The women returned from their day of shopping via the back door late in the afternoon, loaded with parcels and sporting newly serviced hair. They spent an hour upstairs closeted in secret rites, then Rose and Carol descended with smiles reserved only for Cheshire cats. A short while later Bonny entered the living room and it caused a great stir. The transformation was astonishing. The ends of her flowing hair had been curbed by trimming, the brows were smoothed and drew attention to the fact that her eyes were an alert gray-green, her face was brightened and lively looking by expert applications of rouge. A marvelous figure was suddenly evident under a trim, knee length printed dress, shapely legs were set off by flesh colored nylon stockings, and multicolored, toeless slippers added another two inches of height to keep from being dwarfed by the DiStephanos.
Ettore set the tone by rising to his feet. “Bonny, if I were a Scotsman, I would find your name very appropriate.”
Dominic waited his turn to present his compliments, and the two conspirators, Rose and Carol, were delighted at his look of frank admiration. Supper that evening was a gay affair. Michael commented later to Carol that the acceptance of Bonny and Dominic as a unit within the family seemed to seep into the others as if by osmosis. Even the two principals, who are generally the last to realize what is happening, appeared aware that a quite solid tie had been planted and was blossoming. What the family misinterpreted as falling head over heels was the ease with which Bonny and Dominic were able to communicate and their comfortable manner with each other. Rose told Vito in an aside that they hit it off like a pair of old shoes. But, in truth, although they found each other more interesting than any others they had met, their thoughts were focused on getting the evening over so they could climb back in bed to continue where they left off.
After supper, Ettore and Dominic went straight to the checker board. Soon Bonny sat between them trying to decipher the strategy, for in short order she realized that their seemingly aimless moves were actually well planned attacks. Dominic won the first one to the great disgust of Ettore. As he noted the fact on a scratch pad covered with figures from previous games, she coyly asked, “How many games do you play? Thirty-seven billion?”
Ettore wondered why this inane remark threw Dominic into such a spasm of laughter.
The house was still when Dominic and Bonny left the porch swing to go up to her room. She was in bed waiting by the time he undressed, and her sigh clearly expressed how long the day had been, especially the hour on the swing where they had smooched and Dominic’s hands passing over her body had driven her up the wall. In bed, she came tightly against him as he took her in his arms, her mouth hot and breasts hard and womb wet with passion. He leaned down to kiss her breasts, but she didn’t need or want any of that.
“Come in me,” she said, her voice thick with emotion,
Dominic drew away to take out a condom from the pocket of his pants lying next to the bed.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“A rubber. Can’t have those thirty-seven billion baby bugs running amuck, racing down canals and raping innocent ova.”
Her curiosity was totally aroused. “May I see it?”
“Do you mean you’ve never seen one?”
“Of course I have, but never up close. Especially one which is about to be used on me.” He handed it over. She held it up to the moonlight streaming through the window. “It has a lubricant on it,” she commented.
“It certainly wasn’t designed for the likes of you,” he replied, grinning.
“May I put it on you?” she asked.
“Sure, but don’t horse around. Those baby bugs are all lined up at the starting gate.”
She enjoyed herself enormously unrolling the slick condom over his swollen penis. But the moment it was on, she rolled to her back and pulled him on top of her.
She gushed before he had taken half a dozen strokes, then held him tightly to stop his movements while she went through the paroxysms of climax. When her jerking and spasms ceased, she let out a great sigh of contentment, and, kissing Dominic full on the mouth, she resumed love making. But now she was no longer satisfied to be merely the sheathe for his motions; she started experimenting, shifting her hips to the left, then the right, then rolled like she was cantering on a horse. She reached down and caressed his testicles.
Dominic tried to warn her, but it was too late. He exploded in a series of short, hot ejaculations. She sensed him coming and drove violently against him three or four times, climaxing again, drawing in gulps of air, her body shuddering furiously,
In a short while they calmed down. She ran her hands slowly up and down his back.
“Is it always that great, Dom?” she asked.
“Gets better,” he said, his heart still pounding.
She chuckled. “Guess I shouldn’t touch you down below.”
“Not unless you want to see Mount Vesuvius blow up.” He kissed each of her breasts, now soft and slack with release of passion. “You really went great guns there.”
“Did I please you?”
“You sure did.” He drew himself slowly off her. “You must be smoking Virginia Slims.”
“Why is that?”
“You’ve come a long way, baby.”
She started laughing.
Dominic woke at the thud of a pillow on his head. He looked round to see Vincent dressing. “Get up, Romeo. That porch swing is more detrimental to proper sleeping habits than owing people money.”
Dominic yawned and stretched lazily. “What is the hour, big brother?”
“Almost nine-thirty. Second brother, Michael, has sent up signals that Vito received some news about Ed Franko.”
That was enough to bring Dominic wide awake. He made his toilet, dressed quickly, then went straight to the sitting room where Vito kept the files. His brother-in-law was making photocopies of a two page report.
“Something hot?” asked Dominic.
“It’s a lead from the detective agency.” He handed over a copy of the report. “Everyone will be here soon, except Carol and Eleanor. They’re keeping Bonny out of the way.”
