Wiseguys in the Woods

by John P. M. Wappett

  He took the next day off, without explanation, as he was not one to share private matters with others. After Althea arrived to care for Susie and Gary, Peter drove Eileen to the hospital, each consumed by the silence of their grieving thoughts. Although they were aware that hers would be the lowest priority of the surgical procedures, it was not much solace when they had to sit in the waiting room until after noon. When they finally got home, Eileen busied herself with the children to keep herself distracted.

  Peter went down into the basement and quietly returned to storage, the cradle that he had just dug out after Eileen had announced that she was pregnant. Peter had built this cradle in preparation for the arrival of Susie and it had held up well for both Susie and her brother. It would be ready if the need arose again and their prayers were answered. Perhaps the time would come when their children would borrow it for their own family’s use.

  One week later, while waiting for the dentist to call him in for his regular cleaning and checkup, Peter took advantage of the rare confluence of idle time and a stack of magazines, to catch up on the news. As he skimmed through articles on the continuing violence swirling around the cocaine trade, and in Colombia and Italy in particular, he paused at a photo showing Italian prosecuting judge Giovanni Falcone visiting a crime scene where the family of a Mafia snitch had just been executed in retaliation for his betrayal. This form of punishment and warning had even been given its own name, transversal vendetta.

  This article brought to mind the recently completed Pizza Connection trial in New York City, in which the Italian judge’s namesake, the task force’s expert, had played a part. In Peter’s estimation, prosecuting a case like that would be as close to heaven as he ever hoped to get. Peter knew that some prosecutors did not think this way at all, as they were only using the job as a stepping stone to something more lucrative in the legal profession. This was a popular move because even new prosecutors could soon find themselves in a felony trial or arguing an appeal before the state’s appeals courts, experiences that attorneys in private practice might not get in their entire careers.

  Career prosecutors, as Peter thought of himself, accepted the limitations on income, relocation and advancement as the price to be paid for being in the trenches of daily battles against criminals of all sorts. Unless you were working in the DA’s Office of a major city, you had no chance of being involved in a case as historic as the Pizza Connection, but there were plenty of interesting matters out here in the boonies, as illustrated by the assorted Sica/Madonna cases.

  It was pretty commonplace for Mike Connolly or Dave Grace to show up at Peter’s door unannounced, but when the secretary buzzed him to announce that most of the task force had arrived to talk to Peter, he was certain that it was important and likely bad news. When the call came, Peter was just finishing his typing of a motion that had to be delivered to one of the local courts today, so he asked that the officers be brought into the Grand Jury room and that he would join them shortly.

  Yup. Bad news, alright. A group of grim, but caring expressions met him as he walked into the room. Dave Grace beckoned him to a chair next to him at the table in the front of the room. When Peter was seated, he noticed Henry Bradley nod to Dave, who began:

  ‘We’ve just been given some intel from one of our snitches, that there is a hit order out of Naples. You remember, Crazy Nancy? She says that a guy by the name of Biagio Cava, a known hit man, is on his way over. The only thing that Nancy does not know for sure is the target. She understands that it is either Madonna or you.”

  For several seconds, Peter marveled at how quiet twelve humans could be. He finally decided to fill in the silence.

  “Hmm. Well, THAT just sucked all the fun out of this case!” As he expected, the tension was broken and the group relaxed to some chuckles.

  Henry took up the conversation. “INS and Interpol have been alerted and are seeking to locate and track Cava. He is well known to the carabinieri, who say that he is especially fond of the lupara, a double-barreled shotgun sawed off at both ends. He hangs it from a leather lanyard around his neck.”

  “At close range, that would be nasty,” observed Dave Grace.

  “His favorite form of attack is to be a passenger on a motorcycle that pulls up alongside the target’s car. Cava pokes the barrel out of his jacket, fires and flees. Giuseppe Martini advises us that Cava is Cutolo’s problem solver. So it appears that the danger is coming from his own side rather than the Nuova Famiglia. Giuseppe was unable to explain why Cutolo might want to off Madonna, aside from the general realization that Madonna would know all of Cutolo’s secrets. Although he hasn’t admitted it to Mike or Dave, Giuseppe Martini suspects that Madonna might even have been involved in the Moro and Cirillo matters.”

  Peter looked quizzical: “Are you talking about Aldo Moro, the Italian legislator, hell, Prime Minister, who was kidnapped and killed by the Red Brigade back in the mid 70’s? I remember that because I was in the Army and was stationed in Germany at the time. Anytime the Red Brigade or their buddies, the Bader-Meinhof group did something, security alerts would set off all sorts of counter measures by the Germans and us. I will never forget the thrill of driving down to Austria one weekend. At the small border crossing, a movement that I saw out of the corner of my eye appeared to be a swiveling shrub. Then I realized it was the camouflaged turret of an armored personnel carrier and it was pointing its 20 mm cannon at me. That puts you on your best behavior real quick.”

