Tim Snedden, known as the Rustler, was the owner of a string of shopping malls that stretched over the northern part of the state of California. He was also a Las Vegas high roller who usually stayed at the Xanadu. He was particularly fond of and extraordinarily lucky at sports betting. The Rustler made big bets, fifty grand on football and sometimes ten grand on basketball. Thinking he was being clever, he lost small bets but almost invariably won his big bets. Cross was on to that immediately.

Cross De Lena pleaded for Big Tim's life for many different reasons. One, he contributed between five hundred grand and one million to the Xanadu cage every year. Second, he had a sneaking affection for the man, for his lust for life, his outrageous buffooneries.

The Rustler was very big, nearly six and a half feet and over three hundred fifty pounds. His appetite matched his physique, he ate everything in sight. He boasted he had had a partial stomach bypass so that food passed directly through his system and he never gained weight. He was gleeful about this as an ultimate scam on nature itself.

Though he was very lucky with his sports gambling, the Rustler was less fortunate with casino games. He was skillful, he knew the odds and bet correctly, but his natural exuberance carried him away, and his winnings on sports would be wiped out and more. So it wasn't because of the money but because of long-range strategic reasons that the Clericuzio took an interest.

For the Rustler was a natural-born scam artist, which was how he earned his nickname. At the Xanadu he fed his friends free under his comp, he absolutely destroyed room service. He tried to pay his call girls and the purchases at the gift shop under his comp. And then when he lost and had a cage full of markers, he stalled payment until his next visit to the Xanadu, instead of paying them within a month as a gentleman gambler would do.

Since the Family's ultimate goal was the legalization of sports gambling all over the United States, any gambling scandal involving sports would hurt that aim. So an inquiry into the life of Big Tim Snedden the Rustler was launched. The results were so alarming that Pippi and Cross were summoned East to the mansion in Quogue for a conference. It was Pippi's first operation after his return from Sicily.

Pippi and Cross took the flight back East together. Cross worried that the Clericuzio had already found out about his movie deal on Messalina and that his father would be angry he had not been consulted. For Pippi, at fifty-seven, though retired, still was consigliere to his son the Bruglione.

Pippi listened without saying a word, then sighed with disgust. "You're still too young," he said. "It won't be about the movie deal. The Don would never show his hand this quick. He'd wait to see what happened. It looks like Giorgio runs things, that's what Vincent and Petie and Dante think. But they're wrong. The old man is smarter than all of us. And don't worry about him, he's always fair in these things. It's Giorgio and Dante you have to worry about." He paused for a moment as if reluctant to talk about the Family even with Cross.

So on the plane Cross told his father about the movie and reassured him that he still valued his counsel but had not wanted to put him in a bad light with the Clericuzio. He also voiced his anxiety about being summoned back East because the Don had learned about his Hollywood plans.

"Why Giorgio and Dante?" Cross asked.

"Always play it long, like Gronevelt," Pippi said. "When the time comes, tell the Don directly and make sure the Family wets its beak on the deal. But watch out for Giorgio and Dante. Vincent and Petie won't give a shit."

"I think so," Cross said. Not even to his father would he confess his terrible weakness. That he was doing it for the love of a woman.

"You notice that Giorgio and Vincent and Petie's kids know nothing about Family business? The Don and Giorgio have all planned that the children will be strictly legit. The Don planned that for Dante too, but Dante was too smart, figured everything out, and he wanted in. The Don couldn't stop him. Think of all of us -- Giorgio, Vincent, and Petie, you and me and Dante -- as the rear guard, fighting so that the Clericuzio clan can escape to safety. That's the Don's planning. It's his strength, what makes him great. So he may even be glad you're making your escape, it's what he hoped Dante would do. That's what it is, isn't it?"

Cross was surprised. It was the first time he had heard his father criticize any of the Clericuzio. "And why won't Vincent and Petie care?" he asked.

Cross said, "Pop, you're not mad I didn't clear it with you?"

"Because Giorgio is a greedy prick," Pippi said. "And Dante, because he's always jealous of you and because you're my son. Besides, he's a fucking lunatic."

"Because Vincent has his restaurants and Petie has his construction business and the Bronx Enclave. Vincent wants to enjoy his old age and Petie likes the action. And both of them like you and respect me. We did jobs together when we were young."

"Let me plan it for you," Pippi said. "And what if this broad, Athena, doesn't come back to work? Then you lose fifty mil."

Pippi gave him a sardonic look. "Don't bullshit me," he said. "You knew I would disapprove and the Don would disapprove. Now when are you going to kill this Skannet guy?"

"I don't know yet," Cross said. "It's very tricky, has to be a Confirmation so that Athena will know she doesn't have to worry about him anymore. Then she can come back to the picture."

"I don't think so," Cross said. "But you can always drop around when she's staying at the Hotel."

"That's good," Pippi said. "She had such an ugly mug when she was a kid. Like me."

"She wouldn't let me go to my ex-wife's funeral, and she doesn't like me. So what's the point? In fact, when I die I want you to bar her from my funeral. Fuck her." He paused for a moment. "She was a ballsy little kid."

"My darling daughter," Pippi said. "She still doesn't want to see me?"

"She'll come back to work," Cross said. "She and Claudia are close friends and Claudia says she will."

"Why don't you make up with her?" Cross asked.

"No," Pippi said. "If this Athena doesn't come to work after you do the job, I'll plan her Communion for her, no matter how big a movie star she is."

"No, no," Cross said. "You should see Claudia. She's much prettier now."

"Remember," Pippi said. "Don't volunteer anything to the Don. This meeting is about something else."

"How can you be sure?" Cross asked.

"You should see her now," Cross said.

"Because he would have met with me first to see if I would give you away," Pippi said.

At the mansion, Giorgio, Don Domenico, Vincent, Petie, and Dante waited to greet them in the garden by the fig trees. As was the custom they all had lunch together before they got down to business.

As it turned out, Pippi was right.

"The cops throw more manpower into a sports fix than into a serial murder," Giorgio said. "Why, I don't know. What the hell difference does it make who wins or loses? It's a crime that hurts nobody except the bookmakers and the cops hate them anyway. If the Rustler fixed all the Notre Dame games so that they always won, the whole country would be happy."

Giorgio laid it out. An investigation had shown that Rustler Snedden was fixing certain college games in the Midwest. That he possibly shaved points in the pro football and pro basketball games. He did this by bribing the officials and certain players, a very tricky and dangerous business. If this came out, it would cause a tremendous scandal and uproar that would give a near fatal blow to the Clericuzio Family's effort to have sports gambling legalized in the United States. And it would eventually be found out.

Vincent said, "We already tried that. This guy is a special piece of work. He doesn't know what fear is. He's been warned, he still keeps doing it."

Petie said, "They call him Big Tim, and they call him the Rustler, and he loves all that shit. He never pays his bills, he even stiffs the IRS, he fights with the California state authorities because he won't pay the sales tax of the stores he owns in his malls. Hell, he even stiffs his ex-wife and his kids on support payments. He's a thief in his heart. You cannot talk sense to him."

Giorgio said, "Cross, you know him personally from his gambling in Vegas. What do you say?"

Pippi said impatiently, "Why are we even talking about this? Just have somebody warn him off."

Cross considered. "He's very late paying his markers. But he finally pays. He's smart gambling, not degenerate. He's one of those guys who is hard to like, but he's very rich so he has lots of friends that he brings to Vegas. Actually even fixing the games and winning some of our money, he is a big plus for us. Just let it go." As he said this he noticed Dante smiling, knowing something he didn't know.

"We can't let it go," Giorgio said. "Because this Big Tim, this Rustler, is fucking nuts. He's laying down some crazy scheme to fix the Super Bowl game."

Don Domenico spoke for the first time and directly to Cross, "Nephew, is that possible?"

"Bravo," the Don said. "Then why does this man, who is rich, want to do something so foolhardy?"

"He wants to be famous," Cross said. "To fix the Super Bowl he would have to do something so risky he is sure to be found out. Something so crazy I can't even think what it will be. The Rustler will think it clever. And he is a man who believes he can get out of every jam he gets in."

The question was a compliment. It was the Don acknowledging that Cross was the expert in the field.

"No," Cross said to the Don. "You can't fix the Super Bowl officials because no one knows who they will be. You can't fix the players because the important ones make too much money. Also, you can never fix one game in any sport a one hundred percent sure thing. If you are a fixer you have to be able to fix fifty or a hundred games. That way if you lose three or four, you don't get hurt. And so unless you can do a lot of them it's not worth the risk."

"But then he is very dangerous to what we want to do," the Don said. "From what you tell me, he is a man who will not listen to reason. So there is no choice."

"I have never met a man like that," the Don said.

Giorgio said, "They grow them only in America."

Cross said, "Wait. He means at least a half million dollars' profit every year to the casino."

Vincent said, "It's a matter of principle. The Books pay us money to protect them."

Cross said, "Let me talk to him. Maybe he'll listen to me. The whole thing is small potatoes. He can't fix the Super Bowl. It's not worth our taking action." But then he got a look from his father and he realized that in some way it was not proper for him to make such arguments.

The Don said with a terminal determination, "The man is dangerous. Don't talk to him, nephew. He doesn't know who you really are. Why give him the advantage? The man is dangerous because he is stupid, he is stupid as an animal is stupid, he wants to feed on everything. And then when he is caught he wants to wreak as much havoc as he can. He will implicate everyone whether true or not." He paused for a moment and then looked at Dante. "Grandson," he said, "I think you should do the job. But let Pippi do the planning on this one, he knows the territory."

Dante nodded.

Pippi knew he was on dangerous ground. If anything happened to Dante, he would be held responsible. And another thing was clear to him. The Don and Giorgio were determined some day Dante would head the Clericuzio Family. But at present they did not trust his judgment.

In Vegas Dante registered in a suite at the Xanadu. The Rustler, Snedden, was not due in Vegas for a week, and during that time Cross and Pippi indoctrinated Dante.

