Laura Resnick - The Vatican Outfit.pdf - Laura Resnick - margozap

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The Vatican Outfit

by Laura Resnick

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First published in Alternate Warriors, Tor Books, September 1993

Fictionwise Contemporary

Alternate History

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_In September of 1978, Pope John Paul I died only thirty-three days

after his election to the papacy. At the time of his death, he had already

decided on startling changes which would affect the doctrine, hierarchy, and

finances of the Church. Too many powerful and ruthless men (including certain

underworld figures) had a great deal to lose under the papacy of John Paul I,

and it is widely believed that he was murdered._

* * * *

Everyone needs friends. Hey, it's the way God made the world. A man without

friends had better start digging a six foot hole in a real peaceful spot, if

you catch my drift. And not just any friends, either. Special friends. When I

was a boy in Sicily, we called such friends men of respect, or men of honor.

Or, if we was being real careful, we called them the friends of the friends --

_gli amici degli amici_.

When Albino Luciani, His Holiness Pope John Paul I, took his place in

the Apostolic Palace in Vatican City in August of 1978, it didn't take no

genius to realize that he lacked the one thing that any man needs to survive

past sundown: the right kind of friends. Unfortunately, being a naive

polenta-eating priest from Venice, he just didn't understand these things. I

mean no disrespect to the Holy Father; it's just the way those northerners

are.

Well, we -- my associates and I -- watched the situation very closely

for about a month. Everyone we talked to had only kind things to say about

Papa Luciani. He was soft-spoken, intelligent, educated, modest, and even

celibate. But, everyone admitted, he possessed two unfortunate character

traits that were sure to get him into serious trouble, particularly in a joint

like the Vatican; he was honest and principled.

All right, all right, so maybe that's not _such_ a terrible thing.

Sure, you wonder how a guy like that becomes the Pope, the _capo di tutti

capi_, and you have doubts about his ability to run a big outfit like the

Church; but, in the end, you take the material you're given to work with, and

you do the best you can. Am I right? Okay, so he was a strange choice for the

job, and who the hell knows what those boys in the conclave were thinking of

when they made him boss, but I've seen crazier things. Just take a good look

at the boss we got in the White House right now.

Anyhow, the real problem with Papa Luciani, you see, was that the guy

didn't know how to keep his opinions to himself. I mean he just could not keep

his trap shut. It was like he thought that being Pope made him untouchable, or

like he believed that a few Swiss pansies in silly suits could really protect

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him from the hit he was just begging for. I gotta tell you, by late September,

we was pretty worried. The poor _schlemiel_ (that's a Jewish word I learned

from Meyer Lansky, may he rest in peace) was going after _everybody_: Licio

Gelli, Michele Sindona, Roberto Calvi, cardinals, bishops, P2, the Vatican

Bank... Well, it was starting to look like Paul VI, may he rest in peace, was

the only Vatican guy who wasn't gonna be excommunicated by the time the smoke

cleared.

My esteemed employer Mr. Corvino -- who, I'm pleased to say, beat that

white slavery rap and isn't gonna be deported after all -- has always had a

keen eye for business opportunities. After a couple of stressful years of

doing business with certain Colombian families, Mr. Corvino felt a strong

desire to return to his roots (figuratively speaking, of course, since no

person in his right mind would want to move back to Corleone) and do business

only with Italians. If the Pope wanted to sever certain business connections,

it only made sense that he'd also be interested in establishing new ones. And,

since some business connections are a little more difficult to sever than

others, Mr. Corvino figured that Papa Luciani could probably use the help of

an experienced businessman like myself.

That's how I wound up in Vatican City on September 28, 1978.

Mr. Corvino pulled a few strings, and of course, we had help on the

inside. My sister's youngest son, Angelo Costello, was working for Papa

Luciani's outfit. Yeah, right there in the Vatican. The kid got his button

about five years before Luciani became Pope. No, no, not _that_ kind of

button. Angelo was -- whaddya call it -- _ordained_, right here in New York

City. I can't say I was completely in favor of it at the time, because I had a

real good job lined up for the kid. But he wasn't interested in my perfectly

legitimate business concerns, and so he became a priest. What are you gonna do

with the younger generation?

