'You're American?' I asked as he poured each of us a glass of red wine.
'Only for a brief period,' he said. Pulling off his robe and hanging it on a peg, he sat down with his glass, spilling a drop of ruby red on his hand. He wore a white collarless shirt and dark vest, like every other Sicilian man. But unlike many, he wore a shoulder holster with the butt of a big revolver sticking out from under his left arm. 'I left Sicily as a young man, and went to America as many have done. Mr. Luciano gave me work in New York, with the unions at the docks. There was a disagreement with the authorities, and ultimately I was deported. I had become an American citizen in 1921, but they took that away from me in 1934 when they put me on a boat and sent me back.'
'Are you still loyal to Lucky Luciano?' I asked.
'Loyalty is a precious thing, my young friend. An honorable thing, not a thing to be questioned.'
'Please excuse Billy,' Sciafani said. 'He is not Sicilian, and does not understand these things so well. He is Irish.'
'So,' Corso said, as if that explained everything. 'The answer is of course I am. I am also loyal to Don Calo, and he wants to see you very much. In order to be certain he survives the meeting, I want you to give me that little pistol you have stuck in your pants.'With that, he drew his revolver and pointed it at me casually as he took another sip of wine.
'I always say it's better to give than to receive,' I said as I pulled the Beretta out with my thumb and forefinger. I slid it across the table to him.
'Yes, especially with this monster,' he said as he holstered his revolver. 'It's an Italian sidearm from the last war, a Bodeo. Fires 10mm ammunition. Would make a hell of a racket in here. And a big hole in your chest.'
'Are you really an official of this cathedral or did you kill him and take his place?' Sciafani asked. Even with his cynical view of religion, he seemed to be having a hard time believing this guy was for real.
'Yes, indeed, I am the sacristan here. I am also a member of the altar society. Does that surprise you?'
'Since the war, not much surprises me,' Sciafani answered. 'Only I have never seen a gun concealed by a church robe before.'
'This is nothing, Dottor, compared to the Teutonic Knights and the Knights Hospitallers who established orders here in Sicily centuries ago. There is nothing strange about protecting holy property when rival armies are fighting across our land.'
'Tommaso, I do want to see Don Calo, that's why we're here,' I said, trying to focus on the present. 'I have an important message for him, from the Allied Command, and from Lucky Luciano.'
'Then why didn't you deliver it the first time?'
'Something went wrong in the Valley of the Temples.'
'Maybe you are what went wrong there,'Tommaso said, drumming his fingers on the table.
'Do you know what happened?'
'I know everything that happens in this city. It is the reason I am here. I know a platoon of Italian soldati encountered a small group of men shooting at each other on the same night I sent the three of you there for the rendezvous. Several were killed, and a few deserted in the confusion. One of them reported to me.'
'Wait, you mean they ambushed us?'
'No. Gunfire broke out as they approached the Temple of Con-cordia, but it was not directed at them. Their lieutenant ordered them forward; he was killed in a grenade blast. Then most of them ran.'
'Did they find any bodies?'
'Only of their own men,' Tommaso said.
'So the two men I was with, they must've gotten away with Don Calo's men?'
'Yes, they had a car. The meeting place was at Il Tempio di Concordia. Is this what you can't remember?'
'Yes,' I said. 'I think that I killed my friend, by accident, during the fight. They must have taken his body away.'
'I would advise you to revive your memory. Don Calo has questions for you.'
'Does he want me dead?' I asked, remembering what Kaz had said about rumors of a contract.
'That will depend on your answers.'
'Fair enough,' I said, as if fairness had anything to do with it. 'Who else knew about the rendezvous?'
'Don Calo himself told me about it, a week before you came. A British agent contacted him and asked him to see your party.'
'Where's that agent now?'
'Dead. He was stopped by the Germans and tried to shoot his way out. Stupid.'
'Do you know Vito Genovese? Joey Laspada?'
'I knew Vito back in the States. Then I was known as Tommy the C. Joey, him I met here a few times. Why?'
'Are they involved in this?' I asked, ignoring his question.
'Not that I know of.'
'And you know everything that happens here,' I reminded him.
'Everything that happens in Agrigento,' Tommy the C said, stretching out his hands as if to include the entire province.
'Does the name Charlotte mean anything to you?'
'Other than a dame in Jersey, not a thing. And she didn't mean much. What are all these questions for?'
'We had a run-in with Vito and Joey a couple of days ago. They're working for the Allied Military Government as translators. They were looking for one of the guys I was with. And for the handkerchief.'
'Vito usually gets what he wants,' Tommy said.
'A company of German paratroopers got in his way this time. Tell me, is Vito well connected here?'
'Everybody in Sicily wants to go to America. Those who do and come back as men of honor, are respected. So, yeah, Vito has connections.' 'With Don Calo?'
'Of course.'
'And you are Don Calo's man, Tommy the C?' Sciafani said, breaking his silence, and pronouncing the strange American nickname with exaggerated correctness. He pointed his finger at Tommaso, and left it there, like a pistol pointed at the man's heart.
'Of course. I worked for Luciano in New York, and when I came back here, Don Calo honored me with the position of caporegime, in Agrigento. I am his lieutenant. Like you, Lieutenant Boyle. Aren't you somebody's man?'
Sciafani dropped his hand to the table but kept his eyes on Tommy, and spoke before I could answer.
'Do you find it easy, serving both God and Caesar?'
I knew my mind wasn't working at its peak. I also knew that its peak wasn't what it should be. I was still mixed up and tired out from days and nights on the run. Even so, I caught the charge in the air between the two of them. For some reason, Sciafani was challenging Tommaso-or Tommy-a man of God and of the gun, well-armed and inside his own cathedral. It was a sucker's bet and I couldn't understand what Sciafani was thinking, even if he didn't like priests keeping the riches of their churches locked away.
'Who do you serve, Dottor?' Tommy asked, as he began again to drum his fingers on the polished tabletop. ' L'americano? '
'I have served the Fascists for three years, binding wounds and watching men die for them. Now, I serve myself.'
'Serve who you wish. Men will still die,'Tommy said, stopping the rhythmic drumming and pointing at Sciafani. 'I will remember you.'
'Good,' answered Sciafani, as if this settled something.
'Listen, we don't want to make trouble,' I said, trying to reduce the tension in the room. 'Can you get me to Don Calo? The dottore is headed to Palermo now-'
'No, Billy, I promised I would guide you, and I will. Villalba is on the way. I will stay with you,' Sciafani insisted.
'I don't care if you go with him or go to the devil, but you both must leave soon if you want to get out,' Tommy the C said, slapping the palms of his hands on the table as he rose from it. 'The Germans are coming down
