Murder Takes Time (21 page)

“Holy shit. This is yours?” I had heard Paulie talking about how nice his house was, but this…

“You’ll have one just like it before long,” Tony said, unlocking the door.

Not in this lifetime.

Celia, his wife, was still up. She was a cute little brunette with a button for a nose. She had an air about her that indicated she came from money and wanted others to know it. At first blush, I couldn’t imagine Tony marrying her, but then I remembered that this was Tony. She fit right in with his Caddy and this house and his designer suits. Even so, I had to give her credit; it was a horrendous time to be introduced, yet she managed to be pleasant. She showed me to the guest room, then disappeared with Tony down the hall.

A large mirror in the bedroom reminded me how pitiful my wardrobe was. Tony and Paulie dressed impeccably, and Bugs wore clothes that someone would kill for. Then again, Bugs always did like the clothes, sporting the latest fashions before they became fashions. I unpacked what little I had, putting a few clothes in drawers and my toiletries in the bathroom. The letter from Angela I laid on the bed. I stared at it for a long time—strongly considered reading it again, but decided against it. I should have put it away with the letter from Mamma Rosa; instead, I went to sleep with it on my chest. Then I prayed for the courage to read it and see if I could find any reason to go see her.

Any reason at all not to hate her.

FBI
AGENT
J
OHN
H
ARDING
reviewed the tape from the night’s surveillance. Tony Sannullo and Paulie Perlano had a meet with two associates. They appeared to be out on the town, having fun, but Harding knew that the dagos often mixed fun with business when not in mixed company. Organized crime was a specialty of Harding’s, what he had worked his entire career for. If he busted Tito Martelli, a promotion was almost guaranteed. And the key to Tito Martelli was Tony Sannullo, the young star of Martelli’s Brooklyn operations.

Danny Maddox stood beside Harding, packing up the night-shift mess. They’d watched these guys all night, and he was tired. “Who were the two new guys?” Maddox asked.

“I’ll run them through the loop tomorrow and see what comes up.”

Maddox yawned. “I hope you’re not thinking of starting early.”

“Sleep in,” Harding said. “I’m not going in until ten. Let’s meet over by Tony’s place. We’ll catch us some dagos.”

Maddox laughed. “Ten’s good by me. Thanks.” As he started to leave, he turned back to Harding. “You know, Agent Harding, growing up, I never even heard of all those sayings, like
dagos
and
micks
, and such.” He paused. “You don’t like them much do you, sir?”

“Where’d you grow up?”

“Down South, close to Memphis.”

Harding nodded. “You don’t hate them, because you didn’t have scum like them to deal with. Goddamn dagos. There’s not a crime committed up here that they don’t have something to do with. When I was little…” Harding gritted his teeth, almost lost himself for a minute. “Anyway, I’m guessing you had your fair share of slurs in Memphis.”

Maddox lost his smile. “Yes, sir. I guess we did.” He headed for the door after that. “Good night.”

CHAPTER 31

QUESTIONING

Brooklyn—3 Years Ago

T
he next day Agent John Harding reviewed his surveillance tapes with other members of the Organized Crime Unit. At first no one recognized the two men accompanying Tony and Paulie, then, a young agent spoke up, if tentatively.

“I think I know that guy.”

“Which one?”

“The one with Mr. Sannullo. He—”

“
Mr
. Sannullo?” Harding shot him a glare to kill. “He’s not a damn celebrity, Agent. The man is a
gangster
.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Harding calmed down. “Which one do you recognize?”

The young agent gulped and pointed. “The one between Tony and Paulie.”

“Go on.”

“Well…I don’t want to be wrong, but…he looks like Frankie Donovan, a detective in Brooklyn.”

“Are you certain?”

“No, sir. I’m not certain. That’s what I was trying to say. He just…looks like him.”

A quick twist of the head brought Harding face-to-face with Agent Kent. “I want an answer before I leave here. And no mistakes. I don’t want to accuse one of their own kind without something solid.”

“Yes, sir.”

F
RANKIE HAD BEEN OUT
all morning, checking leads on a case. About ten o’clock he pulled into the lot, parked, then went into headquarters.

“Morning, Detective,” the desk sergeant said.

“Hey, Ted. How’s it going?”

“Got visitors upstairs. And the lieutenant wants to see you.”

Frankie bounded up the steps and into Lieutenant Morreau’s office. It wasn’t a big office, enough room for three guest chairs and a small sofa, one plant in the corner and a file cabinet. A working man’s office is how Carol described it, and the paperwork spread on every square inch of flat surface showed it to be true. Morreau worked his way up from patrolman to detective, then made the big jump to lieutenant.

“You wanted me, sir?” Frankie asked as he entered.

“Sit down.”

Frankie looked to the side. Two of the guest chairs were occupied by grey suits—never a good sign. Frankie sat, stared at them, then back to Lieutenant Morreau. “What’s going on?”

One of the suits stood up, walked over with his hand outstretched. “John Harding, Special Agent with the FBI Organized Crime Unit.”

Special Agent John Harding had a face made for geometry class—all sharp angles with a curve thrown in now and then, and topped off by a jutting forehead. His eyes were too small to be called beady; they looked as if his mother had stolen them from a weasel. Frankie reached out and took his hand. “Frankie Donovan.”

“I know who you are, Detective.” His voice dripped with attitude.

“Guess we’re even now…
Agent
.”

