"My captain will have my head if I lose that vehicle." The M1 was aimed square at my head.
"It won't be lost. We're taking it to Vittoria. If you shoot, try not to hit either of these two, it's not their fault." I hit the accelerator and worked the gears to get us up to top speed before anybody started firing. I glanced back to see the sergeant lower his rifle and curse. Elliott was waving his fists again.
"Why did you tell them where we are going?" Kaz asked.
"Because Elliott already knows. Everyone knows. Everyone except us."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
We drove north, out of the deserted town and through mudflats bearing tufts of brown dry grasses that lay limp in the dead air. Away from the sea breeze, the land was scorched and arid. The only good thing was that there was no cover, no hiding place for a sniper to ambush us. I drove fast.
"What have you discovered, Billy?" Kaz asked, holding onto his cap in the hot wind.
"More like figured out, finally. I found the truck that Andrews was killed in. It was burned, but there were remnants in it of big rolls of paper. And I remembered something that Nick had said, about AMGOT setting up printing operations on the island."
"Yes, to produce newspapers and more occupation currency," Kaz said.
" Willie and Joe! " Harry said from the backseat.
"Right. It makes sense to print stuff here instead of shipping it all from North Africa. But someone had the bright idea of adding to the printing runs on the sly, and getting rich without seeming to steal anything."
"I still don't understand about the payroll. Why aren't you worried about that?" Harry asked.
"It came to me when I thought about what I'd told Don Calo. About how every German, Italian, American, and British soldier would turn this island upside down if it got out that someone had three million bucks' worth stashed away. I was saying it to persuade him that stealing the payroll was a lousy idea. Well, the more I thought about it, the more I understood that it really was a lousy idea. Let's say someone did pull off the heist. What would he do with it? Deposit it? No. Spend it? No. If you're a GI, you shouldn't have more than your pay and what you might win in a card game. Hide it? But for how long? Sooner or later scrip will be replaced by Italian currency and any GI with a huge bundle of it to exchange would be a suspect. There's no point in stealing that much money unless you can launder it. It wouldn't make sense."
"Tell us something that does make sense," Kaz said.
We all arched our necks at the sound of aircraft engines, but they were ours. Thunderbolts. I pulled onto a main road and had to slow down to keep pace with the big trucks lumbering along.
"Here's how I figure it. Someone who knows Vito Genovese also learned about the plans to print currency here."
"Someone in AMGOT?" Harry asked.
"Right. My guess is Elliott. He arranges for his guy in the Signals Company to be their go-between. Once they land, Hutton can link up with the civilian phone network and call Vito or somebody who can get in touch with him."
"Which would explain a criminal like Genovese offering the army his services right after the invasion," Kaz said.
"Bingo. Now Hutton can communicate both ways. With Vito, through his linkup with the civilian phone network, and with AMGOT back in Algiers. He could get in touch with HQ by shortwave radio. Hell, maybe he could patch the calls together, I don't know."
"I still don't get it about the payroll," Harry said. He sounded like I used to in algebra class.
"OK. Our guy is planning this out. He's going to organize the printing of extra occupation scrip. Maybe by extra runs on an AMGOT press, maybe a secret print run with his own printing press and stolen plates, I don't know exactly. He still has to involve people. Hutton and Rocko, not to mention Andrews. At some point, he gets nervous. Maybe he thinks someone's gotten wind of his plans."
"So he creates a diversion!" Harry said. "He distracts us by focusing our attention on the payroll. Bloody hell."
"Yeah. And he blackmails Nick into going along, agreeing to crack the safes. But think about it. Between an ONI agent and the Mafia, it wasn't going to stay quiet for long."
"So if there is an investigation, the first thing they'll find out about is the plot to steal the payroll," Kaz said, rubbing his fingers on his chin. "But then the payroll never made it to shore and you ended up poking your nose where it does not belong, as usual."
"Exactly," I said, as I pulled out and passed two deuce-and-a-half trucks. "Which worked out well for them, since it kept their cover story alive."
"And all the while, Genovese and Elliott were planning to quietly print up all the occupation scrip they wanted which no one would suspect. Vito is the perfect choice to launder money on this island. It's genius," Kaz said.
"Why were Rocko and the Italian chap, Roberto, killed?" Harry asked. In the rearview mirror I could see his face scrunched up with the effort of working it out, and imagined what I'd looked like to my poor sainted algebra teacher.
"Maybe greed, maybe caution. Rocko had served his purpose, procured all the supplies they wanted, so they didn't need him anymore. They may have worried he'd panic and talk. Or both. Maybe Rocko found out the payroll heist was a blind, and asked for a bigger payoff. As for Roberto, he had seen Rocko take me away, and could identify him. That would be a connection Vito wouldn't want to come up later. Rocko nearly killed Roberto on the spot, but a patrol came along before he could finish the job."
"Who shot at you then?" Harry asked. This time he wasn't confused. "It wasn't Elliott-he was on that damned tractor. Vito or Legs? Why try to kill you? As far as they know, you were there to celebrate your victory in saving the payroll. Andrews is dead, Rocko is dead, and Nick, even if he is more involved than we know, is in Major Harding's custody. Who 's left?"
Kaz looked at me, one eyebrow raised in question. Now Kaz is a really smart guy, the kind of guy who reads philosophy and poetry in a bunch of different languages. If he didn't have an answer, I sure as hell didn't.
"Somebody we don't know about," I said.
I hated not having an answer. I drove with my lips clenched, tired of talking and swallowing road dust. I had thought I'd hit a home run with this one. Or had all the bases covered. Why was I thinking so much about baseball anyway?
"Is there anything to eat in this jalopy?" I asked. I hadn't had any food since early that morning. Nothing but coffee and the thought of a chocolate bar. I could hear Harry rummaging around in the backseat.
"Dear me, British rations," he said. "Sorry to do this to you, Billy. They must have been trading. For what, I have no idea. Ah! Here's some chocolate. Rollos, not too bad."
He passed me the chocolate and some packages of crackers. They were labeled WELFARE BISCUITS, which didn't do much for my appetite.
"Tins of Bully Beef, made from select meat parts," Harry said, reading from another label. "Approved by the ministry of food for front-line troops. Nothing too good for the chaps doing the fighting, although I'd love to see this stuff approved for General Staff consumption."
I ate dry crackers washed down with warm water. What had I missed? One thing you could count on with criminals was a willingness to do whatever it took to get what they wanted. Beatings, killings, threats, bribes-they were as natural to crooks as punching a clock or taking the trolley to work every day. Knocking me off had to make sense to them in a way that a working stiff could never figure out. That's why a little streak of backroom larceny could make for a really sharp cop. It made you think like a gangster every now and then, which was helpful if it didn't become your regular line of thought.
Maybe Vito had gotten it into his head that I had to be killed, and even when it didn't make sense anymore, he and Legs couldn't let go of that idea. They were men of honor, after all.