The cocky Teamster business agent had negotiated too many agreements not to pick up the signal Reardon unwittingly sent. He answered in a suitably strident manner, raising his voice enough to remind Terry of the temper tantrum he’d probably be having if they were in a private room somewhere instead of the middle of a crowded restaurant.
“I gotta get enough in wages to make these fucking guys happy, Terry. This last contract gave them shit, you know that. No one wanted a strike three years ago, so you and Richie got away with fucking murder. You probably earned yourself a big fucking bonus on that one. My guys tell me they want more in the paycheck, that’s what’s fucking bugging them right now. All I keep hearing from them is how much more they’ve got to shell out for their fucking groceries.”
Arena looked down again at the numbers he’d written in the notebook. “I can sell them on this not being the time for another holiday or more sick days or life insurance, but you gotta beef up the fucking wages. This here won’t do it. It ain’t gonna be easy getting a majority to buy the whole package, but I’ll do my fucking best if you give me something to work with. Tell that to your boss.”
“I’ll speak to him, Tommy, but don’t get your hopes up.” Then Reardon made his second mistake. “I’ve still got your word there won’t be a strike, right?”
Arena jumped on that one just as quickly. “I told you I don’t want to see these fucking guys do something stupid. But we ain’t gonna lay down for the Herald to walk all over us. If you can’t give me what I gotta have to push it through, then we could have a fucking problem.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Terry said, “but it’s not up to me. Whatever happens, I’m still going to hold you to a two-week written notice before they walk. We signed off on that one.”
“No problem. Now just go back and get me some more fucking money.” Arena didn’t doubt for a second that it was coming. He felt good enough about it to consider picking up the check, but resisted the temptation.
* * *
Reardon had to make sure he dragged the negotiations on long enough to get through the election. The executives on the Herald ’s fourth floor made it clear they didn’t want to see any labor problems breaking out while all the big races were reaching a climax. Trouble with the Teamsters meant newspapers not getting delivered. Reardon knew he had to keep his tit from getting caught in a ringer for at least the next three weeks.
Arena called a week later to find out what was happening. Terry had a phony excuse all worked out.
“Look, Tommy, my boss told me to make a complete analysis of the Union’s outstanding money proposals and the Company’s last offer. He’s not going to do anything until the publisher and the managing editor review everything and see where we stand. But I had a few other things to do first, and I just sent the breakdown over to them yesterday afternoon. We could set up a tentative meeting for early next week, if you want.”
Arena was willing. But even while agreeing to return to the Old Grist Mill on Tuesday, Reardon knew that the earliest he’d be ready to give Tommy his “take it or leave it” position was on Friday of that week. If the drivers turned it down, the two-week strike notice Tommy had to give him would carry them through the election.
And that’s how it worked out. Reardon cancelled the Tuesday meeting early that same day and lunched with Arena on Friday. He improved the wage package in each of the three years of the contract, but still held back a little of what he was authorized to spend in case there were any more surprises.
Tommy didn’t disappoint him. “It’s not all I wanted,” he said, frowning, “but it gives me a fucking chance to sell it to the drivers if you’ll throw in a two hundred dollar signing bonus.”
Reardon hesitated, purposely, staring at Arena. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he finally answered. “Instead of my having to get back to you-know-who and discuss this all over again, I’m willing to do this: your guys get the package I already put on the table today, plus a bonus of a hundred bucks up front—and that’s gross, before deductions—if they ratify this deal the first time around. If they reject it, the bonus is out the window, no matter what happens afterward. Write that down, so there’s no misunderstanding.” Terry waited for Arena to open his notebook and make the entry. “But you’ve got to give me an answer no later than next Thursday. If they turn it down, you can bring me the strike notice at the same time. Thursday will be the day, either way, agreed?”
“I could sell it easier with the fucking two hundred, but I’ll do my best,” Arena said.
So Tuesday got off to a great start when Tommy Arena came by unexpectedly with news of the ratification. Terry informed his boss, and got himself invited to lunch at the Biltmore.
80
HE WAS STILL FLYING high an hour after lunch. That’s when Jenna called and asked if he had time that night to stop by her apartment.
“The last time we did it I got a great idea on the Niro case,” she told him. “I just have this feeling I’m close to finding the answer. I’m hoping lightning will strike again.”
“I’ll take that as a brazen excuse to have sex,” he said. “But seeing that we work for the same newspaper, I’ll show my loyalty and be most happy to oblige. I’ll try and say ‘Shazam’ at just the right moment.”
“You’ll say what?”
“Forget it. You probably never heard of ‘Captain Marvel’ anyway. I’ll get you some lightning without it.”
* * *
Afterwards, when the fireworks had come and gone for Jenna and they were still lying in bed, she told Terry she couldn’t come up with a single reason for anyone to walk into Chi-Chi’s and gun down Al Niro.
“I’m convinced that the Tarantinos didn’t care about his two-bit football operation. He was like a gnat on an elephant’s back. The other guys taking bets around town are all small-time, just like Niro. Sal Tarantino calls them ‘barroom bookies.’ None of them was looking to push him out of Chi-Chi’s and take that spot. In fact, no one else has set up shop there since the killing. Besides that, the man was never involved in drugs, either using the stuff or selling it.
