Blood Money

by Laura M Rizio

“Look, there weren’t any papers in that bag. She was only carrying the disk. I’m telling you,” he laughed. He could sense Silvio’s blood pressure rising, while he enjoyed his own detachment.

  “Rudi, don’t hold out on me and try any funny stuff.”

  “Hey, I wouldn’t think of blackmailing you, if that’s what you’re thinking. You’re a good customer,” Rudi said patronizingly.

  “If you’re lying to me, you fuck, I’ll kill you myself.”

  There was a menacing chuckle on the other end, and then the music became audible again. “Boss, don’t ever threaten me—please. See, I like you and I wouldn’t want to have to shove that cigar up your ass just before I break your neck.” Rudi hung up and turned to the sweet young thing he had found on the street. He caressed her naked breasts and then bit her left nipple. Her screams drowned out the music. Oh, how he loved his job. Thank you, Mama.

  Silvio could not sleep. He continued to pace, ignoring Margo’s pleas for him to go back to bed. She watched. He paced. He finally sat on her side of the bed and put his arms around her.

  “Ceratto’s going to be on trial in less than a week. I want you on the case with him.”

  “Me?” she asked. “I don’t know anything about the Riley case.”

  “You will,” he said menacingly. “I want you to get real close to him in the next few days. I want to know everything he’s doing, everything he’s thinking. I want to know what’s on his desk and what’s in his desk. Everything.

  “What are you looking for, Marty?”

  “Documents. Bank transactions from an Israeli bank.”

  “Israeli bank?” Her nose wrinkled in curiosity.

  “Look, I can’t tell you everything now. Just look for bank records. There won’t be a name on the account. And possibly an envelope with an Israeli postmark. In the wrong hands, those documents could kill us.” He put his hand lustfully on her knee. “I want you to spend time in Ceratto’s apartment. I want you to comfort him. Got it? He’s just suffered a great loss.”

  “You and Harry are in trouble again, aren’t you?” she asked.

  Silvio lay back, resting his large frame against the twisted pillows.

  She put her arms around his thick shoulders and pulled him close. “You know I’ll do anything for you, Marty.”

  CHAPTER XXI

  Mike Rosa had just finished a weeklong murder trial. It was just after the jury had come in with a death penalty verdict that he’d heard the news of Maria Elena’s death. It hit him like a ton of bricks, but he grieved privately, wondering if it was his punishment, the one he had expected, the one his Catholic upbringing had taught him to expect. And then got back to work.

  It became all too clear that all the deaths were connected, and all were murders. Rosa was reminded by the video Maria had played for him that Joe was left-handed, yet the powder burns were on his right hand. Celia Lopez was Joe’s most trusted employee besides Ceratto, and she was dead. Maria Elena, Joe’s cousin and vindicator, who had a tape providing a motive, speculative as it might be, for Silvio’s and Levin’s involvement in Joe’s death, was dead herself.

  Rosa ordered the Maglio case off the back burner and called his best investigators together: “Leave no stone unturned,” he said. “I want hard evidence, and I don’t care how much it costs or how long it takes.”

  Nick Ceratto had escorted Maria’s body back to San Lorenzo and into the capable hands of Ennio Correlli, funeral director par excellence. Correlli threw up his hands after seeing her. He said for the first time in his life he could do nothing. “Niente.” She was irreparable. Like a sculpture hacked to pieces by a madman. So they wrapped her in linen and buried her with the rest of the Maglio clan in the family hillside tomb. At the funeral, Maria’s parents spat on Nick, accusing him of being responsible for her death. He couldn’t argue with them. He felt guilty, guilty as accused. He stayed at the tomb after everyone had left and prayed for her forgiveness and help. He stayed until the caretaker was about to lock the gates of the cemetery. Then he kissed her tomb and vowed to return when he had vindicated her and Joe. And when he had put Silvio and Levin on death row.

