Anthony was now serving five consecutive lifetime sentences in the maximum-security prison at Leavenworth, Kansas. Four of these sentences were for the murders he’d ordered. The fifth had been tacked on under the federal Racketeer-Influenced and Corrupt Organizations statute — familiarly known as the RICO statute — under which murders committed in the furtherance of criminal enterprise were punishable by lifetime sentences.
Anthony was locked in his cell for twenty-three hours every day, and his visiting privileges were severely limited as well because he’d been deliberately sent to a federal prison far from family, friends, and former associates. Some diehard followers insisted that he was still running the mob from inside, but from everything the DA’s Office had been able to learn, his underboss brother, Rudy, next in line and loyal to the end, was now boss — with Anthony’s blessings. Rudy was affectionately known as “the Accountant,” a nickname that had nothing to do with balancing books. When both brothers were coming along as soldiers in the Tortocello family, Rudy had built a reputation as an enforcer, a man to whom you had better account or else.
Sitting in the parked car now, Michael and Georgie were hoping to hear something that would connect Rudy Faviola to the dope deal that had gone down outside a takee-outee restaurant in Chinatown. Six ounces of cocaine was an A-l felony. If they could tie this to an additional felony and a misdemeanor, each committed within the past three years, then under Section 460.20 — defined as the Organized Crime Control Act — they might be able to send the new boss out to Kansas, too, Toto. Well, not quite. Anthony Faviola was serving federal time; an OCCA offender would be sent to a state prison.
“How you doin’, Jim?” Palumbo said. “You been waitin’ long?”
“Just a few minutes,” Angelli said. “You’re lookin’ good, Frank.”
“I could stand to lose a few pounds,” Palumbo said. “Over there, Joey.”
Indicating a chair for his goon, no doubt.
The men ordered wine.
The bug recorded the ritual Mafia foreplay.
The inquiring after one’s health and one’s family, the show of respect, esteem, and admiration.
Ta-da ta-da ta-da, as Jackie Diaz had put it.
The men did not order lunch.
Palumbo got down to brass tacks almost immediately.
“What do you suggest we do with this asshole you sent us?” he asked.
“I never even met the stupid fuck,” Angelli said.
“So that’s who you recommended me? Somebody you never met?”
“I was doing a favor for my cousin.”
“Some favor you done me, he fucks me out of five grand.”
“You’ll get the money back, Frankie.”
“When? How?”
“That’s what I want to work out with you.”
“You work it out with me, you think it’s gonna fly, huh?”
Advertising-agency talk.
“I’m hoping it will.”
“I still ain’t heard what you plan to do. All I know is somebody’s got five thousand bucks of my money. And from what Sal tells me, there’s another fifteen grand kickin’ around out there, plus interest. So who is this jih-drool, you’re goin’ out on a limb for him? We got good relations, this asshole’s gonna fuck them up, we ain’t careful.”
“Which is why we’re here,” Angelli said. “To make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Anybody else, it’d already be too late for talk. The man would be gone.”
“I know that.”
“We go back a long way, Jim...”
“I know that, too. That’s why I’m here today, Frank. To ask that we don’t let this thing get out of hand. We don’t do anything foolish could cause trouble between the families. We don’t want that, and we’re sure you don’t want that, either.”
“Who is this asshole, anyway, the fuckin’ Pope you’re defendin’ him this way?”
“My cousin’s in love with him, what the fuck can I do?” Angelli said.
“Does she know he’s married?”
“She knows. But he’s gettin’ a divorce.”
“Yeah, divorce my ass.”
“That’s what he told her.”
“How we gonna make this right, Jimmy?”
“How do you want it to go, Frank? You’re the one got hurt here, you tell me.”
“I’m glad to hear you talking this way.”
“What’s right is right,” Angelli said.
“I don’t know what to tell you. This is money that was stolen, you understand? I go higher with this, I know just what I’m gonna hear. Stolen money? Hey, come on. You know what to do, why you even bothering me with this? That’s what I’ll hear.”
“I thought,” Angelli said, and sighed heavily. “I thought... we all go back a long way. You, me... Rudy. Other families, there’s been trouble, but us, never. That’s ’cause there’s always been the proper respect, am I right, Frank?”
“Till now.”
“No. No, Frankie, don’t say that, please. This isn’t a matter of disrespect Colotti to Faviola, it ain’t that at all. This is a jerk we’re dealin’ with here, a man with no sense. Di Nobili’s a fuckin’ jerk, I admit it, I told my cousin what she sees in this jerk is beyond me. Women, what can I tell you? He’s a jerk, he’s a loser, he’s a fuckin’ thief, he’s all these things, I agree with you. But he’s also somebody not worth botherin’ with, you follow me, Frank? We can settle this without goin’ the whole nine yards. It don’t have to be that drastic, you understand what I’m sayin’? It ain’t even worth Rudy’s time to be thinkin’ of something so drastic. What I thought is if you talked to him, he might find it in his heart to give this jerk a break. That’s all I’m askin’. Figure out a way for this jackass to work it off. The fifteen, the additional five, take it out of his fuckin’ ass, work his ass off till he pays it all back.”
“You gonna guarantee it, Jimmy?”
“That’s askin’ a lot, Frank. I don’t even know the man. He’s a jerk my cousin’s involved with, I’m pleadin’ this for her, not for him. She’s flesh and blood, Frankie. She’s my first cousin. We were kids together, we grew up together. Like you and me. And Rudy.”
“Rudy, huh?”
“If you could talk to him...”
“Where you been, Jim?”
“What?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Palumbo said, but there was a note of finality in his voice. “I’ll talk it over with Le—”
There was the sound of his chair being shoved back, thunderously close to the bug.
“... and get back to you. That’s the best I can say right now. No promises.”
“Who?” Michael asked.
“Shhhh!”
The men were still talking, exchanging farewells, sending regards, thanking each other for having given the time to this important matter. But the business was finished, there was really nothing more to say. Now there was the sound of more chairs being shoved back, registering like an avalanche on the bug. Then footsteps. And the distant voice of the restaurant owner calling his farewells. And the sound of a door closing. And then only the restaurant’s background noises.