Ettore walked in with Michael, Vincent, Bob and Bert. Vince was finishing up a piece of toast liberally coated with jam. Vito gave a copy of the report to each one, allowed them time to read the contents, then took over.
“As you all see, Franko is thirty-three years old, married, has two children, both girls, ages eight and eleven. He has been in prison four years for assault with a deadly weapon and armed robbery, and has been out four years. His place of employment is listed as the Newmark Vending Company, and he is still carried on the rolls as a salesman. We can assume that if he is the new bodyguard of young Bonazzi, the Newmark Vending Company is controlled in some manner by Bonazzi père. He resides in a middle class apartment complex near Oak Park, and has not been seen in the neighborhood since mid–July. That could indicate that he was sent off to Bonazzi directly after the incident near Juan-les-Pins.” Vito deliberately used this explanation to avoid speaking directly of Junior, for the family had still not recovered from the shock of his death. “The second page of the report contains a major point of interest - that his wife receives letters with a foreign stamp.” He looked up from the paper. “That is probably what we are after, so we have to make a choice now. There are two ways to learn more about those foreign posted letters; by having someone touch base with the mailman, or by a breaking and entering operation into Franko’s apartment. If the breaking and entering goes without incident, we are off and running. I’ve been assured that only top professionals will be employed. But if for some reason, be it a freak discovery or an unforeseen accident, the word gets back to Bonazzi, we will have forewarned him and he will take action to separate Franko from his son. On the other hand, if the mailman doesn’t cooperate when approached, he could turn it into a federal case. What do you think is the best course?”
Ettore lowered his head and rubbed his chin as he thought. He turned to Vincent. “What do you say, Vince?”
“If we use the B and E, we not only get to know the return address but also the contents of the letters. They could be informative. I’m for that, Papa.”
Ettore nodded. “I like that too. What do you boys say?” The remainder of the family assented at once. “All right, Vito, turn your people loose. We’ll have to move fast, though. It won’t be long before schools open and court sessions begin, and hospitals start admitting sick people.” He grinned at Vito. “Besides running half of the world.”
“Grandpa,” said Bob. “I’m putting off returning to college until next semester.”
“Don’t you think you should discuss that with your mother and father first?” said Ettore.
“I did. Mom and Dad said it was up to me, and I elect to stay.”
Ettore looked questionably at Vito, who nodded. “Take another look at him, Papa,” he said. “Give him ten more pounds and no one in this room is going to move Bob from here to there without his consent.”
“Then why can’t I stay, Dad?” said the quiet, studious Bert. “I’m almost as big as Bob, and I can catch up in school. Or even transfer here for a semester.”
“Not yet, son,” said Vito softly. “I promise to call on you the moment we have need of you.”
Dominic drove Bonny to her meeting with the anthropological society in one of the conference rooms of the city museum. About forty other members attended. Dominic was surprised to find that most of them were young, well dressed, and as deliberate as an ocean tide. All the members knew Bonny from previous conferences and field trips, and were delighted at her transformation.
The monitor was a middle-aged, heavy set man, streaks of gray in his hair and beard. For an hour he showed slides, movies, and gave a talk on the customs of a tribe of Manyans inhabiting central Mindoro in the Philippines. Pictures disclosed them to be slim, handsome brown people, both sexes wearing potato sack clothes, their hair rolled up in buns, their mouths stained from chewing betel nuts. They resided in thatched huts on stilts, their diet consisting mainly of corn and of fish caught in a nearby river. The monitor said he had never smelled anything in his life as awful as when they smoked fish over small fires in the shacks. But the biggest surprise came when he tasted the fish - it was superb.
Dominic took an interest in their marriage customs. The suitor, explained the monitor, played a primitive flute outside his beloved’s hut for seven consecutive nights. If he wasn’t told to stop the noise and leave, he passed phase one. On the eighth night, he slipped through the window of the shack and lay down beside his beloved. They did not hold hands, or speak, or even acknowledge each other. Before dawn each day, the suitor climbed out of the window and went about his duties of hunting or fishing or farming.
One of the members asked what significance could be attached to that part of the courtship. “Restraint,” said the monitor promptly. “Due to the high mortality rate in such tribes, intercourse is primarily to procreate. I do not wish to imply that sex for pleasure is regarded as distasteful –” they all laughed, - “but its hedonistic importance in such a culture is considerably less than in affluent societies. Therefore, restraint is linked to virility.”
“Hasn’t the latest medical research disproved that theory?” asked one of the younger men.
“I’ve heard the length of virility depends greatly on when the male begins his activities,” said a woman about Dominic’s age. “That men who begin their sexual experiences at a mature age retain virility until late in life.”
“I don’t think the primitives regard virility the same as we do,” said an older man. “To them, sex late in life is a function of the body. Virility is the power to ejaculate strongly during the child bearing period. Therefore, I can agree with the implication that restraint in this culture is linked to virility and this is demanded of all young men.”