"Rustler is a high roller," Cross said. "But not high enough to rate a Villa. Not in the class of Arabs and Asians. His RFB is enormous, he wants everything free he can get. He puts friends on restaurant tabs, orders the best wines, he even tries to put the gift shop on his tab. We don't give that even to the Villa guys. He's a claim artist, so the dealers have to watch him. He'll claim he made a bet just before the number hit on the crap table. He'll try to make a bet in baccarat after the first card shows. At blackjack he'll claim he wanted to hit an eighteen when the next card is three. He's very late paying his markers. But he gives us a half million a year, even after we take off what he beats the sports book for. He's cute. He even draws chips for his friends and puts them on his marker so we'll think he gambles bigger than he actually does. All that chicken shit stuff like the garment center guys used to pull in the old days. But then he goes berserk when his luck goes bad. Last year he dropped two million and we made him a party and gave him a Cadillac. He bitched that it wasn't a Mercedes."

"Why do they call him the Rustler?" Dante asked.

"Because he takes things without paying for them," Cross said. "When he has girls he bites them as if he wants to take a chunk of their flesh. And he gets away with it. He's a great, great bullshit artist."

Dante looked at him sharply. "How come I didn't get a Villa?"

Dante said, "But Giorgio gets a Villa."

"He could never talk Gronevelt into giving him a Villa," Cross said. "So I don't."

"Sure," Cross said. "A lot of guys do it. We don't mind. We like to look stupid. It gives them more confidence at the tables. They outsmart us again."

"Because it could cost the Hotel a hundred grand to a million bucks a night," Cross said.

"When you get married," Cross said, "you'll get a Villa for your honeymoon."

Dante was outraged. "He draws chips and money from the cage and doesn't gamble it?"

"Fat chance," Dante said.

"OK," Cross said, "I'll clear it with Giorgio." They both knew Giorgio would be outraged by Dante's request.

Dante said dreamily, "I can't wait to hear him."

It took Pippi more than an hour to tell the plan in detail. Dante said admiringly, "Giorgio always said you were the best. I was pissed off when the Don put you over me on this. But I can see he was right."

Pippi took this flattery stone-faced. He said to Dante, "Remember this is a Communion not a Confirmation. It has to look as if he took it on the lam. With his record and all the lawsuits against him, that will be plausible. Dante, don't wear one of your fucking hats on this operation. People have funny memories. And remember that the Don said he would like the guy to give information about the fix, but it's not really necessary. He's the ringleader, when he's gone the whole fix will disappear. So don't do anything crazy."

Pippi said, "My operational plan depends on Big Tim's character. Cross you have to cooperate just here in Vegas to set the guy up. You have to let Dante draw unlimited credit in the cage and then make his markers disappear. Timewise, the arrangements in L. A. are set. You have to make sure the guy gets here and doesn't cancel his reservation. So you give him a party to present him with a Rolls-Royce. Then when he's here you have to introduce him to Dante and me. After that you're through."

Pippi shrugged. "Another thing, don't try to cheat on your unlimited credit. That comes from the Don himself, he doesn't want the Hotel to lose a fortune on this operation. They already have to put up the Rolls."

Dante said coolly, "I feel unlucky without my hat."

This surprised Cross. It was plain that there was some hostility between them. And he was also surprised that Dante would try to intimidate his father. That could be disastrous, grandson of the Don or not.

"Don't worry," Dante said. "My work is my pleasure." He paused for a moment and then said with a sly grin, "I hope you give me a good report on this one."

But Pippi seemed not to have noticed. "You're a Clericuzio," he said. "Who am I to report on you?" He clapped Dante on the shoulder. "We have a job to do together. Let's make it fun."

When Rustler Snedden arrived, Dante studied him. He was big and fat but the fat was hard, it stuck to his bones and didn't roll. His shirt was blue denim with large pockets on each breast, a white button in the middle. In one pocket he stuffed the black hundred-dollar chips, and in the other, the white-and-gold five hundreds. The red fives and green twenty-fives he stuffed into the pocket of his wide-trousered white canvas pants. On his feet were floppy brown sandals.

He was the mayor of the crap table, telling other gamblers to ride with his dice, shouting good-humoredly at them not to be chicken. He was betting the blacks, stacks of them covering all the numbers, betting right all the way. When the dice came to him he hurled them vigorously so that they bounced off the opposite wall of the table and came back to his easy reach. He would then try to grab them, but the stickman was always alert to catch them in the claw of his stick and hold them so that other players could make their bets.

The Rustler played mostly craps, the best percentage game. Cross and Dante knew that he had already bet ten grand on two college basketball games and placed a five-thousand-dollar bet with the illegal books in town on a horse race in Santa Anita. The Rustler was not going to pay the taxes. And he seemed not to be worrying about his bets. He was having a grand time shooting craps.

Dante took his place at the crap table and bet with Big Tim to win. Then he made all the ruinous side bets that would, unless he was very lucky, make him a sure loser. He bet the hard four and the hard ten. He bet the boxcars in one roll and the aces and eleven in one roll at odds of thirty and fifteen to one. He called for a twenty-thousand-dollar marker and, after signing for the black chips, spread them all over the table. He called for another marker. By this time, he had caught Big Tim's attention.

Big Tim the Rustler ate in the coffee shop, which was also the restaurant that served plain American fare. Big Tim rarely ate in the Xanadu's fancy French restaurant or its Northern Italian restaurant or its authentic English Royal Pub restaurant. Five friends joined him for dinner, and Big Tim the Rustler made out Keno tickets for everybody so they could watch the numbers board while eating. Cross and Dante sat in a corner booth.

His short-cut blond hair made the Rustler resemble a Brueghel painting of a jolly German burgher. He ordered a great variety of dishes, the equivalent of three dinners, but to his credit he ate most of them while also dipping into his companions' plates.

Dante waved to him cheerily and continued his wild betting. When Big Tim sevened out, Dante took the dice and called for a fifty-thousand-dollar marker. He spread black chips all over the table hoping he wouldn't get lucky. He didn't. Now Big Tim was watching him with more than ordinary interest.

"Hey, you with the hat. Learn to play this game," Big Tim said.

"It's really too bad," Dante said. "I never saw a guy who enjoyed life so much."

They watched Big Tim sign the check, which he did not have to pay, and order one of his companions to tip in cash. After they left, Cross and Dante relaxed over their coffee. Cross loved this huge room with glass walls showing the night lit outside by pink lamps, green from the grass and trees outside reflecting into the room, softening the chandeliers.

"What did you do?" Dante asked.

"That's one way to make enemies," Cross said. "Especially when you enjoy it at other people's expense."

"I had the security guards take him to his room and charged him five grand for the piss on the table. Which he never paid."

"I remember one night about three years ago," Cross said to Dante. "The Rustler had a great streak at the crap table. I think he won over a hundred grand. It was about three in the morning. And when the pit boss took his chips to the cage, the Rustler jumped up on the crap table and pissed all over it."

"I would have ripped his fucking heart out," Dante said.

"He was a little funny in his last years," Pippi said. "I was maybe his best friend and he would never give me a Villa."

"If a man gives you a half million a year, wouldn't you let him piss on a table?" Cross said. "But to tell the truth, I always held it against him. In fact, if he had done that in the Villas' casino, who knows?"

Big Tim always pushed for more. "I appreciate the Rolls but when do I get one of your Villas?"

The next day Cross had lunch with Big Tim to brief him on his party and the presentation of the Rolls-Royce. Pippi joined them and was introduced.

Big Tim the Rustler said to Pippi, "Your son is a much nicer man than that old prick, Gronevelt."

"Yeah, you deserve it," Cross said. "The next time you come to Vegas, you get a Villa. That's a promise, even if I have to kick somebody out."

"Well, fuck him," Big Tim said. "Now that your son is running the Hotel, you can get a Villa whenever you want."

But now Big Tim was on another tack. "There's a weird little guy who wears a funny hat and is the worst crapshooter I ever saw," he said. "This guy signed nearly two hundred grand in markers in less than an hour. What can you tell me about him? You know I'm always looking for investors."

"Never," Cross said, "he's not a gambler." They all laughed.

"No," Cross said. "But my father knows him."

"Just give me an intro," Big Tim said. "If I make a deal, you'll get a piece."

"I could use some dough," Pippi said.

Big Tim beamed at this. Pippi would be another of his suckers. "Great," he said. "I'll be at the crap table tonight, so bring him around."

"I can't tell you anything about my players," Cross said. "How would you like it if I gave out information about you? I can tell you he can get a Villa anytime, but he never asks. He likes to keep a low profile."

Big Tim said, "Good. Give me a big buildup."

Pippi turned on his charm. "You two guys would make a great team. This guy has a lot of money but he doesn't have your flair for big business. I know you're a fair guy, Tim, so just give me what you think I deserve."

When the introductions were made at the crap table, Big Tim the Rustler startled both Dante and Pippi by snatching Dante's Renaissance cap off his head and replacing it with a Dodger baseball cap he was wearing. The result was hilarious. The Renaissance cap on Big Tim's head made him look like one of Snow White's dwarfs.

Then he launched into an hour-long selling speech. He owned a small mall he wanted to get rid of, a long-term moneymaker, and he could arrange that the payment would be mostly under-the-table cash. There was a meat-packing plant and carloads of fresh produce that could be sold for undercover cash, then resold for a profit for white money. He had an "in" with the movie business so that he could help finance pictures that went direct to video or to porno theaters. "Great business," Big Tim said. "You get to meet the stars and fuck the starlets and turn your money white."

There, Big Tim took a secluded booth. Dante ordered coffee but Big Tim ordered a whole array of desserts: strawberry ice cream, napoleons, and banana cream pie plus a dish of assorted cookies.

So now Big Tim threw his massive arm over Dante's shoulders and said, "Stevie, we have to talk. Let's have a little bite in the coffee shop."

"To change our luck," Big Tim said. They all laughed but Pippi didn't like the malevolent gleam in Dante's eyes. Also, he was angry that Dante had ignored his instructions and was wearing the hat. He had introduced Dante as Steve Sharpe and had pumped Big Tim up with stories that Steve was the overlord of a drug empire on the Eastern Seaboard and had to "wash" many millions. Also that Steve was a degenerate gambler who had bet a million on the Super Bowl and had lost without batting an eye. And his markers in the casino cage were pure gold. Paid them right up.

"Give me your card," he said. "I'll give you a call or have Pippi call you and then we can set up a dinner meeting and have a full discussion so I can make a commitment."

Dante enjoyed the performance. Everything Big Tim said was with such confidence and brio that the victim could only believe in future riches. He asked questions that betrayed his eagerness but made a show of coyness.

Now Dante showed an enthusiasm he had not shown before. "Jesus, that has always been my dream. I love sports. You mean maybe buy a major league baseball team?"

