Tom glowered at Paluzzi then pocketed the switchblade again before disappearing into the warehouse. Randy spat onto the ground inches from Paluzzi’s feet and followed Tom into the warehouse.
“Thanks,” Paluzzi said, extending a hand toward the man. “The name’s Franco Pasconi.”
“Jess Killen, I’m the wharf foreman,” the man replied, purposely digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Why are you asking questions about Earl?”
“It’s background for a story I’m writing.”
“A story? What about? Hell, ships go down around Nantucket all the time. So why the interest in the Ventura?”
Paluzzi’s mind was racing. Wharf foreman. That meant Killen would almost certainly be in on any of the deals that were struck up in or around the dockyard. And that included the loading of ArmaLite rifles onto the Ventura. He had to play his ace. But he had no idea how Killen would react. “Do you know a man called Milne? Rory Milne?”
Killen’s eyes narrowed fractionally. He shook his head. “No, can’t say I do. Should I?”
Paluzzi sensed that Killen was lying. “He was on the Ventura when it went down. But there wasn’t an official passenger list. And he wasn’t listed amongst the crew either. I wondered if you knew why he was on board?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Rory Milne was a member of Noraid. Does the name mean anything to you?”
“No.”
Again Paluzzi sensed that Killen was lying. But Paluzzi was determined to press ahead, hoping for some kind of reaction. “Noraid is an American organization that gives financial support to the IRA. I assume you have heard of them.”
“Of course I’ve heard of them,” Killen snapped, stung by Paluzzi’s sarcasm. He stared at his feet for a moment then looked up at Paluzzi again. “Earl Reid was a good friend of mine. So were the rest of the crew. They were all decent, hard-working men. And they all had families. But that doesn’t seem to bother you newspapermen, does it? All you’re after is another story, irrespective of whether there’s any truth in it or not. Well there isn’t a story here, mister. Earl was taking a consignment of grain to Ireland. It’s a trip he’s been making every few months for the past eight years. Ask the port authorities in Sligo Bay. They’ll verify what I’ve told you. I assume you’ve heard of Sligo Bay?”
Paluzzi nodded. “I know Sligo Bay. Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Killen. It looks like I’ll just have to try somewhere else for my story.”
“Then you make sure it’s outside Milford,” Killen said, pointing a finger of warning at him. “Because if I hear you’ve been bothering Sheila Reid, or any of the other families, I’ll personally see to it that you never write again.” He started to walk away then turned and eyed Paluzzi coldly. “You’re not welcome here, mister. Get out while you still can.” He turned on his heel and walked off.
Paluzzi sighed deeply and shook his head slowly. Killen would try and ensure that nobody spoke to him though he knew there was always a chance that one of the men would be willing to talk, given the right financial incentive. But how would he know which of them to approach? He could report back to Whitlock and ask him to run a check on the workers to find out which of them could be susceptible to a bribe, but that would take time.
He walked back slowly to where he had parked his car outside the harbor master’s office. He took the keys from his pocket and was about to get in when Billy appeared in the office doorway. He looked agitated. He looked around nervously then beckoned Paluzzi toward him. Paluzzi slid the keys back into his pocket and crossed to where Billy was standing. Billy grabbed his arm and pulled him into the office. He looked outside again and, satisfied they hadn’t been seen, closed the door behind them.
“What’s going on?” Paluzzi demanded, his hand resting lightly on the Beretta at the back of his trousers.
“I can tell you everything you want to know about the Ventura. I was there, see. But it’ll cost you.”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
Paluzzi snorted in amazement then shook his head. “I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Get it if you want to know who paid Killen to put those guns on the Ventura.”
“Why the sudden change of heart?” Paluzzi asked suspiciously. “You obviously tipped Killen off about me after I’d spoken to you.”
“I had to,” Billy replied quickly. “He’d have been suspicious if he’d found out you’d been here and I hadn’t told him about it.”
“So you keep him informed on everything that happens in here?”
Billy nodded. “Look, we can’t talk here. If Jess or any of his men found me talking to you like this I’d be dead. Meet me tonight at the back of the warehouse on Wharf Three. Midnight. And bring the money with you.”
“I told you, I can’t raise that kind of money.”
“You want the story, you bring the money. And if you don’t have the money, don’t come.”
“I could manage five grand, but I guess that won’t be enough for you,” Paluzzi said with a shrug and moved to the door.
“Hey, wait,” Billy called out after him.
Paluzzi paused at the door, his hand resting lightly on the handle. He looked around slowly at Billy. “Well?”
“Make it seven and a half–”
“Five,” Paluzzi cut in quickly. “That’s my final offer. I’ll bring it with me tonight. It’s up to you whether you want to show or not.”
Billy swallowed nervously and nodded. “I’ll be there. And have the money in used bills.”
“I’ll only hand the money over when I’m sure you’re telling me the truth. And that means I’ll need more than just your word.”
“I’ve got the paperwork to back up anything I say,” Billy retorted. “Now get out before someone finds you here.”
Paluzzi left the office and got into the car. He smiled to himself as he started up the engine. Five thousand dollars. Pin money to UNACO. He knew Whitlock would have authorized the ten thousand if he’d needed it. But he was damned if he was about to give in to some greedy kid. Let him sweat a bit. Paluzzi engaged the gears and drove away. He knew he was going to enjoy the rest of the afternoon.
Killen was on the telephone when Tom and Randy entered his office. He acknowledged them with a nod then returned to his conversation. There were two chairs in front of Killen’s desk but neither man made any move to sit down. And they knew Killen wouldn’t offer them a chair either. He kept a certain aloofness from the men underneath him which had ensured that they treated him with the respect he felt he deserved. He was a tough, often brutal, foreman who ruled the docks with an iron fist. But he was also the first to reward loyalty. And men like Tom and Randy had made a lot of money through Killen’s numerous illegal deals involving the loading and unloading of drugs and arms from ships in port. Killen had become known amongst the east coast underworld as a man who could keep his mouth shut. And he expected the same discipline from his men …
He replaced the receiver then lit a cigarette and swung his feet up onto the desk. “Yeah, what is it?”
“We’ve got a problem, Jess,” Tom told him. “We followed that reporter back to his car. Billy offered to tell him everything about the Ventura for ten grand.”
Killen drew on his cigarette then exhaled the smoke up toward the ceiling. “Ten grand? That’s a lot of money for Billy.”
“The reporter talked him down to five,” Tom said. “They’re meeting at Wharf Three tonight. Midnight.”
“Billy? I treated him like my own kid.” Killen dismissed the thought with a shrug. “No matter. Meet me here at nine-thirty tonight.”