“I know what we promised,” Billy says. He looks off again at the snow and then gets mad again about Vince.
“A bunch of California beach bums,” Jimmy says.
“Let me remind you,” Billy says, “one of those ‘beach bums’ killed Vince Vena.”
“You think I can’t handle the guy?”
Frank Machianno, Frankie fucking Machine, Jimmy thinks. The guy has to be on the wrong side of sixty. He might be a legend and all that, but a bunch of old war stories don’t make the man bulletproof.
Jimmy likes the fact that Frankie Machine is a legend.
Killing a legend makesyou a legend.
You ain’t the man until you beat the man whowas the man.
That’s what his uncle taught him.
Tony Jacks was aman. Uncle Tony made his bones the old way, chased the old Jewish Navy out of Detroit, then was a freaking warrior in the long war between the east and west sides that finally settled into the Combination. It was Tony Jacks who brought Hoffa into the fold, and Tony Jacks who finally, reluctantly, gave the word to have him clipped.
But now Uncle Tony is retired, ill, living out his last days in God’s Waiting Room in West Palm.
That’s the problem with this thing of ours these days, not enoughmen like Uncle Tony. Jimmy loves his father, but the old man is like most of the old men these days-worn out, tired, and reluctant to pull the trigger. It took generations to build this thing of ours, and now the old men are just giving it away to the moolies and the Jamaicans and the Russians.
Or beach bums out on the West Coast.
We’re just soft these days.
But Jimmy the Kid is a throwback. He’s old-school-he ain’t afraid to pull the trigger. He figures it’s time for the new generation to take over and restore their thing.
And the best way to move up and do that is tostep up, Jimmy thinks.
Take out a legend like Frankie Machine.
Let them know there’s a new kid in town.
15
Dave Hansen walks into Callahan’s.
The popular bar is in the heart of the Gaslamp District in downtown San Diego. Once a rough neighborhood of SRO hotels, strip clubs, and porno shops, the area has become a tourist attraction of faux seediness.
Callahan’s has made a lot of money in the transition.
Dave Hansen is about as welcome at Callahan’s as a cold sore on a lip.
Two wise guys make him the second he walks in, and they shuffle quickly to the back room, where Teddy Migliore keeps his office. Young Teddy’s mob genealogy couldn’t be more solid-he’s old Joe Migliore’s son and Paul Moretti’s grandson. Teddy did a pop for loan-sharking a few years ago, but has kept his nose clean until recently.
Until Operation G-Sting started to bring up some troublesome connections. Like the fact that Teddy is the silent owner of Hunnybear’s and several other strip clubs in the area. Like the fact that John Heaney is a night manager at Hunnybear’s.
Teddy comes out of the office.
“My lawyer will be here in five minutes,” he says.
“I’ll be gone by then,” Dave tells him.
“Can you make it four?”
“Trust me,” Dave says. “I won’t spend a second longer in this rat hole than I have to.”
“Good,” Teddy says. “What do you want? I’m sick to death of this FBI harassment just because I have an Italian surname and I’m a Migliore.”
“Tony Palumbo is missing,” Dave says.
He watches for Teddy’s reaction.
Teddy smiles. “Follow a trail of Twinkie wrappers, you should find him.”
“Did you kill him?”
“You’re kind of jumping to conclusions there, aren’t you?” Teddy asks. “One, that he’s dead; two, that I’dwant him dead; three, that even if Idid want him dead, I would take matters into my own hands.”
Dave steps up to him.
Teddy’s two boys start to move in, until Dave says, “Yeah, why don’t you? I’m in an ugly mood and I haven’t gotten my exercise today.”
The FBI agent is six four andcut.
They back off.
Dave gets right in Teddy’s face.
“If I find out you did him,” Dave says, “I’ll be back. And I’ll make Ruby Ridge and Waco look like SpongeBob SquarePants.”
“Are you threatening me?” Teddy asks.
“Goddamn right.”
“I’ll sue your ass off.”
“Yourestate will sue my ass off,” Dave says. He turns to walk out.
“You’re looking at the wrong people,” Teddy says to his back. “You might want to be looking for Frank Machianno.”
Dave turns around.
“Your surfing buddy,” Teddy adds.
Frankie Machine.
16
Jimmy the Kid rents a car at the airport and drives out to his uncle’s place in West Palm.
It’s nice to be in Florida. Nice to be cruising in a convertible, getting some sun. Jimmy runs a hand through his dyed-blond hair. He likes his new look-bright blond, almost a buzz cut.
Nice, too, to show off the tatts in short-sleeve weather.
Got him some of those Chinese symbols-“Strength,” “Courage,” “Loyalty.” Got him a big wrecking ball on his right forearm, about to swing down on some geek in an old Caddy.
“The Wrecking Crew.”
Nice.
Tony’s bungalow is sweltering. It’s a hot day anyway, and Jimmy swears the old man has the freaking heat turned on in the house. He glances at the thermostat and it reads 85.
And Uncle Tony has a sweater on.
It’s his circulation, Jimmy thinks. The blood just isn’t moving. And old men get cold.
Jimmy hugs his uncle and kisses him on both cheeks. The skin feels like parchment paper on his lips.
Tony Jacks is glad to see his nephew.
“Come, sit.”
They go into the living room. Jimmy sits down on the sofa and his legs stick to the plastic covering in the heat.
“You want something to drink?” Uncle Tony asks. “I’ll call the girl.”
“I’m good.”
They make the requisite small talk for a few minutes; then Tony Jacks gets to the point. “What brings you here, Jimmy?”
“This mess in San Diego.”
Tony Jacks shakes his head. “They’d asked me, I’d’ve told them Vince couldn’t handle that job.”
“What I said.”
“I’ve known this Frankie since he was a kid,” Tony Jacks says. “He did some work for me, back in the day. A tough nut to crack.”
“I want the shot, Uncle Tony.”
Tony Jacks looks at him for a few seconds, then says, “That’s up to Jack Tominello, nephew. He’s the boss.”
“Youshould be boss,” Jimmy says. “Or my father. It should be the Giacamones, not the Tominellos. I figure I do this thing, I take over whatever Vince had going in San Diego.”
“What do you know about that?”
“Something about strip clubs.”
“It’s a lot more than a few strippers.”
“Why such a hard-on for Frankie Machine?” Jimmy asks. “Why did we even want him gone?”
Tony Jacks leans forward. It looks like it takes some effort. His voice drops into a hoarse whisper. “What I’m about to tell you, Jimmy, your father doesn’t know. Even Jack doesn’t know. And if I tell you, you can never tell another soul as long as you live.”
“I won’t.”
“Swear.”
“I swear to God,” Jimmy says.
Tony Jacks tells him a story. It goes way back and it takes a long time.
When Jimmy the Kid finally leaves his uncle’s house, he is blown freaking away.
Freakingaway.
17
Tracking down Mouse Junior is a cinch.
Frank simply calls 411, gets the number for Golden Productions, and dials it.
“Hey,” he says to the receptionist, “I’m the caterer for the shoot today, and I can’t locate it. Can you tell me…”
It’s in the Valley, of course.
The San Fernando Valley is the porn capital of the world. You can’t bounce a tennis ball in the Valley without hitting a bare ass waiting to go on the set. An incorporated part of Los Angeles, it tried to secede a few years back, ostensibly, Frank thinks as he turns on the 101 and heads toward the Valley, to re-create itself as the Republic of Porn.