Violence upon the outside world, then, was not a normal Mafia pursuit; that is, it was not regarded as profitable. A certain amount of strong-arming was perhaps inevitable in some minority of business pursuits; for the most part, however, violence was a thing of, in, and around the underworld itself. Protection of trade routes, for example, against invasion by outside or competitive interests; enforcement of Family fealty and territorial rights against over-ambitious Mafiosi; and, of course, protection of the Families themselves against unwarranted persecution by members of the "straight" community and legal establishment. In this connection, the major obstruction to court prosecution of known Mafiosi lay in the difficulty of keeping prosecution witnesses alive long enough to get their testimony into the court records.
From all this emerges the true picture of a Mafia Family. Except for a small number of "enforcers" working within each Family group, the average Mafioso was little more than a shrewd businessman with a total disregard for legal restraints. He might be called upon from time to time to bear arms, to protect the Family estate, or even tapped for an execution of an errant brother — and he might hire "rodmen" from outside the Family to discourage competition or to provide for his own protection. He could be, and often was, a vicious and conscienceless killer — when the cause was right. Torture killings were a favorite method of vengeance against those foolish enough to betray or threaten the Family, from within or without, and some of these were hideously perpetrated.
Even so, life inside the Mafia was generally quiet and businesslike, with as few ripples upon the surface of society as was possible to make. The general inclination was toward total non-recognition, and to foster the idea that stories and charges of La Cosa Nostra'sexistence were entirely mythical.
The Talifero brothers did not operate a typical Mafia Family. Their business was murder, intimidation, espionage, and violence of every stripe. Their cadre had never been officially numbered, but it is known that their influence was ever present throughout the scattered provinces of Mafiadom, and that they were feared more than any other force of La CosaNostra.
When the brothers left the council chambers that evening, they knew Mack Bolan's professional background as perhaps no other persons living. They had wrung dry the memories of both Ciro Lavangetta and Frank Milano; they had carefully and painstakingly reconstructed the strikes at Pittsfield, Los Angeles, Palm Springs, Phoenix, and Miami Beach; and they had a fairly valid working model of The Executioner for their specialized minds to ponder.
Lavangetta gratefully closed the door behind their departure and told Augie Marinello, "I don't want to ever be put through anything like that again. I'd rather face a Congressional committee."
Marinello smiled and replied, "You know, we wouldn't have asked you to, Ciro, except that we thought it just had to be."
"We should of put them on the job a long time ago," George Aggravante growled. "And then maybe we wouldn't have this mess to face right now."
"You know how I hate to see those boys activated, Georgie," Marinello said quietly.
Aggravante snickered and replied, "Yeah, it's sort of like starting nuclear warfare, huh. This's a job for massive retaliation though, Augie. I don't see how we could of done otherwise."
"That's exactly what I'm telling Ciro here. We just had to turn those boys loose. I'm sorry if they ruffled your dignity any, Ciro."
"Dignity is a thing you get buried with," Lavangetta replied. "The Taliferos can dig at me anytime they want to, so long as they're not burying me. I just want them to bury that Bolan. I'd put up with anything to see that."
"You better get your eyes rested, then, 'cause you're going to be seeing it pretty soon."
Lavangetta laughed nervously, lit a cigar, and excused himself. He wanted some fresh air. He wanted to sit by some pure water and sip some fine wine and maybe even feel up some wild women. The day had been a nightmare. He hoped that the night would prove to be of a far better quality. In fact, it would not.
Within 30 minutes after the Taliferos had been "activated" by the Commission, and long before the completion of the skull sessions with Lavangetta and Milano, a "ring of steel" had gone into place to protect the "Miami Convention" from further Bolan raids. Under Talifero direction, the dispersal rule for visiting Mafiosi had been reversed, and three "centers" had been established wherein the Families would dwell, in strength, throughout the remainder of the summit conference.
The council meetings were to be held in a different center each day, with the location to be decided by the brothers in each instance and at the last moment. This decision created quite a problem in logistics. Two beachfront hotels, wholly owned by Mafia interests, were selected as the major strongholds. A phoney "strike" by employees of those establishments would be engineered as a pretext to cancel reservations and to empty those accomodations already retained by the "straight" public. Handpicked "employees," hastily recruited through underworld contacts, would be retained to serve the special guests who were already arriving.
The third "center" was a large cruise boat, also Mafia-owned and crewed, the MV Merry Drew— infrequently used as a party yacht, more often as a gambling casino and floating pleasure palace, and occasionally as a contraband carrier to and from Latin American ports.
These arrangments were more aesthetically pleasing to the visiting Families than the earlier plan. A convention was a place for business, certainly, but it was also a time for renewing old friendships and relaxing with large numbers of one's own kind. Even with the Bolan menace in town, it was regarded as natural and right that a Family reunion be a thing of good-natured celebration and cheer. The general consensus among the visitors was that Mack Bolan was not going to spoil their holiday. The Talifero boys would take care of Bolan. Probably before the next dawn Bolan's head would be in a Talifero basket. It was even beginning to seem, in some minds, that a kindly fate had maneuvered The Bastard into this confrontation with the reality of La Cosa Nostra. Maybe even Bolan's head would serve as a new chalice to restore the confidence of the faltering brotherhood. There had been too many reverses lately, too many successful challenges to the omnipotence of the organization.
Yes, Bolan had been sent to them, C.O.D. The Taliferos would do the collecting, Bolan would do the paying, and La Cosa Nostra, this consecrated thing of theirs, would reap the profits of this most productive convention in their history. Or so the feeling went among certain of the rank and file.
One or two bosses, though, were not so certain of the "profits" to be realized from this enclave. There was a territory to be deeded, a most lucrative property, and hungrily eyed by the feudal kings of the adjoining estates. What businessman would not gamble a small piece of his soul for an opportunity to double his fortunes overnight? Bolan's presence in Miami, and especially during this convention, seemed to represent an unknown value to the disposition of these lands, at least to one or two among the visiting royalty. Somehow, went this feeling, the Bolan presence could be used to powerful advantage, and for a more specific form of profit. But how? As the Talifero brothers stepped into high gear and the rest of the convention appeared to relax and take comfort, this question was uppermost in a line of thought which replaced "this thing of ours" with "this thing of mine."