"Billy," Harry said, narrowing his eyes and staring me down like a schoolmaster. "Not here, not now."
"Exactly," said Don Calo. "Everywhere else, you have dominion. On the sea, on the land, and in the air, you kill each other, as well as many innocents. But here, no. In this little village, in my poor house, no."
Remke nodded to Don Calo, acknowledging his wisdom while showing me up with his European patience. I felt like taking the damned handkerchief out and blowing my nose in it. Harry's eyes were on me, willing me to shut up. I avoided his gaze and stared at Nick, who looked as dazed as I felt.
"My apologies," I said. "Nowadays I try not to let my guard down, with enemies or friends."
"Very good," said Don Calo. "The virtue of an enemy is that you know he is your enemy, while your so-called friend may deceive you."
A plate of small rice balls came my way. I helped myself, the aroma nearly lifting me off my seat. It felt good to put everyone else on edge. It leveled the playing field, which I liked a damn sight better than being the odd man out.
"So we are all here, where you can keep an eye on us, and decide who is to be your new friend?"
"Yes, I do keep the eye on you all. As for becoming friends, we Sicilians do not need your friendship, we would prefer that you all go away. The Italians too. Leave us to our island, that is our wish."
"Then why do you have a German, two Americans, and an Englishman here, Don Calo?" Sciafani asked.
" Un diavolo caccia l'altro," Don Calo answered, and they both laughed. Remke raised an eyebrow, signaling his understanding. All I got was the bit about the devil.
"One devil hunts the other," Sciafani explained. "An old saying."
"Did you know that one, Nick?" I asked. "Sounds right up your alley, with your family coming from around here."
"No" was all he said, and meekly at that.
"Well, here's one for you then," I said, raising my glass. " Faol saol agat, gob fliuch, agus bas in Eirinn."
"Gaelic?" Harry asked. "Aye," I said, the Irish lilt from Southie springing to my lips. " Long life to you, a wet mouth, and death in Ireland. But any island will do."
Everyone but Nick laughed. I drank the wine down and the flavor danced on my tongue.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Remke was leaving. We watched as he shook hands with Don Calo and then opened the door of the Kubelwagen that had pulled up in front of the house behind two German motorcycles. We eyed the German riders as they spoke to each other and laughed as they glanced in our direction, their exchange barely audible above the rumbling machines. One of them revved his engine and took off, the thin slit of light from his taped headlamp casting a slash of brightness into the night.
"I hope to see you again, Lieutenant Boyle," Remke said as he pulled on his officer's cap.
"Each time a little closer to Berlin," I said, throwing him a lazy salute. He ignored that and drove off, the noise of the motors echoing harshly around the piazza.
This was the second time I'd encountered Remke, and like the first, there was a layer of repressed hostility between us. We were enemies, but he seemed to be having as much trouble with his allies as with us. First the Vichy French, now the Italians. I wondered how long it would be before the Germans stood alone, and if our next meeting would be somewhat less subdued.
In a minute, the sound of their vehicles was gone. It was quiet- that dark, late-night, small-town quiet that can send a shiver down the back of a city boy. Don Calo walked a few steps into the square and looked up at the night sky. It was a silky black, the stars sparkling through the clean mountain air.
"We will talk in the morning," he said, sighing and waving his hand dismissively. "It is late."
"What did Major Remke have to say?" I asked.
"That the Germans and the Italians will drive you into the sea. That they almost did so and most certainly will. That you were foolish to come here, so far from your bases. That I would also be foolish to make cause with you." He looked at me, an eyebrow raised, daring me to say otherwise.
"I was there when they tried to push us into the sea."
"It is true that they almost did?"
"Almost, yes. But we killed many of them, and in the end, they ran."
"You are a solider then, not simply a messenger?"
I wondered about that. I'd done some fighting, but I wasn't at the front full-time, like the GIs who lived and died together. Clancy and Joe. It didn't seem right to lump myself in with them. And I didn't like the idea of admitting I really was a messenger boy, a general's nephew who had nearly screwed up his assignment.
"We'll talk in the morning," I said, and went inside. Don Calo followed, and I heard the iron gate clang shut and a key turn heavily in the lock.
"Wait-," Nick gasped as I grabbed him by the neck. Harry had signaled me to follow them into the room they shared. He wanted to talk but what I wanted to do was give Nick a thrashing and then find out what the hell he'd been up to at the Valley of the Temples.
"You son of a bitch," I hissed through clenched teeth. "Why did you draw a gun on me at the temple? Whose side are you on anyway?"
"Quiet," pleaded Harry. "Let him go, Billy, I'll explain." He pushed us apart, keeping the flat of his palm on my chest to make sure I didn't go for Nick again.
"It's not what you think," Nick said, rubbing his throat.
"Do you still have the handkerchief?" Harry asked me as he guided Nick to a chair. I looked around the room and noticed their windows had iron bars like mine. The whole house was a prison. I nodded, thinking there might be someone listening outside.
I asked Nick in a whisper, "Are you working for Vito Genovese? He wants this handkerchief too. Pulled a gun on me like you did. Didn't get it like you won't."
"Then my family is dead," Nick replied in a whisper.
I backed away. There was sadness and resignation in Nick's voice. "Sit down, Billy," Harry said. His was the only calm voice in the room. "I'll explain."
There were a couple of chairs around the small table where Nick sat. Harry pulled up one and I took another, wondering what could possibly come next. He pulled the cork from a bottle and poured three glasses.
"Grappa," Nick said, tossing his back and pouring himself another. "Made from the residue of grapes after they've been pressed. A bit like the war, isn't it? Just when you think the life has been drained out of you, someone else puts another squeeze on."
"Billy," Harry began, watching Nick warily, as if he'd been hitting the grappa too hard lately. "We can still salvage what's left of this mission, but Nick has a problem."
"Don't we all," I said, but decided to shut up until I knew more.
"They threatened Nick's family unless he cooperated with them," Harry said. "They said they'd kill all the men-his grandfather, uncles, cousins-unless he went along."
"They? Who are you talking about? And go along with what?"
"The heist," Nick said, looking into his empty glass.
"What heist, and who the hell are you talking about?"
"Someone in AMGOT, but we don't know who," Harry said. "And this Vito Genovese character you just mentioned, along with another gangster, Joseph Laspada."
"And their pal Muschetto, a local guy," I said.