by Dave Daren
“What, did you stay out with the reporter all night?” Anthony asked.
I could picture the grin he probably had on his face, one that would make him look more Gulia and less like Salvatore.
“Not exactly,” I replied. “I stayed up to do some research after I talked to her.”
“Then she must have had something interesting to say,” my client noted.
His voice was still light, as if he had a hard time believing that Brenda Borowski had anything to offer. But I’d learned that he could use his youth to his advantage, just as Brenda did, and I could tell that he had perked up and wanted to know more.
“I think she’s onto something,” I replied. “And I think it could change things.”
“Can you come out to the house?” Anthony suggested. “We can talk in peace out here.”
Which meant someplace he knew wasn’t bugged. I’d discovered not long after I’d started working for Anthony that while the rest of the Febbo estate was often spied upon, Salvatore had installed the latest equipment in his office and a few other select locations to block whatever device the Feds were using to listen to his conversations.
“I’ll drive out,” I said as I glanced out the window. “Looks like it’s going to be a nice day.”
“I don’t think anyone’s going to try and abduct you from the train station again,” Anthony remarked.
“No, next time they’ll probably just shoot first,” I replied.
We both laughed, but there was an undercurrent of truth there. Riding the train out to Long Island no longer seemed like a smart move, and even though I’d been chased while driving the Volvo, it seemed like the safer option at the moment.
With the breakfast dishes cleaned, I headed for the shower. I was in and out as fast as I could manage and still consider myself clean, though I’m not sure I would have passed my mother’s inspection. I tossed on comfortable jeans and a new hoodie, slipped on a pair of basic Keds, and then made my way to the parking garage.
The Volvo had a thin layer of dust and I tried to remember the last time I had taken it out. Fortunately, the engine turned over after only one cough, and I let the engine run for a moment so the battery could recharge. I slipped out of the parking garage and joined the flow of traffic heading towards the LIE.
I made good time to the Febbo estate, and the day turned out to be as beautiful as promised. The sky was a deep blue without a cloud to be seen, the sun shone brightly over the land, and once I was out of the densely packed part of the island, I could roll down the windows and enjoy the scent of freshly mowed grass and turned soil.
Uncle Michael once again greeted me upon my arrival. He trotted over to the car with a smile and a wave, and I took a moment to enjoy the purple velvet tracksuit and the brown wig cut in a Beatles mop top hairstyle. It was the most realistic piece I’d ever seen him in, even if it was a bit dated.
“I like your new ‘do,” I said as I stepped from the car. “Very retro chic.”
“Do you think so?” Michael asked as he reached up and touched the tips of the hairs. “I’m not sold on it myself.”
“Maybe they could trim it a bit for you,” I suggested. “Just to give it a more modern look.”
Michael pondered that as we walked towards the front door. He stopped and checked his reflection in one of the windows once we arrived at the top of the steps, and I saw him tuck some of the hairs on one side up so he could examine the toupee with shorter locks.
“Maybe that’s what it needs,” Michael finally said as he opened the door and whisked me inside. “I should ask Gulia what she thinks. Tony’s already up in the office if you want to go on up.”
I headed up the stairs while Michael trotted towards the piano room. I heard him call Gulia’s name as he stepped across the threshold, but I didn’t hear the brown-haired beauty’s response. I told myself that I really needed to stop and say hello to Salvatore’s wife before I left today as I walked past the familiar wall of old portraits on my way to the office.
I knocked politely on the closed door and waited until I heard Anthony tell me to come in. I found my client seated behind the desk, with the TV on and a stack of computer printouts in front of him. It was the old style paper, with holes along the edges to keep the paper straight as it fed through the machine and perforated lines to make it easier to separate the sheets. I stared at the green and white pages and wondered where anyone had even found a printer that used such paper and how they had gotten it to work.
“Old reports,” Anthony replied when he saw me stare at the pages.
“Of what?” I asked.
“Just sales,” he said vaguely as he picked up the stack and moved it to a spot on the floor behind the desk.
I studied my client for a moment and decided he was looking good despite the stress he was under. His brown hair was still neatly trimmed and combed, his gray-green eyes were still clear, and although I could see a few lines on the forehead, he still looked like a twenty-something that should be working his favorite job at a Queens brewery instead of managing his father’s business empire.
“Like what you see?” Anthony snickered.
“You don’t look as stressed as I thought you would,” I replied.
“Dad wasn’t big on cliches, but he always liked ‘never let them see you sweat’,” Anthony said. “It’s been useful since all this started.”
“Especially with the other families,” I mused.
Anthony nodded then took his own time studying me. I waited until he seemed satisfied that I was handling the stress as well, then waved his hand for me to continue.
“After I talked with Brenda Borowski, I went back and looked at some facts and figures,” I began. “Just to see if there was anything to her claim.”
“And?” Anthony asked.
“I think she’s onto something,” I replied. “And your father was right, though I don’t think he even realized just how right he was.”