  Nick’s mission was now clear. There was no turning back even if it cost him everything—including his career—and maybe his life. Kirby could offer him no help. Gates wanted to bury the Lopez murder, and she sure as shit wasn’t going to find any connection between it and Maria Elena’s death. She wouldn’t embarrass her department by conducting an investigation of Silvio and Levin, her political supporters and the firm to which she referred civil cases—cases brought by the victims of the criminals she prosecuted. But only the cases where there were deep pockets, like hotels where there was poor security resulting in rape, death, or both.

  Seven hours after leaving San Lorenzo, Nick was back in Philadelphia. He had made a call to be picked up by some old friends. His friends were dressed in suits and long black coats. They were Vincent DiCicco’s men, and they dressed to command respect.

  Their greeting consisted of an exchange of looks only. Then the men started to walk along the brightly lit airport corridor without saying a word. The six-foot, five-inch Joey “Shoes” positioned himself in front of Nick with “Little Al” behind. Their heads turned to and fro as they walked with a quick pace. Their peripheral vision was excellent, a requirement of the job. Soon they were down the escalator to the ground level and out the double glass doors. A black Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows was waiting at the curb. As soon as the men were inside, it sped off, north on I-95 to the Penn’s Landing exit and then north on Columbus Boulevard to the La Gondola, a restaurant on the Delaware river owned and operated by Vincenzo DiCicco, better known as Don DiCicco, capo di capi, boss of the Philadelphia crime family, prime suspect, sometimes arrested but never convicted. His businesses were all legitimate—at least the visible ones were. He paid taxes, gave to charities, voted—and was despised by Muriel Gates. He called her a frustrated lesbian and the press ate it up. She called him a murdering thug, and the press ate that up, too. Frequently their pictures were side-by-side on the front page of the Philadelphia Daily News.

  Nick was escorted past the spotless kitchen to a back room, a wine cellar where DiCicco held court every day, and took his meals. There were no windows, just racks of fine wine, a huge Italian provincial desk, a couple of heavily carved red velvet chairs, and a prominent picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus peering from between two old photos of his immigrant parents. Don DiCicco sat regally behind the desk, waving Joey Shoes and Little Al away. He was a large man in every respect. His face was heavily jowled. His black hair was slicked back, and his pencil-thin mustache was dyed to match. He was dressed in a starched white shirt, buttoned to the neck. He wore no tie. A tie got in the way of good food, he always said.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you, Mr. Ceratto. What can I do for you?” DiCicco folded his chubby fingers leaving room for his two-carat pinky ring.

  “Con tuto respeto,” Nick started with the expected formality, “I need a favor.”

  CHAPTER XXII

  “What the fuck are you doing in here?” Nick asked, shocked to find Margo Griffin sitting at his desk going through one of the twelve accordion case folders in the Riley case.

  “Oh. Hi, Nick,” she said nervously. “I was assigned to assist you—to sit as second chair at the trial,” she said, her legs crossed and her skirt purposely hiked up. “Aren’t you glad?”

  “No, I’m not glad, and you’re not going to assist me,” he snapped closing the door behind him.

  Still smiling, she moved her hands from the file and laid them on the desktop. “Nick, don’t panic. Relax. Silvio wants me to help you finalize the exhibits, to make sure the subpoenas went out, to help with the witnesses, to help you prep them.”

  “That’s a paralegal’s job, not yours.” He dropped his heavy trial bag and approached his desk. “I’d appreciate it if you’d get out of my chair. I don’t want to be rude, Margo, but I don’t need you.”

 
Her smile quickly became a frown. “Excuse me,” she snapped defensively. “You can’t throw me off the case, you’re not a partner, you’re not …”

  Nick took Margo’s arm and gently pulled her up out of his chair. He noticed that the center drawer of his desk was partly open. He was sure that she had been snooping. “Your boss is going to have to reassign you to some other case, not my cases, and certainly not the Riley case. This is my office, not yours, and I’d appreciate you’re respecting my space. “

  Margo smoothed her skirt as she stood. “I’ve spent two days reviewing documents in this case, and you do need help. You’re going to need motions in limine to hold out damaging evidence. You know Asher’s a prick. He’s going to kill you with Sean Riley’s past alcohol addiction. He’s going to introduce past disciplinary actions against your dead guy to smear his character. Riley was suspended once for shoving a suspect down the stairs and breaking his leg.”

