by Marc Olden
“Felix.”
They knew each other, the wiretapper and the detective, had even worked together. Felix Betancourt, fiftyish and patrician, nicknamed Elegante for his manners and bearing, was an electronics genius. He’d had a hand in the Bay of Pigs, Watergate and several other top political scandals. He had worked for the CIA, FBI, State Department, both major political parties and the biggest multinational corporations. He had also worked for Washington and New York newspapers, labor unions, New York police and organized crime. MSC had him on a six-figure annual retainer. At a time when information was the most valued of all currencies, Felix Betancourt was king.
For all his elegant ways, Felix was thoroughly amoral, always for sale to the highest bidder. But it didn’t stop Decker from liking him.
“Like your tie, Felix.”
The Cuban looked at it. “Two hundred dollars. Handmade. Special silk. They feed the worms oak leaves, nothing else. Gets you that nice brown color.” He looked at the unconscious man in the white sweater. “I told him you were good, but he say bullshit. He say he can take you with his eyes closed.”
“His eyes are closed now.”
Felix grinned. “You’re right about that, my friend. Toby here say he trains with Robbie Ambrose, who is a champion. He tell me he was going to turn your asshole inside out.”
“What’s in the attaché case, Felix?”
The Cuban took the cigar from his small mouth and shrugged.
Decker said, “Empty it on the living room coffee table and when you’re finished you and your friends here can take out all the bugs, taps and transmitters you planted. You better not miss one, because tomorrow I’m having one of your competitors come in here and sweep the place from top to bottom. And if he finds so much as a single strand of wire—”
Felix smiled. “Decker, my friend, I know when to cut my losses. We are professionals, you and I. I take out all the stuff, you see.”
The man on the floor moaned, stirred.
The Cuban said, “I do not mean to pry, my friend, but you had the key to this place. Does that mean the lady is a friend of yours? If I had known that I would not have taken the job.”
“Felix, you’d bug Christ’s tomb if there was money in it. Go in the living room and open your case. And put that ashtray back where you found it.”
Twenty minutes later Decker sat alone in Michi’s apartment and tried to figure it all out. Molise’s people are going all out to nail the guy who killed Paul Molise. At the moment that’s all they’re doing. Wouldn’t surprise me if they didn’t put MSC on it as well.
To protect Michi he had let Felix and his friends walk. No sense calling any more attention to her than was necessary. Felix had taken some of Michi’s letters, personal papers, a passport and company files. Nothing a jury would convict him for, assuming he ever came to trial. Lawyers for Felix and MSC could delay the trial for two years or more and by that time the offense of snatching a handful of papers wouldn’t exactly alarm a jury.
It had to be Sparrowhawk. He ran MSC. But he was supposed to be finding out who burned Paulie, nothing else. Did he and the Molise family think Michi had anything to do with that? Decker shuddered, threw his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. Could he keep Michi alive if Sparrowhawk and the mob wanted her dead?”
During the past six years Decker had hidden from the women in his life. And in time he began to be fooled by his own designs, as distanced from his feelings as the women he kept at arm’s length. After all, eventually deception becomes self-deception. He had accepted it, every bit of it, and it hadn’t mattered a rat’s ass one way or another. Until Michi.
With her return, he had begun to live. He had become vulnerable. He had committed himself. With her, he had everything to hope for. And everything to lose.
He sat in the apartment until the early December darkness fell, his mind chasing shadows and fighting fear.
At 5:32 that evening Sparrowhawk and Robbie strode briskly across the crowded sidewalk to the limousine that would drop Robbie off in midtown and take Sparrowhawk home to Connecticut. Robbie was the first to notice the man standing beside the chauffeur.
Then Sparrowhawk looked up. God in heaven. Decker. A rather rude shock indeed.
Decker said, “Back off Michelle Asama. Don’t bug her apartment, don’t bird-dog her, don’t open her mail, don’t come near her.”
Sparrowhawk’s eyes became slits. “May I ask if this is official?”
“Ask.”
