“Which felony?” Bozzaris said, and smiled. “Do you see what I mean, Snitch? So far, no new information.”
“Well, what is it you’d like to know?” Snitch asked. “Which felony it was?”
“I’m not interested in felonies,” Bozzaris said. “Felonies are a dime a dozen around here. I think I can say with some measure of pride that there are more felonies committed in this precinct than in any other precinct in the entire city. So don’t tell me about felonies. I’m not interested in felonies.”
“Well,” Snitch said, “what are you interested in?”
“The fruits of organized evil,” Bozzaris said. “Money. I am primarily interested in intercepting that fifty thousand dollars before it gets to Naples.”
“If I may say so, Lieutenant,” Snitch said, “I don’t know very much about organized evil, of course, but I’m willing to bet those fellows send a check to Naples.”
“I beg to differ with you,” Bozzaris said, “and I’ll make allowances for your ignorance since I’ve made a lifelong study of organized evil, whereas you have not. But it’s been my experience that these fellows never write checks. Never. You can mark that down as a cardinal rule.”
“Well, maybe so,” Snitch said, “in which case it would be a simple matter to arrange a transfer of funds from a New York bank to a Naples bank. If there’s one thing I know about organized evil, and I admit I don’t know very much, it’s that these fellows are very well organized.”
“Be that as it may,” Bozzaris said, “not too many of them are willing to risk keeping records that show large amounts of money being transferred from one country to another, nor even from one city block to another. That’s one sure way of getting the Internal Revenue Service down on their asses, Snitch, witness what happened to Al Capone, and pardon the French.”
Snitch lowered his head in respect.
“Cash,” Bozzaris said. “That’s the secret of organized evil. Cash on the barrelhead. Do you want to know what I think?”
“What?” Snitch said.
“I think somebody’s going to raise fifty thousand bucks in cold hard cash, after which a trusted messenger will get on an airplane, fly to Naples, and put it right in Carmine Ganucci’s hands. That’s what I think.”
“Well, maybe,” Snitch said.
“If you can find out when and where that money will be raised and/or delivered to the man who will carry it to Italy, that might be worth twenty-five dollars to the hardworking fellows of this squad, who as you may know pay for information out of their own pockets.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“It’s a little-known fact,” Bozzaris said, “but true. And if you can deliver this information, we might also forget the other little charge against you that’s still on the books.”
“What charge?” Snitch asked, going pale.
It was eight P.M. in Italy when Carmine Ganucci was called to the telephone at Faraglioni, where he was having dinner with Stella and a retired rhinoplastician from Jersey City. He was annoyed at being called to the phone just when the gamberoni were being served, and even more annoyed after he identified himself and heard Vito Garbugli’s voice on the other end of the line.
“What is it, Vito?” he asked.
“Did you send a cable?” Garbugli said.
“Yes.”
“To us?”
“Of course to you.”
“Is it true what you said in the cable?”
“Every word.”
“How do you wish delivery made?”
“By trusted messenger,” Ganucci said.
“When?”
“Put him on a plane to Rome tomorrow night.”
“I thought you wanted this in Naples.”
“There’s no flights from New York to Naples,” Ganucci said. “He has to transfer in Rome. Make sure you tell him to transfer in Rome.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“You always have to tell these dopes, or they forget to transfer.”
“I’ll tell him, don’t worry,” Garbugli said.
“And let me know what time he’ll arrive. I’ll arrange for someone to meet him Saturday.”
“Right, I’ll call you back later and let you know exactly...”
“Send a night letter,” Ganucci said.
“Right, a night letter.”
“How’s little Lewis?”
“I don’t know. Do you want me to call the house and find out?”
“No, it’s twenty-five cents to Larchmont. Has Nanny been getting my postcards?”
“I don’t know. If you want me to call...”
“I been writing almost every day,” Ganucci said. “Airmail. It cost a hundred fifteen lira to send a postcard airmail. What else do you have to say to me?”
“Nothing.”
“Then hang up, this is costing a fortune,” Ganucci said, and hung up.
At the Twenty-third Street and Lexington Avenue branch of the First National City Bank, at 2:37 P.M., New York time, Benny Napkins was withdrawing from his savings account all but $216.00, which he thought he had better keep for a rainy day in case The Jackass goofed tonight. He did not see how The Jackass could possibly muff the play, but Benny was well aware that people sometimes make mistakes, and he figured he might just as well have enough to cover the plane fare to Honolulu in case something went wrong. The best laid schemes o’ mice an men gang aft a-gley, he quoted silently, and then said to the cashier, “I want four thousand in hundred-dollar bills, and two thousand in singles.”
“Two thousand in singles?” the cashier said.
“That’s correct,” Benny said.
The cashier began counting.
Benny knew that his plan was slightly dishonest, but on the other hand he had not asked some crazy maniac to steal Ganooch’s son, nor had he asked Nanny to call him for assistance. He was handling the entire matter professionally and coolly, he thought. At ten o’clock tonight, if all went according to plan, and if The Jackass did not goof, Benny would be in possession of the ransom money and perhaps a little bit more for his troubles. Provided Celia Mescolata had arranged for the game; he would not know about that until five-thirty. In the meantime, he picked up the stack of bills — two thousand singles and forty hundreds — asked the cashier for a rubber band, rolled the bills into an enormous wad, century notes showing, snapped the rubber band around the roll, thanked the cashier, and left the bank.
He wondered if he should call The Jackass again, just to make sure he understood the plan. The Jackass was not too bright. The Jackass sometimes had trouble remembering his own telephone number. Still, it was best not to pressure a man once he had agreed to an action. There was no sense overtraining a good horse or a good fighter. The Jackass understood very few things in life, but one thing he understood fine was larceny.
Benny walked up Lexington Avenue to his apartment. He was very nervous, so he decided to ask Jeanette Kay if she was in the mood. Jeanette Kay said she might be, so long as they were finished by four o’clock, at which time Dark Shadows came on.
Nanny looked at the picture on the front of the card and thought it highly attractive. She turned the card over and read it:
Nanny read the card again, and then another time. He had mentioned nothing about coming home, and that was good. According to the itinerary he had left on the desk in his study, he and Stella would not be leaving Italy until Sunday, August 29. Apparently nothing had yet happened to change those plans — although Nanny was quite aware of the fact that it took five or six days for his postcards to get here, and that he might just pop in the front door without any forewarning. Should something like that happen, should the Ganuccis suddenly decide to leave Italy, or (oh my God!) already be in transit from Italy, and unexpectedly walk into the house trailing baggage and asking for little Lewis...