Mission: Earth "Black Genesis" (33 page)

"I.D.," demanded the gangster and Heller showed it to him.

The hood was on the elevator telephone. It was in a felt-lined box. You couldn't hear what was being said.

With a slit-eyed look at Heller, the hood frisked him lightly, inspected his bag and then gestured for him to get in.

They rode up to the top. It was a one-stop elevator, penthouse only. The hood opened the door and pushed Heller out ahead of him. With little punches from behind he directed him down a beautifully decorated hallway. He opened a door at the end and shoved Heller in.

It was a gorgeous room, all done in modern gold and beige. A vast picture window looked out over a vast park and a bay.

A woman was seated comfortably on a couch. She was wearing beige lounging pajamas of silk. She was blond with blue eyes. Her corn silk hair was in coiled braids that wound around the top of her head to make a sort of crown. She was about forty.

She laid down a glossy style magazine she had been reading and stood up.

My Gods, she was tall!

She looked at Heller and then walked across the room to him. She was at least four inches taller than Heller! An Amazon!

She was smiling. "And so you are a friend of dear Jimmy's," she said. "Don't be shy. He has often spoken of his friends in the younger street gangs. But you don't look like one of those." She had a sort of cooing, affected voice and a fake Park Avenue accent.

"I'm going to college," said Heller.

"Oh," she said in sudden understanding. "That is the smart thing to do these days. Do sit down. Jimmy's

friends are always welcome here. Would you like something to drink?"

"It's a hot day," said Heller. "How about some beer?"

She wagged a finger at him, kittenishly. "Naughty. Really naughty. You realize that would be against the law." Then she raised her head and bellowed, "Gregorio!"

Almost instantly, a white-coated, very dark Italian popped in.

"Get the young gentleman some milk and bring me some seltzer water."

Gregorio was taken aback. "Milk? We ain't got any milk, Babe."

"Well, get out and get some God (bleeped) milk!" roared Babe Corleone. Then she ensconced herself again on the couch. In her sweet, cooing, affected Park Avenue voice she said, "And how is dear Jimmy?"

Heller only sat down when she did. He now had his cap on his knee. The courteous Fleet officer!

"He was just fine a few days ago," said Heller. "Seemed to be right on the job."

"Oh, that is so nice to hear," cooed Babe. "And nice of him to send word."

"And how is the family?" said Heller.

Ouch, I thought. The (bleeped) fool thought a "family" was a real family. In that country, on this planet, it means a Mafia mob!

She looked sad. "Not too well, I'm afraid. You see, dear 'Holy Joe'—how I miss him—was a man of tradition. He used to say, 'What was good enough for my father is good enough for me.' And he stuck with good, honest bootlegging and smuggling and such. And, of course, we have to respect that. And drugs are no good anyway."

"They sure aren't!" said Heller with conviction.

She looked at him with approval. Then she continued. "Since Faustino 'The Noose' Narcotici has gotten so much backing from upstairs, there's no holding him. He has been muscling in on our New York interests and is even trying to push his way into New Jersey. When they wasted dear 'Holy Joe,' that was just the beginning of it. But," she looked up with sad bravery, "we are trying to carry on."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll succeed," said Heller politely.

"That's very nice of you to say so, Jerome. I can call you Jerome, can't I? Everyone calls me Babe."

"Certainly, Mrs. Corleone," said Heller. Fleet manners. And then, for a moment, I thought he'd blown it. "Mrs. Corleone, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Go ahead," she said. Was she a trifle wary?

"Are you a Caucasian?"

Oh, my Gods! Here he went on that (bleeped) fool Prince Caucalsia kick! She had blond hair, she was as tall as some women around Atalanta, Manco.

"What makes you ask?"

"It's your head," said Heller. "It is very beautiful and it has a long skull structure."

"Oh!" she said. "Are you interested in genealogy?"

"I've studied it a bit."

"Ah! College, of course!" And she rushed over to an ornate desk, opened it and got out a large chart and some papers. She pulled up a chair beside Heller and spread the papers out. "These," she said impressively, "were specially drawn up for me by Professor Stringer! He is the world's foremost expert on genealogy and family trees!"

