The Prince (64 page)

“But I wrote to you.” Suddenly it occurred to him: “Oh, I get it, Jano must have intercepted my letters. There was no reason to marry a sadistic bully, however.”

“He's the father of my son.”

“I don't want to hear that. You and I belong to each other! Nothing else should have mattered!” Saro shouted.

Mena began to cry.

“My life ended the night you left.”

“How could you marry Jano?”

“He said he would take everything my family had: the land, the farm. I did it for my mother and my brothers.”

“It's hard to feel sorry for someone like you!”

Mena couldn't take anymore. She wiped her eyes, turned and disappeared into the darkness of the stairs.

Sergeant Charles Dickey of the FBI had nothing more to do in Sicily. His mission had ended with the death of Roy Boccia, the prosecution's chief witness against Saro Ragusa.

He was ready to return to New York on the first available plane. Every day, there was at least one flight headed back to the United States. He had already said his good-byes to Donovan and Scamporino, and he couldn't wait to see his family again. Dickey was only twenty-five, but he had a wife and two children waiting for him.

As he was packing his duffel bag, someone knocked on his door. He went to open it, and there stood Jano Vassallo.

The man asked if he could come in; it was urgent that he speak with him. Dickey invited him into the small room of the Palermo hotel that the OSS had requisitioned, designating it as its headquarters.

The sergeant knew Jano because more than once he had seen him escorting Don Calogero Vizzini from one feudal domain to another. He opened a bottle of whiskey and poured some into two glasses. Jano took a drink and sat down on the only chair in the room, while the sergeant sat on the edge of the bed.

Jano came straight to the point: “I know you came here to arrest Saro Ragusa for a murder that he committed in America—and that you'll have to go home empty-handed.”

“His main accuser was killed in prison. We can't proceed against him,” the sergeant explained regretfully. “He's a free man now.”

“I could furnish evidence of certain crimes that Saro Ragusa is committing behind the US Army's back,” Jano said bluntly.

“Like what?”

“He's one of the main organizers of the black market. He hijacks trucks with drums of gasoline, spare parts, and provisions, which he then sells on the black market. He bribes the drivers and warehousemen. He also has his hands on medicine and drugs supplies.”

“We're aware that we're being robbed. But when we catch them, they're always petty criminals. Up till now, we've never been able to snare the ones who run the wholesale trade.”

“Saro Ragusa is one of them. I can arrange for you to catch him in the act. Afterward, it will be up to you people to make him confess the names of the leaders of the organization. I assure you that it will leave you all speechless,” Jano promised.

“What do you want in return? All Italians who do you a favor always want something,” the sergeant challenged.

Jano's self-respect was offended, but he couldn't act like an affronted, upright citizen just now. It was true: he did want something in return.

“A favor for a favor, Sergeant Dickey. I'll hand you Saro Ragusa on a silver platter so you can have the satisfaction of throwing him into a cell for the rest of his days. And in return, I ask that justice be done to a certain Prince Ferdinando Licata, who fled to America four years ago. In 1920 the prince was an accomplice in a double homicide.”

“A double homicide committed twenty-three years ago in Italy?” the FBI sergeant repeated. “Don't you think it's a little too late to seek justice?”

“He had the Marquis Pietro Bellarato and another individual, impossible to identify, killed by Rosario Losurdo, a gabellotto in his employ.”

“So you give me Saro Ragusa in the act of stealing our supplies, and I'm supposed to arrest this Prince Licata in America along with his—what's the word?—gabellotto, right? His gabellotto Rosario Losurdo for a double homicide committed twenty-three years ago.”

“Losurdo is dead. All I want is Prince Licata.”

“It's really true that you Sicilians never forget. And may I ask the reason for such hatred?”

“Prince Licata ordered the slaughter of my family. I was just a child when my family members were killed. I was spared because I hid under the bed, but I saw it all. Those images are seared in my brain. They butchered my aunt and my uncle and two of my siblings, but they never managed to find my father, the outlaw Vassallo. The weapons were found hidden on Rosario Losurdo's farm. No one ever paid for that massacre. But I will never forget it, until my dying day. That's why I'm asking for revenge or justice. I leave it to you to decide.”

