by Dave Daren
“A man of his word,” Salvatore chuckled. “I didn’t think such men became lawyers.”
I shrugged but didn’t offer anything else.
“Perhaps I can help you,” Salvatore finally said. “Not with money, but by providing information relevant to the matter.”
“That would be acceptable,” I replied.
I was convinced that Salvatore was about to name several of his competitors as somehow being complicit. I’d already started a list in my own head based on what little I knew about the local Mafia families from the news reports, and I wondered if I’d really learn any new names from the man in front of me.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Salvatore said as he watched me. “You think I’m going to tell you to investigate my rivals. And you might be right. But before you stir up that hornet’s nest, there’s something more that you need to know.”
“Okay,” I said suspiciously.
“I’ve been busy this past year,” he continued. “I’ve made changes to several of my businesses, turned over operations in some areas to others, even set up a charitable foundation.”
“Okay,” I repeated.
“What I’m trying to say is that I’m getting out of the family business,” Febbo sighed. “I’m going clean.”
“Wait, what?” I demanded. “You’re saying you’re not…”
I waved my hand in the air as I tried to think of a polite way to say ‘you’re not a mob boss any more.’
“By the end of this year, I’ll only have clean and legal businesses,” Febbo continued.
“Why?” I asked. I had a hard time imagining a man who had spent his entire life in the Mafia had suddenly decided that he wanted to join the well-heeled crowds that inhabited the Hamptons.
Salvatore seemed to think about that question for several minutes, as if the why of what he was doing hadn’t been an issue he had previously considered.
“I had a heart scare a few years ago,” he mused. “The doctors told me I had to cut back on the stress. I shrugged off their advice then, but as I looked around at my house and my family, I decided I wasn’t ready to give those up. And then there’s Anthony and the girls. I know they’re embarrassed by what I do, especially Anthony. He was so determined not to be a part of the business that he changed his name and moved to Queens. Queens!”
“It’s the up and coming place,” I replied.
“Queens,” Febbo muttered again. “Anthony and me, we’ve had our share of arguments. But I want my family whole again, and I can do that if I restart my life.”
I pondered Febbo’s story for a moment as I glanced towards the TV. Febbo and I watched a player in blue weave his way between defenders in a beautiful display of athleticism, and then hit the ground hard when a player in red tackled him. In American football, it would have been a great play, but in the European leagues it sent the other players into a frenzy.
“It’s not such an easy thing to do,” I said as we watched the refs wave cards at just about everybody. “Especially given your previous career.”
“I know this,” Febbo replied. “But I’ve talked to Gulia, and I know it’s what I must do. Once I finish the transition, we’ll put this house and everything in it in a trust for the kids, and then she and I will go to our second home in… well, our second home. We can be the new neighbors in a place where no one knows us. The kids can come and visit, and we’ll have the grandkids for the summer.”
“Do your kids know this?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Febbo sighed. “I had planned to tell them when it was a fait accompli, but these events with Anthony have me wondering if I should change my plans.”
I turned to look at the older man, and for the first time, I saw how tired he really looked. He hid it well, but in the safe confines of his office, he let down his guard for just a moment. I wondered if the heart scare was more serious than he had revealed, and if that was really the driving force behind his decision.
“Do you imagine the other families have decided to frame Anthony?” I pressed.
“And here, I thought you were a smart man,” Febbo chided me. “Does that make sense to you?”
“No,” I admitted. “I’ve been trying to work out why they would bother with such a complicated scheme. And if the goal is to take over, it makes even less sense.”
“Very good,” Febbo chuckled. “But there is one way it makes sense.”
“Oh?” I replied.
“If my own business associates are behind it,” he explained.
“Oh,” I repeated as the real dangers started to sink in. “Wouldn’t they just kill you out right if they… disagreed with your plans?”
“They could,” Febbo agreed, “but then things become unstable and other families might involve themselves.”
“So is framing your son for murder a warning to you not to talk or a move to get you out faster?” I asked.
“Now you’re asking the right questions,” Febbo replied with a wicked smile.
Chapter 7
“And now, I must ask you an important question,” Febbo declared. “How far are you willing to go for my son?”
“What do you mean?” I asked as I tried to work through the long list of people who had a stake in this secret war between Salvatore Febbo and his one-time supporters.
“You’re his attorney,” Febbo noted. “You’ll defend him against this murder charge?”
“I will,” I asserted.
“And how will you do that?” Febbo pressed. “Will you sit in your office and read through the files, maybe conduct a couple of interviews?”
“That’s part of it,” I said slowly.
“Because I already possess a slew of attorneys who can do that,” Febbo continued. “What I need to know is if you can do more. Will you be able to stop this harassment before it goes to court?”
“I think so,” I replied after only a brief hesitation.
“You’ll be doing your own investigation, then,” Febbo pushed.
“Yes,” I said.
Febbo studied me a moment longer, then glanced back at the TV.
