Simon sat, closed his eyes and sat perfectly still. After a few minutes he sat up and looked directly at JP.
"Does he know about us?"
"No. Absolument pas!"
Simon stood, the two men embraced. Jean Pierre asked, "Ou allez-vous?" Where are you going?
"To see the doctor."
I give cigars to the godfather
I popped the trunk and pulled out a red, wooden box with black and gold lettering. Walked over and knocked politely. A tall, overweight man asked if he could help me.
"Sure. Mr. Santucci requested to see me."
The Italian Social Club is a long narrow room dating to the turn of the previous century. An ancient bar runs down the left side of the room, booths on the right, scattered tables with wooden chairs in the center. Black and white tiled floor, a pressed tin ceiling with a few rotating fans. A handful of men were present doing nothing more than sipping espresso, playing gin rummy and shooting the shit.
Straight back in the rear of the building sat a desk on a raised floor. Behind the desk sat an elderly man, bald on top with gray hair brushed back on the sides. Suit, tie, nothing extravagant. The man motioned for me to come back.
Kato trotted next to me. Two chairs were positioned in front of the bosses' desk. I sat in the one on the left. Kato sat on the floor between the two chairs. I placed the red wooden box on the desk.
"Is there any reason to have you frisked Mr. Picker."
"I believe, Mr. Santucci, that you invited me here. Therefore, I am your guest."
"Sure, sure. Of course you are. Besides, your reputation precedes you. I'm sorry for your loss. Espresso?"
Without waiting for an answer, Uncle Carmine Santucci held two fingers up for the bartender and said, "Due espresso."
It felt like I was in a scene from the movies. Perhaps 'The Freshman'.
"Mr. Santucci, what can I do for you?"
Carmine Santucci is the acting head of organized crime in Southeastern Pennsylvania and South Jersey. Uncle Carmine's rise to the top was due to the fact that upper management was either incarcerated or killed off in the previous twenty years. As it turns out, he is also Mildred DeAngelo's brother-in-law.
The espresso arrived. "Is your animal friendly, Mr. Picker?"
"No."
On to other topics. "Mr. Picker, there is nothing that you can do for me. I, on the other hand, can maybe do something for you. Anthony was a good man. A good husband, a good father, a good neighbor. His death saddens me terribly.
"I can share with you two things. One is what I know; the other is what I think. That is, if you are interested."
"And, what is it exactly that you want in return?"
"Nothing. In this instance, nothing. Of course, if you can bring justice to Anthony's killers, well, let's just say everyone involved would be very pleased. For instance, I know that you were involved in the, how shall we say it, elimination of Mr. Gunn."
Time to stop and consider. The question is, is what Carmine S. knows important or helpful enough to get into bed with these people. I think maybe the answer is yes.
"Yes, sir, I'm interested in anything that you deem helpful in resolving Anthony's death."
"We'll start with what I actually know for a fact. Joey was into Morelli for fifty grand. Maybe better."
Danny Morelli is a small time hood, second or third tier operating in the orbit of the Philly mob. He's not a made-man, not connected, not even protected. He does, however, kick back some of his earnings. For that reason, he is permitted to operate on their turf.
I ask, "Gambling?"
"Yeah, yeah, that's it. Gambling. So, anyway, Joey, he don't got the money. He decides to trade some information in return for some consideration. He goes to Danny."
I can see where this is going.
"Tells Danny that he knows the whereabouts of a very expensive painting. Danny, he don't know from paintings. So, he comes to me. At this point, my hand to God, I got no idea that this is Anthony's painting. I send Danny over to a gallery. This guy, he expresses an interest, know what I mean?"
Yeah, I know what he means. "Who is this guy, the one from the gallery?"
"I'm gettin' to that. Anyway, that's what I know. For certain. This, this is what I'm thinkin'. Danny tells this gallery owner about the painting and the gallery owner, based on Joey's description, says how valuable it could be. I don't know no numbers, but, it's gotta be a lot of money."
I don't like what I'm hearing. The only good news is that I'm getting closer to the truth.
"Like I was saying, I'm only thinking here, no proof. You understand? Danny and Joey, they go over to Anthony's. No painting. Maybe rough him up a little. So, this is speculation, either Anthony tells them that you got the painting, which I do not believe. Or, someone in the neighborhood saw you leave with a painting and passes this information on to Danny. Danny, the schmuck, he tells the gallery owner. Either way, poor Anthony ends up dead and these two goombas are put on your tail. This is what I'm thinking."
"And you're telling me this why?" I want to hear him say it.
"We would, of course, like to have this situation resolved. Anyway you like. Danny, he could end up in jail, maybe end up dead. Don't matter. We hear you don't kill people. Fine. Want him in jail, jail works for us."
"Mr. Santucci, what about this other guy. The gallery owner."
"Nick Gambelli.” He passes me a piece of paper. Folded. Let me guess, Gambelli’s contact details. “Here's the rub. Him you can't touch. He's protected."
Now the penny drops. This is why I'm here. The powers that be, at least the local mob powers, are genuinely pissed off about Doo Wop's murder. But they can't touch this guy. They just told me, They Can't Touch This Guy. But, they think that I can and that I will. How do you like that; plausible deniability, Mafia style.
I stand up and thank Uncle Carmine for his time and the information. However, he's not quite done with me, yet.
"Mr. Picker, I'm curious about two things. One, what's in the box?"
"I'm sorry, I nearly forgot. It's a gift, for you. It's the brand of cigar that I smoke. Not the most expensive, but what I find to be the most enjoyable. And the second thing…"
"I'm curious about your animal. If, hypothetically speaking, one of them” he points to the muscle in the bar, “pulled a gun on you…"
I pause, smile, "You would be dead before your man cleared his holster."
September 1976 Frankfurt
Mr. Brown passed the reports and video to Engelond.
"He has been seeing doctors." Brown, in actuality was Keller; Klaus Keller. Former Stasi agent who excelled in interrogation and wet work.
The heart of Karl Engelond's financial empire was located in downtown Frankfurt.
"Doctors, plural?"
Frankfurt is an international center for commerce and finance. To be accurate, it is the largest financial center in Europe. It is home to the European Central Bank; German Federal Bank; Frankfurt Stock Exchange; Frankfurt Fair Trade and numerous commercial banks.
"Ja. The top two reports are from physicians in London and the States. Jones is suffering from some undiagnosed condition. His right leg can no longer support his weight; a cane assists him when walking."
Engelond scanned the files. "And this third one?"
Brown/Keller had been Engelond's second in command for over a decade. Everything of an illegal nature passed through him. The purpose, obviously, was to shield Engelond's involvement. Brown could not comprehend this exception with the painting.
"Psychiatrist. Jones appears to be unable to come to a decision regarding his marriage. He has a mistress in America that has recently given birth to a son."
Engelond took several minutes to read over the report:
Cannot come to decision with regards to marriage. Strong religious/social model instilled in youth…