“I see. If this Prince Licata is now living in the United States, it's not a bad idea to get rid of him, seeing what he's capable of.”

The two men shook hands, sealing their pact.

Before taking action to obtain the extradition of Prince Ferdinando Licata, Sergeant Charles Dickey conducted an investigation to ascertain whether the facts were true. He heard the testimony of the witnesses who were still alive. He began by questioning Curzio Turrisi, who had been the main source pointing the finger at the outlaw Gaetano Vassallo as the perpetrator of Marquis Bellarato's murder. In actuality, Curzio Turrisi admitted to him that he'd been forced to come up with that name in order to avoid being subjected to the “box.” His torturers wanted him to denounce the bandit because Vassallo was the only proof of Prince Licata's involvement in the affair.

Carabinieri Marshal Mattia Montalto confirmed the general outline of Curzio Turrisi's story, although he personally didn't believe that Prince Licata would go so far as to order a man to be killed over a land dispute. He told the sergeant that everyone in town called him
u patri
because of the compassion he showed toward the poor and the peasant farmers. But opinions for Sergeant Dickey had no probative value.

Other witnesses confirmed the facts as well. At the end of his brief investigation, Dickey decided to see if he could somehow arrange to have the prince extradited as the man behind the 1920 murder of Marquis Pietro Bellarato and the subsequent Borgo Guarine massacre, carried out in an attempt to capture the outlaw Gaetano Vassallo.

While Sergeant Dickey was trying to gather evidence of Licata's guilt, Saro was organizing the “transfer” of goods from the army's warehouses to those of Don Calò.

In those tumultuous months, amid the chaos of a still uncertain war, the Americans, busy reinforcing the positions they'd won and making plans for a continued advance toward northern Italy, weren't very exacting about checking on where the rerouted food supplies ended up. They didn't care who the recipients were; for them, it was enough to satisfy the population's hunger. As for how that happened, that was none of their business. The officials themselves found it more convenient to share the incoming provisions with the Mafia organizations rather than oppose them.

Half of the supplies ended up at charitable institutions, while the other half found its way to black markets in various cities, not only in Sicily.

Saro had his eye on a shipment of motor oil stacked in drums near the Salemi field camp. He had arranged for two Canadian drivers to transport the goods to a farmhouse near Villalba, providing them with counterfeit ID papers. He had promised the Canadians a little money and, even better, the company of two prostitutes.

At dawn the next day, they were to load the truck and set out immediately for Villalba.

But Saro didn't know that one of two drivers, Robert Miles, had already been contacted by Jano Vassallo, who had promised him twice as much as what he would get from the Mafia to transport the contraband oil drums. The Canadian promptly reported to Jano that Saro Ragusa had hired him to convey the barrels to Villalba.

It was what Jano had been waiting for, for some weeks. He summoned Sergeant Dickey to his house, away from prying eyes, and told him about the shipment that was leaving at dawn the following day. It was the evidence they'd been looking for: Saro Ragusa would spend his next twenty years in a maximum security prison.

T
he conversation between Jano and Sergeant Dickey was overheard by Mena, who was hidden behind a door. As soon as the two men left the house, the young woman decided to go to Saro. She spoke with Nennella, her maid, telling her to give the child his supper. She had an errand in town but would be back as soon as possible. If Jano came home, meanwhile, she was to tell him that she had gone to bring her mother some milk.

She hid her face under a long black shawl and set out for the boardinghouse where she knew Saro was staying.

The porter was surprised to see her there. She greeted him and had him tell her Saro's room number. On her way up the stairs, she ran into a soldier embracing a local girl. Both women ducked their heads to avoid being recognized. Mena was well aware that the visit could be fatal to her reputation. She knocked on the door and went in. Saro leaped off the bed when he saw her. She stood in the doorway for a moment, and then closed the door behind her and rushed into his arms. They held each other close, locked in each other's arms for several long minutes.