“If I may ask, what does that type of investigation involve?” Febbo finally queried as a beer commercial came on.
“Basically, much the same thing the police are doing,” I replied. “Interviewing people, collecting evidence.”
“And you think people will talk to you?” Febbo asked.
“Sometimes you can learn more from a lie than you can from the truth,” I said.
Febbo nodded in agreement, and I thought he looked surprised but happy with my response.
“We should talk about who you will be interviewing,” Febbo declared.
“We’ve started a list,” I hedged, well aware that the elder Febbo was not my client. He was also a potential witness, and the last thing I wanted was for an overzealous prosecutor to accuse me of feeding information to the Febbo clan.
“I can guess who’s on it so far,” Febbo mused. “The friends at the party, the people in the apartment building, the police who first arrived on the scene. How am I doing so far?”
“You’d be right,” I agreed. “As would anyone who’s ever watched a cop show.”
“Feh,” Salvatore said dismissively. “You won’t learn anything important from any of those places.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I can’t ignore them, either.”
“I can tell you where to look,” Febbo insisted.
“And I’m happy to hear what you have to say,” I replied. “But first, I’d like to know more about Francie and her relationship with Anthony. You must know something about it.”
Febbo eyed me curiously, but I didn’t say anything else. I wanted to take control of our conversation, and though I’m sure he recognized the ploy, he caved in first.
“They grew up together,” Febbo replied. “When they were kids, they hung out all the time. When they were teenagers, they sort of dated.”
“Sort of dated?” I asked since Anthony had been insis
tent that he and Francie had always been friends and nothing more.
“Well, you know how it is at that age,” Febbo explained. “They knew each other so it was comfortable and safe. They could go to the movies and parties together, and be with someone without really being with someone, if you know what I mean. Neither one of them was all that secure as a kid. With Francie always around, Tony didn’t have to worry about whether some girl rejected him.”
“So they were just friends,” I clarified.
“Mostly,” Febbo agreed. “Though, you know, there was a stretch there, what, when they were juniors? Anyway, they decided to do the whole couples thing. They went to parties together and held hands at school, but then Francie decided she liked being friends better.”
“What did Tony think of that?” I asked.
“He was a teenage boy full of hormones,” Febbo snickered. “What do you think he thought about that? Ah, he was upset for awhile, but his mother talked to him about how hard high school was for girls, and I convinced him he could get his rocks off elsewhere. We got it sorted, and by senior year, they were back to being friends again.”
“Did Francie spend much time here?” I asked.
“Some,” Febbo said with a shrug. “Mostly during the summer. During the school year, they tended to hang out at the school or that pizza place down the street from the school. Why do you ask?”
“I’m just wondering if Francie might have told someone about her rich friend from high school,” I replied.
“I guess she could have,” Febbo said slowly. “Though Francie’s family isn’t exactly hurting.”
“What do you know about her family?” I prodded.
“Father’s a surgeon,” Febbo replied. “Mother works as a VP for one of the banks. One other child, a younger daughter named Meg.”
“So you know a lot,” I pointed out.
“I like to know who my family is spending time with,” the Mafia boss replied.
“What about after high school graduation?” I said. “I know they went to different colleges.”
“Yeah, I thought that was good,” Febbo replied. “Give them both a chance to meet new people without their safety net around. Anthony did okay, but Francie had a tougher time of it. She talked Tony into being a couple again, though Tony always insisted it was just so she could tell the guys she didn’t like that she had a boyfriend. And it might have started that way, but it started to get serious.”
“And then?”
“And then Francie found some people who introduced her to new drugs and new parties, and she told Tony that she didn’t need him so much any more,” Febbo sighed. “I tried to warn him what was going to happen, but no one wants to listen to their parents. So here he was, ready to start his third year of college, and he’s trying to tell me that he doesn’t want to go back because he’s so sad about Francie. I could have killed the kid myself.”
“Which one?” I asked.
“Tony, Francie, both of them,” he admitted. “I finally told them to forget each other and get on with their lives, and if they didn’t, I’d send Tony back to the old country where he would meet plenty of young women who would make him forget all about Francine Mott.”
“That must have gone over well,” I mused.
“No,” Febbo chuckled. “It was as bad as you’re imagining. But on the up side, they seemed to reach some sort of middle ground. They weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, but they could still talk and just hang out together. Of course, by that time, she was really getting into the party scene. She started calling Anthony again, asking him for rides home like she used to do in high school. I will say this, she was never dumb enough to go home with a stranger.”
“Anthony said the same thing,” I replied.
“She was an odd one,” Febbo mused. “She always seemed so shy around people, but then Anthony would mention that she was going to another party with her friends and he was supposed to go pick her up. I asked him once why he was always picking her from these parties and he just said they were friends.”
“What else can you tell me about her?” I asked. “What did you think of her?”
