A Sardine on Vacation, Episode 83
“Rub out the Medici. Let them know they can’t back out of certain obligations,” says Rafe.
Logged-In Public: It’s about time you got back to this. We were ready to consult Wikipedia.
“I totally forgot about it. I have to read the column,” says Joe T. “Which one was it?”
L-I P: Episode 80.
“Let him continue,” says Frank Weathers.
Thanks, Frank.
“Another time,” I say to my young nephew. “Let things cool down.”
“The time is now. Florence is like a big grape waitin’ to be plucked,” says Jule.
“Sounds like Tony Montana,” says Joe T.
L-I P: The Pope must like movies.
They knew I didn’t want to get involved with this Montefeltro guy. Rafaello, in his most business-like manner, tells me the Duke of Urbino owes him a favor. He can be trusted.
Again, they’ve taken me into a conversation I do not wish to have. I say:
“We have one more long profitable route to great riches left to us. The treasury will overflow for many years. There’s still a constituency left in need of indulgences. Our most prolific constituency.”
“Who’s that?” they ask.
“The dead.”
“Yeah, yeah, right. Good. Great idea,” Rafe patronizes me.
“What do you think, Giuliano?” I ask.
“Yeah, sounds good. Now can we rub out those Florn’tine pieces of ‘chit’?”
“You’re not enthusiastic, fellows?”
“Do you think the other bosses in Italy and the rest of Europe will let us collect on the dead souls?” asks Rafe.
“They will get a forty percent cut.”
This is what I get for being such an indulgent uncle. I lay it on them.
“What are you two trying to prove? You are MADE MEMBERS of the College of Cardinals. And what did you do to deserve such an honor? Being related to me. Don’t fo’get it!” I cough for a few seconds. “You have to consider this: What am I, Pope Sixtus the Fourth, getting out of this Medici hit? Why didn’t you just whack them and come later to get my blessing?
No, I gotta hear about it before the deed. Then you bring in the Duke of Urbino, a hit man extraordinaire, and another mouth to keep quiet. Who the hell else did you involve in this conspiracy?”
This is where you really have to have sympathy for me.
“Oh shit,” blurts the Papal version of Frank Nitti.
“Tell me you didn’t get anyone else involved, Rafe.”
“The Pazzi family of Florence,” he says reluctantly.
“Are you yanking my crozier? Why don’t you bring in the Sforza and the Visconti families? And don’t forget the d’Estes?” I start coughing again. “What have I always told you? Keep it simple. No publicity. No accomplices. Do it your emma effing selves. That way no one sees the blood on your shirts.”
“We can control the Pazzis, uncle. If it goes wrong, they get all the blame. Montefeltro planned the whole thing and then contracted it out to the Pazzis. They owe him favors. Everyone’s afraid of Montefeltro, besides. The Pazzis won’t turn stoolie.”
[No stoolie like an old stoolie, the Sardine’s pun pal comments.]
“I can live with that, I guess.”
“Then we have da Holy Papa’s blessin’,” says Jule.
I hug both of them, with the appropriate three or four pats on their backs.
“This means we have your blessin’, right?” asks Rafaello.
“Eh, not quite. A hug is not my blessing.” They stare at me. “A hug is a hug. It’s my sign of approval but not necessarily my blessing.”
Bad enough that I knew about their plan. If anyone found out they were involved, who was going to think twice about fingering me? History will write (it has written) that I ordered this hit. I didn’t want to be thought of as someone so terrible as to do something like the wiping out of the Medici family name.
“You will be. . .more feared and respected,” says Rafe.
“I will make all who object to the new indulgences fear me.”
“Soon, we can offer indulgences to doze in Hell,” says Jule. I give him my evil stare. “I’m only thinkin’ of da logical extension of the indulgence policy, Y’ Eminence.”
“You’re beginning to piss me off, although that’s not the worst idea I’ve heard recently. Could you please leave Rafaello and me alone for a moment?”
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