  Henry nodded agreement. “That’s the same guy. But what I didn’t know, until Martini told me, was that the Italian government enlisted the Camorra, specifically Raffaele Cutolo’s New Camorra Organization, to act as negotiators with the Red Brigade for the release of Moro. They probably wanted intermediaries so it could not be said that the Italian government negotiated with terrorists.”

  Dave interjected, “Well if Peter is right, and Moro was killed, then it didn’t work out all that well, did it?”

  “According to Giuseppe, the government still paid the fee that they had agreed upon to the NCO for their assistance.”

  Peter couldn’t help himself. “Well that might explain why Madonna might be a target, but why would anyone in Italy give a rat’s ass about me? Damned few people in THIS country care THAT much.”

  “Ohh, I don’t know.” Jay Gainley offered. “I remember a few times when we at least considered something like that when you disappointed us.”

  “I feel oddly comforted by that, Jay”

  “This may not explain anything, but there seems to be a surge in attacks against police, prosecutors and judges both in Italy and in Colombia. The theory, such as it is, is that such actions might discourage their colleagues from doing such a good job. Also, in the Italian justice system, the prosecuting attorney is also the primary investigator, and so would know more about a case’s secrets than anyone else in the government,” opined Henry.

  Bob Robson cut in, “Anyway. We are going to transfer Mr. Madonna to the Albany County Jail until this is cleared up. The security is better down there. As for you, Peter, we will be setting up a perimeter of patrol cars around your neighborhood, with frequent patrols by your house.”

  Andy Zant chimed in. “This would be a whole lot easier if you still lived on that dead end street in Latham.”

  Peter smiled at Andy. “If we set this up down there, I guarantee that our neighbors would take one look at the passing patrol cars and hammer signs into the ground, with arrows, saying ‘Drakes live there!’”

  “Seriously, though,” resumed Bob. “Is there anywhere your wife and kids could go, if we have to evacuate them with little or no notice?”

  That question certainly brought the seriousness of the situation home to Peter, as nothing before had.

  “I guess the best place would be her parents’ home near Fort Pierce, in Florida.”

  “That sounds good. What we’ll need to do is set up flights to take them to Canada and then to Florida. Meantime, Peter, you need to set u
p things with your family, including having packed bags at the front door ready to go at a moment’s notice. We don’t know Cava’s whereabouts, schedule or route, so until this upcoming weekend is over, we need to be ready for anything.”

  Peter rolled his eyes. “That will certainly provide me with an icebreaker for tonight’s dinner conversation. ‘Oh, by-the-by, dear! Everyone who thinks they’re going to have a quiet weekend at home, take one step forward – not so fast, honey!”

  As the meeting broke up, most of the cops quietly expressed their feelings about Peter and his family. Often it was nothing more than a nod or a pat on the shoulder as they said goodbye. Finally, it was just Peter sitting with Dave Grace, Mike Connolly and Guy Lorenz.

  Dave said, “While you were getting the briefing of your life, I ducked out and called the office. Our Europe stations have discovered that Cava has landed in Geneva, Switzerland. It is believed that he has caught a flight out, but we can’t be sure. He may be travelling with bogus ID.”

  “The important thing is that he is on the move, and he is not going to want to waste any time,” observed Mike. “This gives us a good idea of his timetable. Since this is Tuesday, we figure that he will arrive in this area no later than Friday or Saturday. Although we are taking precautions locally, Dave, Guy and I are going to try to head him off. Our informants tell us that Cava has been in the States before, staying with Antonio and Carmine Manzini, so we are heading out to Springfield on Thursday, unless our intelligence changes.”

  Peter nodded. “Sounds like a good gamble. As I think I said back at the start of this case, ‘Just what the hell has Mama Drake’s little boy gotten himself into?’”

  Chapter 16

  How about that! That wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be …In fact, it was kind of cool.

  Peter and Eileen had sat down on the couch in the family room, after putting the kids to bed, and, to Peter’s surprise and lasting pride, Eileen showed not the slightest sign of fear when he told her what was going on. If anything, she set her jaw and became purposeful and determined. She and the kids might be forced to be evacuees, but by God they would be the best evacuees. No two-bit hood was going to terrorize HER family!

  Once she got the essential details of the plan to get them to her parents’ place on Hutchinson Island, she got on the phone and called her mother to fill her in. Even though hearing only Eileen’s half of the conversation, Peter could tell that her mother had immediately shifted into the same mindset as her daughter. Not for the first time, Peter felt himself in the presence of two special women, even one was only on the phone. Their children could not be safer if he locked them in Ft. Leavenworth.

  Putting down the phone at the end of her call, she turned to Peter. “I will need you to get some luggage out of the basement. My travel backpack, the black carry-on suitcase with the wheels and pull up handle and …Do you think that I can get someone to handle a suitcase or two? I need to keep my hands free for the kids. Susie can hang onto the handle of the rolling suitcase, but I will need to hold Gary’s hand or he’s sure to wander off and get into mischief.”