“Niro’s wife is positive he didn’t have an enemy in the world. She says he told her everything. If he ever suspected that someone was out to get him, he would have let her know, she’s certain about that. The two of them ate breakfast and dinner together every day, even on the nights he went to work at Chi-Chi’s. I just can’t find a motive, Terry, and neither can the police.”
“Maybe the guy wasn’t sent in there to kill Niro,” he said, turning on his side toward her.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I’m not sure, but maybe it was an initiation of some kind. Could be the guy with the gun had to prove to someone he had the nerve to kill, that he could walk into a bar and do what he did. So he just waited until he got almost to the back door because he knew the getaway car was in the alley, and shot Niro sitting in the last booth. He probably could have just killed Richie instead since the two of them were right across from each other. Then Niro might still be taking bets in Chi-Chi’s and you’d be here with me trying to figure out who it was that wanted Cardella out of the way.”
Jenna didn’t say anything. She just lay there, looking up at the ceiling. Several minutes passed. Terry reached out his hand and let his fingers walk around her stomach. She shook slightly with pleasure and gently lifted his hand away. Her expression didn’t change.
“Do I smell rubber burning?” he asked.
She remained silent for another minute or so. And then suddenly she screamed out his name several times and was all over him. She kissed him on his lips and everywhere else on his face, talking to him all the while. “You did it, you did it. Oh, I love you, you’re wonderful. I knew I was close. But you did it, you made me see it. You are absolutely Mr. Lightning. I love you, I love you.”
“Quick, tell me what I did,” he said, when she finally settled back.
“No, no, there’s no time for that,” she answered.
“You’ve got to go home and I have to work on a story.”
Terry feigned disappointment. “I see. I come over here as soon as you say you need me, and I do this wonderful thing, and my reward is that you don’t want me to know what I did, but I’ve got to get out of bed before I see if I have another bolt of lightning to fill up your … eh, sky. Is that it?”
Jenna was already on her way to the bathroom. She didn’t answer his question directly, but stopped long enough to smile at him and say, “If we could just do this often enough, I think I would get a Pulitzer Prize.”
81
THE LIGHTS IN THE bedroom were off. Bruce Singer could see Carol’s form under the blanket as he walked quietly past the foot of the waterbed and sat down on his side of it to take off his shoes and socks. The bright red lights of the digital clock on the nightstand read 11:47. It was Tuesday night, exactly two weeks before the election.
“How did everything go?” he heard his wife ask.
“You still up?” But he didn’t wait for her to answer. “It was a good day. The crowds have definitely picked up since that story about the Tarantino-Fiore connection. Hopefully, by some time tomorrow the Herald will have its latest poll out and we’ll be able to see if we gained any ground in the last few days.”
“Good,” was all Carol said.
“If you’re not half asleep, I’ve got some juicy information you might like to hear … about Fiore.”
Carol opened her eyes, facing away from her husband, but didn’t move. “What is it?” she mumbled.
“It seems he’s having an affair.”
She held her breath, afraid to ask, “With whom?” After a pause, she said, “Oh?”
Bruce got undressed and was putting on his pajamas. “Yup, with the wife of a company president who runs a wire plant. One of Doug’s clients owns the place. Her name is Pat Hanley.”
“I assume that’s just a rumor.” Carol made it a statement, not a question.
“It’s not a rumor, it’s a fact. But the only ones who know about it are you and me and the guy who gave me the tapes.”
She turned toward her husband. “What are you talking about, Bruce? Tell me before you go into the bathroom.”
He sat back down on the side of the bed. “A certain person knew that Doug was meeting this Hanley woman at a hotel and that they weren’t just friends. It was in the same room all the time, one her husband’s company kept rented for business guests who came to Providence. This person was given a key to the room, in case he had to use it. For his own reasons, he asked a detective friend of his to set up a tape recorder under the bed. The microphones were hidden in the lamps on the bedside tables. As soon as one of the mikes picked up a voice, the tape started to run. It’s very good quality. He gave me eleven tapes, from May to September, so Doug was seeing quite a bit of the lady.”
“Have you listened to them?” she asked.
“Parts of a few,” he said. “Pretty pornographic sound bites, except when the maid comes in to clean and turns on the TV. They both seemed to enjoy themselves.”
“What are you going to do with them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. This guy wanted me to have them in case Fiore tried to pull something dirty before the election. He thinks Doug wouldn’t hesitate to start telling lies about my personal life if the race tightened up and he thought that’s what it took to win. But even if he did, I can’t see giving these to anyone else. Why hurt the woman just to get back at him?”
“Not many people running for office would look at it that way.” Carol hesitated before continuing. “I respect you for having that attitude. But who’s this person that’s so concerned about you?”
“Will you promise me it never leaves this room?”
“I promise,” she answered.
“It was George Ryder,” he said, and then told her why Ryder arranged for the tapes in the first place.