The other suit, Maddox, offered a handshake. He seemed genuine. “Good morning, Detective Donovan. It sure is a fine day.” He enunciated every syllable in a slow cadence that marked him as having migrated north from somewhere at least as far south as Tennessee, maybe Mississippi. Maddox was a Southern gentleman, a sharp contrast to Harding, and while his voice didn’t drip with a Southern drawl, that cadence was there. And the way he ended sentences made it obvious that all that was missing was the “ma’am or sir” so commonplace down South.

Harding put on a false smile. “Detective, I’ll get right to it. Last night we caught you on a surveillance tape associating with known members of a criminal organization.”

Fuck me.
Frankie looked to Morreau, then to Harding, letting his gaze linger. “That’s a mouthful for saying I ate dinner with Tony Sannullo.”

Harding’s eyes went wide. He turned, staring at Lieutenant Morreau, as if to say, “I told you so” then he focused on Frankie. “You don’t deny it?”

“I just told you. I had dinner with Tony. I’ve known him since I was five years old.” There was a moment of silence before Frankie spoke again, more deliberate this time. “And as far as I know,
Agent
Harding, Tony has never been convicted of anything.”

“
Being convicted
and
doing nothing wrong
are two different things. I think you know that.”

“I didn’t say he’s never done anything wrong. Just that he’s not what you accused him of.” Frankie shook his head. “I know how this looks, but these guys were my friends growing up. I’m not dirty, and I’m not
associating
with them. We had a few drinks.” He looked behind him and took a seat in the chair across from Morreau’s desk.

“Who was the other one?” Harding asked.

“He’s not with them,” Frankie said quickly.

“Who is he?”

“None of your business.”

Harding looked to Frankie’s boss. “Lieutenant Morreau?”

Morreau wore his most frustrated expression as he stared at Frankie. “Donovan, this is no goddamn game.”

Frankie sat silent for a while, then stood. “Okay, listen. I’m telling you exactly how it is. Tony called me because our old friend, Nicky Fusco, just got into town. That’s the first time I’ve seen Nicky in ten years, and maybe the second or third time I’ve seen Tony or Paulie in probably three.”

Harding stared while his partner took notes. “All right, Detective, I’m going to check you out, but in the meantime I’d suggest you…” He stopped, as if in thought. “Actually, I’d suggest you continue associating with them. Don’t do anything different. Then—”

Frankie reached for him, but the lieutenant grabbed him.

“Detective.”

He shook off Morreau’s grip. “If this asshole thinks I’m gonna be a rat planted in with my friends, he’s as big a dick as he looks.”

Harding nodded. “Come on, Maddox. We’ll take this up with the commissioner.”

Frankie realized he was in deep shit. If the Feds wanted to make him look dirty, they could—and would—do it. He had to make a quick decision. “What are you guys after anyway? I don’t know shit about what Tony or Paulie do.”

Harding smiled, a shit-eating grin that irritated the hell out of Frankie. “That’s better. I knew you’d come to your senses.”
Harding faced the lieutenant. “I’ll get back to you on how we’ll handle this.” As he and his partner left, he stared at Frankie. “We’ll be in touch.”

CHAPTER 32

A NEW JOB

Brooklyn—3 Years Ago

I
t was Friday morning, which meant we headed for Cataldi’s for breakfast. As soon as Tony walked in, one of the waiters hustled to get espresso, and another plopped the daily crossword on the table in front of him.

“Sit across from me, Nicky.”

“Still doing those crosswords, huh?”

“Can’t afford not to be sharp in my business.”

“Tony, I need to get a job.”

Tony set his pen on the table, leaned closer. “Nicky, I know we haven’t talked about it yet, but you know that money from selling the house?”

A rotten feeling gripped me, but I held back, expecting a sad tale of investments gone sour. “What about it?”

“I invested it for you, along with some of my own stuff.” He leaned forward, whispered. “We’re doing good. You got enough to keep you for probably a year without doing a thing. It’ll take a little while to get liquid on it, so let me know when you want me to pull it out.”

I made sure my expression showed nothing, but somehow I let out a huge sigh. I didn’t want Tony knowing what I’d been thinking. “That’s nice, but I need to
do
something. Besides, there can’t be that much, and from what I’ve seen of prices in New York, it won’t last long.”

“Don’t worry. You can stay at my place as long as you like. Celia loves you.”

“I’ve been staying with you all my life. I need a place of my own. I’ve got a few bucks I saved from prison, but I need to make my own living.”

Tony waved his hand in the air. “I’ll take you to see some people.”

“It can’t be some half-assed job. I’ve got to make big money.”

“Yeah, so you told me. Don’t worry, we’ll find something.” He stopped. “Here comes Suit. We’ll pick this conversation up later.”

The three of us talked for more than an hour, reminiscing about the old days, then Tony must have noticed I was getting anxious. “Okay, Paulie. You know what you’ve got to do for the day. I’m taking Nicky to meet a few people.”

“Come in with us,” Paulie said. “We could use you.”

“Not a chance, Paulie. I just got out and I don’t intend to go back in.”

Paulie left the place laughing. Tony paid the bill, then we took off in his Caddy. I played with the radio while admiring the ride. “You always said you were going to have one of these. Guess you hit the big time.”

“The big time is in your head. Remember what Doggs said.”

“Yeah, I remember. ‘If you
think
big, you
are
big.’” I laughed. “Let me tell you, Tony, I’ve been thinking big…but it’s not happening.”