by Tim Green
There was silence for a long while. Tony listened to the fat drip from the meat and hiss on the grill. He needed to please his uncle.
"Uncle Vinny," he said, "it's funny you should mention the gambling, because I've been working on an idea that I think could be very good for the family."
Tony waited.
"Go on," his uncle said.
"Well, I met this girl at one of the clubs. Her father is the owner of the Titans. I've been thinking it might be a good idea to get close to this girl's family. Maybe I could get to know the old man a little better. See what kind of guy he is . . . maybe I could even get something on this guy. It's just an idea, but I wanted you to know about it." He concluded as the women started to bring the food out onto the patio and a soft breeze carried the smoke from the grill across the yard. Tony was suddenly hungry.
His uncle considered his proposal.
"I think it certainly can't hurt to keep an open mind," he said. That's the kind of thing I'm talking about. Those are the types of things that we can do and no one gets hurt. That's how you get respectability."
The two of them sat for a few more minutes. Tony was glad he'd said what he did. The idea had come to him at that moment. He had met that Carter bitch two months ago. And now he'd have to see if he couldn't look her up again.
Tony," his uncle finally said in a soft voice, "your father and I did what we had to do. You may find times in your life when you'll have to do things that get your hands dirty, but do them because you have to, not because you want to. I'm not unhappy with you, Tony. You're a good boy. Now go and get something to eat. Your cousin Maria is bringing out the salad."
'Thank you, Uncle Vinny," said Tony as he stood, and then stooped to kiss his uncle on both cheeks before walking off toward the tables.
Vinny went back to the grill and took his fork from Ears.
"Dominic," Vinny said, his eyes intent on the meat as he wiped his brow with a handkerchief, "I want you to have someone keep an eye on Tony, and I don't want anyone to know about it. That kid worries me."
Chapter 4
If the in-crowd was there, so was Tony Rizzo. In his own mind, he was a celebrity. If the debutantes and stars were likely to be at the Palladium on a Friday night, then Tony Rizzo belonged there, too. With the warm spring weather, the nightclubs of New York came to life as they did at no other time of the year. As usual, Tony arrived in a chauffeur-driven limousine. Angelo Quatrini and Mike Cometti got out first and talked, with the bouncers at the door. Tony had done some business with the owner of the club, and the employees knew they were to accord special treatment to whoever was friends with the boss.
Immediately they made a path for Tony. No one could see through the tinted windows, and everyone craned their necks to catch a glimpse of him as he stepped from the car. Without a glance to his left or right, Tony walked into the nightclub.
There was a table overlooking the main dance floor reserved for Tony, and the three friends sat down and ordered drinks. Tony liked to look out over the dance floor because it gave him a perfect opportunity to scan the crowd and select the lucky woman who would be his prey for the evening. This was a Friday night tradition. Angelo and Mikey would sit around getting stoned, watching Tony and laughing at whatever he said or did that was supposed to be funny. Sometimes they would get lucky with a friend of the girl that Tony was hitting on.
At forty-one, Angelo was the oldest of the three. He was also the largest; a big barrel-chested man, with arms as big as most men's legs. He had short dark hair that was only just beginning to gray, and the face of a large, mean dog. He made people nervous.
Mike Cometti was trying to look as much like Tony as possible. He had the same long hair pulled back in a ponytail, the same style Armani suit, the same dark complexion, and even a handkerchief in his breast pocket, just like Tony. The difference was, Tony drew looks from even the most reserved women. Mikey looked like a cheap imitation and never drew a second glance. At five-eight he was four inches shorter than Tony, and the effect was comical, although no one was about to laugh at a friend of Tony Rizzo's.
The three sat for quite a while before Tony said, 'That's the one."
Immediately Angelo and Mikey followed Tony's gaze toward the bar and saw a beautiful girl with long jet-black hair. She was petite, but there was no mistaking that beneath the floral summer dress she had a wonderful body.