“Fiore doesn’t know how lucky he is that Ryder found another job,” Carol said, when he finished. “He’ll never even know the tapes exist unless you get desperate and change your mind.”
“Not much chance of that, but that doesn’t mean I may not tune in to more of the action at the Biltmore once in a while.” He started walking toward the bathroom. “Maybe I’ll learn something new and exciting from the folks in Room 606.”
For a while, as soon as the room number left Bruce’s lips, Carol thought the heavy pounding in her heart would cause it to burst. She was certain that was the room in which Fiore made love to her. That meant she was on one of the tapes and that Bruce might find out about it at any time. Oh, God, what had she done?
When the alarm went off the next morning, she felt as if she hadn’t slept a minute that night.
82
THE ONLY DISAGREEMENT RICHARDSON and McMurphy had on Wednesday was whether she should call police headquarters and let Gerry Quinn know about her story before it appeared in the Herald the next morning.
“It’s your scoop, Jenna,” he said. “You worked it out on your own and you’ve got no obligation to tell Quinn about it ahead of time. We don’t know if he might just decide to take some action before the papers hit the newsstands tomorrow. He may want it to look like his detectives were thinking along the same lines.”
But she insisted. She felt she had the chance to interview the Tarantinos only because Quinn interceded for her. That’s what got her the start she needed on the story. Quinn asked her to keep him informed. Jenna wanted to keep her side of the bargain, and when she finally reached him, was glad she did.
“I hope ya on to something,” Quinn said, after listening to her new theory of the case. “It’s certainly another way of looking at it. But even if ya wrong, it may shake something else outta the trees. Good luck, kid, and thanks for letting me know aheada time.”
* * *
Richardson’s story was featured on the left side of the Herald ’s front page and ran under the headline, “WAS CARDELLA GUNMAN’S TARGET?”
“Six weeks ago, an unknown assassin entered Chi-Chi’s Bar & Grille in downtown Providence, hurried to the rear of the establishment and brutally murdered both Al Niro, a part-time bookmaker, and Richie Cardella, a Republican candidate for governor of Rhode Island (who succumbed to his massive wounds nine days later). Since then, the attention of the police and everyone else interested in the case has been focused on what reason anyone had for wanting Niro dead.
This line of inquiry was based on the fact that the killer was heard to say the words, ‘We warned you’ to Niro before shooting him. The assumption followed that Cardella became a victim because he was standing almost directly across from Niro’s booth, answering a telephone call, and probably saw the gunman’s face.
Investigation by both the Providence and State Police departments turned up evidence that Niro ran his gambling operation out of Chi-Chi’s for approximately four years, taking wagers during the football season. Similar bookmaking operations, all on a small scale like Niro’s, were found to exist in a number of downtown and area bars and restaurants. None of the other individuals involved in accepting bets in this manner have received threats aimed at persuading them to cease their activities. There is no evidence that Niro was actually threatened in such a way.
For this reason, the police now appear to be convinced that the Family which presides over big time gambling in Rhode Island from its headquarters on Federal Hill, led by Salvatore Tarantino, was not involved in the slayings that occurred.
Yet it has become clear that Al Niro had no other enemies who wanted him out of the way. Contrary to rumors that surfaced early, Niro was never involved in drugs in any way, shape or form. He owed no gambling debts himself and was not invested in any other kind of criminal activity taking place in the City.
Weeks of intensive investigation revealed only that Niro worked at his lawn maintenance/snow removal business on a regular basis during the day and supplemented his income marginally by taking small bets on football games at night from July through
January.
That being the case, how do we explain the horrible events of that Monday evening at Chi-Chi’s?
This reporter thinks we must begin to look at what happened with the premise that Richie Cardella was the prime target for the killer, and that it was Al Niro who suffered the loss of his life simply for being where he was.
While police can find no provocation for the murder of Niro, there is at least one possible motive for eliminating Cardella and taking him out of the race for governor: namely, that he was a strong proponent of State-sponsored casino gaming parlors, to be located throughout Rhode Island.
Cardella declared on numerous occasions during the primary campaign that if elected, he would support such legislation and fight for its enactment.
His position on the issue was diametrically opposed to that of Doug Fiore, against whom he was running to secure the Republican nomination for governor in the general election.
At the point that Cardella was gunned down, one week before the primary balloting, he was running five points ahead of Fiore in the polls and looked to be a winner in the election.
Who would profit by Cardella’s death? This reporter is unable to point a finger at anyone or any group at this time because there is no evidence available yet to rely upon. But clearly, the interests of those who do not want to see the State become involved with casino gambling were dramatically served by Cardella’s tragic removal from the gubernatorial campaign.
Was the Tarantino family involved? Did the order for Cardella’s death come from Federal Hill?
It must be pointed out that the Family has not been charged with a single homicide in our State since Salvatore Tarantino took control of the operation on the death of Anthony Buscatelli in 1969.
The people of Rhode Island should also be aware that the Tarantinos have taken the Family completely out of many criminal activities in which its members were involved during the Buscatelli regime.
My Honorable Brother Page 39
