Seigel got slowly to his feet.
'Are you crazy? You asked Ferrari to come here? Why?'
'Who else do you imagine can handle this mess?' Gollowitz asked, spreading his fat hands palms up on the blotter. 'You? Do you imagine you can handle it?'
'But Ferrari . . .'
'If those two go into the witness-box we're all finished,' Gollowitz said quietly. 'They must be silenced. You have had your chance. I have had mine. We both failed. We can't afford to fail. I asked the Syndicate to send Ferrari. They said I had done the right thing.'
'What will Maurer say?' Seigel asked, licking his dry lips. 'You know he wouldn't have a Syndicate man on his territory.'
'He's not here. If he had stayed, maybe we shouldn't have had to ask for Ferrari, but he didn't stay. I've got to save the organization. There's only one man who can do it for me – Ferrari!'
The name Vito Ferrari struck a chill into Seigel's heart the way the name Inquisitor must have struck a chill into the heart of a heretic in the Middle Ages.
Vito Ferrari was the Syndicate's executioner. Fantastic and unbelievable tales had been told of his cruelty, his ruthlessness, his crimes and his lust for blood. He had become a legendary figure in the underworlds of the world.
Seigel knew that if he ever stepped out of turn, it would be Ferrari who would be sent by the Syndicate to kill him. To have asked Ferrari to come to Pacific City was like asking for Death itself to pay a visit, and Seigel stared at Gollowitz with horrified eyes.
'You must be crazy!' he said.
Gollowitz again spread out his fat hands.
'It is either he or the organization. I didn't want to have him here. If you had shown you could handle this thing, do you imagine I would have sent for him?'
Seigel started to say something when a knock came on the door.
Seigel started, then spun around to face the door, his eyes sick and frightened.
'Come in,' Gollowitz said.
Dutch pushed open the door. There was a blank, stupid expression on his face, like the face of a man who comes out into the sunshine after sitting through a two-feature programme.
'There's a guy asking for you,' he said to Gollowitz. 'He says you're expecting him.'
Gollowitz went a shade paler. He nodded his head slowly.
'That's right. Let him in.'
Dutch looked at Seigel questioningly, but Seigel turned away. Dutch plodded across the room and opened the door that led into the outer office.
'Come in,' Seigel heard him say.
Seigel stood waiting, his heart thudding against his ribs. Although he had heard Ferrari's name many times during his career of crime, he had never seen him, nor had he seen a photograph of him. He had, however, conjured up in his mind a picture of him. He had imagined him to be a great ox of a man, coarse, powerful, brutal and ferocious. With the reputation such as Ferrari had, no other picture would satisfy Seigel. It came as a considerable shock to him when Vito Ferrari came quietly into the room.
Ferrari was an inch or so under five feet; almost a dwarf, and there was nothing of him except skin and bone. His black lounge suit hung on him as if draped over a tailor's dummy made of wire.
Seigel was immediately struck by Ferrari's extraordinary walk. He appeared to glide over the parquet floor, as silently and as smoothly as a phantom, as if his feet were treading on space, and when Seigel looked at his face, he was again reminded of a phantom.
Ferrari's face was wedge shaped. He had a broad forehead that tapered down to a narrow square chin. His nose was hooked and over-large, his mouth was a thin line as near lipless as made no difference. His yellowish skin was stretched so tightly it revealed the bone structure of his head and face to give him the appearance of a death's head.
His small eyes were sunk so deeply into dark-ringed sockets as to be almost invisible, but when Seigel looked closer it seemed to him he was looking into the fixed, unnatural eyes of a wax effigy.
Both Gollowitz and Seigel were so startled by Ferrari's unexpected appearance that they remained staring at him, unable to utter a word.
Ferrari took off his black hat. His thick mass of dark hair was turning a little grey at the temples. He put the hat on the desk and then sat down in the chair Seigel had occupied.
'A woman and man, that's right, isn't it?' he said. He had a queer husky voice that sent a chill up Seigel's spine. It was the kind of voice you might hear come from the mouth of a medium at a seance.
Gollowitz hastily collected himself.
'I am very glad to have you here,' he said, and was aware that he was gushing without being able to help himself. 'It was very good of Big Joe . . .'
'Where are they?' Ferrari interrupted, his sunken eyes on Gollowitz's face.
Gollowitz gulped, stuttered and looked helplessly at Seigel.
'You mean these two you've come to take care of?' Seigel asked, his voice off-key.
'Who else?' Ferrari said impatiently. 'Where are they? Don't you know?'