  Nick pointed his finger in her face. “You tell Silvio that I don’t want or need you. And I don’t want you in my office again.”

  She cast her eyes down at the floor. “Nick, I’m not trying to step on your toes. I heard about Maria and I’m sorry. I know you’re grieving, and I just wanted to help, that’s all. Marty felt you could use some help now.”

  “Tell Marty thanks, but I’d rather do it myself.” He walked to the door and held it open.

  “What do you have against me?” she said, moving closer. Her eyes welled up with forced tears. “You hate me, don’t you?”

  “No. I hate being spied on, having my work scrutinized while I’m away. My office broken into, my papers read and rearranged—” He pointed to the massive file and the documents scattered on his desk. “And being told by an associate that she’s going to sit second chair on a trial that’s about to start in a few days—that’s what I hate.”

  Nick dialed Silvio’s extension while Margo dabbed her eyes. He felt bad about making her cry, but he was furious at her, at Silvio, at the world.

  “Yeah, Nick.” Silvio saw Nick’s extension flash on his phone screen.

  “Marty, what’s all this about Margo taking over my office and this file?”

  “She’s only going to help you,” he laughed. “What’s all the paranoia?”

  “I don’t want help. And I don’t need it. Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “You do need it. You only have a few days to prepare, and there’s a ton of it to do. You haven’t outlined your case, your witness sequence, called your witnesses for prep. I don’t see any trial book—you should have had it put together by now. I just see an empty binder marked ‘Estate of Sean Riley’. There’s nothing in it.” He chewed on the end of his cigar, waiting for a response.

  “Let me worry about what I have to do.” Nick glared at Margo, who reached into her purse for a tissue, continuing to dab at her eyes.

  “Ceratto,” Silvio shouted, “this is a multimillion dollar case! You got a lot a work to do. Don’t tell me not to worry about it. It’s our money out there—over a hundred thousand out of pocket is riding on this case—with a potential three or four million dollar recovery.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Nick wanted to say, “You murdering fuck, I know what you’re up to.” Instead he insisted, “I just don’t want anyone snooping around my desk while I’m away. She’s in my face, telling me what to do, and I don’t like it.”

  “She was doing what I told her to do—and if you don’t like it…” There was a pause, and Harry Levin’s voice could be heard telling Silvio to cool it. He had heard the shouting next door and had come to see what it was all about.

  Nick stayed on the line as the two argued, and then it went dead. Margo left his office, still dabbing her eyes. He closed the door and put his phone on do not disturb. Contrary to Margo’s story, all the subpoenas had gone out except for one. He dialed Grace Monahan’s extension. She had all the documents that Margo hadn’t seen. Nick was grateful that he had listened to Grace’s suggestion that she keep all trial preparation documents in her office.

  “Grace, has Donna Price been served yet?”

  Grace was still pissed at him for his liaison with another woman, even though that woman was dead. She answered coolly, “No. She’s moved. We can’t find her.”

  Nick ignored the tone. “It looks like she was an operating room nurse. She was there during Riley’s surgery, right? It’s important that we get to her. She should have been deposed. It’s too late for that now, but at least we can send an investigator out to find out what she knows.” Nick rubbed his forehead. This could be a bomb he didn’t need. He couldn’t believe that Joe hadn’t tracked this witness more carefully. Joe was meticulous. Joe would surely have deposed her. She was on his witness list, but there was no deposition transcript in the file. In fact, she wasn’t even subpoenaed. Maybe Asher had gotten to her? Maybe he was going to try to spring her on him without prior notice. “Grace. I don’t want to hear ‘can’t find her.’ I want her found!”

  “We put an investigator on her over two months ago and came up with nothing. Mr. Maglio was concerned about it. He was frustrated about not finding her and wanted to postpone the trial. But Judge Barnes ruled against him. Look at the petition to postpone the trial. You’ll see it all in there,” she said defensively. “The judge ruled against us, so we have to go on without her.” There was an audible sigh of frustration from Grace.

  “Fuck.”

  “My sentiments exactly, Mr. Ceratto.”