Aha! I knew already about the fixation American women have on family trees! And this Stringer was probably making a fortune out of the racket.

She gestured at Heller. She had the Italian habit of talking with her hands, head and body. "You have no idea how prejudiced some people are! I was a famous actress at the Roxy Theater when dear Joe married me." The memory broke her train of thought for a moment and her eyes went moist.

Oho! I spotted her now. One of the Roxy chorus girls! A chorus line is composed of girls that are six feet six.

She recovered. "A capo is supposed to marry a Sicilian girl and the old cats carped and meowed and criticized. Particularly the mayor's wife. So dear Joe had this drawn up. And did it put them in their places! I keep it around to make the (bleepches) stay there!"

She spread out the chart. It was all scrolls and swirls and illuminated with little pictures. It was in the shape of a tree.

"Now," lectured Babe impressively, "as a student you are undoubtedly aware of all this but I will go over it anyway. Reviewing one's studies is a good thing. Now, the Nordic race is composed of the Caspian, Mediterranean and Proto-Negroid types...."

"Caspian?" said Heller. "That's the sea over by the Caucasus."

"Oh, right," she said vaguely and then plunged on with energy. "Now, you can see here how the Germanic races came out of Asia and migrated. The Goths, via Germany, came down into Northern Italy in the fifth century and the Lombards in the sixth century. These are the dolichocephalic—means long-headed, which is to say, smart—elements in the Italian population. They are blond and tall." My Gods, had somebody rehearsed her! She was probably quoting Professor Stringer, word for word!

"Trace this line here. These are the Franks. From

Germany, they came down and took over France, which is named after them. That was in the fifth century. Now, one branch—trace this—the Salians, took over northern Italy. One of the Salians, in the ninth century, was emperor of all the Franks and Holy Roman Emperor besides. He was named, you see here, Carolus Magnus, which, in American, means Charles the Great. In history books he is called Charlemagne. He was the emperor of the whole God (bleeped) world!"

She stopped and looked impressively at Heller. He nodded. She went on. "Now, Charlemagne had quite a few marriages. And he married—that's this line here– the daughter of the Duke d'Aosta. That means 'of' Aosta and that's a province in northwest Italy just south of Lake Geneva.

"There are blond and tall Italians clear across northern Italy but they are thick in the Valle d'Aosta.

"Now, follow this line here. From the Duke d'Aosta we come right down to Biella, which was my father's name. You still with me, kid?"

"Oh, yes, indeed," said Heller in a fascinated voice.

"All right. Now, at the start of World War II, my parents fled to Sicily. They stayed in Sicily four whole years! At the end of the war, they emigrated to America and that's where I was born. So," and she drew up in triumph, "I'm just as Sicilian as any of them! What do you think of that?"

"Complete proof!" said Heller.

Babe flipped a finger at the chart. "And, furthermore, I am a direct descendant of Charlemagne! Oh," she gloated, "the mayor's wife went absolutely green with envy!"

"I can see why she would!" said Heller. "But wait. There's something that's not here. That maybe you don't know. You ever hear of Atalanta?"

"I never been to Atlanta."

"No, Atalanta," said Heller. "Now, at the beginning of this tree, a lot earlier than it starts here, there was a prince."

This had her attention. And it sure had mine! Code break! He was about to be carried away with his stupid enthusiasm for Folk Legend 894M. I reached for my pen.

"His name," said Heller, "was Prince Caucalsia. He..."

From the door came a piercing, "Pssst!"

Babe and Heller turned toward it.

There was a Sicilian there. He was holding a large money sack. He had come halfway through the door and was bending over, beckoning urgently to Babe Corleone. His face. I had seen his face! I was trying to place it!

Babe went over and bent down. The Sicilian stood on tiptoe to reach her ear. He was urgently pointing toward Heller. I could not hear what he was whispering. She shook her head, negatively, a bit puzzled. Then he whispered and seemed triumphant.

The woman's eyes shot open. She stood up. She turned and stamped across the room to Heller. She seized him!

Then she pushed him off, holding him by the shoulders. She stared at him as though memorizing his face. Then she whirled. In a voice that could have knocked the walls down, she said, "Where the hell is that Geovani?"

