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old man wasn’t talking, but the other two were in hot negotiation. Augustine guessed that Salamandra was looking for assurances and Nemo was frantically making promises. The dwarf and the fat man ended their powwow with a lot of solemn head nodding. The deal was then formally presented to Zucchetti, who studied them both in cold silence. Augustine clenched his hands. Then Zucchetti nodded once.
    Nemo turned on his heels and headed for the barn. “C’mon. Follow me. The both of you.”
    Augustine frowned but obliged, following Nemo into thebarn with Giordano clinging to his coattails, Salamandra and Zucchetti bringing up the rear. It was cool inside the barn, with shafts of light piercing the dim, hay-strewn interior, but the place stunk to high heaven.
    â€œWhich way?” Nemo asked. “Over here?”
    â€œOver there,” Salamandra said. “In that one.”
    Nemo found the stall Salamandra had indicated and threw back the coarse blanket that covered the opening. The only light in there came from the sun beaming in through chinks and seams in the plankboard wall. When Augustine’s eyes adjusted to the shadows, he was suddenly startled by an unexpected figure seated against the wall. It was a man tied to a straightback chair, hands bound behind him, legs bound to the chair, his clothing soaked through with sweat. His head was covered with a black cloth hood taped securely around his neck. Sensing that visitors had arrived, the man started murmuring frantically, thrashing his head. He was obviously gagged under the hood.
    Salamandra moved behind the prisoner. He had a grimy length of rope in one hand. “Mr. Zucchetti he reconsider your idea. He think maybe it can be done. If you can prove to him that he can trust you. He must know that your loyalty is like steel, can never be broken. Also, he must know that you have the guts to work in our business.” Salamandra tossed the rope to Augustine, who caught it as if it were a rattlesnake.
    â€œI don’t understand,” Augustine said. He turned to Nemo. “What’s going on?”
    â€œYou ever hear of the Italian Rope Trick? Well, you’re gonna learn it now. You too, Vin.” Nemo took the rope from Augustine’s hand and looped it twice around the prisoner’s neck. The man started thrashing his head like a fish on a hook. “Here. You take one end, and you take the other. Now, when I say go, all you have to do is pull.”
    Giordano didn’t move. Neither did Augustine.
    From the stall entrance, the old man coughed up a bitter laugh. “See? I tell you. No guts.”
    Augustine looked at Zucchetti. “Who is this man?”
    Salamandra answered. “He is magistrate from Palermo. A stupid young man who think he can be big shot, persecute the Mafia. Like you, Augustine.”
    Augustine stared at the black hood for a moment and imagined the face underneath. They were asking him to commit murder to prove himself. It was the standard Mafia ordeal, the test that all their members had to pass before they’re admitted. He’d read about it, but he never thought he’d . . . He suddenly remembered the mayor’s race then, and the fact that running for public office was his only viable option since his boss had made it clear that he wasn’t looking to move on and make room for him. There was the possibility of private practice, but the only firms he’d consider were headed by founding partners who ruled like mandarins. The only career move left for him was in politics. But he needed money to climb that ladder, a great deal of money. He looked Zucchetti in the eye. “My price—do you have a problem with that?”
    Again Salamandra answered for the big boss. “We have no problem. Is cheap.”
    Augustine held his breath. The drill was suddenly whirring fast, bearing down hard. Augustine took one end of the rope and wrapped it around his hand. “Okay. Fine.”