Exposure

PART 2

Fear is only as deep as the mind allows.

Japanese proverb

ELEVEN

Man, those eggs looked good.

Thirty-two-year-old Joel “Nico” Nicorelli sat down to breakfast with the underboss of the Lucchese family. As always when he came in to Vince “Bear” Terelli, Nico held his face just right — half Sure, boss and half confidence in the respect due himself. He hadn’t been made a captain for nothing.

And he didn’t plan on staying there.

In La Cosa Nostra, Nico had worked his way from the bottom up. First he’d been a lowly street worker, helping to run the Lucchese family’s rackets and loan sharking. After a few years he’d moved up to soldier, becoming a “made” member and taking the solemn oath of Omerta — swearing absolute loyalty to the family. As a soldier he’d done real good, always gunning for the next level. Three years ago he’d made captain, reporting directly to the underboss. Not many higher than Nico now. Only Bear, plus his counterpart, the consigliere. Both those guys reported to the family patriarch, the boss.

Bear trusted nobody. Made the man too cautious. When Nico made underboss, the family’s power would go way up. No dreaming, just fact. Nico could outplay Bear any day.

Light drenched Bear’s sunroom, the Atlantic Ocean curling on the beach in the distance. The table was set with silver and china. Bear knew how to live it up good. To his right lay the morning paper, top half of the front page up. Nico knew he’d read the lead article. Nico had read it himself, three times. The numbers still boomed in his head. Six million, nine hundred seventy-three thousand, five hundred and seventy-two dollars. Total weight of the cash — five hundred thirty-two pounds. Largest take from a bank vault in U.S. history.

And he — Joel “Nico” Nicorelli — had done it.

Nico’s stomach growled as Bear’s wife, Marie, poured coffee. Nico hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. At the gurgling sound Marie gave him a smile.

Bear grunted low in his throat — the sound that had earned him his nickname. Everybody in La Cosa Nostra, from the street workers to the boss, had a nickname. It was your personal identity, what with all the Tonys and Franks. And it was part protection. The fewer people who knew your real name, the better.

“Good thing Martha made extra.” Martha had been the Terellis’ cook for years.

Nico tilted his head. His mouth watered, but he couldn’t eat till the boss said so. Marie set down the silver urn and left.

Bear turned his flat brown eyes on Nico. His black-gray brows hung low and bushy. He had a long face with a scar running up his left jaw to his ear. Got it years ago in some fight. The other guy got whacked.

One thing about Bear. When he called you to come in, you never wanted to see him rub that scar.

“So.” Bear guzzled his coffee. “Tell me.”

Already, the undertone. Just ’cause some G-men didn’t do what they’d expected. The Feds were the Feds.

“Went good.” Nico rested his wrists on the table. “Fifteen duffel bags. The van was packed.”

Bear flapped his fingers at a small pitcher of cream — take it. Nico poured some in his coffee. No invitation to eat yet.

The underboss lifted the steaming platter of eggs and ham and gave himself a large helping. “Money’s in the storage unit.” It wasn’t a question. He set the platter down and started cutting the ham into perfect squares. The man was weird with his food.

Nico nodded. “In twelve boxes by denomination. Lids taped down.”

The storage unit had been Nico’s idea. In the past week G-men had come down on some of the family’s businesses, wanting to see the books. Tax evasion, they said. Yeah, yeah, the old standby when they wanted to put on the heat and couldn’t get the family on anything else. But the timing was bad. The robbery was a go. What to do with the money until things calmed down? Bear wanted to delay. Stupid. Nico kept his head on straight. Let’s do it right under their noses, he said. With G-men already leaning on them, the Feds wouldn’t finger the family for the heist. Plus, those guys would be pulled away and put on the robbery since they were already in town, and the closest FBI office was two hours away in Newark. Something else — Giordano’s wife managed storage rentals. What a joint to stash the money — and Giordano wouldn’t even know about it. The Feds wouldn’t look for the cash so close to one of the bank employees — at least not right away. If they did get the bright idea — not likely — by then the money would be long gone.

Nico had sent one of his associates to AC Storage to rent the unit. Eddy used a fake ID and address and paid in cash. There’d be nothing to prove that empty unit was tied to the Lucchese family.

“And the getaway?” Bear put eggs and a piece of ham on his fork and shoved them in his mouth. Every bite would be exactly the same.

“We had a second van at the auto-wrecking shop. Me and Stump took the money from the duffels and put it in the boxes there. I loaded one duffel with Giordano’s cut in twenties. Don’t want the guy flashing big bills. Then we drove to the storage. Sammy and Paul crushed the van. Took the license plate off first.”

Bear gestured with his chin toward the newspaper. “Almost seven million. A record.”

“Yeah.” Some praise. But Nico kept a poker face. Most bank heists got you peanuts. He wouldn’t have bothered if he didn’t know about Trust Bank’s huge daily deposits. That’s what made him seek out Giordano in the first place. Still, even he hadn’t expected seven million.

The underboss took another precise bite. “A record means a lotta heat.”

“We’ll handle it.”

“Hope so. Now we got double the G-men.” Bear shot Nico a hard look.

Here it came.

For some unknown reason the agents leaning on them apparently pulled out of town yesterday afternoon. Probably itching to go home to their wives for the night. Nico had heard this just a couple hours ago. A friend of his — a paid informant — on the Atlantic City police force told him the cops had to wait two hours last night for the Feds to show. Meanwhile this morning one of Nico’s soldiers said the old G-men were back sniffing around. Red- faced for sure. Cut out for twelve hours and see what happens. Now some higher up was sure to hammer them over it, and they’d take it out on the family.

Nico lifted a shoulder. “They’re spinnin’ circles. They got nothin’.”

Bear’s eyes locked on Nico. “I put Slim on it. He says give him twenty-four hours and we can swallow the money.”

Nico kept his mouth shut. Bear knew he’d cold-cocked him. Slim, another captain. Always trying to muscle by Nico. Not this time. So the Feds went right instead of left. Figuring out how to launder the money wasn’t nothin’ like bringing it in. Nico was the earner.

Bear ran his tongue over his teeth — a signal he’d made his point and was moving on. But this wouldn’t be the end of it, Nico knew. Everything had to go down perfect from here. Bear picked up his mug and swigged coffee. “How about Giordano?”

Nico tapped the rim of his empty plate. Anger mashed around in his gut. Bear was starving him on purpose. “He came through last night. But he worries me.”