“So someone is starting a war,” Anthony mused. “And the police are part of it.”
“They are,” I replied, “but it’s not one of the families.”
“So, one of the drug gangs,” Anthony suggested. “They’re always popping up. Like a disease. Though they don’t usually have the means to plant someone inside the police department.”
“The Serbians,” I replied. “And they’re not looking to start their own mafia. They’re looking to take over what already exists, like a virus taking over the host.”
That had Anthony’s attention, and I saw him sit up straighter as he absorbed what I’d said. My client frowned as his eyes took on a faraway look, and it wasn’t hard to imagine that he was remembering past events that probably involved the Serbians.
“So it is a war,” Anthony said.
“More like a cancer,” I sighed. “Think of them as pod people. They insinuate themselves into the structure, learn what they can, then slowly get rid of all the old guard until there’s only Serbians left. My guess is that there’s some plan to do away with the family structure at that point and just have one large Serbian mob that runs everything.”
“Damn,” Anthony replied.
“Your father was the last real holdout,” I continued. “Even though Kroger had some Serbians he’d hired for muscle, your father made sure they never rose any higher in his organization. By framing you, they’d hoped to keep you and your father busy while Kroger took over, which meant the Serbs would take over. I’m still not sure who shot Salvatore, though that does look like one of the other families hoping to take advantage. But it could just as easily have been the Serbs, hoping to sow discord between the families and giving the Serbs more room to move into the business.”
“And the police corruption Borowski mentioned?” Anthony asked.
“It’s there,” I replied. “And she hinted it also extends into the DA’s office. But it’s not the Mafia link she’s investigating. It’s the Serbian link.”
Anthony frowned again as he worked through the
possibilities. This wasn’t a war like the ones he’d grown up hearing about. This was more insidious, and I wasn’t even sure if there was a way to stop it. The only good news was that Salvatore Febbo had seen or felt something about the Serbians that he didn’t like, and so very few were inside the Febbo operation. Maybe, then, my client could still salvage his family’s share of the action.
“Then the Serbs are the ones telling the DA what to do about my case,” he murmured.
“Probably,” I agreed.
I waited while Anthony pondered in silence for several minutes. At some point, my gaze drifted towards the window, and I watched a pair of birds dart around the yard. Wrens, I decided, though I wasn’t very good at identifying birds that weren’t pigeons.
“This sounds like something we should investigate,” Anthony finally said.
“Definitely,” I agreed.
“There are other groups besides the Serbs,” Anthony added. “The families have pulled people in from just about everywhere. Maybe we should look into those as well.”
“It might be worth it,” I said. “What about the Febbo operations? Is there a particular foreign nationality that Salvatore did rely on? Someone I should investigate first?”
“Salvatore hired a lot of Poles,” Anthony replied. “And Kenyans.”
“Interesting combination,” I noted.
“They can travel in different circles, do deals with different groups,” Anthony replied.
“What about the interview?” I asked.
“I can talk to her,” Anthony said. “She helped us, I can help her. Besides, she probably has more information that we should have.”
“She did say she would share more if you talked to her,” I replied. “Though I’m not sure if she has anything that we can’t find on our own, now that we know where to look.”
“Might save us some time and trouble,” Anthony pointed out.
There was another tap on the door, and Anthony scowled for a moment. I started to stand up but he waved me back into my seat as he yelled at the person to enter. Kroger stepped into the room then, his bristly hair still damp from a shower, and his skin a more pleasant pink color than the last time I saw him. The second smiled at Anthony, but that quickly turned into a scowl when he saw me.
“What’s he doing here?” Kroger demanded.
“He did some investigating last night,” my client said casually. “I asked him to come out and give me a report in person.”
It was curious to hear Anthony offer an explanation, since he tended to run the family business with the same iron fist that Salvatore had. That meant not having to explain anything to anyone, but then I saw how closely Anthony watched the man who had been his father’s trusted lieutenant for all those years. This was a test, though Kroger was apparently unaware of that.
“Oh yeah?” Kroger snorted. “What kind of investigating?”
“On police corruption,” I replied. “And issues in the DA’s office.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on our side?” Kroger demanded. “Why would you be looking into who the families have on the inside?”
“It wasn’t the families I was looking at,” I said smoothly. “There are other interested parties.”
“Like who?” Kroger asked as he finally sat down in the other chair. “I know the Colombians had someone in the police department awhile back, but that new DA cleaned house pretty good.”
“The Serbians,” I said.
“Are we back on that shit?” Kroger exploded.
“Do you know how many Serbians are now working for the families?” Anthony asked.
“How the hell should I know?” Kroger retorted though he wasn’t looking at Anthony. He kept his eyes locked on me, so I had a full view of his face as it started to turn an ugly red color once again.
“There’s a lot,” I replied. “And they have a plan to take over.”
Kroger opened and closed his mouth several times, but no sounds emerged. He finally turned to look at Anthony as he waved his hands in the air.
“The guys we have are good guys,” Kroger finally declared.
