Sydney picked up her pace as she walked. “That doesn’t make sense. He had no clue we were coming. He hasn’t left that room for more than food for weeks. Then the day we decide to go in and grab him, after getting a warrant that even I didn’t know I was going to get, he just disappears? Was it Scotch from the room’s bar?”
“What?” Briggs asked.
“The Scotch, Briggs. Was it from the bar in the room?” She stopped walking now while she waited for his answer.
“No. It was a big ass bottle of it.”
“Was it empty?” Sydney asked.
“No. But the boys took it for evidence. It’s in the van right behind me. Hold on a sec.” Briggs pulled the phone away and Sydney heard him giving orders. “Conrad, give me the bottle of Scotch. The Scotch. Yes, that one. You have any other Scotch back there I don’t know about?” There was another pause and then, “Yeah I have it right here Syd. Maybe a glass or two tops is missing.”
“Doesn’t sound like someone who planned on leaving does it? Buying a whole bottle of Scotch when there are a few small ones right behind the bar. He didn’t plan on leaving Briggs. Be careful with that Scotch. Did you pull the surveillance video in the hotel?”
“Yeah we pulled it but I don’t know how good it will be. The floor he was on is completely blacked out. Conveniently. No receipts for the room either. He was off the record completely. The only reason we found out he was there was because of Salvatore’s son.”
“I heard about their falling out.”
“He opened a rival hotel down the block. I’d kill ‘em if he were my son.” Briggs chuckled a bit and then seemed to have an idea because he gave a long “hmmm” and continued. “Hey Syd?”
“Still here Briggs.” Sydney was getting near to her car and trying to digest the turn of events.
“Maybe there will be something useful on some tape on the property exits. If he didn’t just walk out of there on his own then that means someone had to put a gun in his back or carry him out.”
Sydney smiled in spite of herself. “Damn right. And everything we know about this guy tells us he wouldn’t have gone without a fight.”
“So we operate under the theory that he was carried out or forced out. If he was, we should spot something. If he wasn’t then…” Briggs trailed off.
“Then we need a new theory.” Sydney switched gears. “What about the tail?”
Briggs paused again as Sydney cleared a busy intersection and approached the Roswell parking lot. Every time Briggs paused like that it was bad news.
“Travis and Mike lost ‘em.”
“How the hell did they ‘lose’ them? He’s the highest profile crime boss in the Buffalo-Ontario area, hanging out with the brains of his operation, the worst kept secret outside of the medical dumps in Lake Erie and we lose them?” Sydney grimaced and grabbed her phone trying to overcome the urge to throw it.
This might be the worst day ever.
A driver honked at her, irritated that she walked in the path of his car as she made her way into the parking lot. She waved him off absently with an extended middle finger.
“Apparently they ‘made’ us a while back. They had an exit strategy and jumped into a motorboat just before Travis and Mike were going to approach them about the situation. Seems Ciancetta gave our boys the finger while Chris Biela whisked them away.”
“You have got to be kidding me. I’ll find him and talk to him myself. Meet me at the field office in ten.” Sydney got into her black Ford Escape Hybrid, courtesy of the U.S. tax payers.
“Okay, we’ll be there. Do you want me to bring in the local boys in blue on the search? We could use the manpower.”
Sydney thought about it a moment and then decided against it. “No. Absolutely not. We bring them in on it and we’ll have every con from here to the Mississippi wise to what’s going on. The less local ears on this one the better.”
Briggs paused again. Sydney could feel his disagreement before he voiced it. He voiced it anyway. “These guys have been in the scene for years. They know what’s what with the guys, Syd. I’m not saying put out an APB, but there has to be someone we can bring in. Someone in this town has to be clean.”
Sydney cast a look down at a personnel file on her passenger seat. “Not clean, Briggs. But maybe a little less dirty than some. Tell you what; I’ll meet you at the field office in an hour. If all goes according to plan I might have a present for you.”
“That’s what I’m talking ‘bout Syd. That’s what I’m talking ‘bout.” With that Briggs hung up his cell.
