pool's edge. He stood just off of them and looked back toward the lounge, then swivelled about to peer up the beach. "Yes, that sounds solid," he said, sighing. "And I can see your problem."
"A man is on his way over with a theodolite. In the meantime, I've arbitrarily ruled out the first three buildings. That still leaves about four within firing range — or, wait a minute! If Bolan is our man, I'd better scale that up some. Let's say there are six possibles. I'll get some men over to those other two buildings." He spun on his heel and trotted quickly across the patio.
"Any way you look at it," the captain said to no one at all, gazing down at the bloodstained flagstones, "we've got a large-sized problem on our hands."
Lt. Wilson hurried through the lobby and into the front parking area where a number of police cruisers were congregated. Several uniformed patrolmen moved forward to meet him. They conversed rapidly in low tones, then the patrolmen went to their vehicles and made a quiet departure.
Wilson lit a cigarette, flipped the spent match into air, murmured beneath his exhalation, "The Executioner, well, well . . ." and went back inside.
Across the street, leaning against a palm tree and conversing easily with another interested onlooker, a tall man in a denim casual suit and dark sunglasses watched the detective re-enter the hotel. "Well," he remarked, "I guess it's all over. The cops seem to be leaving."
The other man laughed nervously and replied, "I wish they'd let us in. I don't know . . . call it morbid, there's something about a shooting . . . I mean, wouldn't you like to get in there and see it?"
"No, I don't like blood," replied the denimed one.
The other man emitted another nervous laugh and began talking to an onlooker at his other side. The tall man moved away and returned to a parked vehicle. He lit a cigarette and continued the watch. A short while later the bodies were brought out and the ambulances quietly departed. Then the young plainclothes cop reappeared, talking soberly with a larger, older man. The detectives got into their cars and left. Onlookers began to drift away. The tall man quietly smoked and watched. Some twenty minutes later, a stunning young woman with an upswept hairdo came out and was escorted to a police cruiser. It was apparent, from the actions of her escort, that she was not under arrest. When the police vehicle moved into the stream of beachfront traffic, the tall man in the denim suit started his car and swung in a short distance behind. The Executioner was sniffing along another hot trail.
Chapter Six
Council of kings
For the first time in many years, the "invisible second government of the nation" was convened in full session. It was called the
Commissione
and consisted of the head of each of the thirteen U.S.
Cosa Nostra
families.
La Cosa Nostra,
literally "this thing of ours," was operated as a republic within a republic. Despite much official and public conjecture on the matter, there was no "boss of all the bosses" who functioned as a sovereign head of the massive underground organization. The
Commissione
itself established interfamily policies and procedures, policed its members, and enforced the council's rulings.
Rebellions and power plays within the
Commissione
were rare and singularly unsuccessful. Though he was the undisputed lord of his own domain, a
Capo
generally saw the wisdom of submerging his own ego in a larger fealty to the majority view of the ruling council; those who did, prospered; those who did not were notable chiefly for their shortened life-expectancy.
Ciro Lavangetta privately thought of the
Commissione
as "the council of kings," though in this view Ciro himself was more in the nature of a crown prince. He was a boss, sure, but the youngest and among the newest of the lot, with the poorest kingdom represented in the council. He had been given all the rights and honors of a full-fledged
Capo,
but he had forever reigned in the shadow of
"A man is on his way over with a theodolite. In the meantime, I've arbitrarily ruled out the first three buildings. That still leaves about four within firing range — or, wait a minute! If Bolan is our man, I'd better scale that up some. Let's say there are six possibles. I'll get some men over to those other two buildings." He spun on his heel and trotted quickly across the patio.
"Any way you look at it," the captain said to no one at all, gazing down at the bloodstained flagstones, "we've got a large-sized problem on our hands."
Lt. Wilson hurried through the lobby and into the front parking area where a number of police cruisers were congregated. Several uniformed patrolmen moved forward to meet him. They conversed rapidly in low tones, then the patrolmen went to their vehicles and made a quiet departure.
Wilson lit a cigarette, flipped the spent match into air, murmured beneath his exhalation, "The Executioner, well, well . . ." and went back inside.
Across the street, leaning against a palm tree and conversing easily with another interested onlooker, a tall man in a denim casual suit and dark sunglasses watched the detective re-enter the hotel. "Well," he remarked, "I guess it's all over. The cops seem to be leaving."
The other man laughed nervously and replied, "I wish they'd let us in. I don't know . . . call it morbid, there's something about a shooting . . . I mean, wouldn't you like to get in there and see it?"
"No, I don't like blood," replied the denimed one.
The other man emitted another nervous laugh and began talking to an onlooker at his other side. The tall man moved away and returned to a parked vehicle. He lit a cigarette and continued the watch. A short while later the bodies were brought out and the ambulances quietly departed. Then the young plainclothes cop reappeared, talking soberly with a larger, older man. The detectives got into their cars and left. Onlookers began to drift away. The tall man quietly smoked and watched. Some twenty minutes later, a stunning young woman with an upswept hairdo came out and was escorted to a police cruiser. It was apparent, from the actions of her escort, that she was not under arrest. When the police vehicle moved into the stream of beachfront traffic, the tall man in the denim suit started his car and swung in a short distance behind. The Executioner was sniffing along another hot trail.
Chapter Six
Council of kings
For the first time in many years, the "invisible second government of the nation" was convened in full session. It was called the
Commissione
and consisted of the head of each of the thirteen U.S.
Cosa Nostra
families.
La Cosa Nostra,
literally "this thing of ours," was operated as a republic within a republic. Despite much official and public conjecture on the matter, there was no "boss of all the bosses" who functioned as a sovereign head of the massive underground organization. The
Commissione
itself established interfamily policies and procedures, policed its members, and enforced the council's rulings.
Rebellions and power plays within the
Commissione
were rare and singularly unsuccessful. Though he was the undisputed lord of his own domain, a
Capo
generally saw the wisdom of submerging his own ego in a larger fealty to the majority view of the ruling council; those who did, prospered; those who did not were notable chiefly for their shortened life-expectancy.
Ciro Lavangetta privately thought of the
Commissione
as "the council of kings," though in this view Ciro himself was more in the nature of a crown prince. He was a boss, sure, but the youngest and among the newest of the lot, with the poorest kingdom represented in the council. He had been given all the rights and honors of a full-fledged
Capo,
but he had forever reigned in the shadow of
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