“Maybe yes, maybe no,” Anthony replied. “But there’s evidence that the Serbians are taking over, and once they do, the old families will be dead.”
“Let me guess,” Kroger said. “This dingus here is the one who found this evidence.”
“Actually, a source came to me and offered the evidence,” I said. It was vague and even sounded like something a reporter would say, but Kroger was too angry at that point to pick up on that.
“And you’re going to believe some mysterious source?” Kroger demanded. “He’s being played by someone, Tony. Someone who wants you looking in the wrong direction while they move in and take over your territory. Salvatore would never fall for this.”
That was probably the worst thing Kroger could have said at that moment. Anthony’s eyes narrowed, and I saw his hand drift towards one of the drawers again.
“Don’t listen to him,” Kroger continued. “He doesn’t know anything about how business is done around here.”
“And maybe that’s why he can see the threat so clearly,” Anthony replied after several tense moments had passed.
“Christ in the morning,” Kroger muttered as he shook his head.
“I want control of Campania Olio Imports,” Anthony suddenly announced.
Another test, I decided, and I glanced towards Kroger to see what he would do. The lieutenant’s head came up and something like a growl came from the man’s lips.
“I told you, I can’t do that,” the stubble-haired man snapped. “Your father was very insistent that the import company look clean, which means we have to follow the bylaws. That means I’m in charge while Salvatore is incapacitated.”
“It means you have the power to appoint me as a member,” Anthony retorted.
“Tony,” Kroger sighed. “Look, I understand what you’re trying to do, and I respect that. But this is not what your father wanted for you. And up until a month ago, you didn’t want it either. Just let it go.”
The room was dead silent, but the tension spoke volumes. Kroger remained stubbornly determined to block out Anthony from all of the businesses, while Salvatore’s only son was just as determined to hold the family empire together until Salvatore returned. I could see Anthony try to decide whether Kroger’s actions were based on loyalty to Salvatore, or on some darker scheme that would lead to the end of Febbo control. Kroger, for his part, held Anthony with a stare cold enough to kill lesser men.
“I’m a loyal family man,” the lieutenant finally rumbled. “You don’t know anything about this guy except he’s good at manipulating the system.”
“Don’t push me, Ben,” Anthony warned.
“Why the hell did you call me here this morning?” Kroger demanded. “To accuse me of being a Serbian operative? Is that the word? Operative? Like I’m in some sort of James Bond movie.”
I started to say something, but Anthony shot me an icy look of his own. I closed my mouth and waited for someone else to speak.
“I have questions about some of the files,” Anthony finally said. “I’ve been looking over the books.”
“Your father never had any questions because he knew that not all of the accounting was done in the ledgers,” Kroger replied. “You? You don’t have the right to ask any questions because you don’t understand half of what’s going on.”
We all heard the desk drawer slide open at the same time. I had just enough time to picture myself flopping over the arm of my chair and hiding behind it’s leather form, and then Anthony and Kroger each had a gun in their hand and pointed towards each other.
“Shit,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
Chapter 22
“You bring me in here and disrespect me,” Kroger growled. “After everything I’ve done for this family.”
“You seem to have forgotten who’s in charge,” Anthony said coldly.
“I’ve forgotten?” Kroger sputt
ered. “You’re the one who swept in and took over, even though you knew that wasn’t what your father wanted. You may be okay with ignoring the old man’s wishes, but I’m still loyal.”
“This seems like a conversation that should be held at a later time,” I suggested as I regretted not having completed my paperwork for a license.
“Seems like a good time to me,” Kroger muttered. “Ain’t this what you’ve been angling for since you got here, Mr. Attorney?”
“Not this, no,” I replied.
“No, you were just going to badmouth me until Anthony had someone else take me out,” Kroger asserted.
“You brought this on yourself,” Anthony said quietly. “You’ve done everything you can to stop me.”
“I have,” Kroger agreed. “And you know why. I won’t apologize for that.”
“So,” I said loudly, then hesitated while I tried to figure out what to say next. “This is definitely something that needs to be worked out, but this isn’t the way. For one thing, I don’t think Gulia would approve. I also don’t think anyone wants to have the police out here, which is what will happen if one of you fires a gun.”
The argument against police involvement carried some weight, but it was the mention of Gulia that really did the trick. Both men had lowered their weapons when I said the Febbo matriarch’s name, and though they still glowered at each other, I felt the tension start to drop a degree or two.
“We can finish this when there’s no one else around,” Kroger said as he stood up.
Kroger slipped his gun back into his holster and backed towards the door, his eyes on the boss’s son the entire time. Anthony’s gun was out of view, but I had no doubt it was still in his hand somewhere behind the desk. I looked back and forth between the two men as Kroger fumbled for the door knob, then finally stepped into the hallway. The door slammed shut and then I heard his footsteps as he stomped down the hall.
“What was that?” I said when my heartbeat dropped to something approaching normal.
“Something that can’t be tolerated,” Anthony replied. “Something that I need to deal with.”