Not clean. But maybe a little less dirt than some.
She pulled out of the parking lot and onto Pearl Street heading towards I-190. She knew the address. Sydney debated making a call on it all week. She scooped up the file again and held it against her steering wheel as she drove, glancing down at the name across an unflattering black and white: Alex Vaughn.
Chapter 2
“Mr. Nivsky, are you alright?” Eddie asked again.
Ivan heard him, but he was staring at his arms. He traced the outline of the tattoo on his bicep. It was jail yard ink so the quality was shit. It had hurt a bit when he got it, and the infection afterwards hurt a lot worse. But pain was temporary. His finger trailed along the raised outline. It wasn’t supposed to be raised like that, but it was thanks to the dirty needle and the fucking asshole that put it there for two cartons of cigarettes.
I fucking hated those cigarettes anyway. I would have killed for a Sobranie.
The tat meant something to him of course but to people on the inside, it was just another in a patch of artwork that ran up both sides of his arms. The split crucifix, falling apart along its center, might not even mean anything to most of the people on the outside. But those who knew him best, they would know.
Perhaps.
“Mr. Nivsky. We’re here. I can wait if you like.” The driver was prodding him with a gentle touch.
“I’m fine Eddie. Things just feel different.” Eddie was nice enough to pull over for him as they made their way westward along Interstate 390. He stopped to pick up some decent clothes in a tiny town called Warsaw. The whole place was maybe a couple miles wide and boasted a population of three or four thousand.
“I can understand that, sir.” Eddie was an agreeable sort. Ivan liked that.
“Even that little town, Warsaw. I passed through it on my way in. It looked completely different. Places like that, they’re insulated from time. Know what I mean, Eddie?” Ivan grabbed his bag and stuffed it into his pants pocket. He couldn’t find a whole suit, but he did manage to grab a pair of slacks and a button-down that didn’t make him look like complete shit.
“I do, sir. I served four in 2003. Upstate.”
“No shit? I thought I saw some ink under that watch of yours. Five pointed crown, eh?” Ivan knew the Latin Kings symbol when he saw it, but who was he to ask questions?
Eddie covered up his wrist as his hand rested on the steering wheel. The entire conversation was flowing through the rearview mirror of the Lincoln.
His neck got a little red and he coughed. “Well yeah. The things we gotta do on the inside, right?”
“The fucking truth. You work for someone Eddie or you own this car?” Ivan inspected the leather, perfectly Armoralled.
“Like any straight place would hire a felon with two counts of aggravated battery and assault on a cop. No. I bought this car with cash and I take the jobs where I can get them.” Eddie got out of the car and pulled Ivan’s door open. He stood to the side in a black suit and black hat. He had a gold Rolex watch that glistened as it reflected the sun retreating from the city of Buffalo.
Ivan got out and stood in the path of the door of the car so Eddie couldn’t shut it. Placing one hand on the top of the car he said, “Can I have the envelope please?”
“Absolutely, sir.” Ivan asked Eddie to hold it until it was time for him to leave.
He handed Ivan the white rectangle and waited patiently while Ivan t
ook a cold two hundred out from it. He held out the cash for his driver.
“No sir. I can’t take that. Besides, we didn’t make it in two hours.”
“Bullshit Eddie. I made you pull over to get some clothes. Take the fucking money.” Ivan pushed the money back at Eddie. It hung there for a moment and finally the Mexican took the bills, folded them neatly, and tucked them into his breast pocket.
“Thank you, sir.”
Ivan took a step away and heard the door shut behind him. Then he turned around. “Eddie. What if I said you can stop taking the odd drive around town for a while?”
“I’d say what do you have in mind, sir?” The man took a step forward and folded his hands patiently in front of him.
“I need a driver. I don’t even know this place anymore. Plus, let’s be honest, appearance is everything. One client. A grand a week.” Ivan smiled when he saw Eddie take his hat off and slick his black hair back behind his ears.
“Starting when?”
“Starting now. I don’t want to hang around this party very long. Wait here if we have a deal. If not, I’ll look for someone else.” Ivan turned again to face the back door to Chef’s Pasta Place, and then turned again.
