffins and pulling down the lid."
5
A Special Kind of Woman
I drove back to Palermo in the Alfa with Barzini, and when we reached the funeral premises in Via San Marco we found that Langley had beaten us to it and was standing waiting on the pavement beside the Mercedes.
"Ah, there you are, old stick," he said as I got out. "What kept you?"
Barzini remained unimpressed. "I don't like him," he said. "His smile--it's like a brass plate on a coffin. You're sure you want this pig along?"
For once Langley looked as if he didn't know what in the hell to say next. I said, "He's the banker, remember."
"All right," Barzini said grudgingly and prodded Langley in the chest with a stubby forefinger. "Only mind your manners and keep your mouth shut."
We followed him along the candlelit hall; he opened the door at the rear and we passed through into some sort of preparation room. There were corpses laid out, some of them being worked on by morticians. Most of them wore new clothes and the faces had been carefully made up to create some semblance of life.
Barzini paused briefly to make a suggestion to an old man who was working on the face of a little girl of perhaps seven or eight, then continued on his way calmly. Langley didn't look too happy and I wasn't exactly delighted with the whole thing myself.
But things were going downhill fast, for when Barzini opened another door, we followed him through into an immense arched room dimly lit, heavy with the scent of flowers. There were rows of coffins on either side, each with an occupant.
At the far end of the room wooden steps lifted to a small glass office. Barzini mounted them briskly and a
He held me away from him and I could feel the strength in those hands. "You're looking good, boy. Where've you been keeping yourself?"
"Here and there," I said. "You don't look any older. You must keep a portrait in the attic or something." He frowned in puzzlement and I added hastily, "An English joke."
He thumped his chest and grinned. "I'm fine. Never been better. Different girl every night."
He roared with laughter and took out a cheap Egyptian cheroot. It was really quite amazing. He just didn't seem to age. Although there was a silver hair or two in the sweeping moustache, the face was tanned and healthy and the teeth were as bad as ever. Some things never changed.
He glanced over my shoulder at Langley. "Who's your friend?"
"No friend, Aldo," I said. "I'm in trouble. Bad trouble."
His face went very still and the gray eyes suddenly had the same sort of shine that you get when light gleams on the edge of a cut throat razor. "And you came to me, boy? That's good. I like that. Tell me about it."
He gave me one of those vile Egyptian cheroots of his and we sat on the edge of a tomb and I told him the whole story. As I talked, he kept eyeing Langley who waited at the end of the path twenty or thirty yards away, sheltering under the umbrella.
When I was finished he said softly, "And this is one of them, this bastard here?"
I nodded.
He said, "I know of this Stavrou. A big man with Mafia in the States, but not anymore. Why don't you let me get a few friends together and we'll all go down to Capo Passero and break his skull."
"It wouldn't work," I said. "My sister's on borrowed time now. I've got to go through with it. It's the only way."
"It's possible, then?"
"I think so."
"Good." He smiled cheerfully. "We'll go back to my place and you tell me how we're going to do it."
I don't think I've ever felt so relieved in my life as I turned and followed him along the path. As we reached Langley he grinned, "Everything all right, old stick?"
Barzini looked him over. "And this is one of them, this girl-boy?" He shook his head. "Mother of God, what's the world coming to?" He took me by the arm, dismissing Langley completely and said as we moved away, "You know, my friend, there are days when I feel like climbing into one of my own coffins and pulling down the lid."
5
A Special Kind of Woman
I drove back to Palermo in the Alfa with Barzini, and when we reached the funeral premises in Via San Marco we found that Langley had beaten us to it and was standing waiting on the pavement beside the Mercedes.
"Ah, there you are, old stick," he said as I got out. "What kept you?"
Barzini remained unimpressed. "I don't like him," he said. "His smile--it's like a brass plate on a coffin. You're sure you want this pig along?"
For once Langley looked as if he didn't know what in the hell to say next. I said, "He's the banker, remember."
"All right," Barzini said grudgingly and prodded Langley in the chest with a stubby forefinger. "Only mind your manners and keep your mouth shut."
We followed him along the candlelit hall; he opened the door at the rear and we passed through into some sort of preparation room. There were corpses laid out, some of them being worked on by morticians. Most of them wore new clothes and the faces had been carefully made up to create some semblance of life.
Barzini paused briefly to make a suggestion to an old man who was working on the face of a little girl of perhaps seven or eight, then continued on his way calmly. Langley didn't look too happy and I wasn't exactly delighted with the whole thing myself.
But things were going downhill fast, for when Barzini opened another door, we followed him through into an immense arched room dimly lit, heavy with the scent of flowers. There were rows of coffins on either side, each with an occupant.
At the far end of the room wooden steps lifted to a small glass office. Barzini mounted them briskly and a
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