Geovani was right there. The hood that had brought Heller up in the elevator.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me this was that kid?" she thundered.

There were other faces in the door. Scared!

"Here I been treating him like dirt!" She turned. She pushed Heller down into an easy chair. "Why," she

pleaded, "didn't you tell me you were the one that saved our Gracious Palms?"

I could hear Heller swallow. "I... I didn't know it was yours."

"Hell, yes, kid! We own and control the fanciest cat houses in New York and New Jersey! Who else?"

Gregorio, glasses shaking, belatedly walked in with the milk and seltzer.

"To hell with that," said Babe. "This kid wants beer, he can have beer! To hell with the illegality!"

"No, no," said Heller. "I've really got to be going." He thought for a moment. "You can tell me where to find Bang-Bang Rimbombo. I think I've got car trouble."

So that was why he had walked in on the Corleone mob!

Suddenly, it all added up. He had read of Bang-Bang in the papers, knew he was part of the Corleone mob. He had Babe's address from Jimmy "The Gutter" Tavilnasty. To find himself an expert car bomber, he had simply gone to Babe's. Very, very smart detective work at locating somebody.

But wait! He had shown himself at that garage! They would be waiting for him when he came back there. Very, very dumb!

Heller was going to drive me crazy yet! He was too brightly stupid to live!

Babe turned to the people inside the door. They were whispering to each other and pointing at Heller and trying to get a better look at him. "Geovani, get out the limo and run this young gentleman over to Bang-Bang's. Tell him I said to do what the kid wants."

She turned back to Heller. "Look, kid, anything you want, you let Babe know, see?" She turned to the staff. "You hear that? And you, Consalvo, I want a word with

you." She was pointing at the one who had identified Heller.

I suddenly remembered who the Sicilian with the money sack was. He was the clerk at the Gracious Palms! Trying to keep up with Heller was exhausting me, spoiling my recall for faces even.

Heller took his leave. Babe bent down and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. "Come back any time, you dear boy. You dear, dear boy!"

Heller sat in the front seat of the limousine with the hood, Geovani, driving.

"You really wasted them punks just like that!" said Geovani in a voice of awe. "Did you know one of them was Faustino's nephew?" He drove for a while and then, taking his hand off the steering wheel, he made a gun out of his fingers and, pointing at the road, made the motions of firing and said, "Blowie! Blowie! Blowie! Just like that! Wow!"

They drew up in front of a down-at-the-heels apartment house. Geovani led Heller up to the second floor and knocked on a door, a code signal. A girl's face came out through the door crack. "Oh, it's you." She opened it wider. "For you, Bang-Bang."

Bang-Bang Rimbombo was in bed with another girl.

"Come on," said Geovani.

"Hell, I just got sprung!" protested Bang-Bang. "I ain't had any for six months!"

"Babe says you go."

Bang-Bang was out of bed in a flash. He struggled into his clothes.

"Car job," said Geovani. "This kid will show you."

"I'll get my things," said Bang-Bang.

Geovani used the phone and called a cab. Waiting, he covered the phone. "We never use the limo for wet jobs," he said apologetically. "And we control the cab companies. They don't talk."

Shortly, Geovani shook Heller's hand and left. Halfway down the hall he turned and made a pistol out of his fingers again. "Blowie! Blowie! Blowie!" he said. "Just like that!" He was gone.

The cab arrived and Bang-Bang, dragging a big bag, got in. Heller followed him. Heller gave an address a block away from the garage.

He was learning, but he was not really up on this tradecraft. They would be alerted. I knew he was going into a battle. And I didn't have that platen. Short of sleep, haggard, I hung on the viewscreen. He had my life in his hands!

Heller paid the cab off and walked around the corner toward the garage.

"Wait," said Bang-Bang. He was a very narrow-faced little Sicilian. He looked pretty smart. Maybe he had sense enough, I hoped, to keep them out of trouble. "If that's the place," he said, "I know it. It's a garage Faustino uses to repaint stolen cars and other things. You sure you know what you're doing, kid?" He shook his head. "Sneaking in there to rig a car for a blitz is a little bit steep."