“Oh and Eddie. If you don’t already have one… buy a gun. My driver needs to pack heat.” With that Ivan opened the door in the back alley and entered the old Italian landmark.
Ivan walked into the restaurant. He walked through a hallway that sliced between the kitchen and closet or what passed as a manager’s office and made his way towards the banquet room. He passed a guard he didn’t recognize at the entrance, but who apparently knew him because he wasn’t stopped.
That or the guy is shit-terrible at his job.
The place was closed to the public but he could hear a large clamoring coming from the banquet hall. Eleven years, three months and seventeen days since he had been to this place for his going away. He noted some renovations on the far end of the place. Apparently even this staple of Buffalo society had moved forward through the burning fire of progress.
He came around a corner and a small set of stairs greeted him. A gold decorative railing ran from the floor to his waist in columns of spiraling metal. At the bottom of the steps a cluster of people were milling about, drinking alcohol and holding quiet conversations. Above the crowd were three beautiful gold chandeliers that dangled over circular tables covered with white cloth. The room glowed with an orange hue.
Ivan stood for a moment at the top of the stairs, unsure where to go next. The crowd rustled a bit and he heard a deep voice yell out.
“There he is!” A fat man with broad shoulders and unmistakable green eyes shuffled forward. Ivan noted him and came down the stairs. He was fatter and older and he hadn’t been the Don when Ivan went away, but he knew the power of the Ciancetta family. He hurried down the stairs so as to not stand over Don Ciancetta.
Ivan barely reached the bottom of the stairs when the man came forward giving him a huge bear hug. “Ivan. Ivan. So happy to see you.” His voice was gruff and he had a cigar clenched between his teeth. He pulled back for a moment, his green eyes drifting onto Ivan’s own. He took the cigar out of his mouth and stepped back.
A hush came over the crowd and a hundred eyeballs focused on Ivan. He knew his part. Nivsky bowed at the waist and pulled the Don’s free hand up to his face. A gold ring rested there on his pinky with a dark red stone.
Ivan kissed the ring.
Don Ciancetta lifted him up by his chin and gave him a pat on the face to go with a toothy grin that spread across his cherub face.
“How ‘bout some music,” he said, waving a hand at a small band in the corner of the room. A skinny man in a suit began to croon his best Sinatra impression and the crowd once again began their quiet conversations. A steady stream of men made their way to a bar on the other side of the room for what Ivan figured was the free booze that really lured them to the party. Ivan saw a man with black hair, an impeccable suit, and a scotch standing a few feet away. He was eying them up from behind a handkerchief that appeared to be stifling a cough.
The Don grabbed Ivan by the wrist and drew him away from the crowd a bit, but still clearly within eyesight of all of his men. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick envelope. “Ivan. We both know what you’ve done. The sacrifice you’ve made for family. This is just a token of my appreciation. The appreciation of your family.”
Ivan took the envelope and tucked it in his pocket. It barely fit.
“Thank you, Don. My gratitude.”
The dark haired man approached them then and brought a second scotch, which he handed to Ivan. As he approached, the Don turned to him and said, “Chris, this is a friend of mine, Ivan Nivsky.”
Fucking friend of mine.
Ivan couldn’t help but grimace before he plastered a strained smile across his face. A friend of mine was wiseguy code. It meant that Ivan wasn’t a made man. He couldn’t be. He was half Russian. It stuck in his craw before he was put in the can and it hurt even worse now that he was out.
Eleven years. Three months. Seventeen days.
The fact that he was introduced meant he was now talking to a made man. Something struck him as funny though about this guy. He didn’t look Italian.
“You Italian?” He said it softly. The last thing he wanted to do was ruffle some feathers. But he had to know.
The man raised an eyebrow and looked over to the Don. A small smile creased his face and he said, “Not entirely, Ivan. Half.”
Nivsky took a sip of his scotch and tried to hide his surprise, but the look on Chris’ face said he wasn’t doing a very good job.
