We found Kevin fiddling with some bogus Ma Bell equipment and talking softly into his headset, looking very professional. We told him he should get coffee now because there wouldn't be time later.
'Mainly I want you to let Rizzo know we're still here, Kev. Calm him down a little. If he sees me again he's going to come all unglued.'
So Kevin went and returned shortly with a steaming cup of java, shaking his head sadly.
'Says DeLucca's gonna hit him, Joe. Says DeLucca ain't coming at four. Says he was riding in a cab and saw you two in the shop with him. He wants to go back to Deer Island where it's safe. What about this guy inna cab, anyway?'. '
'Aw, bullshit. He's just spooked. I just hope he doesn't screw up the drill and get some bystander killed. Now Doc, listen: we want you to get in the back there. If I yell, you're to fall flat on your face. Nothing should happen- our van is really just a lookout. But we've got to be ready to pull out and block the street if he's got friends with a car. If that happens, Mary would- never forgive me for bringing you along. But I really expect it'll go smoothly. And if, God forbid, any rough stuff starts, we've got the gorillas in the milk truck.'
I was not in a jolly mood. While I dearly hoped Carmen DeLucca the mad-dog killer would be snagged, I had seen a lot in the past hour that had me down. The town depressed me, with its grimy, crowded streets, dilapidated buildings, and ragged, worn-out people. Of course they were the victims, not the culprits, but it was depressing nonetheless. The goon squad in the milk wagon depressed me. Most of all, Johnny Rizzo the jailhouse punk depressed me. He was a sad case, and frankly I didn't see much future for him no matter what happened.
Kevin sat at the wheel. Joe sat in back just behind me, with his legs stretched out on the floor and his headset on. Now and then I listened to my phone receiver and heard the conversations. There was none of the static crackle and buzz of the radio. Code words like over weren't needed either. It was a conference call of four parties, clear, subdued, conversational. And unlike talk on the police radio, it was private.
At four DeLucca still hadn't shown. At four-thirty I was surprised to see Rizzo leave the shop, fiddle with the awning crank, and disappear. I heard Powers alert all of us from his lookout. Right according to plan, Rizzo reappeared a second later, pushing the two-wheeled cart loaded with empties.
'Did you see him?' Joe asked Powers via his headset. 'He must've come in the back way. Bill, get your guys ready. Keller, you guys see anything inside from where you're sitting?'
The answer was no. We waited, and pretty soon Bill said that the milk truck had seen no sign of Johnny, who was supposed to saunter down the alley in their direction after he stacked the- bottles. Then a disgusted voice from van number two told us the answer.
'Hey Joe, your prize snitch is here. The little asshole is pounding on our van. You believe it?'
I hadn't seen Joe so mad in a long time. We unhitched the line cables, started up, and tore up the block and around the corner in less than half a minute. There he was, complete in undershirt and white apron, whining and dancing around the telephone crew of van number two and yelling that he wanted to go back to the Big House. Talk about blowing the stakeout. I thought Joe was going to kill him. The other guys thought so too, because they kept between the two men. Finally we had a plainclothesman march Rizzo back to the shop and we went back to our stations. But it wasn't any good; we all knew it wouldn't work after that.
We waited till five-thirty, then decided that it really looked fake to see all these workmen putting in overtime doing nothing. To continue the stakeout now would only wreck our cover for any future ones. Joe arranged to have a heavy surveillance of the place and neighborhood for the next twenty-four hours and we all went home. Kevin was to drive the van back to headquarters at Ten-Ten Comm. Ave., where he and Joe would pick up their cars.
Joe and Kevin were irritable and glum. Joe's mood was so dark it was dangerous. I went and bought them a pint of Johnny Walker, some soda and ice, and some plastic glasses. I said I'd drive the van for them, which I did. They sat stretched out in back and grumbled, swore, and drank. I heard Joe say more than once that he hoped DeLucca did catch up with Johnny Rizzo.
