The Last Witness

‘I don’t know.’ Georges shrugged, easier now that Jean-Paul had found his flow, but still unsure where it was all heading.

‘Because he’s the son that’s managed to escape and make his own way, find some success outside of the family business.’ Jean-Paul sat back down and looked thoughtfully into his brandy glass for a second. ‘Oh sure, everyone looks at people like Vito and Art as the tough guys, the wise guys — but it never gets any easier. They start tough, no question: fronting longshoremen with bill-hooks and Union strong-arms wielding baseball bats, getting their first blood, then later more killings over turf or to rise up the ranks — some of it hands-on with having to pull a wire through a man’s neck — but it never gets any easier.’ Jean-Paul relaxed open the hand he’d clenched suddenly tight. ‘Because as the money rolls in, their private, home lives become softer: they move out of their old neighbourhood, buy a house with a pool and a gardener, their wives get their hair done each week and have private fitness and yoga instructors, and their kids go to college and get an education. Suddenly the mean streets where it all started become but a distant dream. And with all that, when they sit back and look around them-’ Jean-Paul waved his hand in a half-circle. ‘It starts to hit them as ludicrous why they should still fear getting the wrong side of a bullet, still have to look over their shoulders.’ The hand pulled back in and Jean-Paul shrugged. ‘Sure, they themselves probably accept that fear of a bullet, they’ve lived with it from day one as part of the package, the ‘territory’. But they start to expect something better for their family. For them, they want that fear gone; they don’t want them to have to live the same way they have. That’s why Art was so outraged with what happened to Pascal — because Pascal was never really involved in the business, he was just on the fringes doing some bookkeeping. If his music career had been more successful, he wouldn’t even have done that. So Art saw him as someone on the edge who almost escaped — but never quite made it. Still they got him. Art was outraged because he felt that if they could do that — they were only a step away from yanking Paul from Annapolis and putting a bullet through his head. And the golden rule has always been hands off family outside of the business. That’s why when Art intervened with the Cacchiones, the white flag came up so quickly. They’d broken the rules, and knew it.’ He swilled his brandy and took a quick slug. ‘Though by then it was too late for Pascal.’

‘I understand.’ Georges cast his eyes down for a second. Though it was more the general ethos he understood: he had no idea until now that Giacomelli had taken such a personal interest in Pascal’s death because of how it might relate to his own family.

Jean-Paul forced a wan, philosophical smile. ‘The only problem is, it’s not so simple: fate, circumstance gets in the way. Sometimes the kids don’t do so well at college, or they show a natural leaning towards the business, or, like Vincent, they start getting into trouble with other things; and the parents think — if they’re going to go down that route anyway, they might at least go down it professionally, in an organized way. But what starts to form in the parents mind is a black and white yardstick: the successes escape, the failures with little or no choice — despite all the education and privilege heaped on them to keep them away — end up in the family business. That’s why Art talks all the time about Paul, with hardly a word for Vincent.’

Georges nodded. He recalled Jean-Paul once consoling Jon Larsen, who was upset that his son had dropped his law studies to pursue a career in palaeontology, relating how Carlo Gambino’s children hadn’t followed him into the business, one of them opting for the totally polarised, un-macho world of dress design. ‘Gambino didn’t fight against it, because he knew at heart his children wouldn’t be right for it. That’s why John Gotti was nurtured to finally take over after Castellano: he came from the same mean streets as Gambino, his edge hadn’t been softened by two generations of money and education.’

‘But then you get all the times when it’s not so black and white — all the grey areas like Pascal and me, where we end up in the business by default. Pascal because our father found out his bookkeeper was cheating him, and he needed someone he knew he could trust for a while before getting someone new.’ Jean-Paul shrugged. ‘…Though Pascal ended up staying much longer. And me because he feared that Roman wouldn’t have the right acumen for the business, or temperament — that he was far too headstrong. And then of course what happened with Pascal ended up supporting that judgement.’ He waved his brandy glass. ‘You know that my father partly blamed Roman for Pascal?’

