Читать книгу The Errant Child - Ozzie Logozzo - Страница 13

Marina di Gioiosa Ionica, southern Italy

The funeral home, Santo Giovanni Camera Mortuaria, is not just a terminal for body laundering. It has a war room. The command center is located in the second-level kitchenette and dining room. Here, don Corrado Lupo, capo di tutti i capi (boss of all bosses) runs his Mafia empire.

The funeral home is a block away from la chiesa di San Nicola (St. Nicholas church) where Corrado, a favored child, served as an altar boy. A tunnel, deluxe as any haute couture tower resplendent with marble, granite and paintings, connects the funeral home with the church. Mafia operations and logistics stem from here. Masses and wakes facilitate entry and passage to the war

room for special meetings of deputies from the confederated families. Infrequently, celebrations take place in the church basement with all the capi, in all their magnificent malice and manner.

Corrado, son of a renowned bricklayer who designed and constructed the church, is an old man with a fringe of grey-white hair. No doubt, he will live to be one hundred. His scalp is balding and mottled. His face is heavily lined. His gait is purposeful. The early years of helping his dad and running away from his beatings developed solid muscles still evident in his senior years.

Don Corrado appears uncomfortable in his Sunday garb. Having evaded the mass and crowd, don Corrado is drinking coffee, with a San Pellegrino chaser, while waiting for his enforcer priest to return from his business in the basement.

From the comfort of his Augusta, sumptuous and stylish recliner, don Corrado, his back always to the wall, has a wide-angle view of the chamber. The bar is dripping in ancient, ornate tapestries and plaques. The coffee itself is imported from various regions to satisfy the discerning palate of any visiting crime lord dignitary. Thanks to the women of the church, the bar carries a wide variety of desserts and pastries. The shell-shaped sfogliatelle, favored in Naples, is his favorite. He cannot help but think, Crazy Neapolitans managed to get one thing right.

A slight head turn left, presents a depth of perception of the double French doors. No one could enter unnoticed. A slight head turn right gives don Corrado a clear view of the railway yard. There is a lack of movement on Sunday. The railway cars,

like overblown coffins, wallow in the midday sun.

Finally, Father Alfonso, clad in a ankle length black cassock with attached white collar and a large silver crucifix necklace, enters and nods. He grabs a small bottle of San Pellegrino mineral water from the fridge and sits sideways across from on Corrado as if in a confessional. Methodically, he adjusts his eyeglasses, strokes his beard and prepares to deliver his report, from trusted director to chief executive. With a second thought, he opts to open with banalities.

“Tell me don Corrado, how is your feisty youngest daughter, Regina, these days? Is she still the Gothic, tomboy, ball buster feared by the young boys?”

Don Corrado feels flattered. He enjoys talking about his favorite female regardless of the severity of a situation.

“Oh, yeah. She’s regal.”

Chuckling before the punch line, don Corrado decrees, “That one will be the death of my wife and the proud jewel of my heart.”

“And, your eldest, Allegra. How is she doing?” Saddened, don Corrado is speechless.

“I understand that Allegra is coming home for a visit. We should have a party in her honor,” says Father Alfonso.

Don Corrado shakes and stays mute. It is evident he wants the pleasantries to cease.

“Father Alfonso, please report.”

Without further hesitation, Father Alfonso returns to the ‘family’ business.

“The mayor is dead. Other preparations are

in motion. By noon tomorrow, the mayors of Siderno, Cosenza, Napoli, Bari, Messina and Palermo will be joining our former collaborator. Coffins will become the new statutes of piazzas across southern Italy. Regional governments and officials will learn how to cooperate once more. They will reject Rome’s anti- Mafia commission.”

Taking a swig of water directly from the bottle, Father Alfonso’s liturgy continues.

“The carabinieri (Italy’s military police) interfering with our drug trafficking and La Guardia di Finanza (the Treasury Police) investigating our bank holdings will be extremely afraid and truly happy, after tomorrow, to divert their attention to traffic violations and Communists. Our politicians’ repentance and reformation will make it so.”

Don Corrado, unenthusiastic, looks at his friend and confessor.

“What about La Stregheria? The professore and his witchcraft society still control the Vatican Bank. Without the Vatican in our hands, we are mere gangsters and hoodlums. We need the supremacy of the Pope under our rule. Bribing carabinieri and politicians is not enough. They are fickle and change sides like the unpredictable Scirocco wind.”

“Your sons will be convincing,” says Father Alfonso. “They are traveling to Rome under the protection of Giacomo, lieutenant colonel of the carabinieri, with an enhanced offer Cardinal Pio, Vatican’s Secretary of State, can’t refuse. The Cardinal has sinfully enjoyed our woman. Plus, he will be overjoyed when your sons propose making him the next Pope. I will ascend as Pio’s assistant to

head the Vatican Bank and one day soon, you will be the Presidente del Consilgio (Prime Minister) of Italy. Together we will unite the powers of the state and church under Mafia rule. Nothing is complicated. Connections and judicious extermination have a way of making matters simple.”

Don Corrado, impassive, measures his words and speaks with cool serenity.

“If this fails, we will lose respect. Our coalition will dissolve. It will start the greatest Mafia war of our time. Rather than fight Stregheria, our common enemy, we will kill each other. There will be an indiscriminate execution of friends, relatives, children and even priests and their whores.”

Don Corrado, with raised eyebrows, stares at Father Alfonso.

Father Alfonso, foreverresolute, understands the silent communication of don Corrado’s eyes. Unruffled, he speaks to his lord.

“Thine will be done. I promise it.”