We stopped on the way for Joe to make a call to Mary, and then I got on the line too. She was mad all right, but it could have been worse. Joe promised to buy a big leg of lamb in the North End before we started home.
'No, Joey. That means we won't eat until midnight. Get loin chops. And hurry up, it's past six!'
We promised to be home by eight, and continued on our way. At headquarters Joe didn't even go into his office; we got into his car and headed over to Storrow Drive. In fifteen minutes we were in the North End and, miraculously, parked right off Salem I Street. We walked two blocks and then turned onto a little side street. I mentioned that this wasn't the way to Toscana's, and Joe nodded. He had a desperate look on his face. He said he had a little errand before we bought the meat.
'But it's important, Doc. That's why I thought of telling Mary we were going to Toscana's; there's something I just have to do here. It won't take long.'
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Joe went into a candy store and pumped coins into a pay phone, speaking into it softly and hunching into the alcove. I was standing next to him and couldn't hear what he said. Then he held, the phone and waited. Finally I heard him say, 'I'm right beneath you, in the store.' Then he hung up and motioned me to follow him. We went out into the street again, through a small door, and up a flight of stairs to the office of a little realty company. The office was closed, since it was almost seven. But we waited in the hallway, looking in at the dark office through the glass door. I was beginning to think Joe had lost his mind, that the strain of the past week had been too much for him. But soon a young man appeared in the dark office, turned on the lights, and unlocked the door for us.
'Come this way, Mr. Brindelli,' he said, leading us through the thickly carpeted office to a solid oak door in the back. This door was thick-paneled white oak mounted on heavy brass hinges. It looked bullet-proof. I found out later it was. The attendant heaved it open and it hissed against the hydraulic closer.
We found ourselves in a large, dimly lighted club room that was plush indeed. Burgundy pile carpeting. Walnut bookcases. Brass and pewter sconce lights. Leather club chairs. Ten-man walnut conference table with club chairs neatly arranged. Illuminated globe. It could have been the Harvard Club, except it was newer.
'Gee Joe, this is really tweedy. Veddy British.'
'Yeah. Too bad it's High Sicilian. Listen, you're to be my man in, this little visit. My witness. My second. Capish? Keep your eyes and ears open, and your mouth shut afterwards. Capish?'
We sat down in two of the leather club chairs. The guy who showed us in, the Sorcerer's Apprentice, asked us if we cared for anything to drink. I asked him if he could fix me a dry Beefeater on the rocks. He said no problem, took Joe's order, and oiled off. '
'He's not even Italian, Joe; he looks like a Swede or somethin.'
'Oh yeah. The big guys always hire WASPy help. That peon's probably a Yaley.'
'Uh, Joe? Would you mind explaining-'
'Not now. It'll be quick, I promise. just keep your eyes and ears open, mouth shut.'
I sipped my drink. A polished rosewood door swung open and a tall, distinguished-looking man oozed forward on the thick carpet.
'Mr. Brindelli?' he said in a silken voice. 'And Mr. Adams?'
We stood and shook hands with the man.
'I am Bernard Aldorfer, Mr. Tescione's personal assistant. We are honored by your visit, gentlemen. Mr. Tescione is in a brief meeting and will be with you shortly.'
I had heard the name Tescione mentioned more than once by Joe. I had also heard it on television, read it in the papers.
'Ehhh… Mr. Tescione wishes me to ascertain the precise nature of your enquiry, Mr. Brindelli, so that, ehhh… he may be of more service to you in the short time he has at his disposal.'
Joe leaned forward and looked into Aldorfer's eyes.
'Tell him it has to do with Carmen DeLucca,' he said quietly.
Mr. Aldorfer's eyebrows went up; he slid the soles of his wing-tip brogues nervously on the burgundy pile carpeting.
'I, ehh… see. Well, I shall go and inform Mr. Tescione then. We won't keep you waiting much longer.'
'You both are very kind,' said Joe. I could see he meant it sincerely. I leaned over and whispered to him. We