The monitor shut off the projector and cleared his voice. “There is still one very unusual part of the marriage ceremony. Being pagans, they merely hold hands while the headman chants wishes for good hunts and crops. Then the groom’s family pays to the bride’s family certain gifts, such as the carcass of a wild pig, or chickens, which strangely enough do not abound in that tribe, and a few coins, which they understand to have value. Some of these coins are given to trusted outsiders who pass by occasionally to buy items of necessity, such as knives, pots, pans. I spoke with a priest who came through once and sometimes twice a year for fifteen years. His total conversion consisted of two orphaned children. To continue, after the bride gifts are paid over, the bride and groom are seated on two swings, positioned about three feet apart and facing each other. The father of the groom stands behind the bride and the bride’s father is placed behind the groom. At a given signal, the bride lifts her dress and exposes her vulva. Directly afterwards the groom draws out his penis and brings it to an erection. At a second signal, the two fathers push the swings together, the bride sitting with open thighs and the groom with legs together. As the groom begins to enter his bride, the fathers carefully guide them to a full linkage. Should the first attempt fail, the couple is allowed two more tries. If penetration does not take place, perhaps due to the inability of the groom to have an erection, the ceremony is stopped, the presents are returned, and the young people go their separate ways.”
The group enjoyed this tremendously. One young man spoke up. “The meaning of that custom is certainly clear. The man must have the ability to do the job and the girl must be able to accept him.”
The monitor smiled. “Yes. But why in public? This is the only tribe I’ve encountered who perform a sex act in public.” His smile grew broader. “With due exception to the modern generation at music festivals.”
The discussion warmed as one stated it was done to prove their virility, since restraint had already been demonstrated. Another said it was to start them on the path of procreation. A third said it was to assure everyone that neither of them had a deformity. Other voices agreed and disagreed.
The monitor held up his hand to get their attention. “Miss Barbara Winston, Bonny to us all, has brought along a friend, a Mister Dominic DiStephano, who I understand has traveled extensively. Perhaps he would like to offer a suggestion.”
Dominic wasn’t the least bit abashed. His face remained serious and immobile as he stood up. “It’s quite evident why they do it. They are having fun.”
For a few seconds the group was taken back, then they laughed and began applauding. Dominic resumed his seat under the smiling eyes of his paramour.
The conference lasted four days. The third and fourth days were taken up with discussions about the project in Uruguay. Dominic accompanied Bonny, not only because he found the subject interesting, but because Bonny asked him to recount some of his experiences among the Charrúas. Financing of the project was quickly arranged. A nonprofit foundation in Virginia agreed to fund the $175,000 budgeted for the three month expedition, plus an additional $25,000 for professional photographers to accompany them. One half of the monies earned from the films would be distributed among the participants, the other half would go to the foundation. The older man, who had knowledge of sex life among primitive peoples, turned out to be Professor Hampton from a university in Arizona, with more degrees and credits than a British brigadier has decorations. He was elected to lead the expedition. Five other members, Bonny included, were selected to join him. Professor Hampton was to receive $4,000 per month salary, the others $2,000 per month. Plus expenses, of course.
Dominic gave his talk, about the time he was surveying the Rio Negro for an alternate crossing over the river and decided to see the countryside when he stumbled onto the Charrúas. There had been a short period of wondering whether he and his terrified guide would be cut into many small pieces as food for the caymans, but Dominic had cooled the tense situation by abruptly sitting down crossed legged and munching at a sandwich with such casualness and disregard of the natives that no one in his right mind could have suspected him of being dangerous. After eating the sandwich, he had left his haversack containing other food open in full view, let fall a jungle knife in a sheath, then moved thirty or forty yards away and pretended to fall asleep beneath a eucalyptus tree. His guide almost had a heart attack to discover that Dominic had actually fallen asleep. He had spent two days with the natives, then gone back to civilization.
And why hadn’t he mentioned them to the Uruguayan authorities? The government there, he replied, is so screwed up with socialized this and socialized that, and so far into debt, that living a peaceful life hunting frogs and pato real is utopia. Then he scratched his head and said he must be nuts to have mentioned them here.
Bonny had noticed the strange carrying on occurring in the DiStephano household, such as conversations over the phone being held in guarded tones, the sudden meeting of family members behind closed doors, and the contrived conversations with Carol and/or Eleanor and/or Rose when the men had something to discuss. What had put the frosting on the cake, so to speak, was the frequent sounds of gunfire from the cellar. Dominic had explained that shooting was a family hobby. During the third day of her visit, he escorted her below to take a few pot shots with a rifle. She had fired rapidly three times at a target and Dominic had returned sheepishly with the card showing three center bulls.
She knew something was going on, but also knew it was none of her business. Her Italian mother had married a staid, Puritan-type Bostonian who regarded Daughters of The American Revolution as late comers to the Colonies, and although his Anglican beliefs were easily converted to the Catholic faith, there was still enough of the Puritan in him to insist, prior to his death, that his family keep their noses out of other people’s affairs. The murder of Maria, of course, was common knowledge to the somewhat numerous Donini clan and their aloof Winston relatives, although the Winstons, at the height of the publicity, did consider disclaiming even the remotest relationship to the DiStephanos. But they decided at the last moment to allow a “kissing cousin” relationship. After all, a billion dollars of power had made the Doninis acceptable to them, and Vito was actually the head of the combined families. Furthermore, everyone in Boston knew how hopelessly in love he was with Rose. But the death of Junior had remained a mystery, except for the clouded newspaper articles which stated he had been killed by accident, with a hint now and then that some dark, secretive, Italian curse had fallen on the heads of the DiStephanos and would, by association, stain those who were allied with them.
