And that went for Full Houses, too.
CHAPTER 10
It was a strange world, this world of Mafia. As the most secret societies, it was held together by a rather rigid social structure and governed quiet ritual. Custom and tradition were therefore important elements and tended to ext long beyond practical usage. It was this understanding of Mafia mind in which Bolan was investing his own strange game. He knew that the Aces had become an endangered species thanks chiefly to his own destructive penetration of their ranks. They had constituted an elite force-a secret society within the secret society-with virtually unlimited power and authority in the internal affairs of the Mafia nation They had been, in effect, a sort of Gestapo. And it was a tailor made setup for a guy like Mack Bolan.
He had been walking quietly among them since the third campaign of his war against the Mafia, taking on their camouflage when the "need versus risk" factor seemed to be in balance. It was not, however, a masquerade which a guy would contemplate for extended periods, or for capricious purposes. His enemies were not fools, even though he frequently made them appear as such. Bolan had survived this far in his war not by contempt for his enemy, but by careful respect for their intelligence and cunning. Each penetration was always on the heartbeat, with Bolan's survival in their midst directly dependent upon every word being spoken to the finest nuance, each gesture carried to perfection, every movement of face and eyes geared to the dictates of the changing moment.
It was not a fun thing, not even under the best of circumstances.
Add to that the present reality that Bolan's recent command strike on New York had severely undermined the authority of the Gestapo force. In the immediate wake of that strike it had seemed highly improbable that the supe rhard force would survive at all. But it was a strange world and the Aces had survived, although in greatly modified form. They were no longer autonomous. They could not interfere in any intra family dispute and their function in the no man's land between families was purely as fact-finders and arbitrators.
Theoretically they were still at the disposal for hard duties-of that council of boss known as La Commissione. So they were, in theory, still an enforcement arm of that council. But the council itself was presently in disarray, due to the instability of the Mafia world itself. It had not formally met since the New York fiasco, and La Commissione was in fact nothing more now than an executive staff functioning almost entirely as an administrative service. They maintained communications, and coordinated various operations between the underworld groups.
All of this left the Aces as neither fish nor fowl in that predatory jungle constituting the Mafia world. A few had been hit-as the logical settlement (in this world) of old grievances. Others had simply drifted away and vanished, retiring, perhaps, to obscure fates. Those that remained in service did so at their constant peril-at least until a new stability could be established.
So Bolan was well aware of the various hazards involved in this attempt to softly penetrate the Copa camp. But he was banking on that strange quality of Mafia mind which finds it’s sustenance in tradition, custom, and ritual. And he knew that success could be measured only from one heartbeat to the next.
He was not here for fun and games.
Mazzarelli was a bear of a man, half a head shorter than Bolan but commanding 300 pounds or more of tightly packed brawn-shoulders a yard wide, neck and head appearing as one unit with hardly any variation in circumference. The face was something else, though. Except for the bristly crewcut hair, it recalled memories of the long-dead comedian
Lou Costello-radiating that same air of tragic-comic innocence and vulnerability. But Bolan knew better. This guy was as dangerous as a coiled rattlesnake. All the time.
"Call me Omega," Bolan told him. He did not offer his hand.
"Okay, call me Gordy," said the Bear. The name fit no better than the face. The smile was pure mama mia and could have been entirely disarming had Bolan not known what lurked behind the smile. "How're things in the Big Apple?"
"Tense," Bolan replied.
"I'll bet, yeah. I haven't been there in a long time. I hate that damn town."
"That's okay," said Bolan-Omega. "I hate Chicago."
Those "innocent" eyes buckled a bit. "You like Nashville?"
"Better than Chicago, yeah."
"I'm from East Chicago, you know."
Bolan knew, sure. And he knew this word game, too. "I hate it worse," he said pleasantly.
It was a tense little verbal shoving match, a jockeying for status. Every kid who'd ever been on a schoolyard would recognize this game.
Mazzarelli said, "Yeah?"
Bolan replied, "Yeah. How 'bout you?"
The guy retreated with a chuckle. "Right, right. That's why I come south. Guess I could stay here the rest of my life."
Bolan would try to see to that. He said, "Nick's checking me out, eh?"
"Sure. Wouldn't you”
According to the rules of the game, it was now Bolan's turn to retreat-if, that is, he wished to demonstrate style. He chuckled as he replied. "I hope he doesn't get a wild man up there with a sick sense of humor."
It was enough; not too much. Mazzarelli understood the finer nuances of the word game. The smile became genuine as he stuck out a ham like paw. Bolan shook the hand and smiled back. The Bear said, "Glad you could make it. We're setting up hospitality in the garden. It's very nice out there. You'll like it. Nick wants you should get comfortable and feel at home. Can you stay awhile?"
Bolan made it sound like a regret. "Not long, no."
They crossed a large room featuring a vaulted ceiling and two outer walls of glass. Directly beyond was an elevated garden overlooking the pool. Pools, rather. One was for swimming; numerous others very obviously were not-they were ponds, actually, containing varieties of aquatic plants and clustered about the large central pool to create a beautifully tropic effect. Exotic potted plants and miniature trees combined with all that for a stunningly sensual experience. Swimming there, one would have the definite sensation of a paradise.
Two beautiful girls in microscopic bikinis added a positive dimension to that effect.
"Nice, huh," Mazzarelli said proudly.
Bolan laughed lightly and said, "Maybe I could stay awhile."
"Stay as long as you like," said the Bear. "Summer, winter-it's all the same here."
Bolan could believe that. The whole garden area was enclosed within a dome-like metallic framework in which were emplaced hinged panels of tinted glass. Apparently the panels could be opened or closed for changing environmental needs.
"I'd get soft, here," Bolan growled appreciatively.
Mazzarelli laughed. "No way," he said. "Not with Nick around. And speak of the devil…"
The lord of the manse was approaching, making his appearance via another doorway into the garden. He was a handsome man of medium size and graceful carriage. The sight of him triggered a small peephole in Bolan's mental mug file, bringing to mind the memory of a long obscure intelligence file on the guy. And Bolan had him made, now. Years ago, they had called him "the Professor" because of his interest in books. It was said that he nursed ambitions to be an author and had once been severely reprimanded for maintaining a clandestine diary toward a future attempt at autobiography. All that had been years ago, while he served the late Mafia lord of Los Angeles, Julian "Deer” DiGeorge. There was very little open knowledge of Copa's activities during recent years.
He came forward, hand outstretched, and smiling broadly. "Omega… it's a pleasure, a sincere pleasure."
Bolan shook hands and they sat down at a small table in a grove of miniature palms. The pool was directly ahead and about ten feet below. The bathing beauties were splashing quietly and without much animation in the shallow end. Bolan recognized them for what they were-stage props-as much a part of the scenery as the potted plants surrounding them. A couple of hard-looking guys in white coats were ceremoniously attending to the refreshments which had been wheeled up in elegant serving carts.