Big Tim gave him his card. "Let's do it real quick," he said. "I have one particular "no lose" deal I'll cut you in on. But we would have to move fast." He paused for a moment. "It's a sports thing."

Big Tim said proudly, "Tomorrow the Hotel is giving me a party and a Rolls. For being one of their best suckers. I go back to L. A. the day after. How about that night?"

Dante pretended to give the question some thought. "Okay," he said. "Pippi's coming to L. A. with me and I'll have him give you a call to set it up."

"Not that big," Big Tim said hastily. "But big enough."

"So when do we meet?" Dante asked.

"Then there's no hope for you," Big Tim said. "But you and me, we'll make some money together anyway."

Dante made himself look sheepish. "I know the odds, I just like to fuck around. And then the word gets out and I can get a whack at the chorus girls."

The next day the party for Big Tim the Rustler was held in the great ballroom of the Xanadu Hotel, which was often used for special events: the New Year's Eve party, Christmas buffets, weddings for high rollers, presentations of special awards and gifts, Super Bowl parties, the World Series, and even political conventions.

"Great," Big Tim said. He wondered a bit about the man's cautiousness but knew better than to queer a deal with unnecessary questions. "And tonight I'm going to show you how to shoot craps so that you have some chance of winning."

It was a huge, high-ceilinged room, with balloons floating everywhere and two enormous buffet tables, splitting the room in half. The buffets were shaped like huge ice glaciers, and encrushed in the ice were exotic fruits of all colors. Crenshaw melons, split open to show their yellow-gold flesh, great purple grapes with their juice bursting against the skin, porcupine pineapples, kiwi and kumquat, nectarines and lichee nuts, and a huge log of watermelon. Buckets of twelve different kinds of ice cream were buried like submarines. Then there was a passageway of hot dishes: a baron of beef as big as a buffalo, a huge turkey, a white, fat-ringed ham. Then there was a tray of different pastas, sprinkled green with pesto and red with tomato sauce. And then a great red pot, as big as a garbage can, with silver handles and steaming with a "wild boar" stew that was really a pork, beef, and veal mixture. Then came bread of all kinds and rolls heavy with flour. Another bank of ice held desserts, cream puffs, whipped-cream-filled doughnuts, an assortment of tiered cakes decorated with replicas of the Hotel Xanadu. Coffee and hard liquor would be served to the guests by the best-looking waitresses at the Hotel.

Big Tim the Rustler was already wreaking havoc on these tables before the first guest arrived.

Cross made the presentation speech for the Hotel. Then Big Tim made his acceptance speech.

In the full center of the room, mounted on a ramp separated by ropes from the crowd, was the Rolls-Royce. Creamy, white, luxurious, with true elegance and a certain genius in design, it stood in sharp contrast to the pretensions of this Vegas world. A wall of the room had been replaced by heavy golden draperies to allow its entrance and departure. Then off in a corner of the room was a purple Cadillac that was to be awarded as a door prize to those with numbered invitations: high rollers invited to the party and casino managers of the biggest hotels. This had been one of Gronevelt's best ideas. These parties increased the Drop at the Hotel significantly.

The party was a huge success because Big Tim was so flamboyant. Attended by his two waitresses, he almost single-handedly destroyed the buffet table. He loaded up three plates and gave an exhibition of eating that nearly made Dante's mission unnecessary.

"No kidding, I'm truly grateful," he said. "This is one of the happiest days of my life. Right up there with my divorce. One little thing. Who's going to give me gas money to drive this car back to L. A.? The Xanadu cleaned me out again."

Here he was interrupted by applause and cheers. Cross grimaced. He was always embarrassed by these rituals that exposed the falseness of the Hotel's goodwill.

"I want to thank the Xanadu Hotel for this wonderful gift," he said. "That two-hundred-thousand-dollar car is now mine for nothing. It's my reward for coming to the Xanadu the last ten years, during which they treated me like a prince and emptied my wallet. I figure if they give me fifty Rolls we would be about even but what the hell, I can only drive one car at a time."

Big Tim threw his arms around the two waitresses flanking him. He squeezed their breasts in a friendly way. He waited like an experienced comic for the applause to die down.

Big Tim knew when to stop. As the applause and cheers broke out again, he climbed the ramp and got into the car. The golden draperies that had replaced the wall now parted, and Big Tim drove out.

The party speedily broke up after the Cadillac was won by a high roller. The festivities had lasted for four hours and everybody wanted to get back to the gambling tables.

Gronevelt had often remarked to Cross that male and female gamblers had different sex patterns. And that it was important for casino owners to know them.

First Gronevelt proclaimed the primacy of pussy, as he called it. Pussy could overcome anything. It could even make a degenerate gambler go straight. There had been many important men of the world who had been guests at the Hotel. Nobel Prize-winning scientists, billionaires, great religious revivalists, eminent literary icons. A Nobel Prize-winner in physics, the best brain maybe in the world, had frolicked with a whole line of chorus girls during his six-day stay. He didn't gamble much but it was an honor for the Hotel. Gronevelt himself had to give gifts to each of the girls, it had never occurred to the Nobel Prize-winner to do so. The girls had reported he was the best screw in the world, eager, ardent, and skillful, no tricks, with one of the most beautiful cocks they had ever seen. And best of all, amusing, never boring them with serious talk. As gossipy and bitchy as any of the girls. For some reason this cheered Gronevelt up. That such a brain could please the opposite sex. Not like Ernest Vail, such a great writer but a middle-aged kid with a perpetual hard-on and no small talk to go with it. Then there was Senator Wavven, a possible future president of the United States, who treated sex like a game of golf. To say nothing of the dean of Yale, the cardinal of Chicago, the leader of the Civil Rights National Committee, and the crusty Republican bigwigs. All of them reduced to children by pussy. The only possible exceptions were the gays or druggies, but after all they were not typically gamblers.

That night Gronevelt's ghost would have been overjoyed with the results of the party. The Drop was nearly double the average. Sexual coupling could not be confirmed but the smell of semen seemed to seep out into the hallways. The great-looking call girls that had been invited to Big Tim's party had quickly snuggled into relationships with less dedicated high rollers, who gave them black chips to gamble.

Gronevelt noted that male gamblers called for hookers before they set out to gamble. Women, however, preferred sex after they gambled. Since the Hotel had to cater to the sexual needs of everyone and there were no male hookers, just gigolos, the Hotel used barmen croupiers and junior pit boys for the women, and that was their report. So Gronevelt made a jump. Males need sex to prepare them to go into battle with confidence. Women need sex to assuage the sorrow of losing or as part of the reward for their victory.

It was true that Big Tim called for a hooker an hour before his party and then went to bed with his two waitresses in the early morning after losing a big sum of money. They were reluctant, they were straight girls. Big Tim solved the problem in his own particular way. He put up ten thousand dollars worth of black chips and told them it was theirs if they spent the night with him. Accompanied with his usual vague promise of more if they had a really good night. He loved the way they studied the chips thoughtfully before agreeing. The joke was they got him so drunk that he fell asleep, gorged with food and drink, before he got past the fondling stage. He fell asleep between the two of them, his huge frame pushing them to the edges, both girls clinging to him until finally they fell on the floor to sleep.

Late that night Cross received a call from Claudia. "Athena disappeared," she said. "The Studio is frantic and I'm worried. Except ever since I've known her Athena has disappeared at least one weekend a month. But this time I thought you should know. You better do something before she runs away forever."

But that call focused his mind on Athena. That magical face, which seemed to show her every emotion; the long, beautiful stretch of her legs. And the intelligence of her eyes, the vibration from some invisible instrument of inner being.

Tiffany was the captain of the chorus line of the Xanadu's big cabaret show. This entitled her to extra pay and perks for keeping discipline and preventing the usual quarrels and outright fights the girls fell into. She was a statuesque beauty who had failed screen tests because she simply was too big for celluloid. Where on the stage her beauty was commanding, on film she looked huge.

He picked up the phone and called a chorus girl he sometimes dated called Tiffany.

"It's OK," Cross said. He didn't tell her he had his own men covering Skannet.

Cross was annoyed that he was so easy to read. And yet he could not stop his devotion to the flesh beside him. He could not have enough of her succulent breasts, her silky tongue, the velvet mound between her thighs, all radiating an irresistible heat. When finally, hours later, the lustful fever was gone, he could not stop thinking about Athena.

"It sure is," Cross said, and began to make love to her again.

When she arrived, she was surprised at the quickness of Cross's lovemaking. He simply grabbed her and stripped her of her clothes and then seemed to devour her body with kisses. He entered her quickly and came to a climax quickly. This was so different from his usual style that she said, almost ruefully, "This time it must be true love."

After she left, Cross felt free. It was a weakness to be so much in love, but satisfied lust gave him confidence. At three in the morning he made his last tour of the casino.

Tiffany picked up the phone and ordered room service for them both. "I pity that poor girl when you finally get her," Tiffany said.

"Not me, you dope," Tiffany said. "Who's the lucky girl?"

The oldest was Julia Deleree, who was married to one of the most famous Bankable Stars in the movies. She had two children, and the family often appeared in magazines as the exceptional couple that had no problems, were ecstatic with their marriage.

In the coffee shop he saw Dante with three good-looking, vivacious women. Though one of them was Loretta Lang, the singer he had helped to break her contract, he did not recognize her. Dante waved him over, but he declined with a shake of his head. Up in his penthouse suite he took two sleeping pills before going to bed, but he still dreamed of Athena.

The second was Joan Ward. She was still very attractive, nearly fifty. She played second leads now, usually as the intelligent woman, the suffering mother of a doomed child, or in the role of a deserted woman whose tragedy leads to a second happy marriage. Or as a fiery fighter for the feminist viewpoint. She was married to the head of a studio who paid her charge cards without complaint, no matter how huge, and whose only demand on her was to be the hostess for the many social-business parties he gave. She had no children.

The three women at Dante's table were famous ladies of Hollywood, wives of Bankable Stars and minor stars in their own right. They had been guests at Big Tim's party, not by invitation but by having wangled their way in on their charms.

These three had become friends by being cast in the same movies and by shopping on Rodeo Drive and having lunches at the Beverly Hills Hotel's Polo Lounge, where they compared notes on their husbands and their charge cards. About the cards, they had no complaints. It was like having a shovel to dig in a gold mine, and their husbands never questioned their bills.