"I'm gonna tear that up," Tony said loudly so he could be heard above the music. "Mikey, go bring her over here. Tell her I'm gonna buy her a drink."
Mikey got up to go, but there was no need. A young sandy-headed blond in jeans and a polo shirt turned from the bar, handed the girl a drink, and brought her over to the table without Mikey's help.
'Tommy," Tony said in a loud, friendly manner that made Tommy Keel burst with pride, "how the hell are you, buddy?"
"Good, Tony. Hi, Mikey, hi, Ang." Tommy then turned red. "Guys, this is Sonya . . . She and I went to school together."
"Sonya, it is so nice to meet you," said Tony as he stood up to take hold of the girl's hand. "We never see Tommy with any girls. You sit right down here with us. Here, sit here. Tommy, Ang and I will keep her company while you and Mikey go check on Frank Stern. Mikey just saw him come in and said, 'That guy owes us some money.' I guess you and Mikey worked out some credit for the guy or something, and I know you won't want him to get out of here tonight without reminding him. So you two go ahead and we'll be right here when you get back."
Tommy looked unsure, but when Mikey got up and tugged his arm, he followed. Together they wandered about the labyrinth of people. They covered every inch of the club, but no Frank Stern. Finally Mikey went into the men's room, but instead of looking for Stern, he took a leak, and then began fussing with his handkerchief in the mirror.
"Mikey," said Tommy after standing idly for several minutes, "don't you think we oughta be looking for Stern?"
"Ah, Stern ain't here, Tommy," said Mikey, who was now patting his hair.
"Whadaya mean? Tony said he saw him and we gotta get that money from him."
'Tommy, don't be so damn thick. What did you learn in college anyway? Seems like you were smarter before you went than since you got back."
"Never mind that, what are we supposed to be doing?"
"All we're doing is giving Tony a chance to get acquainted with your little treat."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean, Mikey?" Tommy said, his face flushed with anger. "Sonya's my girl! Tony ain't gonna be getting to know her, Mikey!"
Tommy turned to rush out, but Mikey grabbed the back of his collar and spun him around.
"Listen, Tommy," Mikey said, putting his face up close, "you ain't been around for a while, I know, but you gotta wise up. If Tony's got his mind set on that bimbo, you just go back downstairs and find yourself another one."
"She's not a bimbo, Mikey! That's my girl!"
"Since when you got a girl? Huh? You ain't said nothing about no girl, Tommy! You'd be a damn fool to make a stink over some bitch just 'cause you got the hots for her."
"You son of a bitch!" Tommy screamed, and shoved Mikey into the sinks.
"Hey!" the attendant said. "You boys gotta take that outside, before I call the bouncers in here to clean your asses up!"
Tommy glared and stomped out back toward the table. No one was there. Tommy turned and shoved Mikey who was right behind him, then raced to the stairs with Mikey in hot pursuit.
The long black limousine was just pulling up as Tommy broke through the entrance. The bouncers and the line of people waiting to get in all turned their attention to the huffing, disheveled man as he warily approached the three figures at the curb.
"No, Tony!" Tommy said in a loud voice that surprised even himself.
Tony and Sonya turned, along with Angelo, who was opening the back door of the car.
'Tommy?" Sonya said with a puzzled and frightened look on her face. "I thought you were already in the car."
"Sonya, come here." T
ommy said, returning Tony's hateful glare.
Sonya took a step away from the car. Tony grabbed her arm tightly and she let out a gasp.
"Nooo!" Tommy lurched forward, but was dropped in his tracks when Mike Cometti slugged him in the back of the head with a set of brass knuckles. Sonya started to scream. Tony flung her into the car. Angelo Quatrini glowered at the crowd of people.
A bouncer who was new and didn't know better broke away from the doorway. "Hey! Hey, you assholes! Let her go!"
Angelo walked straight at the bouncer, and then with amazing speed for a man his size he threw a chop to the bouncer's throat. The man fell instantly and lay writhing in pain on the sidewalk. Angelo looked questioningly at the crowd. The only response he got was a shriek from his boss behind him.