By the fourth day of her visit, however, Bonny knew something even more important - that she was falling head over heels in love with Dominic. She had had crushes now and then, but they were pale shadows of how she felt about him. He seemed to like her enormously, except one sensed there was a heavily insulated layer of emotion held far in reserve that must be tapped before he could truly love. He would be acceptable to the Winstons as the husband of Barbara, especially since he was already closely related to the Doninis, and he could certainly adjust to their way of life. Dominic could adjust to anything, she knew. What gave her a moment of pause was his working habits. In her world, regardless of the amount of money one has, the husbands go to an office each morning. It may be just to shuffle papers, or discuss with other similarly occupied husbands what the bond market is doing, but one does so. It’s as much a part of their manner of living as it is for the wives to wear the finest wool sweaters with holes at the elbows from long usage.
All that was quite nice, but one must catch the fish before dropping it on a grill. She decided on the spur of the moment to go away for a week or two to examine all this from long range. Too much had happened too fast. Bonny had a neat, orderly mind, able to grasp problems in mid-air and sort things out quickly and effectively. Until now she had controlled all the situations she encountered. But someone else played the fiddle and called the steps here, and the instant his hands were laid on her and he began to enter her with that huge throbbing organ, all she could do, and all she wanted to do, was dance to its tune.
She told him that night of her previously programmed plan to visit the foundation in Virginia, that she would be leaving the very next morning. Dominic did not seem to mind in the least. He said something to the effect that she must be on pins and needles to start off on the expedition to Uruguay, and to let him know where she was from time to time. For a second her entire world dropped into a hole a mile deep, then common sense took over. Dominic had never indicated that he was even remotely in love with her, and poor fool that she was, she had neglected to consider the fact that he might regard her only as a fine lay he stumbled upon while visiting his father’s house for a summer vacation. She responded with some inane remark that maybe they’d run upon each other in South America, but the words sounded garbled and exactly like one would say to a stranger.
It had been time for him to go back to his own bedroom when the conversation came up, so he kissed her soundly and slipped out of bed. He picked up his clothing and started for the door, then he stopped and came back. He leaned down and kissed her very tenderly.
“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m going to miss you something large.” A moment later, he was out of the room.
Bonny lay back in the bed and her entire world zoomed up from that mile deep hole to at least ten miles in the sky. “That rascal,” she said under her breath, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry. “I’ll make you pay, Dominic DiStephano, for scaring me half to death. Oh, you’ll pay - directly after we’re married and have our fourth child.”
It was fortunate that Dominic returned to his room when he did, for just minutes later Vito was shaking his shoulder. He lay shocked for a few seconds at the thought he had been caught in bed with Bonny, then he came fully alert.
“Yes, I’m awake. What’s up?”
“Come downstairs. We have news about Franko. Get Vince up when you come to.”
“I’m up,” said Vincent, who was a light sleeper. “What’s the word?”
“We’ve got a hot lead. Franko may be in Quebec.”
“Wonder what the devil he’s doing there,” said Dominic. He switched on the bed lamp as Vito left the room and looked at his watch. It was 4 a.m.
“A hell of a time to get messages,” he said to Vincent.
His brother was already out of bed and donning a robe. Dominic slipped on his own robe and they walked downstairs together. Ettore was waiting in the sitting room, perched on a chair with a map in his hands.
“Where’s Vito?” asked Vincent.
“He’s getting Mike and the boys,” said Ettore. As he spoke, the four walked into the room.
Vito picked up a pad on which he had written notes. “Ten minutes ago I received a call from my security man in Boston. Franko’s apartment was entered about eleven o’clock last night while his wife and daughters were visiting relatives. I’ve been assured that no evidence of entry has been left behind. Two letters were found there, both posted in Antwerp, Belgium. One written twelve days ago gave merely the news of short trips taken locally and restaurants he ate at. The second, written a week ago, said he would be leaving for Quebec in a few days and that he would phone her. As soon as the news was flashed to my security man, he had the investigation firm phone several of the hotels in Quebec asking for a Walter Franco and his wife. The clerk of one hotel, the Clarendon, said the only guest registered there with a similar name was an Edward Franko. My security man stopped all further inquiries and phoned me.”
Ettore nodded with satisfaction. “That man of yours is quite an efficient person. All right, Mike, Dom, get up there and look things over.”
“Grandpa,” said Bob. “How about a third?”
Ettore saw at once that Vito didn’t like the idea, even though he showed it only by a narrow squint of his eyes. “I may need you here, Bob. When Mike and Dom want help, I’m ready to reconsider.”
The squint disappeared from Vito’s eyes. “I’m having a flight plan to Quebec laid on for the jet today, so you can leave whenever you want to.”