The third star was Loretta, who by now was first choice as the comedy lead in kooky comedies. She, too, had married well, to a Bankable Star of empty-headed action films that took him on location in other countries for the best part of the year.

Julia complained that her husband didn't spend enough time with her kids. Joan, whose husband was acclaimed as a discoverer of new stars, complained she was childless. Loretta complained that her husband should branch out into more serious roles. But there came a day when Loretta, with her usual vivaciousness, said, "Let's stop bullshitting ourselves. We're all happily and very suitably married to very important guys. What we really hate is that our husbands send us out on Rodeo Drive so they feel less guilty about fucking other women." The three of them laughed. It was so true.

"Which he would be doing even if you were there," Loretta said.

Julia said, "I love my husband but he's been in Tahiti for a month shooting a picture. And I know he's not sitting on the beach masturbating. But I don't want to spend a month in Tahiti, so he's either screwing his leading lady or the local talent."

Joan said wistfully, "And even though my husband hasn't the sperm of a fucking ant, his cock is like a water wand. How come most of the stars he discovers are females? He screen-tests them by finding out how much of his cock they can swallow."

Since they were recognizable to most Americans, they had to disguise themselves. This proved to be extraordinarily easy to do. They used wigs to change the style and color of their hair. They used makeup, thickened their lips or thinned them. They dressed in the style of middle-class women. They downgraded their beauty, which didn't matter because, like most actresses, they could be enormously charming. And they delighted in the role playing. They loved to listen to different kinds of men bare their hearts to them in hope of getting into bed with them, often successfully. It was a breath of real life, the characters still mysterious, not doomed to a written script. And there were delightful surprises. Sincere offers of marriage and true love; men sharing their pain because they thought they would never see them again. The admiration they received not because of their hidden status, but because of their innate charms. And they loved creating new personas for themselves. Sometimes they would be computer operators on vacation, sometimes off-duty nurses or dental technicians or social workers. They would bone up for their parts by reading about their new professions. Sometimes they would pretend to be legal secretaries in the office of a big showbiz lawyer in L. A. and spread scandal about their own husbands and other of their actor friends. They had great times but always went out of town; Los Angeles was too dangerous, they might run into friends who would easily recognize them despite their disguise. They discovered that San Francisco was also risky. Some gay men seemed to know their true identity at a glance. Their favorite place was Las Vegas.

They were all half tipsy by now. They believed that wine had no calories.

And so had followed their sacred once-a-month girl's night out. When their husbands were gone, which was often, they would go on overnight adventures.

Loretta said crisply, "We can't blame our husbands. The most beautiful women in the world show it to them. They really have no choice. But why should we suffer? Fuck the charge cards, let's have some fun."

Dante was attracted to them by their vivaciousness, their natural charm. They were attracted to him because they had watched him gamble and lose enormous amounts of money with his unlimited credit. After the drinks, he took them to the roulette wheel and staked them each to a thousand dollars' worth of chips. They were charmed by his hat and the extravagant courtesy showed to him by the croupiers and the pit boss. And his sly charm, which was touched by a vicious humor. Dante was witty in a vulgar and sometimes chilling way. And the extravagance of his gambling excited them. Of course they themselves were rich, they earned enormous amounts of money, but his was hard cash and that had its own magic. Certainly they had spent tens of thousands on Rodeo Drive in one day, but they had received luxurious goods in return. When Dante signed a hundred-thousand-dollar marker, they were awed, though their husbands had bought them cars that cost more. But Dante was throwing away money.

Dante had picked them up at the Xanadu Club Lounge, where tired gamblers took a break and listened to a band, a comic, and a girl singer. Loretta had once performed there at the beginning of her career. There was no dancing. The Hotel wanted their customers to get back to the tables as soon as they were rested.

They didn't always sleep with men they picked up, but when they went to the ladies room they conferred on which one would get Dante. Julia begged and she said she had a real yen to pee in Dante's funny hat. The others gave in.

So Julia wound up with Dante, who had no say in the matter, though he preferred Loretta. But he insisted Julia go to his suite, which was just below hers. "I'll walk you up to your suite," he said coolly. "We'll just be an hour. I have to get up early in the morning." It was then Julia realized he thought they were soft hookers.

Joan had hoped to score five or ten grand. Not that she really needed it, but it was cash, real money. Loretta was not as charmed as the others by Dante. Her life in Las Vegas cabaret had partly inured her to such men. They were too full of surprises, most of them not pleasant.

The women had a three-bedroom suite in the Xanadu. They always stuck close together on these outings, for reasons of safety and so they could gossip together about their adventures. They made it a rule not to spend the entire night with the men they picked up.

"Come up to my suite," Julia said. "I'll walk you down."

That amused Julia enough to go to his suite. She had missed the slyness of his smile. On their way to his room, she said jokingly, "I want to pee in your hat."

He led her into the bedroom and then pulled off her dress and underclothes. When she was naked, he shed his own clothes. She could see his penis was short, stubby, and uncircumcised. "You have to use a condom," she said.

Dante said, "You got your two horny buddies up there. How do I know you won't all jump me and sodomize me? I'm just a little guy."

Dante said to her, stone-faced, "If it's fun for you, it's fun for me."

Dante threw her on the bed. Julia was a robust woman, but he picked her up and threw her without seeming to make an effort. Then he straddled her.

Once in his suite there was very little chitchat. Julia threw her purse on the sofa and then pulled down the top of her dress so that her breasts showed, they were her best feature. But Dante seemed to be the exception, a male who was not interested in breasts.

He let her slide out from under him and she went into the living room. Dante came to the door of the bedchamber. They were both still naked and he still had an erection.

"I insist you use a condom," she said. "I mean it."

In the next moment there was an explosion of light in her head. She realized he had slapped her so hard that she had almost lost consciousness. She tried to wriggle away but for so small a man he was incredibly strong. She felt two more slaps that suffused her face with a hot glow and made her teeth ache. Then she felt him enter her. His driving thrusts lasted for only a few seconds and then he slumped over her.

Julia fumbled in her purse and then, with a dramatic flourish, took out a tiny silver handgun. It was a prop from a movie she had worked in and she had always fantasized about using it in a real-life situation. She pointed it at Dante, took the crouch stance she had been taught in the movie, and said, "I'm going to dress and leave. If you try to stop me, I'll shoot."

They lay entwined and then he began to turn her over. She could see that he still had an erection and she knew he wanted to penetrate her anally. She whispered to him, "I love that but I have to get some Vaseline from my purse."

She was enjoying the situation. She was imagining that she was back upstairs with Joan and Loretta and how they would laugh about this. She tried to get up the courage to ask for his hat so she could pee in it.

He continued walking toward her so she threw the gun on the sofa. Dante picked it up and looked at it, shook his head. "A fake gun?" he said. "That's the sure way to get killed." He shook his head in an almost affectionate disapproval. "Well, if you were a real hooker, this would be a real gun. So who are you?"

But now Dante surprised her. He started walking toward her slowly. He was smiling, he said gently, "That's such a small caliber, it won't even stop me unless you get a lucky shot to the head. Never use a small gun. You can put three bullets to my body and then I'll strangle you. Also, you're holding that gun wrong, you don't need that stance, there's no kick in it. Plus the chances are you won't even hit me, those little bitty things are inaccurate. So throw it away and we'll talk this over. Then you can leave."

To her surprise, the naked Dante burst out in a good-humored laugh. But Julia noted with satisfaction that he immediately lost his erection.

He pushed Julia down on the sofa and imprisoned her there with his leg, his toes pushed against her pubic hair. Then he opened her purse and spilled the contents onto the coffee table. He fished into the purse pockets and took out her wallet of credit cards and her driver's license. He studied them carefully and then grinned in pure delight. He said to her, "Take off that wig." Then he reached over with a doily from the sofa and wiped her face clean of makeup.

"Jesus Christ, you are Julia Deleree," Dante said. "I'm fucking a movie star." He gave another delighted laugh. "You can pee in my hat anytime."

Dante was kissing her buttocks, his fingers probing. Then he entered her savagely and she gave a yell of pain. When he finished, he patted her buttocks tenderly.

Julia said to him tearfully, "You promised to let me leave."

His toes were searching her crotch. Then he pulled her to her feet. "Don't be scared," he said. He kissed her and then turned her around and pushed her so that she was bent over the back of the sofa, breasts hanging down, her buttocks presented, tilted up to him.

"You can get dressed now," he said. "I'm sorry I broke my word. I just couldn't miss the chance of telling my friends that I fucked Julia Deleree up her great ass."

The next morning Cross had a wakeup call push him out of bed early. It would be a busy day. He had to pull all of Dante's markers out of the casino cage and do the necessary paperwork to make them disappear. He had to get the pit bosses' marker books out of their hands and have them redone. Then he had to make arrangements so that the papers on the Rolls for Big Tim would be revoked. Giorgio had had the legal papers prepared so that the official change of ownership would not be valid until a month in the future. That was vintage Giorgio.

Loretta kissed him on both cheeks and then told him the whole story about Julia and Dante. She said the man had introduced himself as Steve Sharpe and had lost a hundred grand at the crap table. They were impressed, and Julia decided to sleep with him. The three of them had only come to relax and have a night of gambling. Now they were terrified that Steve might cause a scandal.

In the middle of all this he was interrupted with a call from Loretta Lang. She was in the Hotel and urgently wanted to see him. Because he thought it might be something about Claudia, he had Security bring her up to the penthouse.

Cross nodded sympathetically. He was thinking, What a stupid thing for Dante to do before a big operation, and the son of a bitch was giving away black chips for his pickups to gamble with. He said to Loretta calmly, "I know the man, of course. Who are the two women with you?"

"OK," he said. "Your friend went to his room. She undressed. She wants to scream rape? What?"

Loretta knew better than to dally with Cross. She told him the two names. Cross smiled. "Do you three do this often?"

"We have to have a little fun," Loretta said. Cross gave her a sympathetic smile.

Loretta said hastily, "No, no. We just want him to keep quiet. If he talks it could be absolute disasters for our careers."

"He won't talk," Cross said. "He's a funny kind of guy. Keeps a low profile. But take my advice, don't get mixed up with him again. You girls should be more careful."

Loretta was annoyed by this last remark. The three women had decided to continue their outings. They were not going to be frightened by one mishap. Nothing really terrible had happened. She said, "How do you know he won't talk?"