While Mikey admired Angelo's work, Tommy pulled himself up and grabbed Rizzo's ponytail as he slid into the car. Tommy gave Rizzo a forceful yank that brought him back out onto the pavement. He grabbed Rizzo by the throat and was actually able to slam his head against the curb before Mikey hit him again from behind. Angelo and Mikey pulled the dazed assailant off Rizzo and tossed him onto the sidewalk. Angelo gave him a quick insurance kick to the groin. Tommy lay in a crumpled heap.
A dazed Rizzo gave a shriek of rage as he got up, and began to kick Tommy violently again and again. Mikey slammed the car door shut as Sonya tried to spring free. The door hit her head and she fell back onto the floor of the car. Rizzo continued to kick the helpless and now bloody Tommy Keel. Sirens could be heard in the distance. Angelo grabbed Rizzo, who was still kicking and screaming that he would kill Tommy, and carried him to the car. When Angelo finally got Tony into the car, he turned to give one final, challenging look at the crowd. No one had moved, not even to help the writhing bouncer. Angelo flashed them all a demonic grin before he too disappeared into the car, which sped into the night.
The city cops were keeping people back and asking if anyone could describe what had happened. Ellis Cook, a handsome but sad-looking man, stepped from the crowd. The cop who was kneeling over the bloody, motionless form of Tommy Keel looked up questioningly at him. Was this tall, sharply dressed black man the only one who would come forward? The cop stood. The black man peered down at his badge.
"Officer Tremont, I'm Ellis Cook, FBI," Cook said, showing the cop his ID.
"So?" Tremont's face turned hostile as he jotted down Cook's name on his pad.
"So, I'd like to ask you a few questions," Cook said, pocketing his badge.
"Listen, I don't care if you're with the CIA. I'll ask the questions. Did you see what happened?"
"Yes."
"Good, then I can get a statement from a professional," said Tremont.
"No, I can't give you a statement, Officer, but I can tell you what happened. And I can save you from wasting a lot of time."
"How's that?"
"Because the man who did this was Tony Rizzo. Heard of him?"
Tremont's expression softened a bit. "Not anything to do with the Mondolffi family, is he?"
"Absolutely, and since you know about the Mondolffis, you also know that you probably won't be getting any statements from anyone, and you probably won't have a victim who'll want to press any charges. And since I've saved you the trouble of finding that out on your own, I assume that you will be a little more inclined to help me. Who is that man?"
Two paramedics had arrived and were loading Tommy Keel onto a stretcher. Tremont pulled a pad out of his back pocket.
"Name's Thomas Keel, age twenty-two. Lives at 1900 South Street, Apartment 7E, Brooklyn." The cop shut his pad dramatically and looked up. Cook was gone.
"Fucking fibbies," he said under his breath before following the stretcher into the ambulance.
Chapter 5
Ellis Cook rolled over and hit the alarm clock, knocking it off the nightstand and sending it spinning across the floor, where A it continued to buzz. It was six o'clock and Cook wondered why in hell he'd set his alarm so early. Then he remembered the previous night. It was almost too good to be true. He'd spent the past few months studying the Mondolffi family* looking for some way to penetrate their defenses. Without ever seeing him in person, Cook had come to know Tony Rizzo well.
Cook's surveillance work at the Palladium had really been just preliminary. The real investigation wouldn't take place until he had his team set up in an old warehouse he'd found on the west side, just below Canal Street. Once he had his agents together and his plan drawn up, the real work would begin. Cook knew from the FBI profile on Rizzo that the man favored the Palladium. And since the club was not far from Cook's new apartment, he figured he'd try for a firsthand look at one of the most powerful capos of the Mondolffi crime organization. Cook had walked in and spotted Rizzo right away. Then, as if it were scripted, Rizzo and his cronies had whacked out and pummeled one of their own men.
Cook knew he shouldn't have asked the cop who Keel was. He should have gone through channels. But Cook had been in the field long enough to know that sometimes you just had to act on instinct.