  “You can dispense with the Mr. Ceratto, Grace.” He wanted to keep his distance from her but couldn’t stand feigned formality, nor her bitchiness.

  He saw that Donna Price was also on Asher’s pretrial witness list.

  Her address was the same as the one he had on his list. He dialed Asher’s firm and asked for John Asher; who pleasantly told him that he had no further information on Donna Rice’s whereabouts. And no, they were not going to spring her on him, and yes, they should file motions in limine on this issue just to be sure that the other wasn’t lying.

  Nick knew that the “great and wonderful” Judge Joseph Barnes would permit her to testify if she was found, even at the last minute. So he had to find her first. Something leading to her whereabouts had to be somewhere in the massive file. He rang the receptionist.

  “Carmelita, please tell the two gentleman waiting for me to come to my office.”

  “Yes, Mr. Ceratto, I’ll get them. They’re out in the hall. They said they don’t like sitting in lawyers’ offices. It makes them nervous.” she laughed. “What are their names, sir? They wouldn’t give their names to me.”

  “Never mind, Carmelita. They don’t like giving their names out. Just call them and tell them to come in.”

  “Yes, Mr. Ceratto.”

  In less than a minute Little Al and Joey Shoes were removing twelve file boxes from Nick’s office. As they walked past Harry Levin’s open door he yelled, “What the hell are you doing?” Harry chased the two men down the hall past the conference room into the reception area. “Stop! That’s the firm’s property. You can’t take that. Stop before I call the police.”

  Two more men, similarly dressed in black trench coats, stood by the reception desk, waiting. Their faces were expressionless and they said nothing. They took the boxes from Little Al and Joey Shoes, loaded them on carts, and began wheeling them out the front door. All four men ignored Levin’s threats. Little Al and Joey Shoes waited for Nick. They didn’t have to wait long.

  Silvio was running behind Nick, his face red and menacing. “Ceratto, you’re off this case if you move those boxes one more inch.” Nick kept walking. “OK. You’re fucking fired.” Silvio moved threateningly close as Nick stopped and turned to face him.

  “Yeah. Tell that to His Honor, Joseph Barnes. See if you can get a competent trial attorney to try this case in twenty four hours or less. Or maybe tell him that Margo Griffin will be trying the case. She’d do a better job than you, you fuck.”

  Silvio threw his ci
gar on the floor and reached for Nick.

  But Little Al smoothly stepped between them. “I wouldn’t waste a good cigar like that,” he said as he stooped to pick up the cigar. He straightened up and hit Silvio hard in the stomach, doubling him over, then pushed him onto the floor with his hand on his bald head.

  “Call the police!” Levin yelled as he moved away from the fracas, afraid that he might be next.

  Joey Shoes quickly moved behind the receptionist’s desk and took the receiver from Carmelita before she could dial 911.

  “I wouldn’t do that, hon, if I were you,” he said, glaring stonily at her.

  She quickly put her hands down in her lap. She tried to smile at him, but her fear was all too apparent. Her legs were shaking.

  Joey Shoes nodded. “That’s right. Wise move, lady.”

  Nick and the four men were out the door and into a down elevator in a split second.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  Judge Joseph Barnes was adamant. He wanted everyone in his chambers: Nick Ceratto, Marty Silvio or Harry Levin, and John Asher. He wasn’t about to make a procedural error in this case, or ruin his reputation as an administrative genius who got cases to settle or go to trial in record time. And he wasn’t about to have a mistrial on his hands either.

  He had gotten phone calls from Nick and Silvio and Levin. He had received an emergency petition from Nick to postpone the trial date; and from Silvio and Levin to not only postpone the trial but also to substitute a new attorney for Nick Ceratto as plaintiff’s counsel. John Asher had followed with his own petition to postpone the trial to allow him to browbeat a settlement out of Manin. Judge Barnes now had three opposing parties to deal with besides presiding over the trial: Silvio and Levin versus Nick Ceratto, Nick Ceratto versus Silvio and Levin, and John Asher versus everybody. And all of them versus the Honorable Joseph Barnes. He wasn’t going to have any of it. There would be a formal hearing on the petitions, on the record, in court.