Pippi came by the penthouse office to have lunch before he left for Los Angeles to check off the logistics of the Big Tim operation. Cross told him the story Loretta had told.

"I planned it, he can't fuck it up," Pippi said. "And when I see him in L. A. tonight, I'll give him another briefing."

When Loretta left, Cross called for the secret camera file that showed all the guests at the registration desk. He studied them. Now that he had the information, it was easy to penetrate the disguises of the two women with Loretta Lang. It was dumb for Dante not to have gotten that info.

Cross looked at her gravely. "I'll ask him the favor," he said.

Cross told him about how Giorgio had prepared the papers on the Rolls so that Big Tim would not acquire legal ownership for a month and so that after his death, the Hotel could regain the car.

Pippi shook his head. "The little bastard could have ruined the whole operation by throwing the timing off. And he keeps wearing that fucking hat after I told him not to."

Cross said, "Be careful on this operation. Keep your eye on Dante."

The next day Big Tim the Rustler had a very busy day indeed. Two Internal Revenue Agents tried to frighten him into paying some disputed taxes. He told them he would go to tax court and threw them out. Then he had to visit a warehouse of canned foods and another warehouse of over-the-counter drugs, all acquired at rock-bottom prices because their expiration dates were coming up. Those expiration dates would have to be changed. At lunch he met with a supermarket-chain vice president who would accept the shipment of these goods. During lunch he slipped the executive an envelope that held ten thousand dollars.

Big Tim the Rustler Snedden left Vegas two days later, owing sixty grand in markers to the Xanadu Hotel. He took the late-afternoon plane to Los Angeles, went to his office and worked for a few hours, and then drove to Santa Monica to have dinner with his ex-wife and his two children. His pockets had wads of five-dollar bills, which he gave to his kids along with a cardboard container, a quart of silver dollars. To his wife he gave the support and alimony check due, without which he would not be allowed to visit. He conned his wife with sweet talk after the children went to bed but she wouldn't give him a screw, which he didn't really want after Vegas. But he had to try, it was something for nothing.

"Typical Giorgio," Pippi said. "The Don would have let the estate keep his car for his kids."

After lunch he received a surprise call from two FBI agents who wanted to ask him about his relationship with a congress-man who was under indictment. Big Tim told them to go fuck themselves.

Big Tim the Rustler had never known fear. Perhaps because of his bulk, or maybe there was a piece of his brain missing. For he not only lacked physical fear, he lacked mental fear. He had not only taken the offensive against man but against nature itself. When the doctors told him he was eating himself to death and he should seriously diet, he had opted instead for the stomach bypass operation, which was more hazardous. And it had turned out perfectly. He ate as he wished without apparent harmful effect.

He had built his financial empire the same way. He made contracts that he refused to honor when they became unprofitable, he betrayed partners and friends. Everybody sued him, but they always had to settle for less than they would have received on the original terms. It was a life of success for one who took no precautions for the future. He always thought he would win in the end. He could always collapse corporate entities, shmooze over personal animosities. With women he was even more merciless. He promised them whole malls, apartments, boutiques. Then they settled for a small piece of jewelry at Christmas, a small check on their birthdays. Significant sums but not up to the original promises. Big Tim did not want a relationship. He just wanted to make sure he could have a friendly screw when he needed it.

His fortune, his ruddy health, his imposing bulk, his lack of guilt made Big Tim successful in everything he touched. His belief that all humanity was corruptible gave him a certain air of innocence that was useful not only in a woman's bed but also in the courts of law. And his gusto for life gave him a certain charm. He was a con man who let you peek at his cards.

Big Tim loved all this rustling, it made life interesting. There had been an independent bookmaker in L. A. that he had stiffed for a seventy-grand bet on football games. The bookmaker held a gun to his head and Big Tim said, "Go fuck yourself," then offered ten grand to settle the debt. The bookmaker took it.

So Big Tim did not wonder at the mystery of the arrangement Pippi De Lena had made with him for that night. The man was a hustler like himself and could be dealt with appropriately. Big promises and small rewards.

As for Steve Sharpe, Big Tim smelled a great opportunity, a multiyear scam. The little guy had dropped at least a half million in one day at the tables that he observed. Which meant he had an enormous credit line at the casino and must be in a position to earn a great deal of black money. He would be perfect in the Super Bowl fix. Not only could he supply the betting money, but he had the confidence of bookmakers. After all, those guys didn't take mammoth bets from just anybody.

In the restaurant he was greeted by a tiny maître d' who took one look at him and ushered him to a table where Pippi De Lena was waiting.

The dinner was at a small fish restaurant down in the L. A. dock area. There was no valet service, so Big Tim put his car in a parking lot.

When the maître d' came to take their order, Pippi told him, "We want the best of everything and the most of everything. My friend here is a champion eater and if he gets up from this table hungry, I'll talk to Vincent."

Then Big Tim daydreamed about his next visit to Vegas. Finally he would get a Villa. He pondered on who to bring with him as guests. Business or pleasure? Future scam victims or maybe all women? Finally it was time to go to dinner with Pippi and Steve Sharpe. He called his ex-wife and his two kids for a chat and then was on his way.

Big Tim was an expert of the abraccio and he took Pippi into his arms. "Where's Steve? Is he jerking me around? I haven't the time for that kind of bullshit."

Pippi turned on all his charm. He clapped Big Tim on the shoulder. "What am I, chopped liver?" he said. "Sit down and have the best fish dinner you ever ate. We'll be seeing Steve after."

The maître d' smiled confidently; he knew the quality of his kitchen. His restaurant was part of Vincent Clericuzio's empire. When the police backtracked Big Tim's trail, they would meet a blank wall here.

They ate a progression of clams, mussels, shrimps, and then lobsters: three for Big Tim and one for Pippi. Pippi was finished long before Big Tim. He said to him, "This guy is a friend of mine and I can tell you now he is tops in drugs. If that scares you off, tell me now."

"That scares me as much as this lobster," Big Tim said, waving its huge, nibbled claws in Pippi's face. "What else?"

Big Tim was enjoying the food; all the briney spices of the ocean filled his nostrils. "Great, I know all that," he said. "But where the fuck is he?"

"He always has to launder black money," Pippi said. "Your deal will have to include that."

"He's on his yacht," Pippi said. "He doesn't want anybody to see you with him. That's to your interest. He's a very cautious guy."

"I don't give a flying fuck who sees me with him," Big Tim said. "I want to see me with him."

No check was presented. Pippi left a twenty-dollar bill on the table and the two left the restaurant, the maître d' silently applauding Tim's performance at the table.

Pippi guided Big Tim to a small rental car that Tim squeezed into with difficulty. "Christ, can't you afford a bigger car?" Big Tim said.

"It's only a short distance," Pippi said soothingly. And indeed it was a five-minute ride. By that time it was really dark except for the lights of a small yacht moored to the pier.

The gangplank was down, guarded by a man almost as big as Tim. There was another man on the far deck. Pippi and Big Tim went up the gangplank and onto the deck of the yacht. Then Dante appeared on the deck and came forward to shake their hands. He was wearing his Renaissance hat, which he guarded good-naturedly from Big Tim's swipe.

Finally Big Tim was finished. His dessert was fruit, with a cup of espresso. Pippi skillfully skinned a pear for him. Tim ordered another espresso. "To keep me awake," he said. "That third lobster nearly put me away."

On the table was an array of liquor bottles, a bucket of ice, and a tray with drinking glasses. Pippi poured them all a brandy.

Dante led them below deck to a cabin decorated as a dining room. They sat around a table in comfortable chairs screwed into the floor.

At that moment the engines started and the yacht began to move. Big Tim said, "Where the hell are we going?"

"No, I want you to go into business with me, " Big Tim said with boastful good humor. "I run the show. You get your money washed without paying a premium. And make a good bit extra. I have a mall I'm building outside Fresno and you can get a piece for five million or ten. I have a lot of other deals all the time."

Dante said smoothly, "Just a little spin for some fresh air. Once we're out on the open sea, we can go up on the deck and enjoy it."

Dante said, "Tim, my understanding is that you want to go into business with me."

Big Tim was not that unsuspicious, but he had faith in himself, that he could handle anything that happened in the future. He accepted the explanation.

"That sounds very good," Pippi De Lena said.

"I'm in," Dante said. "Our lawyers will get together tomorrow and I'll put up some good faith money."

"He's my junior partner," Dante said. "My advisor. I have the money but he has the brains." He paused and then said sincerely, "He's told me a lot of good things about you, Tim, that's why we're talking."

Big Tim gave him a cold stare. "Where do you shine in? I've been meaning to ask."

The yacht was moving very swiftly now, the glasses trembled on the tray. Big Tim debated whether he should cut this guy in on the Super Bowl fix. Then he had one of his hunches, and they were never wrong. He leaned back in his chair, sipped his brandy, and gave both men a serious questioning look, which he often gave and had in fact rehearsed. The look of a man about to bestow his trust. In a best friend. "I'm going to let you guys in on a secret," he said. "But first, are we going to do business? You want a piece of the mall?"

Big Tim emptied his brandy glass and then leaned forward. "I can fix the Super Bowl," he said. With a dramatic flourish he signaled to Pippi to fill his glass. He was gratified to see the look of astonishment on their faces. "You think I'm full of shit, right?" he said.

"Don't be so touchy," Pippi said. "Just tell us how the fix works."

"Then fuck you," Big Tim said. "You don't want part of a sure thing, that's okay with me. But I'm telling you I can fix it. If you don't want it okay, let's do the mall. Turn this boat around and stop wasting my fucking time."

Dante took off his Renaissance hat and looked at it thoughtfully. "I think you're peeing in my hat," he said with a reminiscing smile. "A lot of people try. But Pippi is the expert on this stuff. Pippi?"

Dante and Pippi looked at each other with amused grins. Dante ducked his head, and his Renaissance hat made him look like a cunning squirrel. "You give me the money back in cash?" he asked.

"Can't be done," Pippi said. "The Super Bowl is eight months away and you don't even know who'll be in it."

Big Tim gulped his brandy and said in a regretful voice, "I can't tell you that. But I'll give you a guarantee. You bet ten million and we split the winnings. If anything goes wrong, I'll give you ten million back. Now is that fair?"

"Not exactly," Big Tim said. "I'll make it up on another deal. Take ten million off the price."

