“Anyway... because of his cousin, Jimmy Angels agrees to go see a capo he knows in the Faviola family, to ask if he, the capo, could maybe ask Sal the Barber to take the pressure off this very good friend of Jimmy’s dear cousin. The capo tells Jimmy he’ll see what he can do... this all took place yesterday, by the way. Dom’s latest payment was due Friday, which is when they ran him through the wringer. Saturday he didn’t show up for work because he looked like a steam roller ran over him, and Sunday he went to see his lady friend, who took him to Jimmy Angels and so on.”
“Got it.”
“This morning the Faviola capo...”
“What’s his name?”
“Di Nobili doesn’t know.”
“Okay.”
“... calls Jimmy Angels with a proposition. He goes through all the respect bullshit first — this is a matter of respect, you owe someone money, you don’t pay him it shows a lack of respect, ta-da ta-da ta-da — and then he tells him if his cousin’s friend is willing to work off the debt, they might have an errand he can run for them. And if he does okay the first time, maybe there’ll be other errands in the future, till he works off the debt completely, how does that sound? You understand, this is strictly a favor the Faviola family is doing for the Colotti family, respect, honor, all that bullshit all over again.”
“Let me guess what the errand was,” Michael said.
“You’re ahead of me.”
“Dom is the courier who delivers six ounces of cocaine for them...”
“... and innocently walks into a sting we’ve been setting up for weeks. Neither family knew what Dom was walking into, of course, they still don’t know, for that matter. Which is why this is so sweet, huh? Before, he only owed the Faviola loan shark. But now he also has to worry about the Colottis ’cause they went to bat for him. He’s in terror, Michael, believe me,” Jackie said, and grinned. “He’s ready to sell his mother.”
“You done good,” Michael said, and returned the grin. “Let’s go get him.”
There was neither a video camera nor a tape recorder in the room, no one taking shorthand, no one scribbling notes, no one watching through a one-way mirror. The conversation would be strictly off the record.
Di Nobili was a bear of a man wearing a sports jacket and gray flannel slacks over a blue turtleneck sweater. Brown loafers. Hair thinning a bit. Clean-shaven. Except for the shiners and the fat lip, he looked to Michael like a suburban husband who’d once played college football. According to Jackie, though, the only athletic activity Di Nobili had ever performed — aside from rumored assaults hither and yon — was bodybuilding during the six years he’d spent at Ossining on a B-felony conviction. His record indicated that he was thirty-nine years old, three years older than Michael. Even if he took the minimum fall on the pending charges, he’d be fifty-four when he got out of jail. He wasn’t worried about jail, though; he was worried about getting killed.
“You understand, don’t you,” Michael said, “that you belong to us?”
“I understand that.”
“We’ll relocate you and keep you safe from these people, but that means you’ll do exactly what we tell you to do. Otherwise, you can roll the dice and take your chances with us in court or them on the street.”
“I want to cooperate here,” Di Nobili said.
“Good. I want you to read this and sign it.”
“What is it?”
“A waiver of arraignment,” Michael said, and handed it to him. The paper read:
I, Dominick Di Nobili, understand that I have been arrested for violation of Section 220.43 of the New York Penal Law [criminal sale of a controlled substance in the first degree].
I have been read my constitutional rights by Detective Second Grade Jacqueline Diaz of the New York City Police Department, and understand those rights.
I have also been informed of my right to a speedy arraignment...
“Nobody informed me of this,” Di Nobili said.
“You’re being informed now,” Michael said.
... my right to a speedy arraignment and understand this right.
Fully aware of my rights, I am desirous of cooperating with the authorities. However, no promises whatsoever have been made to me regarding...
“I thought you said you were gonna relocate me.”
“If you’re not shitting us,” Jackie said. “If you are shitting us, we’ve still got the flash as evidence, and all bets...”
“The what?”
“The flash money. The twenty-three grand you accepted for the dope.”
“Oh.”
“If you’re shitting us, all bets are off.”
“I’m not shitting you.”
“Fine. Then sign the fuckin’ waiver,” Jackie said.
“I want to read it all first.”
... whatsoever have been made to me regarding my cooperation.
In order to fully cooperate with the authorities, I consent to the delay of my arraignment. I do this knowing that I have the right to be speedily arraigned but desire not to be immediately arraigned because of the impact such arraignment might have on my ability to cooperate.
“What does that mean?” Di Nobili asked.
“It means if we arraign you, they’ll know you were busted.”
“Oh.”
“And you’ll be worthless to us.”
“Oh.”
“So?” Michael said. “You want to sign it?”
“Yeah, okay,” Di Nobili said.
He signed the waiver and dated it. Jackie witnessed it.
“Okay,” Michael said, “where’d you pick up the dope?”
“A butcher shop in Brooklyn.”
“Who gave it to you there?”
“Guy named Artie. I never saw him before in my life. I was supposed to go in and tell him I was Dominick here for the pork chops. He gave me a package wrapped like meat. In like that white paper, you know?”
“Who told you what to say?”
“Sal the Barber. He’s the only one I know in this whole thing.”
“How about Jimmy Angels? You know him too, don’t you?”
“I never met him. He’s my friend’s cousin.”
“What’s your friend’s name?”
“I want to leave her out of this.”
“Listen,” Jackie said sharply. “Maybe you didn’t understand the man. You want to play golf here or you want to fuck around?”
“Huh?” Di Nobili said.
“Tell him your girlfriend’s name. The man’s deputy chief of the Organized Crime Unit, we’re wasting his fucking time here.”
“Her name is Lucy.”
“Lucy what?”
“Angelli. She’s Jimmy’s cousin.”
“Sal told you where to pick up the stuff, is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“And where to deliver it.”
“Yeah, he gave me the name Anna Garcia, I was supposed to meet her outside this take-out joint in Chinatown.”
“That’s the name I was going by,” Jackie said, and smiled. “I went with another undercover, guy weighs two hundred pounds, case old Dom here decided to hit me on the head and steal the dope.”
“Yeah,” Di Nobili said glumly.
“What else?” Michael asked.
“He said I should expect twenty-three grand in exchange for the coke.”
“Sal did?”
“Yeah.”
“Who were you supposed to deliver the money to?”
“Sal.”
“Where?”
“A restaurant named La Luna.”
“Where’s that?”