Are they all hookers?

They then came to a stairwell and took it up one flight.

Okay, now we're on the first floor, street level again.

Walking down another passageway, Canidy briefly saw what looked like a bar-A lounge?-then some steps past that got a view of what looked like a lobby and the ten or so people in it.

Jesus! Those two Aryan teens sitting there could've been ripped from a recruitment poster for the SS!

The midget had then led Canidy around a corner and they finally arrived at the heavy metal door.

After the man knocked on it, he immediately opened the door without waiting for an answer.

Canidy could see that there was a somewhat cluttered office, and that a petite, full-figured dark-haired woman he guessed to be in her middle twenties stood before a large wooden desk. The casually dressed man behind the desk-he was about forty, muscular and rugged, with a warm face and thick brown hair-was handing her what Canidy decided was a small stack of cash. The man appeared to be showing genuine concern to the young woman. He spoke to her in Sicilian; Canidy couldn't understand it, of course, but thought that he said it in a soothing tone.

"Grazie," she replied softly, taking the cash and folding it, then slipping it inside the waistband of her skirt.

She nodded once and, head down, turned to leave.

Canidy saw that she, too, was attractive.

"Maria," the midget cordially greeted her, as Canidy had just seen him do with the others, as she passed.

When she looked up and smiled meekly, Canidy saw that she had a hugely bruised right eye.

What the hell? Did she get beat up?

Maria put her head back down and went out the door, pulling it closed behind her.

Canidy saw the man look from the door to him.

"Welcome to the Hotel Michelangelo," the man then said pleasantly, and in English, as he got to his feet.

Hotel? Canidy thought.

Canidy saw that on the desk before the man was his letter of introduction from Charley Lucky.

"Jimmy Palasota," the man said, and offered his hand.

After hearing Palasota fluently speak Sicilian with what sounded like a native's tongue, Canidy was surprised not only that he spoke any English at all but that he clearly was fluent in it, too.

"Dick Canidy," he said, realizing he probably was being repetitive as his name was spelled out in the letter of introduction. "It's a nice surprise to hear you speak English. I was afraid I was going to be flogging a dead horse trying to mime to get past the language barrier."

Palasota smiled, and motioned for Canidy to take a seat in the chair.

"It will be good to speak and hear English again," Palasota said as he sat back in his seat. He gestured at the midget, who now stood off in the corner, watching, and added, "Vito here says Antonio Buda brought you."

Vito? I like "Shorty" better.

Canidy looked at the midget, who was keeping an eye on him while pulling out a cigarette and then lighting it.

But something tells me that you wouldn't.

He then noticed that there were two Thompson submachine guns leaning upright in the corner within Vito's reach.

Even more American-made weapons.

Canidy looked back at Palasota and said, "Yeah. I met the Buda brothers through their cousin, Frank Nola."

"I am familiar with Francisco."

"You are? Have you seen him?"

"Not in quite a while. No one seems to have. I was wondering about that."

"I need to find him."

"You want to tell me what that's all about?"

Honest answer? I don't know. Do I?

And what exactly do I tell you?

I don't even know who the hell you are.

Be very careful, Dick, because you really don't know how much devil you're dancing with here.

Palasota picked up the letter.

"Okay, then you want to tell me where you got this?"

Canidy reached into his jacket and came out with Luciano's handkerchief.

"Same place I got this," he said, handing it to Palasota.

Palasota examined it briefly and nodded.

"Look," he said, tossing the handkerchief on the letter of introduction, "I'm not doubting these. I happen to know they're the real deal. I'm just asking for some background. You're American, obviously. But you're not one of Hoover's G-men."

"How do you know?"

"Trust me, I know. For one, they don't have the guts to be behind enemy lines. And even if they did, and they actually did something, J. Edgar couldn't call a press conference and brag about it."

Canidy chuckled.

"So," Palasota went on, "if you're not FBI, I'm guessing some kind of military intelligence. Am I close?"

"I'm a friend of Frank Nola, as I said, and I'm trying to find him. That's all I'm going to give you right now."