“Is this official? I mean, she’s not under arrest or in protective custody or—”
“It’s not official.”
“I didn’t think so. By the way, heard you injured two of my men today. Aren’t you getting a bit carried away with your prowess?”
“One of your men attempted to put out my eye with a screwdriver.”
“Pity. And you didn’t arrest them.” Sparrowhawk looked at Robbie. “Imagine that. Someone tries to turn him into a Cyclops and he doesn’t arrest them.” He looked at Decker. “Now, let me get this straight. Any involvement with Miss Asama is strictly unofficial, not part of your professional duties.”
Decker shifted uneasily. He was beginning to regret having come down here.
Sparrowhawk sensed his uncertainty. “Since this is unofficial, detective sergeant—”
“Personal.” The minute he’d said it, Decker knew it was a mistake.
Sparrowhawk raised both eyebrows. “Personal, is it? Ah, that puts an even different light on the subject matter. Personal, Robbie. Did you catch that?”
“Sure did, major.”
“Tell me, detective sergeant, does this mean I don’t have to take you seriously? After all, what do you and I have between us that could be called personal? Now, Robbie, he handles my personal confrontations, don’t you, lad?”
“Anytime, major. Anytime. Me and Detective Sergeant Decker we met personal a couple of times.”
Sparrowhawk rubbed his jaw and frowned in mock thought. “Ah yes, I seem to recall those two occasions. Yes, it’s all coming back to me now.”
Decker looked at Robbie. The one man who had shaken his confidence, who had driven him out of tournament fighting. Suddenly the wounds from those two defeats were bleeding again, the pain returning. And Decker now knew that the fear had never really gone away.
He forced himself to speak. “You heard me. Leave her alone.”
Sparrowhawk said, “May I please be allowed to enter my car?”
Decker stepped aside and the chauffeur opened the back door. Sparrowhawk entered first. Robbie, close behind, put a foot in the car, stopped and, turning toward Decker, shook his head sadly, knowing that he didn’t have to threaten Decker or challenge him.
Because Robbie was better. It was that simple.
He touched the golden stud in his ear and stepped into the limousine.
As the car pulled away Decker knew that he had made a terrible mistake. He had warned them. The possibility of taking them by surprise was no longer an option. He had told them he was coming. Dumb.
Sooner or later he would pay for that mistake. And so would Michi.
21
GIOVANNI GRAN SASSO WAS not impressed by Atlantic City’s ultramodern casinos. In fact, the consigliere did not gamble at all and disapproved of those who did.
What did please the hulking white-haired man was Atlantic City’s proximity to the ocean. Smelling the salt air reminded the consigliere of when, as a young man, he had made a walking tour of coastal towns in his native Sicily, sleeping under the stars and living on bread, cheese, wine and fruit He had never been happier in his life.
Tonight in Atlantic City Gran Sasso and Alphonse Giulia, heads close together in conversation, walked slowly along the empty and fog-shrouded boardwalk, trailed by two bodyguards. They had just emerged from a secret meeting with Senator Terry Dent, who had come up from Washington to discuss his future under the mob’s new power structure. Dent had warned the Italians that they were being betrayed.
> “LeClair’s got a pipeline to your people,” Dent said. “I don’t mind telling you that it’s making me goddamn uneasy. For one thing LeClair’s pushing the Justice Department to make an official request to the Cayman government for your banking records.”
“The Caymans won’t cooperate,” Gran Sasso said. “The minute they do, they lose a few billion dollars. Nobody would trust them after that.”
“My gut instinct says you’re right. But what really bothers me is that the Justice people knew what they were looking for. And requests have been made to Delaware for information on Marybelle, on Scarborough Realty, on the Edwards-Brewer Corporation.”
“All ours,” said Giulia.
“All yours. The news got around because a couple of Delaware congressmen bitched at being singled out for such a probe. And the Delaware people don’t want to honor that request. Like you said, the minute you start passing out information like that you lose customers. When you’re hiding money you don’t take out a goddamn ad saying you’re hiding it. You guys got a leak somewhere and that doesn’t make me sleep any better at nights. If we’re going to do business together you have to hold up your end. I know Pangalos claims he hasn’t talked, but what about Quarrels?”
