"So, how is your dentist friend?" asked United States Attorney Raymond Sullivan.
"Whining," said Al. "As usual."
"What's his problem?" asked Sullivan, a fiftyish, athletic-looking man with a full head of snow white hair and a ruddy complexion.
"He got a boo-boo on his nose today. I had to kiss it and make it better. Sally Wig is unhappy with him."
"What's he unhappy about?"
"Harvey's behind with the money," sighed Al.
"Our money. What's he doing with it?"
"Fuck if I know. He says he's paying bills," said Al. "I think the guy's maybe taking things a little too seriously."
"Like what is he taking seriously?" asked Sullivan, annoyed.
"He's got delusions of grandeur. The guy thinks he's really going to make a go of the restaurant. You should hear him talk about it. He thinks he wants to be a success at it. I have to say, I was hesitant to disabuse him of the notion."
"And why is that?" said Sullivan, one bushy white eyebrow raised.
"Listen . . . We all know how Harvey got in the restaurant business. We put up his end, for Chrissakes. He knows that. We kept him out of the pen, made his problem go away and all. He's a snitch. He knows he's a snitch and he knows he's our snitch. It's just, I think he's beginning to think that if he makes some good cases for us he's gonna somehow get to keep the restaurant. I don't want to rub his nose in it."
Sullivan leaned over his government-issue desk and clasped his hands together. "I really don't see why we should give a shit one way or the other what he thinks. I mean, handling an informant is all about control. You know that. It seems to me, the way I read it, the tighter control we have, and the more he knows it, the better. We own him. He knows it . . . So what? He's hardly in a position to haggle."
Al settled back in his chair and smiled. "We want some indictments, right? We want a lot of indictments. More the merrier . . . This guy, given a little care and feeding, can give us some. But, I want everything to smell right. He's supposed to be a frightened, desperate little scumbag restaurateur, right? Well, that's exactly what he is right now. I want him to try and make a go of it. Can't blame the guy for trying. He's sure not gonna be practicing dentistry anymore—"
"I certainly hope not," interjected Sullivan.
"Sure, he's fucking us a little bit," continued Al. "He's fucking the wise guys. He's fucking his ex-wife and his girlfriend, and everybody else for all I know. Sounds like an amazingly lifelike re-creation of a frightened, desperate scumbag restaurateur to me. So the guy screws us for a little money. Good. He gets in a little deeper with the Wig. Maybe Sally gets mad and is kind enough to commit a few more felonies for us. Maybe on tape. I'm even wondering, maybe Harvey can get a knock-down loan from the Brooklyn people. They've been coming around, I understand. Acting real friendly, offering their services."
"They haul his garbage now, right?"
"Yeah. Maybe he borrows a little money from outside Sally's crew. That should send Sally right up the wall. I mean, they want to help, maybe we should let them help. You got anything against prosecuting people from Brooklyn?"
Sullivan smiled. "Okay, okay. . . We'll let this go one time with the money. But you're gonna have to get him on a tighter leash in the future. He can fuck everybody else for their money, but I don't want him playing around with ours. I've personnel and automobiles and technical assets diverted full-time on this. I've got two observation posts sucking up overtime and rent and resources, I've got the clock running on the Title Threes . . . Sooner or later, I'm gonna get a phone call asking me what the fuck I've got to show for it."
"Right this minute, we've got enough for bribery and extortion. We've got probable cause for some more Title Threes . . . We've got people on tape making usurious loans, arranging kickbacks. Things are progressing."
"I'm looking for more than that. . . Racketeering. That's what this office is interested in, goddammit. I want some of that good ol' 'continuing criminal enterprise' on tape. I want more than Sally Fucking Pitera . . . I want his whole crew. I want Charlie Wagons. I want Danny Testa and all their little helpers. The whole bunch. I don't want them for some diddly-shit loansharking. At the end of all this, I want to be able to seize assets and salt the ground so nothing grows there ever again."
"How about the Brooklyn thing?" asked Al. "They're offering."
"Sure, sure," said Sullivan. "The Brooklyn thing interests me. Sure. Why not? Tell your friend to borrow some money from them. A few thousand. He shouldn't go overboard. Let's see what happens."
"It'll make Sally angry," said Al. "And his people."
"Good, good," said Sullivan. "Tell him not to tell them right away. It'll give us something to tickle the wires with later. Maybe we'll get some interesting conversations for a change."
"We don't want to start a war," said Al.
"Who's talking about starting a war? Hopefully, by the time they find out, they'll be well on their way to a meeting with the grand jury."
"Harvey will have to testify," said Al.
"So, he testifies. We get him into the program and he can go off to East Buttfuck somewhere and write his memoirs."