Anyhow, maybe Angie made the right choice. I was worried at first,

because the Church isn't family; hell, they ain't even all Italians. But, I

could see after a while that they wasn't so different from us after all, and

that made me feel better. Angie was working his way up through the ranks

almost as fast as he would have if he'd stayed in the Corvino family. He was a

real stand-up guy, and his bosses could see that. So, when the opportunity

came, they sent him off to Rome. I guess his people wanted someone on the

inside, too, huh?

"Uncle Vito, you look well," Angelo said, greeting me in my guest room

at the Vatican just a few minutes after I arrived.

"Can't say the same about you, kid. Your face is all green. Did you eat

some bad fish?"

He looked over his shoulder, like he was expecting to see someone

watching us from the doorway. "Please don't call me 'kid,' Uncle Vito."

"What -- I'm gonna call my own nephew 'Father?'" I slapped him on the

back and pinched his cheek. "Get outta here."

"What are you doing here?"

"Why are you whispering?"

A priest walked past the doorway, and I thought Angie was gonna jump

out of his skin. "What are you doing here?" he whispered again.

I caught on. The kid was obviously afraid we was being watched, maybe

even bugged. But whispering wasn't gonna help. I was glad I'd arrived in time

to teach him a few things. "This room's a little stuffy, don't you think?" I

said real casually. "Let's take a walk."

"In public? Where people can see us _together_?" He looked like he was

gonna faint.

"Hey, that's the best place to be right now." I put on my coat and hat,

took him by the elbow, and led him down the hallway and out of the building.

We took a little stroll in St. Peter's Square. "You afraid of being whacked

out, kid? Is that why you're sweating like a bride on her wedding night?"

"Whacked out?" he bleated.

"Hey, relax. We're as safe out here as we'll ever be. Look at all these

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tourists. No one's gonna clip us in front of all these people, trust me.

Whenever you know someone's gunning for you, it's those private, isolated

places that you want to avoid. Stay out of your room, the confessional, and

dark restaurants. Speaking as an expert, if I was gonna whack someone, that's

where I'd do it," I told him.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"

"Yeah, brightly lit public places, lotsa people, plenty of witnesses.

That's the kind of background you need to make you feel safe. And, if someone

is dumb enough to try to clip you in public, chances are that they'll clip a

perfect stranger by accident and you'll get away without a scratch."

"_What? _"

"So you just listen to your Uncle Vito, and everything's gonna be all

right."

"What are you -- "

"Another thing -- and this is very important: don't ever talk inside,

and don't ever talk on the phone. You got that? You wanna talk, go outside.

And don't go nowhere without me." I patted his cheek. "I'm gonna take good

care of you and your boss, kid."

"My boss?"

"Yeah. Because _my_ boss is very worried." I looked around, because you

can never be too careful. Sure enough, some blond broad was standing a little

too close to us. "Beat it, sister!"

Angie turned red. "Uncle Vito, you can't -- "

"Listen, kid. This is serious. Are you paying attention?" He nodded.

"We're pretty sure there's a hit out on your boss, and we think it may go down

tonight."

"A _hit? _ On my _boss?" _ He was talking real slow, like English was a

problem for him or something. "Whoa, hang on a minute, Uncle Vito. I think

you're confusing me with my brother."

"Well, not that you asked, but Joey's doing fine. In fact, he's up for

parole next month. And your mother would like to know why you don't call her

more often."

"The FBI wiretap just sort of took all the joy out of family phone

calls." He sounded a little pissed off.

"Here," I said, remembering the wad in my pocket. "Your father asked me

to give you this." I stuck a few grand in his hand.

"Vito! I can't accept this!"

"Go on, kid, take it. Your old man had a good year, and he knows that

this outfit don't pay you much."