Gran Sasso poured more Chivas Regal for Dent. “You said something about the casino’s license being in trouble.”
“That’s another thing. The New Jersey Gaming Commission’s been approached by LeClair to give some thought to doing just that. Looks like you guys aren’t the only ones who don’t want to see the Golden Horizon close down. A Jersey congressman, who I won’t name, got in touch with me, feeling me out about whether or not I and some of the New York congressmen will help him fight LeClair. Close the casino and a lot of tax money goes down the tubes. Not to mention jobs.”
Gran Sasso agreed. It also meant losing a place to wash his money. Gambling was a cash business. Cash came in and out of the casino at all times. Legally. It would not do to have either the casino or MSC shut down.
Dent waggled a forefinger. “You better give some thought to LeClair’s plans for the grand jury, when he starts parading his star witness or informant against you. He plans to have the jury masked. The jury, not the witness.”
“Nigger’s fucking crazy,” Giulia said.
“Think so? I don’t. You haven’t the faintest idea what the move means.”
Gran Sasso said, “It means he’s making sure he gets a conviction or an indictment. It means he’s telling the jury they shouldn’t let this man see their faces if they value their lives. The black man’s very clever. How did you hear about this?”
Dent looked angry. “LeClair’s talked with the Justice Department about me and I don’t like it. Don’t like it one fucking bit. They want to make sure they don’t violate my civil rights while trying to hang me. Other night I’m at a party in Georgetown and a guy from the FBI was there. Seems his daughter’s moving to New York and needs a job. We got to talking and he told me about LeClair’s mask idea.”
Gran Sasso thought for a while, then reached over to touch Dent’s wrist. “Senator, do us all a favor. You make sure this girl gets a job, a nice job. Something special, something her father will be real proud of. I want this FBI guy to owe you. You have trouble finding her something, you get in touch with me. I’ll make sure something turns up. When she’s got the job, make sure this guy knows you did it. But don’t go back to him for any favors until I tell you to.
“Now, before we go any further, I understand there was something else you wanted our help on.”
Dent exhaled. “Asa Arnstein.”
“The department store guy,” Giulia said. “Supposed to be some kind of strike against his stores. He’s really loaded, this Arnstein.”
“One of my biggest contributors,” Dent said. “Nice fat checks. Doesn’t miss a campaign and if I need a little extra, he’s there, what can I tell you. If I say the party needs a check, no problem. I owe him. I wonder if you could put MSC on this thing. Have them check out the union leaders, half a dozen people. Fucking troublemakers, all of them. See if there’s anything in their background that can be used against them. I’d like to pay Arnstein back. Would make me look like a big man. He can’t afford a strike. Can’t afford what the union’s asking.”
Gran Sasso and Giulia exchanged glances. Arnstein’s money kept Dent in office.
“We’ll take care of Arnstein,” the consigliere said. “You want him to either win the strike or have it called off before it starts.”
“That’s right.”
The consigliere turned his hands palms up. “It’s done.”
Dent smiled, pleased with his own power. “Much appreciated. By the way, before it slips my mind there’s some mining stock that an Arizona senator assures me is certain to climb. I was wondering, could you give me an advance on my percentage of the profits from the new auditorium?”
“How much?” asked Gran Sasso.
“Fifty thousand.”
He knows we can’t refuse him, thought the consigliere. “I’ll have a package at your Washington office tomorrow. It will be addressed to you personally.”
Trade-offs. Always necessary when one powerful man deals with another. It didn’t matter why Dent needed the cash; he could not be denied it.
“Beginning to look like Pangalos or Quarrels may have talked,” said Dent “That seating plan. Christ, was that a body blow.”
Gran Sasso poured anisette into his espresso. Some things should not be discussed in front of a United States senator. “Senator, don’t concern yourself with Pangalos or Quarrels. Things will work themselves out. You will see.”