‘Yes, I know.’ They’d touched on the subject before, but never in such depth or so heartfelt. The only emotional plea ever put to it had been when Jean-Paul and Jon Larsen first convinced him to join the fold, explaining why this bid to clean the business was so vital, so close to the family’s heart. It wasn’t just a passing whim. And suddenly it hit Georges why Jean-Paul was covering it all now: Something was wrong, was concerning Jean-Paul, and he was testing loyalty. But was it just a suspicion, or had Jean-Paul heard about Chenouda hauling him in? Which way to play it?

‘So hopefully now you can see why cleaning this business is so important, not just to me but so many others like Art Giacomelli. A possible solution for the generations to come, aside from them simply having to step outside of the family business to get their father’s approval. Because the problem is not really with them, but the nature of the business. And the fact that nobody wants to leave a legacy to their children that might end up getting them killed.’

Georges laid one hand flat on the smooth polished table to stop it trembling. Which way to play it? Jean-Paul had circled in so well. Georges had always felt the terrible burden of this commitment, the fear of letting Jean-Paul down when he knew how much it all meant personally to Jean-Paul… that burden growing by the day with his withheld secret. Then had come the knowledge that their progress was suddenly of interest to other leading crime families, bets and pre-judgements were being made on each side; but at least he’d been able to view all that as one step removed from the fray. Now suddenly it was of personal interest to Art Giacomelli. He wouldn’t just be letting down Jean-Paul, but also America’s most powerful crime boss. It was as if Jean-Paul had purposely chosen it as the perfect extra pressure to apply. He moved the hand to trace one finger around the base of his brandy glass, his brow creasing: measured concern.

‘I knew how important this was to you from the outset, though I must admit I didn’t know that it was also something so close to Giacomelli’s heart. I thought he was just a close friend and interested observer, nothing more.’ He chose his words carefully, sensing that he was tip-toeing through a minefield. ‘But my commitment was made on what I think about that aim, not anyone else. If I didn’t believe wholeheartedly in it and see it as a challenge, I wouldn’t have joined you — it’s as simple as that. And that commitment remains as strong now as on day one.’

Jean-Paul slowly nodded in understanding. He proffered one palm towards Georges. ‘It’s just that sometimes it can be difficult joining a family like this. It’s easy to feel like an outsider, as if there’s nobody you can confide in.’

Confide in. Now there was little doubt remaining. ‘Yes… I know.’ He swallowed hard; his collar felt suddenly tight, a hot flush rising up through his neck to his face. ‘And at first, I must admit that was difficult. Particularly the close relationship you had with Roman: the feeling that I might be somehow interfering, coming between you by changing the direction of the business.’

‘And now?’ Jean-Paul opened out both palms: a priest welcoming confession.

Georges swallowed hard again, a light sweat coming to his brow. It was as if he’d been steadily pushed in a corner with each word domino played by Jean-Paul. He’d been expecting: ‘So if you ever feel the need to confide in anyone, don’t forget I’m always here for you.’ But instead Jean-Paul had done it with just two words; two words as that final feather on the scale to hopefully make him crumble, the burden of his betrayal suddenly too much. But it would seem conveniently trite just to blurt it all out and turn turtle on what he’d struggled to avoid all along — setting brother against brother — and would likely come across as little more than a desperate cheap shot under pressure. And what if he was reading the whole thing wrong, just getting paranoid, and this little heart to heart was completely innocent, had simply been prompted by Jean-Paul’s recent visit with Giacomelli? But if he said nothing or got the tone wrong, Chenouda’s warning could soon hold frighteningly true: Jean-Paul’s protection would quickly evaporate and he’d be out in the cold, at Roman’s mercy. He traced the same finger back and forth again by his brandy glass… Which way to play it?… Which way?… before looking back directly at Jean-Paul, the right words finally in place.

Within twenty-four hours they had all the answers to the information Georges had provided.

Jean-Paul phoned Roman minutes after Georges leaving. Roman had been expecting the call, so after the initial impatient, ‘So? What did he say?’ Roman merely listened, his breath falling shallow over the line as Jean-