Al Mancini sat in the back seat of his Rolls Royce. Alfred Hitchen, Hitch, his driver, had his head back, resting while they listened to some Tony Bennett over the plush sound system. Mancini played with an unlit cigar, feeling the freshness of the handmade tobacco leaf. He thought about his recent conversation with Nick Bracco, an FBI agent who refused to let go of his Sicilian roots.
They were sitting in the parking lot of the Phoenix branch of the FBI field office. The Rolls sat away from the entrance, far enough to have their own aisle to themselves. Hitch turned sideways with his feet extended and his head against the window.
“You sure we can trust this guy?” Hitch asked.
“Sometimes you can tell if you’re being bullshitted,” Mancini said. “I don’t get that feeling with this guy.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Hey, just because you’re my nephew doesn’t mean you can get mouthy with me.”
Hitch shrugged.
Tony Bennett turned into Julius La Rosa singing about his girlfriend from Italy, Domani.
“I ever tell you the story of this guy?” Mancini said.
“Who? Julius La Rosa?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Every true Sicilian knows this story.” Mancini pointed to the FBI building. “I’ll bet you that guys knows it.”
“Knows what?”
“Back in the fifties there was this guy, Arthur Godfrey, who had his own TV show, like a variety show, where he had guests and entertainers come on and perform. Back then, Julius La Rosa was the house singer. He would come on a couple of times each show and sing a song and people loved him.”
“Yeah?”
“So I guess La Rosa’s contract comes up and he wanted more money, but Arthur Godfrey didn’t want to pay him because he was jealous that this little Italian guy was getting all the attention. It didn’t sit with him real good and things got a little testy between the two of them. So out of the blue one day, La Rosa is about to come on the show to sing and as Arthur Godfrey introduces him, he announces to the world that this was Julius La Rosa’s swan song, telling the audience it would be the last time he would ever perform on the show.”
“He didn’t tell Julius nothing about it?”
“Nope. Just coldcocked him right there on stage.”
“That’s some cold ass shit.”
“Yup. Guy never performed on that show ever again.”
“La Rosa still turned out okay, didn’t he?”
“He did just fine, yeah. Guy was talented.”
A man in a dark blue FBI vest came out the front door and headed for their car.
“That him?” Hitch asked.
“Think so.”
A minute later Mancini rolled down the window as Nick Bracco approached the car.
“You ready?” Bracco asked.
Mancini nodded.
Bracco glanced over at Hitch, then back to Mancini. “I’ve got a guy on the way who’s going to stop the transfer. He’s a computer geek who helped set up Zelman’s online security, so he’ll know how to break into the system.”
“What happens if Zelman gets the money to me?”
Bracco seemed like he’d been thinking about that question for a while and still hadn’t figured out the right answer.
“I ain’t lying to Dom Lucia,” Mancini informed him. “He gets his money, I leave. That’s it. It’s over. You gonna be okay with that?”
“I’m going to have to be,” Bracco said. “The question is, will Angela be okay with it?”
Mancini sat there for a moment before saying, “Well, will she?”
“No, she will not.”
“So, then what? The war begins? The streets turn red with blood? That how you’re playing it? Are you really going to arrest a bunch of Perrinos?”
Bracco seemed to run things through in his mind. “Let’s not go there, okay?”
“Fine,” Mancini said. “Let’s assume this thing goes smoothly. The guy doesn’t get the money transferred. I tell Lucia, he’s out thirty million dollars. Tell me how it works.”
“Well, Lucia’s going to want revenge.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
Bracco pulled out an envelope from the inside of his jacket and handed it to Mancini. “It’s all right there. Tell him I’ll have his back.”
Mancini looked down at the envelope, then back up at Bracco. “Let me ask you something. You ever hear about the Arthur Godfrey, Julius La Rosa story?”
Bracco squinted. “You mean the swan song? La Rosa being told he was fired on live TV?”
Mancini grinned at his nephew. “See, what did I tell you?”
* * *
Between a couple of blinds in his office window, Lloyd Thiel watched Nick Bracco take out an envelope and hand it to Al Mancini sitting in his Rolls Royce. Matt watched the exact same thing over his shoulder, then saw Nick walking back to the building.
Thiel released the blinds and said, “Your partner is walking a tightrope right now.”
Matt looked him in the eye. “He knows what he’s doing.”
“I’m not debating that,” Thiel said. “Just concerned, that’s all.”
Stevie was still glued to his laptop, while Malkin sat in the corner by himself.
“This whole thing is bent the wrong shape,” Thiel told Matt. “We should get Zelman and prosecute what we have.”
“Yeah, but what we have is weak.”
“So, we gather more evidence and make our case stronger.”
“That takes time.”
“You want justice, or you want vengeance?”
“I’ll take both if they’re available.”
“Look, I don’t know how this is going to end, but I’m not putting my career in jeopardy because of some . . . ethnic loyalty.”
Matt didn’t respond to that. The message was sent and delivered. They were on their own.
Stevie walked over to Malkin and handed him a tiny round device, giving him instructions as the Chechen stared at the thing, no bigger than a shirt button.
Thiel shook his head. “Even if he gets that camera attached in Zelman’s office, whatever we see is inadmissible. We never even approached probable cause.”
Matt sensed the Special Agent in Charge of the Phoenix Field Office distance himself from their operation, even before anything went south.
Just then Nick came into the office with his cell phone in his hand and a numb expression on his face. “Tommy just called. Nev is dead.”