There wasn’t much sleep for the family that night. Bonny was surprised to find everyone down for breakfast at a normal hour for a change. She noted a certain excitement in the air, and thought perhaps it was due to Dominic telling the others she was leaving that day. When he cornered her to say he himself would be leaving later in the morning, it struck her with more certainty that the family had a deep secret which they weren’t about to share with outsiders, even though she was the niece of Vito. Her logical mind began placing pegs in round holes: two deaths of violence in the family; everyone just hanging around stifling Chicago when they would ordinarily be vacationing; no talk of going home, although there were young people to be schooled and professions to be followed. Add all this to the guarded talks, conferences behind closed doors, rifle range in the cellar, the almost besieged atmosphere in the house, it formed a picture of a family preparing to make a momentous decision or take a critically important action.
Bonny liked traveling by train rather than air, so she made reservations on the express going east in mid morning. Dominic said he had time to drive her to the station. After a goodbye to the others, with special thanks to Ettore for his hospitality, she got into the car with him.
“They are sort of sorry to see you go,” said Dominic. “Vito’s family are strangers to us here.”
She wasn’t about to mention her suspicions. Generations of conservatism had laid a foundation rock deep, and to start asking personal questions at this time of life would require a thorough rehabilitation process. There was one point of ground on which she felt more secure. “In a way I’m sorry about leaving, too. Especially you, Dom. I won’t pretend that an awful lot hasn’t happened to me during these past five days.”
“Are you sorry?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s been an experience I’ve often thought about, but was reluctant to try. I suppose I was waiting for the right person.”
His hand covered hers lying limply on her lap. He gave it a slight squeeze. “Many years ago I used to believe that people who thought up reasons to avoid doing interesting things, such as romping in bed, and downing a good bourbon, or dancing all night under a full moon, or smoking a joint when the mood strikes, were missing some gray matter in their skulls.”
“And now?”
“I no longer think so, I know so.”
She had to laugh. “Dom, you are the world’s greatest fibber. I don’t believe you. Any person who knows as much as you do takes life very seriously. I haven’t heard a conversation yet which you didn’t follow like a mute, then come up with a comment or two that showed you knew lots more than you pretended.”
“Knowing things doesn’t make you accept the absurdity of a dull life.”
“There you go again, speaking as if daily routine or the basic essentials of life are insipid. There is much more exhilaration in accomplishing what you have been programmed to perform as there is riding constantly a merry-go-round of goodies. I’ve never told you, but I am a very fine cook. It takes a devil of a lot of work to prepare certain dishes, but the fun of eating and enjoying what I’ve toiled over makes all the labor, and the washing of pots and pans, a pleasure rather than a chore.”
Dominic laughed. “Well, you certainly jump in with both feet when you believe in something.”
“I believe in almost everything. As an anthropologist, I don’t hold with a beginning or an end, but everything else occurs. A human being does not exist to fill a small space in the scheme of things. He is the spectrum of all that is and will be, and, like the spectrum, he contains all the colors, the emotions, the need to be all things. That’s why I am convinced you often fib, for if any man can put claim to the spectrum, you’re the one.”
He pulled over to the curb, then turned and kissed her. Her eyes were moist when they drew apart. “Don’t read anything into me that isn’t there,” he said.
“It’s there. You’ve just never taken the time to look.”
He started driving again. Soon they were at the station. Their farewell was brief, but with a warmth that implied they wanted to meet again.
Upon returning to the house, Dominic finished packing in a hurry. Ettore and Vito drove him and Michael to the private airport where the jet was waiting. It took off promptly, and three hours later set down at Montreal. There they went through immigration and customs formalities, then were airborne for the half hour flight to Quebec. Once landed, they took a taxi directly from the airport to a car rental agency where they selected a new Dodge.
Vito’s people had made reservations for them at a first class hotel, and their influence was well appreciated when the two brothers learned almost all rooms in Quebec were filled by vacationers enjoying the sunny, September weather. After checking in, they indulged themselves with a leisurely, tasty meal, then took a stroll through the upper town to become familiar with the city. They were apprehensive about going out so openly, but it was either that or hire strangers to do their job, which Ettore was reluctant to allow. Dominic was confident his face had not been clearly seen by Bonazzi at the shootout near Juan-les-Pins. But that shouldn’t make any difference. Bonazzi père surely had pictures of the DiStephano family sent to his son and bodyguard. The important question was whether Chet Bonazzi was actually here in Quebec.
After breakfast the following morning, the brothers once again studied the photos of Ed Franko provided by the investigating agency with the two page report. He was a rather colorless-looking man, about five feet nine, brown haired with a receding hairline, even features, and a slim, ordinary build. The family had discussed him at length, wondering why such a seemingly mediocre person would be assigned to this evidently important mission. He could not be very smart, Dominic said, else he would not have spent four years of his life behind bars. Therefore, he must be another Bucci type, with the ability to react instantly to a confrontation and shoot with a deadly accuracy.
Michael went to the Hotel Clarendon to begin his vigil in the lobby. Every hour or so he left the hotel to take a short walk to dispel the possible curiosity of the staff. He ate lunch at the hotel restaurant, purchased another paperback book, then took up his position again. Dominic sat on a bench in a small park directly across from the Clarendon to watch the entrance. They met for supper at a restaurant behind the park.