"Do you fix the players?" Dante asked.

"He can't," Pippi said. "They make too much money. It must be the officials."

"Sure, they'll toast us in jail," Dante said.

Big Tim was enthusiastic now. "I can't tell you but it's foolproof. And never mind the money. Think of the glory. It will be the biggest fix in sports history."

"That's the beauty of me not telling you anything," Big Tim said. "I go to jail, you guys don't. And my lawyers are too good and I have too many connections."

"Fuck Tim," Dante said pleasantly. "You hear that, Big Tim? Now I want to hear how the fix works and no bullshit." His tone was so contemptuous that Big Tim's face flushed red.

For the first time, Dante varied Pippi's script. He said, "Are we far enough out?"

"You little prick," he said, "you think you can scare me? You think you're tougher than the FBI, and the IRS, and the toughest shylock on the West Coast? I'll shit in your hat."

Pippi said, "Yeah, but I think if we talk a little more, Tim will tell us."

In Dante's hand was the knife he had used, the blood crimson on its broad blade up to the hilt.

Dante leaned back in his chair and banged on the wall of the cabin. A few seconds later two large, tough-looking men opened the door, then stood guard. In answer, Big Tim stood up and swept the table clean with one huge arm. Liquor bottles, the bucket of ice, and the tray of glasses crashed to the cabin floor.

Then suddenly Dante was slipping inside Big Tim's arms, nestled against his huge body. They broke apart and Big Tim sagged to his knees. It was a frightening sight. Half his shirt had been sliced away and where once his hairy right breast had been there was just a huge red patch from which an enormous gush of blood poured, staining half the table.

"Put him in a chair," Dante said to the guards, and then he took the cloth off the table to staunch Big Tim's bleeding. Big Tim was nearly unconscious with shock.

"No Tim, listen to me," Pippi shouted. He wanted to spare the man unnecessary suffering. Also, he did not want to be the shooter, that was not part of the plan. But Big Tim was rushing toward the door, ready to do battle.

"No," Dante said. "He's a tough guy. Let's see how tough."

Pippi said, "You could have waited."

"I'll get things ready on the deck," Pippi said. He didn't want to watch. He had never done torture. There were really no secrets so important that justified that kind of work. When you killed a man, you merely separated him from this world so that he could do you no harm.

He felt the balmy air fragrant with salt, the night ocean purple and still. The yacht was slowing down and then it stopped.

Pippi gazed down at the ocean for a full fifteen minutes before the two men who had stood guard at the door appeared, carrying Big Tim's body. It was so terrible a sight that Pippi averted his eyes.

The four men put Big Tim's body into the cage and then lowered it over the water. One of the men adjusted the slats so that the cage was open for the denizens of the ocean deep to slide between the bars and feast on the body. Then the hook was released and the cage plunged to the bottom of the sea.

Up on the deck he saw that two of his men had already prepared. The steel cage was ready on its hook, the slatted bars closed. The deck was covered with a plastic sheet.

Before the sun rose, there would be only the skeleton of Big Tim's body swimming eternally in its cage on the ocean floor.

Dante came up on deck. He had obviously taken a shower and changed his clothes. Underneath the Renaissance hat his hair was slick and wet. There was no trace of blood.

"So he already made his Communion," Dante said. "You could have waited for me."

Pippi said, "Did he talk?"

"Oh yeah," Dante said. "The fix was really simple. Except maybe he was full of shit right up to the end."

The next day Pippi flew East to give the Don and Giorgio a full report. "Big Tim was crazy," he said. "He bribed the caterer who supplies the food and drink to the teams in the Super Bowl. They were going to use drugs to make the team they bet against weaker as the game went on. The coaches and players would notice even if the fans didn't, and the FBI, too. You were right, Uncle, the scandal would have set back our program maybe forever."

"Was he an idiot?" Giorgio asked.

"I think he wanted to be famous," Pippi said. "Rich wasn't enough."

Giorgio said, "I agree."

"What about the others involved in the scheme?" the Don asked.

"Very good," the Don said. "And my grandson, did he perform well?"

It seemed an offhand remark, but Pippi knew the Don well enough to understand that this was a very serious question. He answered as carefully as he could but with a certain purpose.

"When they don't hear from the Rustler, they'll be scared off," Pippi said.

"I told him not to wear his hat on this operation in Vegas and L. A. He did anyway. Then he didn't follow the script of the operation. We could have got the information with more talk but he wanted blood. He cut the guy to pieces. He cut off his cock and nuts and breasts. That wasn't necessary. He enjoys doing it and that is very dangerous for the Family. Somebody really has got to talk to him."

Pippi saw that the Don would not do anything. So he told them about Dante's indiscretion with the movie star the night before the operation. He saw the Don flinch and Giorgio grimace with distaste. There was a long silence. Pippi wondered if he had gone too far.

"It will have to be you," Giorgio said to the Don. "He doesn't listen to me."

Don Domenico pondered this a long time. "He's young, he'll grow out of it."

First danger: In this Boz operation he was making a crucial move without consulting the Clericuzio Family. It was true that he was the administrative Baron of the Western District, which comprised Nevada and the southern part of California. It was true that the Barons operated independently in many areas and were not strictly under the Clericuzio Family as long as they wet the Clericuzio beak with a percentage of earnings. But there were very strict rules. No Baron, or Bruglione, could embark on an operation of such magnitude without the approval of the Clericuzio. For one simple reason. If a Baron did so and got into trouble, he would receive no prosecutorial indulgence, no judicial intervention. In addition, he would receive no support against any rising chief in his own territories, and his money would not be laundered and tucked away for his old age. Cross knew he should see Giorgio and the Don for an OK.

Finally, the Don shook his head and said, "Pippi, you have planned well, as always, but you can set your mind at rest. You will never have to work with Dante again. But you must understand, Dante is my daughter's only child. Giorgio and I must do our best with him. He will grow wiser."

Cross De Lena sat on the balcony of his executive penthouse suite in the Xanadu Hotel and examined the dangers of the course of action he was taking. From his vantage point he could see the full length of the Strip, the line of luxury casino hotels on either side, the crowds of people in the street. He could see the gamblers on the Xanadu golf course, superstitiously trying for a hole in one to ensure the victory at the gaming tables later.

And the magnitude of the money involved was a factor. Cross had inherited Gronevelt's fifty-one points, the Xanadu was worth a billion dollars. But he was gambling fifty million, investing another fifty million for a total of a C million. The economic risk was enormous. And the Clericuzio were notoriously prudent and conservative, as indeed they had to be to survive the world they moved in.

This operation could be enormously sensitive. And he was putting up part of his 51 percent equity in the Xanadu, left to him by Gronevelt, to finance the movie deal. It was true it was his own money, but it was money allied to the hidden interest that the Clericuzio shared in the Hotel. And it was money that the Clericuzio had helped him earn. It was a peculiar and yet somehow very human quirk of the Clericuzio that they felt a proprietary interest in the fortunes of their subordinates. They would resent his investing this money without their advice. Their quirk, though it had no legal foundation, resembled a medieval courtesy: no baron could sell his castle without royal consent.

Cross remembered another thing. Long ago, when the Santadio and Clericuzio Families were on good terms, they had gained a foothold in the movie business. But it had not turned out well. When the Santadio Empire was crushed, Don Clericuzio had ordered that all attempts to infiltrate the movie business be halted. "Those people are too clever," the Don said. "And they have no fear because the rewards are so high. We should have to kill them all and then we would not know how to run the business. It is more complicated than drugs."

Why was he doing this? He thought of Gronevelt's "Beware of damsels in distress." Well, he had met damsels in distress before and had left them to their dragons. Vegas was full of damsels in distress.

No, Cross decided. If he asked permission it would be denied. And then it would be impossible to proceed. When it was done he could do penance, he could let the Clericuzio beak drown itself in his profits, success often excused the most impudent of sins. And if he failed, then most likely he would be finished anyway, approval or not. Which brought up a final doubt.

He accepted it and was pleased that finally he knew the real reason for his actions. It made him resolute and it made him focus. At the present time the main problem was operational. Forget Athena. Forget the Clericuzio. There was the difficult problem of Boz Skannet, a problem that had to be solved quickly.

Astonished, he felt a well of longing to see her, to be with her, to listen to her voice, to watch her move. And then he thought, Oh shit, is this why I'm doing this?

But he knew. He yearned for the beauty of Athena Aquitane. It wasn't just for the loveliness of her face, her eyes, her hair, her legs, her breasts. He yearned to see the look of intelligence and warmth in her eyes, in the very bones of her face, in the delicate curve of her lips. He felt that if he could know her, be in her presence, the whole world would take on a different light, the sun a different heat. He saw the ocean behind her, rolling green and capped with white flume, like a halo around her head. And the thought strayed into his mind: Athena was the woman his mother had dreamed of becoming.

It was two days later that Andrew Pollard got the phone call from Cross De Lena. "I hear you're working too hard," Cross said. "How about coming to Vegas for a little vacation? I'll comp you RFB -- room, food, beverage. Bring the wife. And if you get bored pop up to my office for a chat."

Cross knew he had put himself in too naked a position, another complication. To publicly profit if anything happened to Skannet was dangerous.

"Thanks," Pollard said, "I'm pretty busy right now, but how about next week?"

Cross resolved on the three people he needed for the planned operation. The first was Andrew Pollard, who owned Pacific Ocean Security and was already involved in the whole mess. The second was Lia Vazzi, the caretaker of the Clericuzio hunting lodge in the Nevada mountains. Lia headed a crew of men who also served as caretakers but were on call for special duties. The third man was Leonard Sossa, a retired counterfeiter on Family retainer to do odd jobs. All three came under Cross De Lena's control as the Western Bruglione.

"Sure," Cross said. "But then I'll be out of town, so I'll miss you."

"Great," Cross said and hung up.

"I'll come tomorrow then," Pollard said.

Pollard leaned back in his chair, pondering. The invitation had been a command. He would have to walk a very thin line.

Twenty years before, the FBI had arrested him for making hundred-dollar bills for the now-extinct Santadio Family. His confederates had copped a plea, sold him out, and he had believed the flower of his manhood would wither in prison. Counterfeiting money was a far more dangerous crime than rape, murder, arson. When you counterfeited money, you attacked the machinery of government itself. When you committed the other crimes you were only some scavenger taking a bite out of the carcass of the huge beast that composed the expendable human chain. He expected no mercy and was given none. Leonard Sossa was sentenced to twenty years.

