Sicilian Slaughter by Don Pendleton, Jim Peterson Page A

Eddie. You're a good boy and you're right. My anger I'm taking out on you. Here, sit down, have a cup of coffee, and maybe some brandy. There's a chill in the air this morning."
    Eddie felt no chill. He felt sweat under his chin and along his flanks. He sat down at the round old-fashioned hand-carved table, facing the don. He spread the radiogram on the white cloth. Don Cafu poured coffee for them both, slurped noisily, opened a bottle of
grappa,
refilled the cup and stirred with his finger. Eddie thought, the table manners of these old greaseballs would gag a buzzard.
    Don Cafu slurped again, put his cup down and jerked his chin at the radiogram. "What it says is no more seventy-five thousand bucks a day rental for our soldiers, Eddie."
    "What!
Some son of a bitch's crossing us! That goddam Frankie!"
    The don quieted Eddie with a gesture. "Don't curse the dead. It's bad luck."
    "Dead? Wha — "
    Don Cafu gestured again, and Eddie fell silent. "You know of this Mack Bolan, this Executioner he calls himself?"
    "You ain't telling me
one
guy took out seventy-five of our best, Chief." Eddie shook his head. "Excuse me, boss, with all respect, but that's bullshit. No
way!
I personally
trained
those guys. Physical conditioning, weapons, stealth, fire and maneuver." Eddie flicked the radiogram, shaking his head. "If that's what this says, somebody's putting a shuck on you, Chief, trying to cross you, work our soldiers without paying."
    "You a good boy, Eddie. I like you. But you got a mouth on you gonna get you killed one day, you don't learn." Don Cafu smiled; he looked like a death mask. "This came from
The
Man. You understand me, Eddie,
capo di tutti capi?"
    "Boss of bosses."
    "That's right, Eddie. So no more about a shuck, hah? No more about stealing our soldiers or bullshit, hah?"
    "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. So what happened, and please, Chief, don't tell me this Bolan cat wiped out seventy-five of our best."
    "Kill them all? No. I think he killed only about thirty, personally, you understand? But how you like that, hah? One man, thirty deads! The rest, they kill each other or now in jail."
    "And Frankie, our payday?"
    "This you listen close, Eddie. The commission sent a wild card hit-man to Philly, an expert, the
best.
And you know what happens? I tell you, listen close. This bastard Bolan takes the hit man — " Don Cafu snapped his fingers like a gunshot " — and sells
him
to Frankie as himself. You understand?"
    "Jesus Christ in all His truth!"
    "Hah? That's right. You know what else he does, Eddie. He collects the bounty on himself, this bastard Bolan. One hundred and ten of the Large. That was
our
money, Eddie."
    "You mean for the soldiers we sent, all the expense we had training them, getting them smuggled in ... we get
nothing?"
    "You a smart boy, Eddie. You catch on fast."
    "That stupid Frankie, I — "
    "No, not the dead, don't curse the dead boy, bad luck."
    "Bolan got him, too."
    "No, the commission took care of Frankie."
    "What! Goddam, Chief, you got me going in circles."
    "A good lesson you should learn.
Don't panic!
That's what happened in Philly, and the
commissione,
too, I'm sorry to say. Frankie took the head in to collect the bounty. The commission thought he was trying to pull a fast one, rolling out the hit-man's head, claiming it was Bolan. So no more Frankie Angeletti, no more Don Stefano Angeletti, no more Outfit in Philly, because they panicked."
    "And Bolan? Just walked out?" Eddie buried his face in his hands, anguish like physical pain as he closed his eyes and thought of all the months of grinding hard work he'd put into training his soldiers, the arrangements, expenses, and now all gone, a fart in a whirlwind. Key-
rist!
    Eddie became aware of Don Cafu's voice. He raised his face and looked at the old man. The don poured again. "Here, more coffee, and now, hah? You want a slug of brandy?"
    "Hell, yes!"
    "Okay, help yourself," and Eddie did as the don spoke. "No, Bolan did not just walk out. Number