The Canadian bean soup was delicious, the meal quite good, but the pastries were out of this world. Well fed, Michael lit up a cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke. “We can’t keep up this kind of observation much longer,” he said, shaking his head. “I have the house dick and half the bellboys wondering what I’m doing riveted to a chair.”
Dominic nodded. “I figured as much. What we need is a group of people to take turns watching. But since we’re not a group, I checked with the manager of that snack bar up the street. I ate a sandwich there for lunch. He may have a room above his place for rent tomorrow. We can see the entrance to the hotel clearly from there.”
“That’s great. If Bonazzi or Franko are here, one of them must come in or go out sooner or later. But even if we get the room, we’d better keep the ones we have now. Especially if Papa decides to come up.”
“Okay. Let’s get back on duty. They may be night birds.”
By ten o’clock that evening, they returned to their own hotel. The first day had been a big bust. Sitting on a stool in the hotel bar having a nightcap, Michael suddenly stood up. “I’m going to try that Walter Franco and his wife dodge.” Dominic accompanied him to a house phone, and stood quietly as Michael put in the call. He spoke, waited a minute, then held a short conversation with the operator. He came out of the booth. “Franko is still registered there. The clerk said he is alone and can’t be Walter Franco and wife.”
“I’d love to touch base with one of the bellhops or maids there.”
“We’d do a helleva lot better that way than sitting about. Well, let’s hit the sack and see what tomorrow brings.”
The next day the room on the second floor of the snack bar was available. The two brothers promptly moved in. It cost considerably more than it was worth, and contained a double bed and a couch which could open into a second double bed. Its redeeming feature was its single window looking out over the front of the Clarendon. Using the powerful binoculars Dominic had purchased in Cannes, the entrance came in sharp and clear. Now they could observe without fatigue, plus avoid suspicion. For two days they watched, but nobody resembling Franco or Bonazzi entered or left.
“This is weird,” said Michael. “Franko has a room there, but doesn’t appear. Could this be another Bucci deal? Where we’re being set up?”
“I thought of that myself. But then again, he could be on a trip. The B and E report said he wrote home from Belgium saying he often took local trips.”
“Yeah, he could do that, but why keep the room? They come mighty expensive in that hotel.”
“It’s the season, and the town is flooded with tourists. If he gave up the room, he’d have a helleva time getting it back. Then again, if he is on expenses, he couldn’t care less what it costs.”
Michael fired up a cigarette. I’m for trying to make contact with a bellboy or maid if something doesn’t break in a day or two.”
“I’ll go along with that,” he replied. “Do you know who might be a good contact? The owner of this place. He’s certainly wired to somebody at the Clarendon.”
“We’d better be careful who we talk with. If Franko should get his picture in the newspapers as a result of being dead or some other fatal incident, our names will be mentioned loud and clear.”
Dominic chuckled. “Maybe I should try touching base with one of the chambermaids.”
“She’d remember you till the day she died, Romeo. Come to speak of Juliets, what gives with you and Bonny?”
“She’s a great kid, but I’d hate to become involved with a woman who knows ten times more about everything than I.”
“Well, since that disqualifies ninety-five percent of all the females on earth, what difference does it make? So you shut up and hope she thinks you know more than you do. Carol said she is a number one type. Not that I want to see the lunatic of the family pass on this lunacy, but having you home this long has reminded us that we like you very much, and that having a baby brother around to browbeat is good for the ego.”
Dominic grinned fondly at his brother, “It is good to be with all of you again. But when I stay at a place too long, the walls start closing in. It’s great to move about and suddenly stop somewhere out of the blue to watch people you’ve never seen pass by. Different people - black, yellow, brown. You wonder what they’re thinking. Is that skinny guy in Tangier with clothes about to fall off as worried about today and tomorrow as the big shot in Oak Park who is stretched to the hilt with a hundred thousand dollar mortgage on his house and a yacht needing an overhaul each spring? And why are the women in Greece the most beautiful in the world? Or how about that barefoot, beggar kid in Erzurum, Turkey, with a testicle as big as a grapefruit. Will he someday become another Ataturk?”
“You sound like a philosopher about to write a treatise. Ain’t you never heard of watermelon and fucking?”
Dominic’s laugh filled the room. “That’s what I need - a big brother punching holes in my profound discourse. There are no heroes at home.”
“But, Jesus, Dom, there’s no reason a fellow can’t marry the right sort of person and travel to oddball places. Bonny seems almost as cuckoo as you. But most of all, having roots and kids....” His voice trailed away and his face sagged as he thought of Junior. He turned back to the window and leveled the binoculars. “Shit. Shit,” he said under his breath.
Dominic sat silent for a few long seconds. “I’m terribly sorry about Junior, Mike. The wrong one got hit.”
Michael wiped his eyes. “Hell, Dom, it wasn’t your fault. Papa took Carol and me aside when he got back and said you had ordered Junior to stay glued to the car, then tried to stop him when he started shooting it out with Bucci. He said you’d probably carry the blame for the rest of your life. But you mustn’t. Junior did what he thought he had to do. I miss him like hell, and I’ll cry in corners the rest of my days. But I’m also very proud of him. He died thinking he was saving you and Papa. There’s no finer way to go than for your own family.”