"The Roman Catholic Church is not an out -- "

"And may the Blessed Virgin forgive me, but that's all the time I got

for family business. I need to see your boss right away."

"The Pope? You expect me to introduce you to the Holy Father?"

"Hey, I know this goes against protocol. If I want to offer a temporary

alliance to help stop a takeover, I should approach his _consigliere_ first.

Problem is, Angie, I think the _consigliere's_ in on it."

"The _consigliere_..." Angie's jaw dropped. "Are you trying to tell me

that Carmine Corvino sent you here because he believes that the Vatican

Secretary of State is involved in a plot to assassinate the Pope?"

"We ain't pointing no fingers at nobody. All I'm saying is that there's

gonna be a hit on the Pope, and except for you and me, nobody in this outfit

is above suspicion."

"That's impossible!"

"Yeah, and I'll bet that's just what Joe Bonnano said before the Banana

War started and he had to go into hiding."

Angelo's forehead got all wrinkly while he thought it over. He was

always a quick kid; one hour later we was having a sit-down with the Pope.

"Your Holiness," Angelo said, as we walked around some fancy little

garden, "I would never presume to interrupt your busy schedule like this if I

didn't believe this were truly a life-and-death emergency."

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I was looking around, kind of nervous about being in such an isolated

spot. Frankie (the Noodle) Barone bought it in a place just like that garden.

"Carmine Corvino may be a racketeer, an extortionist, a narcotics

dealer, and a murderer, but he's no fool," Angie went on.

"Mr. Corvino is a perfectly legitimate businessman," I corrected.

Vicious rumors start so easily.

"If Corvino says there's going to be an attempt on your life, Your

Holiness, then I believe that there will be. If anyone could be considered an

unimpeachable source of underworld information, it's my Uncle Vito's, um,

associate."

"So, Albino," I said. "I can call you Albino, can't I? This is the

situation. It's not just that we've gotta avoid the hit; we've also gotta take

out the boys who are involved in it. All of them, Al, even if that means

whacking your _consigliere_."

"Whacking?" the Pope said.

"Assassinating, Holy Father," Angie said. These college boys!

Well, Luciani looked pretty shocked. I could see it was time to lay out

the deal for him.

"Al, come on, we're all men of the world here. Let's be frank," I said.

"This is a very big outfit you got here, and you've had some very tough boys

working for you over the centuries. But now, times have changed, and you've

all grown a little soft. Your income is good, you hardly got any trouble with

the feds, you got pretty good public relations, and you got soldiers like my

nephew here joining up almost every day. You got a good thing here. But let's

be honest, Al." I looked him right in the eye. "When war comes, and it is

coming, it's usually the good who die young."

Luciani thought it over. "If I accept your assertion that I'm in danger

of being assassinated -- "

"_If?" _ I said. "Al, you'd better not wait too long to start believing

it, or you're gonna find yourself with a bullet between the eyes and a quick

trip to the Pearly Gates. And then I'm gonna have to tell Mr. Corvino that

Angie and I failed here. And Mr. Corvino don't like it when his boys fail."

"Wait a minute!" Angelo said. "I'm not -- "

"Quiet, kid," I ordered.

Well, Luciani was hard to convince, but the fear of death has a way of

making any man reasonable. Particularly since that night, I figured out how

they was planning to ice him.

Angie convinced him to let the two of us hide in his suite of rooms to

protect him. Luciani had been pretty grumpy ever since our little

conversation, but I had the feeling that he secretly liked me, so I was

patient with him. After all, no boss likes to hear from a _capo_ from some

other outfit that he's gone soft.

So there we were, late at night, prowling around the Pope's bedroom,

when I remembered something Mr. Corvino said after Crazy Vinny Vitelli's body

was found decomposing in a perfume shop on West 56th Street: "If you want to

whack someone without getting caught, learn his habits." You see, Vinny used

to slip behind the counter at this shop to pinch the sales girls, and the

Matera family, whose turf Vinny had violated, knew about this. I bet Vinny

never even knew that the last ass he pinched before croaking belonged to a

transvestite hit man from the West Coast who the Materas brought in special

for that job.

