Giri (30 page)

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.

G
IOVANNI 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, Decker 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?”

“LeClair’s taking him off files. Tomorrow’s his last day. We finish this thing tomorrow night, if that’s all right with you.”

Twenty-two hours later, on a deserted block near Forty-eighth Street and Eleventh Avenue filled with deserted tenements, Pangalos stepped from a cab and waited until it pulled away before walking to a car parked in front of a boarded-up building across from an empty schoolyard.

Suddenly he felt nervous and quickened his step. He was carrying almost eight thousand in cash and wearing a gold watch worth five thousand, and didn’t relish the prospect of being a good night’s work for any passing junkie. He was so close to getting out from under. What a break that Decker had taken Buscaglia to Federal Plaza in Manhattan instead of booking him out on Long Island. Once Pangalos got his hand on that seating plan, his problems were over. Let LeClair stay up nights wondering how the plan got “lost” or “misfiled.” Without the plan, he had no case.

At the car Pangalos looked around, saw another car coming toward him and hesitated. But the car passed him, reached the corner and turned left to head downtown on Eleventh Avenue. Pangalos waited until his heart stopped pounding, yanked open the front door, slid into the front seat beside Livingston Quarrels and pulled the door closed. He blew warm air into his gloved hands and looked around the car.

“You look like you just caught your wife going down on the delivery boy. Where’s Buscaglia and his friend?”

Quarrels turned a tear-stained face to him. “Connie, I really don’t understand what’s going on. He made me come here and wait I had to do what he said.”

Pangalos frowned.

And behind him Dorian Raymond, hidden down on the floor of the back seat, sat upright, pressed the dark barrel of a silenced .22 against Pangalos’s temple and pulled the trigger. There was a soft
pop,
the Greek’s head flopped to one side and he quickly slumped in his seat.

Quarrels pulled away from the dead man in horror, looking wildly from the Greek to Dorian. “Dorian, I did it. Did what you asked. You said I’d be free to go. Please, I want to go home to my wife. Please.”

Talking, Dorian knew, only made it worse. The best he could do for Quarrels was to make it quick. He fired twice, head shots, sending one bullet through Quarrels’s right cheekbone and another through his eye. Quarrels sagged, his left arm tangled in the steering wheel, right arm resting on top of the driver’s seat.

Closing his eyes, Dorian bowed his head. This one hurt. He’d known both of these guys for a couple of years and whacking them bothered him more than he thought it would. And he wasn’t finished. Johnny Sass wanted a message left behind. Leaning over the front seat Dorian pushed the end of the silencer deep into Quarrels’s mouth and pulled the trigger twice. Quarrels’s head jerked with each shot Dorian pushed Pangalos down on the seat, leaned forward and grabbed the Greek’s hair, yanked his head back and fired twice into his mouth.

The message was that the two lawyers had talked too much.

Nerves screaming for a drink, Dorian unscrewed the long silencer from the .22’s barrel, slipped it into an overcoat pocket and then put the .22 into his other pocket. He wasn’t the brightest guy in the world but he didn’t need to be told that maybe it was time to stop. Baksted, Quarrels, Pangalos. His friends. And he had killed them.