He climbed out from under the covers and told himself to stop worrying. That cop wouldn't give him a second thought, and if he did, Cook was certain that the bag of wind wouldn't even be able to remember the name Ellis Cook.
He showered and, drying himself, walked into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee and pour himself some orange juice. He moved quietly, taking care not to wake his Aunt Esther or his daughter, Natasha. Esther had been with them in Atlanta, even before his wife's death, and Cook considered himself fortunate to have her in New York. Naomi had been in the middle of her residence at Grady Hospital when Natasha was born, and Esther had moved in to care for the child during what they all knew would be a difficult period.
Cook could remember arguing with Naomi about having a child at such an inappropriate time. They were up to their eyeballs in debt. He worked constantly, so did she. He wanted kids but not then, not until she was established in a practice and he was settled in the Atlanta regional office with no need to worry about jumping around the country to fish for promotions. Naomi's practice and his steady government job would have given them all the security they needed. They would pay off all their loans and eventually move into a house in Buckhead, and then they could have kids.
Of course that wasn't how it turned out. Naomi had won out, as she almost always did. Natasha was born. Aunt Esther came to live with them, and they worked at making the best of those trying times. Cook felt his throat tighten. Tears welled up in his eyes. He could think of nothing he wouldn't give to go back and relive those times.
He silently thanked Naomi for her stubbornness. It was painful to think of life without Natasha. He saw more of his wife in her every day, and she was the only thing that kept him going when things got tough. He poured some milk into a glass of ice and then filled it with coffee before placing it in the refrigerator. It was one of the ways he showed his thanks to Esther. Whenever he was up early, he'd fix her an iced coffee, which he knew she loved to drink first thing in the morning. There was no way he could have kept Natasha with him and still worked if it weren't for Esther. Of course, he never told Esther that.
The two of them rarely had anything pleasant to say to each other, and the move north of the Mason-Dixon was something Cook suspected his aunt would never forgive him for. But New York offered the chance that he needed. Organized crime was the number one priority under the new director, and everyone knew that only the best were chosen for New York, the center of worldwide mob activities.
Cook was hopeful that by the time Natasha was a teenager, he would have a position behind a big desk in Washington, and they would have a modest but nice home in one of the better D. C. suburbs in Virginia. Cook had seen more than enough to know the dangers and risks of the urban environment, particularly for a teenage girl. He was determined to at least partly fulfill the dreams he and Naomi had had together. The place they lived in now was small: two bedrooms, a kitchen that was big enough to hold a small table
, a living room that was just big enough to hold a couch, and one bathroom. Esther and Natasha slept together. But Cook had opted for tighter quarters that enabled them to live in a relatively safe neighborhood in Greenwich Village near NYU. Also, Cook was a saver. He forced himself to put money away every month. It was money he would use as a down payment on that house in the suburbs.
Cook sipped his coffee.
"Daddy?"
He turned to see a sleepy-eyed eight-year-old in pigtails trying to stifle a yawn.
"Did you kiss me last night, Daddy?" she asked.
"Of course I did, princess," he told her.
"How come you didn't wake me? We're going to the zoo this morning, aren't we?" she said.
Cook tightened the towel around his waist and moved toward her, putting his hand on top of her head.
"We're going, princess. Just a little change of plans is all. I've got just a little more work to do this morning, then I have to see a man in the hospital. Then I'll be back here by lunch to take you, OK?"
He led her to his room and tucked her into his sheets, which were still warm.
"Is the man sick?" she asked quietly.
"Yes, darling, this man is not well at all," he said, bending down to kiss her. "Now you go back to sleep until Aunt Esther gets up. You can tell her I'll be back before lunch, OK?"
"OK, Daddy..."
Cook took some clothes from his closet and made his way out of the bedroom.
"Daddy."
He stopped and turned to her.
"It's nice that you're going to see the man who's sick. I don't mind waiting until later."