Leonard Sossa enjoyed life as only a man reprieved from a terrible death sentence can enjoy life. He enjoyed the sunrise, he enjoyed the sunset. He enjoyed the grass growing and the cows who ate the grass. He enjoyed the sight of beautiful women and confident young men and clever children. He enjoyed a crust of bread, a glass of wine, a knob of cheese.

Sossa did only a year. A fellow inmate, overcome with admiration for Sossa's skills, his genius with ink and pencil and pen, recruited him for the Clericuzio Family.

Suddenly he had a new lawyer. Suddenly he had an outside doctor he had never met. Suddenly there was a hearing for clemency on the ground that his mental capacity had deteriorated to that of a child and he was no longer a menace to society. Suddenly Leonard Sossa was a free man and an employee of the Clericuzio Family.

The Family had a need for a first-rate forger. Not for currency, they knew that to the authorities counterfeiting was an unforgivable crime. They needed a forger for far more important tasks. In the mountains of paperwork Giorgio had to handle, juggling different national and international corporations, signing legal documents by nonexistent corporate officers, making deposits and withdrawals of vast sums of money, a variety of signatures and imitations of signatures were needed. Then, as time went on, other uses were found for Leonard.

The Xanadu Hotel used his skills very profitably. When a very rich high roller died and had markers in the cage, Sossa was brought in to sign another million dollars. Of course the dead man's estate would not pay the markers. But then the whole amount could be charged as loss on the Xanadu's taxes. This happened far more often than was natural. There seemed to be a high mortality rate in pleasure. The same was done to high rollers who reneged on their debts or settled dimes on the dollar.

For all this Leonard Sossa was paid a hundred thousand dollars a year and barred from doing any other kind of work, especially counterfeiting currency. This fit in with Family policy in general. The Clericuzio had an edict that prohibited all crime-family members from engaging in counterfeiting and kidnapping. These were the crimes that made all the Federal enforcement agencies come down with crushing force. The rewards were simply not worth the risk.

So for twenty years Sossa enjoyed life as an artist in his little house that nestled in Topanga Canyon, not far from Malibu. He had a small garden, a goat, a cat, and a dog. He painted during the day and drank at night. There was an endless supply of young girls who lived in the Canyon and were free spirits and fellow painters.

So when a car came to pick him up and the driver told him to bring his tools and clothes for a few days, Sossa turned his goat, dog, and cat loose into the Canyon and locked his house. The animals could take care of themselves; after all, they were not children. It was not that he was not fond of them, but animals had a short life span, especially in the Canyon, and he had gotten used to losing them. His year in prison had made Leonard Sossa a realist, and his unexpected release had made him an optimist.

Sossa never left the Canyon except to shop in Santa Monica or when he was called to duty by the Clericuzio Family, which was usually twice a month for a period of no more than a few days. He did the work they wanted him to do and never asked questions. He was a valued soldier in the Clericuzio Family.

Lia Vazzi, the caretaker of the Clericuzio Family's hunting lodge in the Sierra Nevada, had arrived in the United States when he was only thirty years old and the most wanted man in Italy. In the ten years since then he had learned to speak English with only a very slight accent and could read and write it to a fair degree. In Sicily he had been born to one of the most learned and powerful Families on the island.

In Rome, the government had appointed an examining magistrate and given him extraordinary powers to wipe out the Mafia in Sicily. The examining magistrate had arrived in Palermo with his wife and children, protected by army troops and a horde of police. He gave a fiery speech, promising to show no mercy to those criminals who had ruled the beautiful island of Sicily for centuries. The time had come for the law to rule, for the elected representatives of the people of Italy to decide the fate of Sicily, not the ignorant thugs with their shameful secret societies. Vazzi took his speech as a personal insult.

The examining magistrate was heavily guarded day and night, as he heard the testimony of witnesses and issued arrest orders. His court was a fortress, his living quarters rimmed by a perimeter of army troops. He was seemingly impregnable. But after three months Vazzi learned the magistrate's itinerary, which had been kept secret to prevent surprise attacks.

Fifteen years before, Lia Vazzi had been the leader of the Mafia in Palermo, a Qualified Man of the first rank. But he had reached too far.

Now the Clericuzio sent Pippi De Lena to Sicily every year to recruit men to live in the Bronx Enclave and soldier for the Clericuzio Family. The bedrock of the Don's faith was that only Sicilians with their centuries-long tradition of omerta could be trusted not to turn traitor. The young men in America were too soft, too lightheaded with vanity, could be too easily turned into informants by the more ferocious of the district attorneys who were sending so many of the Brugliones to prison.

The magistrate traveled to the big towns in Sicily to gather evidence and issue arrest warrants. He was scheduled to return to Palermo to be given a medal for his heroic attempt to rid the island of its Mafia scourge. Lia Vazzi and his men mined a small bridge that the magistrate had to pass over. The magistrate and his guards were blown into such tiny bits that the bodies had to be brought out of the water with sieves. The government in Rome, infuriated, replied with a massive search for the culprits responsible, and Vazzi had to go underground. Though the government had no proof, he knew that if he fell into their hands he would be better off dead.

As a philosophy, omerta was quite simple. It was a mortal sin to talk to the police about anything that would harm the Mafia. If a rival Mafia clan murdered your father before your eyes, you were forbidden to inform the police. If you yourself were shot and lay dying, you were forbidden to inform the police. If they stole your mule, your goat, your jewelry, you were forbidden to go to the police. The authorities were the Great Satan a true Sicilian could never turn to. Family and the Mafia were the avengers.

The mayor was a short man with a rounded belly, the belly figurative as well as literal, for "a man with a belly" was the Sicilian idiom for a Mafia chief.

Ten years before, Pippi De Lena had taken his son, Cross, on his trip to Sicily as part of his training. The task was not so much recruiting as screening, there were hundreds of willing men whose greatest dream was to be picked to go to America.

They went to a little town fifty miles from Palermo, into the countryside of villages built of stone, decorated with the bright flowers of Sicily. There they were welcomed into the home of the mayor himself.

The house had a pleasant garden with fig and olive and lemon trees, and it was here that Pippi did his interviews. The garden strangely resembled the Clericuzio garden in Quogue, except for the brilliantly colored flowers and the lemon trees. The mayor was obviously a man who loved beauty, for in addition he had a comely wife and three lusciously pretty daughters who, though in their early teens, were fully developed women.

Over the next few days men came to be interviewed and screened by Pippi. He had criteria. The men could not be older than thirty-five or younger than twenty. If they were married, they could not have more than one child. Finally, they had to be vouched for by the mayor. He explained this. If the men were too young, they might be too influenced by the American culture. If they were too old, they could not make the adjustment to America. If they had more than one child, they would be of too cautious a temperament to take the risks their duties would demand.

But Cross saw that his father, Pippi, was a different man in Sicily. There was none of his carefree gallantry here, he was soberly respectful to the women, his charm erased. Late that night, in the room they shared, he lectured Cross. "You have to be careful with Sicilians. They distrust men who are interested in women. You screw one of their daughters, we'll never get out of here alive."

At the end of the week Pippi had his quota of twenty men, and he gave his list to the mayor, who would approve them and then arrange for their emigration. The mayor crossed out one name on the list.

Some of the men who came were so seriously compromised in the eyes of the law that they had to leave Sicily. Some were simply seeking a better life in America no matter the cost. Some were too clever to rely on fate and desperately wanted to soldier for the Clericuzio, and these were the best.

Pippi said, "I thought he would be perfect for us. Have I made a mistake?"

Pippi was puzzled. All of the recruits would be treated very well. The single men would be given apartments, the married men with a child a small house. They would all have steady jobs. They would all live in the Bronx Enclave. And then some would be chosen as soldiers in the Clericuzio Family and make a handsome living with a bright future. The man whose name had been crossed out by the mayor had to be in very bad odor. But then why had he been cleared for an interview? Pippi sensed a Sicilian rat.

"No, no," the mayor said. "You have done cleverly as always."

The mayor was observing him shrewdly, seeming to read his mind and pleased by what he read.

"You are too much of a Sicilian for me to deceive you," the mayor said. "The name I crossed out is a man my daughter intends to marry. I want to keep him here a year longer for my daughter's happiness, then you can have him. I could not refuse his interview. The other reason is that I have a man who I think you should take in his place. Will you do me the favor of seeing him?"

"Of course," Pippi said.

The mayor said, "I don't want to mislead you, but this is a special case and he must leave immediately."

"If they have no proof, why is this situation so desperate for Vazzi?" Cross said.

"It will be to your interest," the mayor said. "But it is a little dangerous." He then explained about Lia Vazzi. The assassination of the magistrate had made world headlines, so Pippi and Cross were familiar with the case.

The mayor said, "Young man, this is Sicily. The police are also Sicilians. The magistrate was a Sicilian. Everybody knows it was Lia. Never mind your legal proof. If he falls into their hands, he will be dead."

"You know I have to be very careful," Pippi said. "The Clericuzio are particular."

"Yes," said the mayor. "The difficulty is keeping him hidden in America."

Pippi said, "Can you get him out of the country and into America?"

"An answer to my prayers," Pippi said smoothly. "But still why does such a man run away?"

The mayor shrugged. "He's a friend of mine, I confess. But put that aside." He paused and smiled benignly to make sure that it was not put aside. "He is also an ultimate Qualified Man. He is expert in explosives and that is always a very tricky business. He knows the rope, an old and very useful skill. The knife and gun of course. Most important of all he is intelligent, a man of all parts. And steadfast. Like a rock. He never talks. He listens and has the gift of loosening tongues. Now tell me, can you not use a man like that?"

Pippi said, "He sounds like he's more trouble than he's worth."

"Because in addition to all his other virtues," the mayor said, "he is prudent. He does not challenge fate. His days are numbered here."

"And a man who's qualified," Pippi said, "can he be happy as a mere soldier in America?"

"I must meet such a man," Pippi said, "if only for the pleasure of the experience. But I can guarantee nothing."

The mayor made a wide, expansive gesture. "Of course he must suit you," he said. "But there is another thing I must tell you. He forbade me to deceive you about this." For the first time the mayor was not so confident. "He has a wife and three children and they must go with him."

The mayor bowed his head in a sorrowful commiseration. "He is a true Christian," he said. "He has the humility that Christ has always taught us."