"Well, that much Antonio gave Vito. That and he said Nola told him that you have risked your life for the family and for Sicily. So, now you and I have an honorable understanding." He gestured at the handkerchief and letter. "Thanks to our mutual friends, that makes you gli amici. Capiche?"

Canidy grinned.

"You find something funny about that?" Palasota said evenly.

"No. It's just that that's almost the same exact friend-of-a-friend speech I got from a wise guy who runs Fulton Fish Market in New York City."

Palasota then grinned.

"Aha! So it was Tommy Socks who got you to Charley Lucky?"

They locked eyes a long moment.

"Tommy"? Canidy thought. Is this a test?

"'Tommy Socks'?" Canidy repeated.

Palasota nodded. "Sure. Tommy Socks Gambino. You know . . ."

It is a test!

"No, as a matter of fact, I don't fucking know," Canidy said, sharply sarcastic.

Canidy noticed Vito, who picked up on his tone of voice, stand a little more rigidly, his hands discreetly crossed at his belly so that his right hand was on his Colt.

Canidy went on: "Where did you say you were from?"

"I didn't."

"Yeah. I know."

Palasota then broke eye contact and laughed.

Fuck it, Canidy then thought. What's to lose?

"It's Joe Socks," he said, "and you damn well know it. Lanza is my go-between with Luciano at Great Meadow prison. And for the record, I don't like being fucked with."

"Easy, my friend," Palasota said calmly. "Just take it easy. I had to make sure you knew who was close enough to Charley Lucky to provide those items. Tell me, how is my old friend Joey Socks?"

Canidy saw that Vito relaxed at hearing Palasota's calming tone.

"Last I saw him," Canidy said, "in March, he was having a little trouble at the docks and had to whack at least a couple bastards."

"That's Lanza. Damn good guy. I miss him."

"He was here?"

Palasota shook his head. "I was there, in New York City."

"Doing what?"

Palasota met his eyes again and said, "I'm Jimmy Skinny."

Canidy shook his head. "Sorry."

"Ah, how I've been forgotten so quick. I was Charley Lucky's chauffeur before he went to the big house. He taught me everything I know"-he snorted-"which I suppose is why I wound up in the goddamn slam, too, before I got deported in '35."

"Deported?"

Palasota didn't answer as he opened one of the deep drawers of his desk and reached in. He came up with a bottle of Italian grappa and two squat glasses. He poured three fingers of the pressed grape brandy into each, handed one to Canidy, and held his up in a toast.

"I think we might be able to help one another out," Palasota said, then added, his voice sounding on the edge of being emotional, "To Charley Lucky and Sicily!"

Canidy met his eyes.

And so, Jimmy Skinny, we have established our bona fides. . . .

Canidy tapped his glass to Palasota's, and they tossed back the brandy.

That booze is going to play hell on my empty stomach-and my thinking.

Be very careful, Dick. . . .

"Okay," Canidy then said, "you asked why I need to find Frank Nola. . . ."

". . . and," he finished ten minutes later, "now we've come back to find Frank and Tubes and get them the hell out of here before the invasion begins. I don't have a hard date for that-I've only heard soon-but be aware that the Allies started early bombing of Pantelleria and some other small islands a couple weeks ago."

"May eighteenth," Palasota said.

How the hell did he know that?

Palasota then grinned.

"You should have seen the Krauts, especially the local head SS guy, scared shitless, running around Palermo. You would've thought the bombs had hit here. We actually did a lot more business than usual for a few days after that. The Krauts didn't want to go meet their maker without a last couple good romps in the sack."

Canidy grunted.

"After they calmed down," Palasota said, "nothing much happened. Life went back to normal." He paused in thought, then went on: "I don't know about any more of the nerve gas, but we can quietly get word out. The information on military strength is easy enough. We know what's here-which the Germans are complaining is not much, and mostly just a bunch of Italian soldiers. I bet that explains why the news of Pantelleria and all its heavy defenses being bombed made them panic. And we have ways to find out about what may be coming."

Canidy grinned.

"What?" Palasota said.

"Sorry. That just made me think about Mussolini's bold declaration. He said that the heavily fortified Pantelleria meant that Italy unequivocally owned the Mediterranean. And then I thought of the Maginot Line. Some of those Germans no doubt remember it, too."