Suave Sal Santucci wasn’t happy. And when he wasn’t happy, neither was anyone around him, especially Vic and Bennie, the two captains he awakened at 6:30 this morning. “Get rid of the comares and meet me at the Three Aces now. We got a situation.”
Sal had no doubt each man would leave his girlfriend sleeping soundly in bed and head out right away. They wouldn’t dare keep him waiting, not after hearing the agita in his voice.
Now, sitting at his usual table at the Three Aces, throwing back his fourth double espresso—strong, black, caffeine-laden—Sal pondered his options.
To the uninitiated, Sal looked like any ordinary, successful, well-dressed businessman having a morning coffee before he faced his busy day. As the head of New York’s most powerful crime family, he was extremely successful, although anything but ordinary. He might look calm and collected, but his elegant, quiet demeanor was a façade. Like the eye of a storm, Sal sat still and unmoving, yet he charged the air around him with such force it seemed to suck everything and everyone into its vortex.
Sal was as angry as he’d ever been. Neither captain would dare ask him what had caused the problem even though they were called upon to solve it. He’d let them know what to do when he was ready. Everyone in his crew understood that was how it worked. One wrong move, or one stupid question, and he made sure somebody got a permanent transfer to Jersey. Or worse.
Sal threw back another espresso, thinking about the reputation he had cultivated all these years. People believed he was ruthless, brutal and lethal, a psychopathic killer feared on his turf. Good. He nodded to himself. It’s good they get the message loud and clear. The tri-state area was dotted with unmarked graves of those who hadn’t and paid with their lives.
Sal hadn’t reached his position as head of the New York Giambello crime family by brute force alone. Along the way to the top, he made good use of the street smarts he was born with, often rising above and eliminating his competitors by using brains instead of brawn.
The Feds knew all there was to know about him and had spent years trying to make a case against him. For one reason or another—a key witness disappearing, a greedy judge willing to look the other way, crucial evidence going up in smoke—they never made the charges stick. Sal was a free man and determined to keep it that way.
He reviewed what happened today to put him at risk. First, he received a phone call very early in the morning from a friend in Siena. This friend had received two phone calls late last night: one from Zurich and one from Sicily. Someone from New York called around, asking questions about a certain party. Everyone knew what to say. They were paid well to keep their mouths shut.
Sal made a few phone calls and through his contacts found out who was behind the questions. He wondered how Sicily came into play so quickly. He didn’t like it but he’d have to deal with that later.
But, there was a more important matter to attend to first. A crucial business item was missing. The kid had called a little while ago and informed Sal of its disappearance. He had ransacked his office trying to find it, thinking he might have misfiled it. It was gone. He didn’t know how they managed it, but he was sure someone had been in his place and taken it. The kid was scared. It was his responsibility and he was afraid of the consequences. He was right to be scared.
The item was part of a project Sal directed personally. If it wasn’t recovered soon, it could put Sal and the whole New York organization at risk.
The kid was beginning to panic, and Sal knew panicking wouldn’t do anyone any good. The kid knew the lost item might end up being the deal closer—without it, they had no leverage if things went south. He also knew he’d be the first one to take the fall if it couldn’t be retrieved.
Sal couldn’t tolerate carelessness. It made him very angry. They had to have a little sit-down when this matter was settled. A little talk to get the kid back on track.
Sal had calmed him down, told him he had a pretty good idea who was responsible and he’d get the item back. Think of it as done. He was fond of the kid; he’d do his best not to let anything to happen to him.
Now he had to make good on that statement. “Fa’nculo!” He stifled a burp. All this aggravation made his stomach churn and someone was going to pay.
“Putana.” The word slipped out before he realized it. He was losing control and that was totally unacceptable. “Vic! Get the car! We’re taking a ride uptown.” He threw back the last shot of his espresso and flung the cup across the room. The sound of it crashing against the wall brought a smile of satisfaction to his face.