The Don came forward then and grabbed Ivan by his arm. Not so gently this time. He felt the strength of the man’s grip as he leaned forward, whiskey on his breath, and said, “I made an exception. My crew, my fucking rules. Capice?”
Ivan nodded his head and the Don relaxed his grip and patted him on the back, nearly sending his scotch to the ground.
“I’ve known the Pope since college. Since you was in grade school.” The Don brought his cigar back into his teeth and chewed on it, keeping his eyes on Ivan.
“Of course, Don.” Ivan bowed his head.
The crowd kept on talking but a silence passed between the three of them until finally the Pope interrupted the silence. “Ivan, I think you might remember me. We were a lot younger back then, of course, but I came to your trial. Even spoke to your attorney once or twice. That dumb bastard.”
It all came rushing back to Ivan. Since he was taking the rap for one of the Don’s men, he had to disassociate from the family completely. That meant taking a Public Defender.
“That’s right. That’s back when I worked for your father.” Ivan took another sip of scotch and felt the alcohol sting at his throat all the way down.
“Shit kid, you got started young. Working for my Dad. How old are you now?” The Don eyed him up and down.
“Thirty-five.”
The man he called the Pope gave a little cough behind his handkerchief and said, “Christ. Twenty-four when you got pinched.”
“Twenty-three actually. The trial took a while. That P.D. didn’t even get me time served.” Ivan tasted the bitter scotch again.
The Don placed a hand on each of the men. One hand on the Pope’s shoulder and another on Ivan and said, “Well, I have some business to attend to. Thanks for all your loyalty Ivan. We intend to help you make up for lost time. Pope, show the man around, introduce him to the friends of ours who are here.” He shuffled off into the crowd, shaking hands and mingling with his men.
The Pope stood next to Ivan, his drink untouched in his hand. “We have an apartment set up for you downtown. It’s not much, but we hope it helps ease your transition.” He handed Ivan a set of keys with a piece of paper that had an address scribbled on it. “I can’t tell you how much what you did, how much your loyalty, means to this family. Especially in this day and age.” The Pope scanned the crowd, looking for somethi
ng, but cast a glance at Ivan when he didn’t say anything.
“You okay?”
Ivan swallowed as he too scanned the crowd. “Yeah. Just a lot of new faces.”
“I take it you heard about what happened?” The Pope’s eyes watered as he bit down on another cough. Ivan could tell he wasn’t well and it wasn’t just the common cold.
“I heard.” He had known the men who were no longer in the ranks of the Ciancetta family. Sal and Sonne Pieri, Joe Falzone, and Aldo were all gone.
Muro.
Muro was gone too.
“It’s a shame. That thing. It’s a shame it had to happen. But I’ll be blunt.” The Pope turned and faced Ivan. “It created a lot of openings. Openings we need filled by men we know to be loyal.” He paused and scanned the crowd again. He seemed to find what he was looking for because he took a step forward and waved Ivan to follow him. “Lot of new faces is right. So let’s find some old ones.”
Ivan followed as he split a seam through the crowd and made his way to a table closest to the bar. As they neared the table Ivan couldn’t help but smile at the faces that greeted him.
“Tom fucking Coughlin and Jimmy Jacks. Holy shit.” Ivan came forward and Jimmy leapt to his feet, squeezing Ivan in a big hug that lifted him from his feet. “Put me down you cock sucker.”
Jimmy placed him on his feet and patted his arm. “Damn good to see you, Ivan. Damn good.”
Tom Coughlin got up too but stood a bit away from the two of them. His patented scowl hung from his face and he said, “You can’t be calling Jimmy a cock sucker no more Nivsky. In case you ain’t heard.”
Jimmy shuffled his feet and looked a bit embarrassed as Ivan wrinkled his eyebrows at Tom.
“What are you talking about?”
“Jimmy earned his stripes while you was in the can.”
Ivan smiled again. He couldn’t help it. “Congratulations Jimmy, I hadn’t heard. But I know you must have earned it.”
Buffalo Soldiers (An Upstate New York Mafia Tale Book 2) Page 3