“What did I think of her,” Febbo said quietly. “She wasn’t a bad kid at heart, I don’t think, but she was never quite enough of anything to belong to a group. And you know how important that is in high school.”
“What do you mean?” I pressed.
“She was smart, but not smart enough to be part of the brainy pack,” Febbo explained. “She wasn’t really geeky enough to be a true geek. She liked to read, but she didn’t read the same books as the other readers. Tony was the only kid she really hung out with, and so his friends sort of became her friends, up to a point. But I think she really wanted to fit in somewhere on her own, and she decided that she wanted to fit in with the cool kids.”
“That’s when she started doing the party circuit,” I guessed.
“Yeah,” Febbo agreed. “Even then, I didn’t mind them hanging out. But when her activities started to have a negative effect on my son, I had to put an end to it.”
“Sure, I can see that,” I replied. “Everyone wants to protect their kid.”
“We were never close with the Motts,” Febbo added. “But now, well, I don’t even know what to do. Should we go to the funeral? Do we pretend we don’t know them? I know Anthony didn’t do this, but if it is related to my personal affairs, how do I even talk to them?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But what if it wasn’t because of what you’re doing?”
“How so?” he asked.
“You and Anthony, as well as the detective, all mentioned that she liked to party,” I pointed out. “And though she wouldn’t go home with a stranger, she would go home with someone she knew, or thought she knew. Just because it wasn’t Anthony, doesn’t mean one of her other friends couldn’t have done this. And as you pointed out, her parents are wealthy as well. It could tie back to them.”
“All true,” Febbo agreed. “Except for one thing.”
“The phone call,” I said.
“That bothers me,” Febbo replied. “It feels like someone was just waiting for him to show up.”
“But how would they know it would be him?” I asked just to hear what Febbo had to say. “It could have been any of her friends who came by to check on her. Or even a nosey neighbor who noticed the door was open.”
“Tony’s done it before,” Febbo admitted. “Usually in a similar situation.”
“Meaning she had called him for a ride, then left with someone else,” I said.
“She wasn’t doing it so often anymore,” Febbo replied. “She knew Tony was working and didn’t have as much free time.”
“But she did?” I asked.
“She does freelance work,” Febbo snorted. “Whatever the hell that is. Okay, that was mean. She does work at an office now, and she’s been better about focusing on that and not on the parties. But sometimes, I know, she’d go to one of these big productions so she could still be seen as part of the in crowd.”
“You seem to understand her pretty well,” I pointed out.
“I guess I do,” the Mafioso admitted.
“Sounds like you’ve been keeping tabs on her,” I added.
“As I said,” Febbo growled. “I like to know who’s going to be around my family.”
I nodded, then thought back over Febbo’s opinions.
“You said she wouldn’t leave with someone she didn’t know,” I stated.
“She was good about that at least,” Febbo admitted.
“So who did she know?” I asked.
“She has some girlfriends she goes to parties with,” Febbo replied. “But I think most of her friends are still the people she knows through Anthony.”
“So someone who knew Anthony as well?” I prodded.
“I hate to admit it, but yes,” Febbo agreed.
“Anthony could still be just the unlucky pigeon,” I commented. “Do you know anything about her parents?”
“Look, I know you’re trying to be thorough,” the older man sighed. “And you can look at that angle back at your office, but right now, I’m telling you that’s a nonstarter. If this was a set up, it was done to nail my son, and it was done by people who are trying to come at me through my family.”
“Okay,” I said. “So tell me who you think would be willing to go to such elaborate lengths to set up Anthony.”
We had finally reached the topic that the Mafia man wanted to discuss, but years of keeping the family business in the family wasn’t so easily undone. He chewed at his lip and an array of emotions crossed his face as he tried to decide how much he really wanted to tell me.
“As I said,” Febbo began, “I’m looking to get out of the business. I’m in the process of transferring control to a man named Ben Kroger.”
“That’s not a very Italian name,” I noted.
“His mother is from Sicily,” Febbo replied. “She married an American soldier, and when he left the army, her family got in touch with relatives here to help the new husband find a job.”
“Got it,” I replied.
“Ben knows what’s going on, of course,” Febbo continued. “As far as the transfer, I mean. I haven’t given him all of the details about Tony’s imbroglio yet, but I’ll have to fill him in. You should know that if you need any help with your investigation, like setting up meetings with certain people within our organization, he’s the man who will handle that.”
“So you trust him?” I asked.
“Trust?” Febbo repeated. “Trust is a strong word in this business. But I trust that it’s to his benefit for Tony to be cleared of the charges. Otherwise, I might have to stay around longer.”
“Sure,” I agreed. “But then who would benefit from hurting Anthony? Is it just someone on the inside or could it be one of the other families?”
“There are some outside the family who would see this as an opportune time to sow discord,” Febbo admitted.
An image of Fat Tony D’Amico popped into my head, and I had to stifle my laugh with a cough. It seemed mob bosses really did talk in grand terms when dancing around a subject.
