Gilmartin started to laugh heartily; stopped when Giselle did not join in; ended up just staring at her. He finally drew a deep breath and drummed the table with his fingertips.
“How many nontaxable dollars do I get for this little service?”
He tried to keep his voice light, but Giselle realized that Kearny had been right in detailing her to this task: it was just too subtle for him. It would have come out sounding like what Gilmartin was afraid it was.
“No money, Pete.”
He relaxed in some fractional way. “Then it isn’t just... business.”
“The attack on Ed Dorsey was set up through somebody at your bank as an attempt on Dan.”
Gilmartin drummed his fingertips again. “Wow!” he said softly at last. “Who at the bank?”
“We think Art Nucci.”
“Who told me to get Dan up there at a certain time that evening. I see.” He gave her a sudden wry smile. “Time to show the hole in my sock to the world.”
When they were at the door, Gilmartin took the tall blonde’s arm before she could slide open the flimsy bamboo-and-rice paper panel. “I report anything I find out to you?”
“Or to Dan.”
She was almost as tall as he was; their faces were only inches apart. He leaned forward to brush her lips with his. “You make me feel like a little kid stealing a kiss in the coat-room, Giselle.”
Walking down the stairs of the restaurant, Giselle caught herself hoping that he would report to Kearny, not her. Dammit, she did like Pete Gilmartin’s wife and adore his kids, but she was beginning to find Pete himself an intensely exciting man.
Dan Kearny and Benny Nicoletti were eating bratwurst and kraut at the Rathskeller as Giselle and Gilmartin were leaving Nikko’s nine blocks away.
Nicoletti cut the bloated sausage on his plate with the delicacy of a surgeon. Juice spurted out. “Remember I said Internal Affairs might be coming down on some of the boys doing little favors for people on the outside?”
Kearny nodded. It was their first reference to their last uncomfortable parting.
“They got a big Dutchman in Accident Division, inspector named Waterreus, under suspension. Accepting bribes from a couple of your competitors.”
“Makes it easier for us.” Kearny grinned.
Nicoletti changed the subject by pointing his fork at the detective. “I thought you didn’t have no idea who might sic a couple of heavies on to one of your men.”
“I don’t. You mentioned Padilla Trucking... What was the disposition of the charge against Garofolo, anyway?”
Nicoletti drank dark beer, wiped away the foam mustache. “Arraigned last Friday. D.A. hit him with Assault with Intent to Commit Great Bodily Harm and bail was set at $35,000.”
Kearny gave a silent whistle. “With no prior convictions? Pretty heavy.”
“Not heavy enough. Old dude named Hawkley, counsel for Padilla Trucking, showed up with a tame bailbondsman who came up with it, cash money.”
Kearny dipped a forkful of sauerkraut into the hot mustard on his plate. “Hawkley out of Concord, Walnut Creek, somewhere like that?”
“That’s him. You know him?”
Kearny shook his head and lied. “Talked to him for five minutes once about a client of his we were looking for.”
Wayne Hawkley, that tough old bird. Kearny had always thought there was something sour about his operation. In the past, nobody had been paying him to get curious about it. Now he was going to have to.
“You figure that Hawkley represents Padilla Trucking for more than just business problems?”
“Looks that way.” Nicoletti belched with great gusto. “Why all this interest in Padilla Trucking?”
Kearny gestured almost angrily through the smoke of the cigarette he’d just lighted. “Aw, come on, Benny! One of my men gets flattened, you can bet your ass we’re going to find out which way to be looking the next time. We nosed around a little, what we found pointed to Frank Padilla as one of the mob’s local hotshots. Are we right?”
“Now how in hell would a hick cop know that, Dan?” He grinned, and went on in his high soft tenor, “The hotshot in Northern California, according to the state Organized Crime Squad.”
“But he’s dead. Went over Devil’s Slide down on the coast in the fog a couple of months ago.”
“Yeah. Last July. They fished the car out of the drink with him still in it. If you already knew he was dead, why was you asking—”
“I want to know who took his place.”
“I’m s’posed to know?” Nicoletti looked at his watch. “Shit. I got a new partner, told him I’d meet him at your office fifteen minutes ago.”
They stood up. Kearny scattered paper money on the table. “About this guy who took Padilla’s place...”
Nicoletti sighed. “Second in command stepped up, according to rumor.”
When he said nothing further, Kearny prodded, “He’s got a name?”
“Fazzino, Phil Fazzino, they call him ‘Flip’ — behind his back.”
Phil Fazzino. To whom Padilla’s stock in Fraisa, Inc., had just been transferred. Fazzino. Was he the one Chandra was nipping?
“I’m glad none of these guys are Italian.”
“Yeah,” said Nicoletti placidly. “If they was, I might get an inferiority complex about my race.”
“How did you make out with Pete?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Kearny observed the delicate flush mounting Giselle’s cheeks. “Is he in or out?” he asked patiently.
“He’ll do it for us.”
“I’ll bet he will,” said Kearny.
“Goddamn you, Dan!” she burst out. Red now overlaid the usual cool ivory of her complexion.
Kearny’s face became abruptly wooden. “Internal Affairs came down on Waterreus, hard,” he said. “We backed off from him just in time.”
The flush had begun fading from Giselle’s features. Kearny was very busy lighting a cigarette. She reached across the desk to pluck one from the pack. Her mouth curved bitterly. “We wouldn’t have to look very far for another cop to put on the payroll. That new partner of Benny’s has his hand out.” She tossed her heavy gleaming blond mane almost defiantly. She was a lovely woman. “I thought all these raises in cops’ salaries were supposed to end all that.”
“You make more, your standard of living goes up.”
“Then you shouldn’t be a cop.”
“Besides, Benny probably put him up to it to see our reaction.”
“Oh, wow!” Giselle, who seldom smoked, stubbed out a cigarette she’d just lighted. “What did you find out about Phil Fazzino?”
He’d learned a good deal. Fazzino was thirty-four, with a master’s degree in business and an LL.B. from Harvard Law. Never practiced, had never been busted for anything, not even a traffic ticket, and of all things, was a chess player with a Master rating from FIDE. Whatever the hell FIDE was.
“He’s had an office as a ‘business consultant’ down in the financial district for two years, was second-in-command in the organization when Padilla died. Benny says he’s genuinely brilliant at business — which is why he’s been able to move up so fast without ever having to get his hands dirty. What we need now is a connection between him and Chandra. We already have him connected to Nucci through joint stock ownership in Fraisa, Inc. — even though it’s only by accident because Padilla died.”
“Pete’ll call me if he can find anything financial Nucci has done for either corporation.” Giselle made herself meet Kearny’s eyes casually as she said it. Damn him, what business of his was it if she enjoyed Pete’s company? Nothing would come of it. She went on, “What do you want to do about Fazzino?”