When I saw the glass of medicine on the Pope's bedside table, I knew.

"Al! Wait!" I hollered, just as he was lifting it to his lips. He paused long

enough for me to grab it from him. "You take this stuff every night?" I asked.

"Yes. It was prescribed by my -- "

"This is how they planned to do it," I said, absolutely sure.

"Poison?" Angie asked.

"Sure. I should have thought of it before. It's so clean and simple.

There wouldn't be any bullet holes to explain away." I nodded. Just to be

sure, we gave a little of the medicine to the Pope's cat. The poor thing was

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dead within seconds. I locked eyes with the Pope. "These guys ain't no

dummies, Al."

"Which guys?" Luciani asked.

I wish you could've seen his face. He believed me now, all right. A

near brush with death can change a man's whole outlook on life. I told him to

get some sleep, since they wouldn't try twice in one night, and then we could

talk about it in the morning.

"Sleep?" Angie howled. "Uncle Vito, how can you talk about sleep at a

time like this?"

"Hey! This is wartime now, kid. We're going to the mattresses." I was a

little tough with him. He had to grow up fast, like it or not. "You gotta look

after your health, which means you gotta eat and sleep whenever you got the

chance. You gotta be ready to move at a moment's notice. And you gotta keep

the other side guessing. You understand what I'm saying?"

Well, I slept pretty good that night on a couch near the Pope's bed.

Luciani tossed and turned all night, and Angie was still pacing when I woke up

the next morning.

"You were pacing when I went to sleep," I said to him. "Didn't you even

sit down once? Didn't you sleep at all?"

"Of _course_ I didn't sleep!"

"What did I say to you last night? Huh? We're going to the matt -- "

"Excuse me, Vito. Perhaps we should eschew needless recriminations for

the time being and decide upon our immediate course of action," Luciani

interrupted.

"Yeah, maybe you're right," I admitted.

"While I appreciate your saving my life, I can't help feeling

apprehensive about Mr. Corvino's interest in my well-being. I mean... He does

have a certain reputation."

"Al, please, you're embarrassing me. Mr. Corvino is a good Catholic,

and _your_ enemies are _his_ enemies. Of course, he sees that you're gonna

have to do some serious housecleaning here. You got some boys placed pretty

high up who can't be trusted no more, and your outfit has got its fingers in

some pretty sticky pies."

"And once our house is clean and our fingers are unstuck?" Angie asked.

I smiled. "Well, you're gonna have a pretty big gap to fill. And Mr.

Corvino is a pretty big guy who is prepared to fill that gap with his

perfectly legitimate business interests, so that you and your boys can

concentrate on... whatever it is that you like to concentrate on."

"But we would have to clean house Corvino's way, right?" said Angie.

"That's part of the deal. You wanna shake on it, Al?"

"I'm afraid that that's completely out of the question, Vito. I'm a

priest. I am now the spiritual leader of the entire Roman Catholic world. I

can't go around ordering assassinations of the Church's enemies. I must deal

with these evil men and their institutions in a legal and Christian fashion."

"Al, that's gotta be just about the dumbest thing I ever heard in my

whole life."

"Nevertheless, it is my decision."

Well, Mr. Corvino had figured on something like this happening, just

like he figured that Luciani's enemies weren't gonna give up so easily. So I

hung out at the Vatican for another couple of weeks, keeping Angelo's boss

alive. He was one stubborn guy, let me tell you, and it wasn't until his

private toilet was rigged with plastic explosives that he finally realized

that we was gonna have to do things the old-fashioned way, like it or not.

"That's the fifth attempt on your life since I got here, Al," I said.

"Are you ready to let Mr. Corvino help you?"

The poor guy had been dividing all his time between trying to waste his

enemies in a "legal and Christian fashion" and trying not to get killed. It

kept him so busy that he didn't have no time left over to comfort the poor,

give a mass, or baptize no babies. And as for running his legitimate business

concerns -- forget it! I could see the time was right to bring him into the

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