«They’ve got the goods,» del Vecchio was saying, gloomily.
«Ain’t there nothin’ we can do?»
Standing over his boss’s prostrate blubber, the lawyer looked even more elegant than he had a few years earlier. Still lean and trim, there were a few lines in his face now that might have been wisdom, or debauchery, or both. He was deeply tanned, spending almost all his time under the sun, either during the New England summer or the Arizona and California winter. He even had a sunlamp system installed over his bed, encircling the smoked mirror on the ceiling.
«We’ve tried everything from change-of-venue to bribery,» del Vecchio said. «Nothing doing. Uncle Sam’s got your balls in a vise.»
«How about putting some pressure on the witnesses?» Marchetti growled. «Knock off one or two and the rest’ll clam up.»
Del Vecchio shook his head. «Most of the ‘witnesses’ against you are computer records, tapes, floppy disks. The F.B.I. has them under tight security, and they’ve made copies of them, besides.»
Marchetti peered up at his lawyer. «There’s gotta be something you can do. I ain’t goin’ to jail—not while you’re alive.»
A hint of surprise flashed in del Vecchio’s dark eyes for a moment, but Marchetti never saw it, hidden behind the lawyer’s stylish sunglasses. Del Vecchio recognized the threat in his employer’s words, but what shocked him was that the old man was getting desperate enough to make such a threat. Soon he would be lashing out in blind anger, destroying everything and everyone around him.
«There is one thing,» he said slowly.
«What? What is it?»
«You won’t like it. I know you won’t.»
«What the hell is it?» Marchetti bellowed. «Tell me!»
«Freezing.»
«What?»
«Have yourself frozen.»
«Are you nuts? I ain’t dead!»
Del Vecchio allowed a slight smile to cross his lips. «No, but you could be.»
Actually, the plan had been forming in his mind since Don Carmine’s immersion in the gleaming stainless steel tank full of liquid nitrogen. Even then, del Vecchio had thought back to his college days when, as an agile young undergraduate, he had been a star on the school’s fencing team. He remembered that there were strict rules of procedure in foil fencing, almost like the fussy rules of procedure in a criminal court. It was possible for a fencer to score a hit on his opponent, but have the score thrown out because he had not followed the proper procedure.
«Out of time!» he remembered his fencing coach screaming at him. «You can’t just stab your opponent whenever the hell you feel like it! You’ve got to establish the proper right-of-way, the proper timing. You’re out of time, del Vecchio!»
He realized that Marchetti was glowering at him. «Whattaya mean I could be dead?»
With a patient sigh, del Vecchio explained, «We’ve gotten your case postponed three times because of medical excuses. Dr. Brunelli has testified that you’ve got heart and liver problems.»
«Fat lot of good that’s done,» Marchetti grumbled.
«Yeah, but suppose Brunelli makes out a death certificate for you, says you died of a heart attack, just like old Don Carmine.»
«And they put somebody else into the ground while I take a vacation in the old country?» Marchetti’s face brightened a little.
«No, that won’t work. The law enforcement agencies are too smart for that. You’d be spotted and sent back here.»
«Then what?»
«We make you clinically dead. Brunelli gives you an injection…»
«And kills me?» Marchetti roared.
Del Vecchio put his hands up, as if to defend himself. «Wait. Hear me out. You’ll be clinically dead. We’ll freeze you for a while. Then we’ll bring you back and you’ll be as good as ever!»
Marchetti scowled. «How do I know I can trust you to bring me back?»
«For God’s sake, Angelo, you’ve been like a father to me ever since my real father died. You can trust me! Besides, you can arrange for a dozen different guys to see to it that you’re revived. And a dozen more to knock me off if I try to keep you frozen.»
«Yeah… maybe.»
«You won’t only be clinically dead,» del Vecchio pointed out. «You’ll be legally dead. Any and all charges against you will be wiped out. When you come back, legally you’ll be a new person. Just like a baby!»
«Yeah?» The old man broke into a barking, sandpaper laugh.
«Sure. And just to make sure, we’ll keep you frozen long enough so that the statute of limitations runs out on all the charges against you. You’ll come out of that freezer free and clear!»
Marchetti’s laughter grew louder, heartier. But then it abruptly stopped. «Hey, wait. Didn’t you tell me that nobody knows how to defrost a corpse? If they try to thaw me out it’ll kill me all over again!»
«That’s all changed in the past six months,» del Vecchio said. «Some bright kid down at Johns Hopkins thawed out some mice and rabbits. Then a couple weeks ago a team at Pepperdine brought back three people, two men and a woman. I hear they’re going to thaw Walt Disney and bring him back pretty soon.»
«What about Don Carmine?» asked Marchetti.
The lawyer shrugged. «That’s up to you.»
Without an instant’s hesitation, Marchetti ran a stubby forefinger across his throat.
Del Vecchio had every intention of honoring his commitment to Marchetti. He really did. The fireplug-shaped old terror had truly been like a father to the younger man, paying his way through college and even law school after del Vecchio’s father had been cut down in the line of duty one rainy night on the street outside a warehouse full of Japanese stereos and television sets.
But one thing led to another as the years rolled along. Del Vecchio finally married and started to raise a family. More and more of the Mob business came under his hands, and he made it prosper better than ever before. The organization now owned banks, resort hotels and other legitimate businesses. As well as state legislators, judges, and half-a-dozen Congressmen. Violent crime was left to the disorganized fools. Del Vecchio’s regime was marked by peace, order, and upwardly-spiraling profits.
One after another, Marchetti’s lieutenants came to depend on him. Del Vecchio never demanded anything as archaic and embarrassing as an oath of fealty, kissing the hand, or other ancient prostrations. But the lieutenants, some of them heavily-built narrow-eyed thugs, others more lean and stylish and modern, all let it be known, one way or the other, that to revive Marchetti from his cryonic slumber would be a terrible mistake.
So Marchetti slept. And del Vecchio saw his empire grow more prosperous.
But owning legitimate banks and businesses does not make one necessarily honest. Del Vecchio’s banks often made highly irregular loans, and sometimes collected much higher interest than permitted by law. On rare occasions, the interest was collected only after brutal demonstrations of force. There were also some stock manipulations that finally attracted the attention of the Securities and Exchange Commission, and a string of disastrous fires in Mob-owned hotels that were on the verge of bankruptcy.
And even the lackadaisical state gambling commission roused itself when the federal income tax people started investigating the strange phenomenon of certain gambling casinos that took in customers by the millions, yet somehow failed to show a profit on their books.
Once he realized that there was no way out of the mounting legal troubles facing him, del Vecchio decided to take his own advice. Carefully, he began to create a medical history for himself that would end in clinical death and cryonic immersion. He explained what he was doing to his most trusted lieutenants, told them that he would personally take the blame and the legal punishment for them all, allowing them to elect a new leader and go on operating as before once he was declared dead. They expressed eternal gratitude.