On the boardwalk Giulia, head bent forward, hands in his pockets, said, “Wonder what Dent would have done if he’d known what we got planned for those two guys.”
Gran Sasso said, “People put their hands over their eyes, then complain it’s dark. He knows, but he doesn’t want to know. Seventy-five thousand we’re paying that cop to handle this business. He told Sparrowhawk he wouldn’t do it for less.”
“He’s good, the cop. Didn’t he say he wanted both of them in the same place, same time? That’s not gonna be easy.”
The consigliere said, “On the contrary, my friend. That is the easiest part of all.”
Ironic, he thought. He was older than Pangalos and Quarrels, but he would outlive them. This time tomorrow both lawyers would be dead.
Constantine Pangalos sat up in bed, annoyed. He switched the telephone receiver to his left ear, away from his wife, who lay sleeping beside him. “Buscaglia, you know what time it is? Fucking quarter to twelve is what it is. That’s midnight, not high noon.”
“So I called you at midnight. Sue me. But wait till you hear why I called. How’d you like to get out from under on this seating-plan shit?”
“You got me out of bed to ask me that? Come on, I don’t have time for games. And I’ll handle my own problems, okay?”
“Connie, you didn’t hear me. I’m saying I can arrange for that seating plan to walk out of Federal Plaza. The one and only copy. The one piece of evidence they got against you and Quarrels.”
Pangalos stood up and harshly whispered, “You giving it to me straight? Because if you’re jerking me around—”
“Well, I sure as hell ain’t doing it because I want to get into your pants. It’s gonna cost you. Five for me, ten for the guy walking out with the file and no argument. Take it or leave it.”
“Guess I’ve got no choice. Jesus, that could pull me out of a very big hole. If that plan disappeared I could tell LeClair to go fuck himself.”
“I already spoke to Quarrels and he practically kissed my ring. He’s ready to jump at the deal. Between the both of you I figure you’ll have no problem raising the money.”
“Money I got. It’s that seating plan that Decker … who’s your contact down at Federal Plaza?”
Buscaglia snorted. “You think I got bird shit for brains? That’s my business. I tell you, then we both know. If you remember, De
cker dragged me down there. I didn’t exactly volunteer to go. Soon as I get there I meet this guy from my old days on the waterfront who ain’t exactly a friend, but we know each other, and what happened on the waterfront between him and me is now water under the bridge. He was an investigator for a federal commission that gave me a lot of trouble. But like I say, that’s past. Young guys coming up, blacks like LeClair taking over. Time for my friend to get out. He’d like to treat himself to a nice vacation, him and his wife.”
Pangalos saw himself wriggling off the hook and giving the finger to LeClair. “I like it. You know I asked Sparrowhawk about MSC doing something for me with the task force. But he said it was impossible, that the guys down there were handpicked and couldn’t be touched and that LeClair was too smart to leave his files unguarded.”
Pangalos chuckled. “Fucking jungle bunny, that LeClair. I’m gonna beat him.”
Buscaglia said, “That’s why I’m coming to you instead of MSC. I tell them about my friend and they take him over. He becomes their contact, you know how they work. I tell them and I lose my piece of the action. It’s their deal and I’m shit out of luck. I can always use a few bucks, you know that.”
“Sal, you just saved my ass. And I’m not about to forget it. How soon can you set things up with your boy?”
“Soon. He’s close to the files now, but LeClair don’t take no chances. File guys are rotated, so my friend won’t be there long. Hey, before I forget, you know we’re talking cash. No checks.”
“Okay, okay. Cash. Quarrels—”
“He’s in, I told you. He says it’s fifty-fifty. Seventy-five hundred apiece. For that you get the plan, plus a copy of your file, whatever LeClair’s got on you guys. Show that seating plan to Johnny Sass and Allie Boy and you’re home free.”
“Jesus, I’ve seen stuff walk out of just about every kind of office. Never thought I’d end up hoping some stuff on me would up and disappear. How soon can we meet, me, Quarrels and your boy?”