“Thanks, Mike,” said Dominic softly. “We can’t bring Maria or Junior back, but we can sure as hell cancel out Bonazzi.”
“You’re damn right we can, and I want a piece of him too.” He stopped speaking and his body tensed. Without moving his binoculars, he said clearly, “Dom, we have something. Get over here.”
Dominic sped to the window and lifted his own binoculars. Franko was standing at the entrance to the hotel talking to a uniformed man wearing a chauffeur’s cap. A dust coated Buick was parked at the curb, and a porter was taking out a leather suitcase from its trunk.
“He just drove up in that Buick,” said Michael, his voice full of excitement. “Guess he’s giving instructions to the parking attendant.”
As they watched, the attendant got into the car and drove it to a parking area across the street.
Franko was neatly dressed in a well fitting leisure suit, a short brimmed summer hat, and woven leather shoes. Followed by the porter, he walked into the hotel.
The brothers put down their binoculars. Michael’s eyes were bright. “What now, Dom? Do we pull a repeat of Bucci?”
“Let’s keep our eye on him for a while first. Nobody knows we have identified him, so he may lead us on to something. Bucci was expecting us, therefore he wouldn’t have dreamed of going near Bonazzi.”
They took turns observing the hotel. Dominic went down and brought up sandwiches for lunch. They had just finished eating when Michael, the binoculars to his eyes, grunted. “Here comes Franko’s Buick. Something must be up.”
Dominic stepped beside him, his binoculars also raised. They saw the attendant park the car next to the hotel entrance. A few minutes later four men emerged: a sour-faced man of about forty; behind him was Franko; alongside Franko was a slender, blond haired man six feet tall; last a young husky boxer type with dark hair.
“What’s going on there?” asked Michael. “There go four likely looking hoods for second prize at the local slammer if ever I saw one.”
Following them up appeared a porter pushing a cart containing four pieces of luggage. As he began placing the suitcases in the trunk of the Buick, Michael and Dominic rushed from their room, double-stepping down the stairs to their car at the curb. They were inside with the motor running when the Buick started off in the opposite direction. Dominic, behind the wheel, made a U turn and fell in line. He remained a car or two to the rear as Franko drove his companions out of Quebec onto the northeast highway leading to Montmorency. They went by the picturesque Falls, cascading a white froth of water two hundred and seventy feet down, through the town and on towards Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré. Just after the splendid cathedral, where hundreds of crutches and medals gave testimony to the miracle of Sainte Anne, the Buick turned north onto a secondary road. There was plenty of traffic in both directions, so the trailing Dodge did not stand out.
Ten miles along the road, Dominic was slowed up by two cars out Sunday driving. When he finally got by and rounded a curve, the Buick was out of sight! Immediately he stamped on the accelerator. A few miles further on, the brothers had to admit the Buick was lost.
“Where the hell could they have gone?” growled Dominic, disgusted at having let the other car slip away.
“They couldn’t have lost us on this road,” said Michael. “They had to turn off. I think it was back there near the curve.”
Dominic made a U turn and started back. Several small roads intersected the one they had driven over. Directly before reaching the bend, Michael pointed out a narrow dirt lane angled off to their left. “That’s the most logical place they could have pulled off without us seeing it.” And it was logical, for it could very easily be overlooked by cars going north from Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré.
Dominic turned onto the lane and drove slowly over it, peering about carefully. When it curved into a heavily wooded area, he drew over into the shelter of the trees and parked. “Let’s not push our luck. If they did come down this road, we can end up smack in their laps. Come on, we’ll hoof it.”
Slinging their binoculars, they got out of the car and began walking. Whenever the lane curved out of view, they moved among the trees to check it over before proceeding. They walked a mile, then a second, stopping often to look about through their glasses.
“I’m going to feel like the world’s biggest ass if I find we’re doing all this for nothing,” said Michael.
“Look there,” said Dominic, pointing out an empty Marlboro cigarette box by the side of the road. He picked it up. “American made. Let’s keep going.”
After two more miles, even Dominic began to wonder if this was a waste of time. Both of them were sweating now, with insects whirling about their faces. After another mile, they sat alongside the lane and fired up cigarettes.
“I’ll go fifteen minutes more,” said Michael. “That’s my limit.”
“Too bad this road isn’t wet or dusty,” said Dominic. “Then we would be able to check tire tracks. That is, if we knew how the hell to check tire tracks.”
Michael’s head lifted. “Hey! A car’s coming from up ahead.”
They snuffed out their cigarettes quickly, then melted back into the woods, their binoculars trained on the road. The noise of an approaching car could now be heard distinctly. It came into sight. The Buick! Inside was one man - the sour-faced fellow of about forty.
When the car went by, the brothers came out of the woods. “We hit it,” said Dominic triumphantly. “Franko and the other two must be up ahead.”
“Looks like it. I hope that guy doesn’t see our car.”
“I doubt it. It’s concealed pretty well. But if he does, he’ll probably figure it belongs to lovers out for an afternoon lay. Well, let’s get going. But we’d better stay among the trees.”
They walked for half an hour without seeing signs of the three men. Then Michael, in the lead, motioned to drop to the ground. “Up ahead,” he whispered. “There’s a chain across the road.”