"He will be in the garden after dark," the mayor said. "There is no danger, I have seen to that."

Lia Vazzi was a small man but with that wiry toughness that many Sicilians inherited from long-ago Arab ancestors. He had a handsome, hawk-like face, a dark brown, dignified mask, and he spoke English to a degree.

At that moment Pippi knew his answer would be no. "Ah," he said, "that makes it very difficult. When do we see him?"

They sat around the mayor's garden table with a bottle of homemade red wine, a dish of olives from the nearby trees, and bread, crusty and freshly baked that evening, round, still warm, and beside it a whole leg of prosciutto, studded with grains of whole pepper, like black diamonds. Lia Vazzi ate and drank and said nothing.

Lia shrugged. "I can't be the judge of that." He seemed resigned to being refused.

Lia looked at Cross and then said to Pippi, "You have a son. What would you do to save him? I want to have my wife and children safe and for that I will do my duty."

"I have received the highest recommendations," Pippi said respectfully. "But I worry. Can a man of your education and qualification be happy in America in the service of another man?"

Pippi said, "If you come by yourself, it will be easier."

"No," Vazzi said. "My family will live together or die together." He paused for a moment. "If I leave them here, Rome will make it very difficult for them. I would rather give myself up."

"There will be some danger for us," Pippi said. "You understand that I have to think of the benefits that justify the risk."

"No," Cross said. "He is old-fashioned, like yourself." He said it gravely but with a tiny trace of a smile. Then he said, "I hear you're a farmer also."

Pippi said, "The problem is how to hide you and your family."

Vazzi shrugged. "America is vast," he said. He offered the plate of olives to Cross and said almost mockingly, "Would your father ever desert you?"

It was the personal force of Lia Vazzi that persuaded Pippi De Lena. Vazzi was not a big man, but his body put out an electric dignity. He had a chilling effect, a man who was not daunted by death, feared neither Hell nor Heaven.

Cross said to Pippi, "How about the Family hunting lodge in the Sierras? He could take care of it with his family and earn his keep. It's isolated. His family can help." He turned to Lia. "Would you live in the woods?" Woods as the idiom for anything not urban. Lia shrugged.

Since then Lia Vazzi had more than earned the mercy that had been shown to him. He had risen from soldier to leader of all of Cross's operational crews. He supervised the six men who helped him care for the Hunting Lodge estate, on whose grounds he owned his own house. He had prospered, he had become a citizen, his children went away to the university. All this earned by his courage and good sense, and most of all, his loyalty. So when he received the message to meet Cross De Lena in Las Vegas, it was with a goodwill that he packed his suitcase in his new Buick and made the long drive to Vegas and the Xanadu Hotel.

"Olives," Vazzi said. "I have my own press."

Pippi said, "It's a good idea. Perfect camouflage. And we can call on you for special jobs and let you earn extra money. Those jobs will be your risk."

They could see the muscles on Lia's face loosen when he realized that he had been chosen. His voice trembled slightly when he spoke. "I want to thank you for saving my wife and children," he said, and looked directly at Cross De Lena.

"So they don't really give a shit about her, they just want to get the picture done," he told Cross. "Also, the Studio doesn't take characters like that seriously. I have a twenty-man section in my company that just handles harassers. Movie stars really have to worry about people like him."

Andrew Pollard was the first to arrive in Las Vegas. He flew from L. A. on the noon flight, relaxed by one of the Hotel Xanadu's huge pools, gambled small-time craps for a few hours, then was secretly whisked into Cross De Lena's penthouse office suite.

They shook hands and Cross said, "I won't keep you long. You can fly back tonight. What I need is all the information you have on the Skannet guy."

Pollard briefed him on everything that had happened and informed him that Skannet was now staying in the Beverly Hills Hotel. He told of his conversation with Bantz.

"What about the cops?" Cross asked. "Can't they do something?"

"No," Pollard said. "Not until after the damage."

"What about you?" Cross asked. "You have some good personnel working for you."

"I sure have," Pollard said. "He is definitely capable of pulling bad shit."

"This Boz Skannet, what kind of guy is he?" Cross said.

"I have to be careful," Pollard said. "I could lose my business if I get tough. You know how the courts are. Why should I stick my neck out?"

"I'm always serious," Cross said. "You have Skannet under surveillance now?"

Cross said, "Pull off your surveillance. I don't want anyone watching him. Understand?"

"He won't scare," Pollard said. "In fact he scares me. He's one of those genuinely tough guys who doesn't care about consequences. His family has money and political power so he figures he can get away with anything. And he really enjoys trouble, you know, how some guys do. If you're going to get into this you have to be serious."

"I've met him," Cross said. "I want you to do one other thing. Lend me your Pacific Ocean Security ID for a couple of hours. You'll have it back in time to catch the midnight flight to L. A."

"OK, if you say so," Pollard said. He paused for a moment, then said, "Watch out for Jim Losey, he's keeping an eye out on Skannet. Do you know Losey?"

At this, Pollard's heart sank. This was going to be real trouble.

Pollard thought for a moment. "Skannet claims he knows a big secret that Athena would do anything not to have anyone find out. That's why she dropped the charges against him. A terrific secret, Skannet loves that secret. Cross, I don't know how or why you're involved, but maybe knowing that secret can solve your problem."

Cross smiled at him reassuringly. "You're too valuable to us. One other thing, if Skannet calls up to check on men from your office talking to him, you just verify it."

Pollard was worried. "You know I'll do anything for you Cross, but be careful; this is a very touchy case. I've built up a very good life out here and I don't want it to go down the drain. I know I owe it all to the Clericuzio Family, I'm always grateful, I'm always paid back. But this is a very complicated business."

Cross said, "Now tell me anything else you can about him." When Pollard hesitated, Cross added, "I'll do something for you. Later on."

For the first time Cross looked at him without affability and suddenly he knew why Cross had acquired his reputation. The look was cold, judging, a judging that could result in death.

Cross said, "You know why I'm interested. Bantz must have told you the story. He hired you to do a background on me. Now do you have any of this big secret or does the Studio?"

"No," Pollard said. "Nobody knows. Cross, I'm doing my best for you, you know that."

"I do know that," Cross said, suddenly gentle. "Let me make it easier for you. The Studio is hot to know how I'm going to get Athena Aquitane back to work. I'll tell you. I'm going to give her half the profits of the movie. And it's okay by me for you to tell them. You can make points, they may even give you a bonus." He reached into his desk and took out a round leather bag and put it in Pollard's hand. "Five grand of black chips," he said. "I always worry when I ask you up here on business that you'll lose money in the casino."

He need not have worried. Andrew Pollard always turned the chips into the casino cage for cash.

Leonard Sossa was just getting settled into a secured business suite at the Xanadu when Pollard's ID was brought to him. With his own equipment he carefully forged four sets of Pacific Ocean Security IDs, complete with special flap-open billfolds. They would not have passed an inspection by Pollard, but that was not necessary, Pollard would never see these IDs. When Sossa finished the job several hours later, two men drove him to the Sierra Nevada Hunting Lodge, where he was installed in a bungalow deep in the woods.

On the porch of the bungalow that afternoon, he watched a deer and bear that wandered by. At night he cleaned his tools and waited. He didn't know where he was or what he was going to do and he didn't want to know. He got his hundred grand a year and lived the life of a free man in the open air. He killed time by sketching the bear and the deer he had seen on a hundred sheets of paper and then riffling them together to give the impression of the deer chasing the bear.

Lia Vazzi was greeted in an altogether different fashion. Cross embraced him, gave him dinner in his suite. During Vazzi's years in America, Cross had been his operational chief many times. Vazzi, despite his own force of character, had never tried to usurp authority, and Cross in turn had treated him with the respect that a man gave his equal.

Over the years Cross had gone to the Hunting Lodge for weekend vacations and the two of them had gone hunting together. Vazzi told stories of the troubles in Sicily and the difference in living in America. Cross had reciprocated by inviting Vazzi and his family to Vegas, comped RFB at the Xanadu plus a credit rating of five thousand in the casino, which Lia was never asked to pay.

"Except a fisherman thrown off his boat," Cross said laughing.

Over dinner they talked generally. Vazzi marveled still at his life in America. His oldest son was taking a degree at the University of California and had no knowledge of his father's secret life. Vazzi was uneasy with this. "Sometimes I think he has none of my blood," he said. "He believes everything his professors tell him. He believes women are equal to men, he believes peasants should be given free land. He belongs to the swimming team at college. In all my life in Sicily, and Sicily is an island, I have never seen a Sicilian swimming."

"Not even then," Vazzi said. "They all drowned."

When they had finished eating, they talked business. Vazzi never really enjoyed the food in Vegas, but he loved the brandy and Havana cigars. Cross always sent him a case of good brandy and a box of thin Havana cigars once a year at Christmas.

"I have something very difficult for you to do," Cross said. "Something that must be done very intelligently."

"That is always difficult," Vazzi said.

"The difficulty," Cross said, "is that there must be no mark on his body, no drugs inside his body. Also this certain person is very strong-willed."

"Disneyland?" Cross asked, and laughed.

"It must be at the Hunting Lodge," Cross said. "We will bring a certain person there. I want him to write some letters, I want him to give a piece of information." He paused to smile at Vazzi's dismissive gesture. Vazzi had often commented on American movies where the hero or villain refused to give information. "I could make them speak Chinese," Vazzi would say.

Cross said, "There is no other way. The men working will be your crew but first the Lodge must be cleared of the women and children."

"I have never been," Vazzi said. "I hope to go there when I die. Will this be a Communion or a Confirmation?"

"Only women can make a man talk with kisses," Vazzi said amiably, savoring his cigar. "It sounds to me that you are going to be personally involved in this story."

Vazzi waved his cigar. "They will go to Disneyland, that blessing in happiness and trouble. We always send them there."

"Confirmation," Cross said.

"You are far more Sicilian than my son and you were born in America," Vazzi said. "But what happens if he remains stubborn and won't give you what you want."

"Then the fault will be mine," Cross said. "And his. And then we must pay. In that, America and Sicily are the same."

Then they got down to business. Cross explained the operation to Vazzi and why and how it should be done. "How does it sound to you?" he asked.

"True," Vazzi said. "As in China and Russia and Africa. As the Don often says, Then we can all go swim in the bottom of the ocean."