How often Saro had imagined this scene during his lonely nights in New York! His lips sought those of the young woman, but she avoided the kiss and slipped out of the embrace.

“Saro—forgive me. I don't want to give you any false expectations,” she stammered, unable to find the right words. “I'm not here for us. Jano met with Sergeant Dickey a little while ago. They know all about tomorrow morning's oil transport. They're setting a trap for you.”

Saro's mind was in turmoil. He couldn't understand the reason for Mena's decision to marry Jano. He stepped closer and grasped her wrists. “Mena, I love you. I love you just as I did when I left. Why? Why?” He was gripping her arms so tightly it hurt.

That was when Mena caved in. She had never revealed her terrible secret to anyone. “I too never stopped loving you. But you must swear that what I tell you now will not change our lives.”

“All right, I promise.”

Mena collected her thoughts and chose the most appropriate words to keep Saro from flying off the handle. “One evening when I was sadder than usual over your having gone away, Jano came to see me at the farm without my family knowing. Well, I was devastated by your absence and by my father's death. I was vulnerable. I tried to push him away . . . but he took me by force.

“Then, to make amends for the dishonor, he agreed to marry me.”

Saro, shattered by the revelation, clung to Mena desperately.

“We have to bury our feelings, because they have no future,” Mena continued forlornly. “If you love me, as you say you do, you must at least not bring shame on me.

“Saro, my love, good-bye.”

At dawn, Saro had the barrels loaded onto the two trucks. He gave one of the Canadian drivers, Robert Miles, the bill of lading and told him that he would be waiting for them at the farm in Villalba, where they would unload the drums.

The two trucks set out for the specified destination, but just before Palermo, at the junction to Cristina, the convoy was ordered to stop.

The roadblock had been set up by Sergeant Dickey, with Jano's assistance and that of a couple of US military police. A simple sawhorse placed across the road barred the first truck driven by Robert Miles.

The FBI sergeant approached and asked him for the transport papers.

“Where are you headed?”

“I'm supposed to deliver these drums to a farm in Villalba,” the driver replied casually.

The sergeant glanced at the papers, but he knew he wouldn't find any irregularity. “We'll escort you. I want to see who's taking delivery of this oil shipment.”

Behind him, Jano was gloating with pleasure. Saro was finally trapped.

The sergeant climbed into the back of the truck to check out the drums. He struck the metal with the butt of his pistol, but instead of a solid thud, there was a kind of hollow echo. He tapped the other barrels as well, and they all resonated with the same dismal sound. He called the driver then and ordered him to open one of them.

The man obeyed, and the sergeant could see that the drums were empty. The ones in the other truck were empty as well. The US military was taking twenty empty oil barrels on a joyride through Sicily! Dickey turned red with rage. He shouted at Jano that he couldn't get away with fucking around with him that way; that he'd make him pay for it. He wanted to get to the bottom of it. He told Jano to come with him to the location indicated on the shipment papers and then ordered the driver to carry on with his mission.

Dickey, Jano, and the military police headed for Villalba in the jeep, covering the seventy-five miles of mountain roads in record time. When they got there, they asked the way to the Caprile farm.

Jano was afraid of being recognized by Don Calò's men. He asked if he could hide, and much to the amazement of the sergeant and the two MPs, who couldn't understand the peculiar quirks of the Italians, he ducked under the seat.

The farm was deserted. The house had been abandoned for some time. Looters had cleaned it out, carrying off every object and piece of furniture that could be moved. Dickey and his men scoured the surrounding area as well, and in the neglected vineyard, one of the MPs found something that surprised the three of them: scattered in the fields were the sun-baked ashes of the carcasses of about a dozen trucks. The vehicles had apparently been unloaded, hidden among the rows of vines, then sprinkled with gasoline, set on fire, and left to their fate.

On the basis of this finding and the testimony of the two Canadian drivers, who declared that Saro Ragusa had been the one who loaded those empty drums and ordered them to transport them to the farm in Villalba, a new warrant was issued for Saro's arrest.