“Anybody there?”
“Didn’t see anyone.”
“Stay here, I’ll scout it.” Quietly, cautiously, Dominic stole deeper into the woods. He crept and crawled over a wide arc that took him to a position where he could clearly see the chain and the road on both sides. Nobody was in sight. Remaining amid the trees, he scouted further along the road for a hundred yards. Still no one in sight. He stepped out into the open, waved Michael up, then began brushing off the pine needles adhering to his clothing.
“That chain is to keep cars out,” he said, “so we’re on private property. I’ll bet you supper there’s a lodge up ahead.”
Back into the woods they went, walking carefully, stopping often to look about and listen.
Suddenly, the lodge came into view! It was set in a clearing on the edge of a lake. Out on the water the dark haired young man was fishing in a rowboat.
“Franko and the other guy are probably inside,” whispered Dominic.
“I think I saw movement on the front porch,” said Michael. He lifted his binoculars. “Jesus Christ Almighty!” he whispered, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Will you take a look!”
Dominic crept forward and focused his binoculars. “Well, look who’s there,” he whispered back through grim set lips. “Bonazzi! That son of a bitch must have put on high heeled shoes and worn a blond wig when he came out of the hotel.”
“You can bet your sweet ass he did. But something smells queer. Why did he take all those precautions in Quebec and not along the road?”
“Perhaps he did. Remember, we overshot the turn, and it took a good fifteen minutes to get back to it. He could have left one of his men behind to see if they were followed, then figured they were safe when nobody showed up. Stay here, I’m going to scout the area.” Using extreme caution, he wormed his way to a position where he could see the cottage more completely. It was well constructed of split logs, containing five or six rooms. Bonazzi and Franko were seated in straw chairs on the wide porch, drinking bottled beer. The binoculars brought everything into sharp focus, even the name Molson printed on the bottles.
Bonazzi was exactly like his picture once the wig had been removed. In a holster attached to the left side of his belt was a snub nosed revolver. He was talking animatedly to Franko, motioning frequently with his hands. Rising from his chair, he went to the edge of the porch and called out to the man in the boat. The words were distorted by the breeze, but the gist could be made out. He was asking how the fishing was going. The man called back that it was great. Bonazzi resumed his chair and opened another bottle of beer.
Dominic now turned his attention to Franko. He wore a long sleeved shirt, and carried a flat, heavy calibered pistol in a shoulder holster. His eyes never seemed to rest, but roved over the lake, back into the woods, up to the tops of trees.
Dominic made a detailed inspection of the cottage, memorizing the location of the rooms, the windows, the door, then looked about for other people who might also be living there. There did not seem to be any. It was seven o’clock, the sun beginning its downward fall, when he returned to Michael.
They started back to their car, elated by their fortunate discovery, but still taking precautions by remaining close to the tree line as they walked down the road. It was after eight o’clock when they reached the car and climbed inside.
The moment they arrived at their hotel in Quebec, Michael was on the phone to Ettore to report the presence of Bonazzi. Ettore received the news with equanimity, but his son could tell he was as excited as they. “Get everything organized,” he told Michael. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”
The two brothers ate a late supper, then went right to bed, worn out from a day of tension and effort.
The following morning they were up early to go shopping. Their first stop was a department store where they bought dark, outdoor clothing, soft field boots, and thin gloves. Their second stop was a sporting goods shop. Here they selected two automatic pump shotguns, a large bore rifle, shells, three long flashlights, and batteries. Buying hunting weapons there was as uncomplicated as in the United States. Just before lunch, they drove to the Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré city hall to secure large scale maps of the area where the lodge was situated.
Vincent accompanied Ettore that afternoon on Vito’s plane. Dominic and Michael drove them from the Quebec airport to the rooms they had wisely kept at the hotel. Enroute there was an argument among the brothers about Vincent’s role in Canada. His left clavicle had healed satisfactorily, but his arm was still too weak for any heavy effort. Not that they wouldn’t have felt more secure with him along, for Vincent was smart as a whip. He had also taken exercises during his recuperation which cut his weight fifteen pounds. Michael, especially, still remembered what happened to anyone Vincent hit when he was in proper shape and became angry. But he wasn’t yet in shape, and they told him so.
Ettore and Vincent had brought along dark, outdoor wear, so there was no need to shop for more supplies. In the hotel, Dominic and Michael went over several times exactly what they had seen at the lodge, how the rooms were positioned, where the men probably slept, what the woods surrounding the area looked like. Ettore studied the maps obtained from the city hall then asked a few questions about the lake.
“If they are security conscious,” he said, “they will be watching the road. So we must fool them. I want you boys to buy or rent a canoe long enough to hold three of us. Then have a carrying rack put on the roof of the car.”
Michael suddenly recalled that Ettore had made large sums of money during the depression by running whisky from Canada. He had owned a couple of boats during that period. One tended to forget that a man seventy-five years old might still have more savvy than a son half his age. He looked at his brothers; they were thinking the same thing.
“We’ve gotten your idea, Papa. But the big question is how far do we go with the men guarding Bonazzi?”
“We have no quarrel with them, but we must assume they will try to protect him. If so, we will kill them all.”