  Rather than answer, Peter scooched over on the couch and put his arm around her shoulders. They weren’t a cuddly couple, never had been, but this seemed to make some sense.

  “You are a marvel, girl, and I love you.” She tried to shrug off the compliment, but he could see that she was pleased. “Actually, I seriously doubt that you three would be allowed two travel two steps without a cop of some sort right next to you. For some silly reason the guys in the task force have taken to me, just like what happened with the guys when I worked for DA Shearer in Albany. Just as they are protective of me, so too would they take a bullet for you guys.

  In the event that we have to move you out, it would be SP and the Sheriff’s guys to start, and by the time the convoy reached the Albany County border, Colonie PD and the Albany County Sheriff’s people would join up to go to the airport. There might well be a couple DEA and INS folk lurking about, as well. One of the groups will provide an escort on the plane and, once in Canada, I expect that the Royal Canadian Mounties will pitch in, until you are on the plane to Florida. Our State Police will arrange for their counterparts in Florida to take you to the condo and they and the Ft Pierce PD will set up surveillance, which, given the way the condo complex is situated, will be pretty easy.” It certainly helped that she knew all the acronyms, so that he did not have to define the agencies involved.

  “The trick is going to be figuring out what clothes to wear and to pack in carry-on, since we’re going from Canadian frigid to South Florida heat.” Yup! She was getting into it, alright.

  The two went about their tasks with a quiet determination, and in short order, the bags were retrieved, packed and set down together next to the front door. Eileen produced a list of to-do’s for Peter, starting with filling the gas tank in their minivan.

  The next morning, as Peter was about to leave, clutching Eileen’s list, he stopped short as he caught sight of little Susie standing by the front door and looking at the suitcases.

  She looked over her shoulder and saw him walking toward her.

  “Daddy?” Even when she wasn’t going to ask a question, she would say Daddy or Mommy with an upward inflection and as though it was a single syllable.

  “Whatcha doin’, little girl?” He knelt down on one knee and gave her a hug.

  “Daddy? Are we going somewhere?”

  “We’re not sure, yet, honey. But maybe.”

  “Where are we going, Daddy?”

  “If we go, you and Gary and Mommy will go visit Papa and Baba.”

  “Why, Daddy? Aren’t you coming, too?”

  “Probably not, honey, but we’ll see.”

  “But it’s not Easter anymore, Daddy.”

  She was right, of course. They usually only go to visit Eileen’s parents during the Christmas or Easter holidays.

  “Are the policemen guarding us from the bad man?”

  Peter stiffened, realizing that his little girl had ears like a Peruvian fruit bat and must have overheard something the grownups had said. “Yes, Susie. The police would always protect us. Now I’ve got to go to work, so you be good and help Mommy, okay?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  Peter stood up, with a knot in his stomach as he went down the hall to go out the back door to the garage. He looked back at his daughter as he turned toward the garage door at the end of the hall. She had returned to staring at the luggage.

  The rest of the week was little more than a blur and Peter was grateful that things were slow in the office, as he was having a tough time focusing. Even when there was a possibility of getting his mind off of the motorcycle riding, sawed-off shotgun toting Biagio Cava, the periodic phone calls from INS, Albany, announcing their latest efforts at locating the hit man, kept him on edge. Each noontime, when he drove home for lunch, he spotted patrol cars assigned to intersections or roaming through the neighborhood.

  Thursday morning began with no updates on Cava’s location. Dave, Mike and Guy were going to leave for Springfield from INS headquarters in the old Post Office building in downtown Albany, near the Hudson River. So Peter phoned Dave’s desk to wish them luck and to let them know that he was grateful to them. There was still no update on Cava’s whereabouts.

  Special Term was actually something of a blessing this week, in part because of the full moon of all things. Peter, like many in law enforcement, firmly believed that the full moon affected people, especially those who frequented police stations and courtrooms. Peter and Jeff Henderson were discussing this very phenomenon, in which Henderson also believed, when Judge Ginola was announced by the court officer acting like an old fashioned bailiff, and Special Term began. Jeff Henderson, whose two cases would not be called until the end of the calendar, due to delays in the defendants’ transportation to the court, took a seat just in front of the rail that divided the court area from the public seating.

  As the hours passed, it
was becoming clear that the defendants were indeed behaving even more peculiarly than usual, resulting in any number of humorous or baffling moments. Each time a defendant began to sign something, Peter would look and, when appropriate, turn toward Henderson and tap his left wrist. True to form, the percentage of lefties was uncommonly high. Finally, the Sheriff’s transport officers arrived with Jeff Henderson’s clients. Peter, who had previously prosecuted the first of the defendants to be brought out of the holding cell, expected some further craziness and he was not disappointed.