"What's that?"
"That if he were in this room now I would kill him. And if you tried to stop me I would kill you first, then him."
"Do you know what Andy Santuccio had in the Boston Public Library that people would kill for?"
"I know his father had important papers from the Sacco and Vanzetti trial. That is, if you could call such an outrage a trial."
"Yes. I know that too. But do you, or anyone you know, have any idea exactly what part of the papers could have caused his death?"
"No;" said Tescione, who sank slowly back into his chair and propped his chin on his knuckles. "Until a week ago I thought DeLucca was dead. I don't know why anyone would have Andy killed. He was a friend of mine and a good man in the community. Did you know that at the time of his death he was working on a housing project for the elderly?"
Tescione opened a silver case at his elbow and drew out a black-and-gold cigarette. He stuck it in his mouth and patted his pockets. Joe put his Orsini lighter on the desk top and slid it over to Tescione. Having lighted the cigarette, Tescione began to slide the lighter back, but Joe pushed it away.
"Keep it," he said.
Tescione held the lighter up and examined it.
"But this is a very expensive lighter, Mr. Brindelli. I can't-"
"No, please. Keep it. I got plenty."
Tescione pocketed Joe's lighter as a man brought a carafe of coffee and four cups. He detained the man by his sleeve, got up and walked with him a few steps, and whispered some instructions. Then he returned to the desk and poured coffee for all of us. I wanted a cigarette. I haven't had one for twelve years and it takes a helluva situation to make me think about them. But now I wanted one. A Camel. Joe sighed.
"Then," he pursued, "who had DeLucca kill Andy, and why?"
"I don't know," replied Tescione, setting down his coffee cup and dragging on the Du Maurier cigarette. "And also I don't think I know anyone who knows."
Joe looked blankly, and bleakly, ahead with his Thousand-Yard Stare. "I guess I have no alternative but to believe that."
For a second a look of annoyance crossed Tescione's aquiline face, then it was replaced by a smile. I could see how people could be afraid of him.
"Then believe it. Because it is true," the man said, thumping his palms down on the table. "Now. You have asked me. You said also you were going to tell me something."
Joe hesitated for a moment, then crooked his finger at Tescione as a signal for him to lean over the desk, which he did. Joe leaned over too until they were cheek to cheek, as if embracing. I heard him whispering right into Tescione's ear. The whispering stopped; the two men began to part, then Joe grabbed Tescione by the shoulder and drew them close again. The whispering continued. Then the men sat back and Tescione nodded slowly at Joe.
"Very well," he said. "Then it appears, Mr. Brindelli, Mr. Adams, that our business is concluded. Thank you very much for the visit. And thank you for the fine lighter too."
"Don't mention it. Enjoy it."
We shook hands. The attendant returned. to take the coffee tray and leaned over and whispered quickly to Tescione, who nodded and smiled at him. Then he left, and we followed. Mr. Aldorfer led us back downstairs and said good-bye. The Yaley- lackey appeared with a paper sack for Joe. It contained his pistol. We were once again walked back through the dark and deserted realty office, let out through the front glass door, walked down the stairs, and soon found ourselves on the street near the candy store where Joe had made the phone call. It was as if the whole thing hadn't really happened.
"I had no idea that the notorious Paul Tescione was so approachable," I said as we walked back to Salem Street and headed for the car.
"He usually isn't. I don't think we'd have gotten in if I weren't Italian. He knows of me; we've got some mutual friends, like Giordano. Ha! Meeting him like that, you'd never know how he makes his money would you?"
We walked on in silence. I didn't mention the lighter; I knew it would be unwise. Joe had loved that lighter and had given it up as a sign of fealty to a man he hated, but needed. I wondered too what he had told Tescione. I had an idea.
"Why the hell did they give me back my gun in this damn sack? Wait a sec; I'll slip into the car and lock it up under the seat."
I waited outside while Joe locked his Beretta in the special strongbox bolted to the frame of his sedan under the driver's seat. He hated to carry guns. He emerged, shut the door and locked it, and came to my side chuckling. He held in his big hand a blue cardboard box.
"Look what I found in that paper sack along with my gun."'
I took the box and opened it. It was a lighter. A Cartier, dark blue and gold. The gold seemed to be real.
"Shit. I'm moving from a wop lighter up to a frog lighter. I'm moving up in the world. Do you believe how fast he did that?"
We both laughed, and went into Toscana's and bought six extra-thick loin lamb chops. Up the street at Beninati's we bought some fresh bread sticks, the white nougat candies with the bright wrappers that Mary loves, some fresh bread, espresso beans, and six cans of flat anchovy fillets. It's practically impossible to go into these little North End stores and buy one thing. Back on Storrow Drive, then home by eight-forty. Not too bad, considering all we'd done.
Joe and Mary talked in the living room while I sliced tomatoes in the kitchen. I alternated slices of tomato, cucumber, and onion s around the outsides of three large plates, putting a bed of romaine lettuce in the center. On this I placed a big chunk of white tuna, a handful of Tuscan peppers and semihot banana peppers, pimentos and black olives, Greek olives, provelone and feta cheese, Genoa salami, and prosciutto, and I topped it with anchovies. Off to one side of this was a big scoop of marinated eggplant chunks and artichoke hearts. Then I crushed fresh basil over the tomatoes, added salt, coarse black pepper, olive oil, vinegar, and a little lemon juice. The lamb chops had been basted with garlic butter and were almost done. With the meat we would have bread and white beans with lamb drippings.
We started with the antipasto, and when we were almost through it Joe showed Mary the lighter and told her about our visit with Paul Tescione. She sat at the table wide-eyed and silent, her eyes never leaving her brother. She fed herself by touch. I brought in the meat and the rest of the meal and squirted a few drops of fresh lemon juice over each buttery chop. Joe had demolished his first chop and almost the second one when the phone rang and Mary went into the kitchen to answer it. She came back with a message for Joe.
"It was your office at Ten-Ten Comm. Ave. A man called the office there asking for you, saying it was pretty important. A Mr. Aldorfer?"
He was in the kitchen quite a while. His chop got cold. He came back, sat down, stared at his plate a minute, and then excused himself, saying he'd be in my study.
Mary asked me who Mr., Aldorfer was and I let on I didn't know. just a little white lie to keep her from getting worked up. I finished Joe's chop for him and told Mary I'd see him alone in the study for a few minutes.
I found him in there playing with the dogs. He was patting them and talking to them, and smoking..
"What's up?" I asked.
"What's up? I'm up. I'm up shit's creek without a paddle is what. Aldorfer just told me that some of his acquaintances up in Lynn stumbled across a corpse up there."
"Then they got DeLucca?"
He exhaled smoke through his nostrils like a dragon and shook his head.
"No. The body they found was the late Johnny Rizzo, tied to a chair in his rooming house. He'd been gagged. Then somebody- gee, I wonder who- broke both his legs with a billy club and went to work on him with a knife. Poor bastard. And it's my fault."
"Where were the cops?"
"They were still watching the sub shop, not Rizzo's place. None of us took Johnny's fear seriously. He was such a chicken-shit all the time. But he was right; DeLucca did know he was being set up. Maybe that was him in the cab. Jeeee-sus Keeeee-riste."