Viper - Michael Morley [22]
Don Fredo sighed wearily. ‘All cops are greedy. It has been that way since the first of them pinned on a badge. These friends of yours are stupid if they do not understand these things and make provision. But that is not my main point.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Bruno, heroin and coke are not our things. Narcotics we leave to the Cicerone Family. They, in turn, leave the garment business to us. They do not tender against us when we produce for the big fashion houses and that gives us a rich advantage. Contrary to what the press say, we do cooperate with other Families and we do respect each other.’
Valsi took a hit of brandy to calm himself. ‘Do you really believe that Cicerone does not supply counterfeit clothing to the houses in Milano? You think he does not own designer warehouses and outlets in Germany stacked with clothes made under your nose? With all due respect, his Family is worse than the cops who betrayed Alberto and Romano.’
Sal had warned him that Valsi was bold. Nevertheless, the young man was even more stubborn than Don Fredo had bargained for. ‘The matter is closed.’ He picked up his cigar and for a second or so had to work hard at bringing it back to life. Finally he inhaled and slowly blew out a long thin cloud. ‘There is another issue. You and my daughter, everything between you is all right?’
‘Of course, why do you ask?’ Valsi was angered by the question.
The old man’s eyes weighed his answer. He could see the unrest. ‘You seemed tense at dinner. I know it must be difficult for you both after being apart for so long, but I don’t like what I am seeing. It does not look like Romeo and Juliet to me. You young lovers should be overjoyed to be together again.’
Valsi feigned embarrassment. ‘You are right, it is not yet easy.’
‘We should go back to the others.’ Don Fredo collected the cigar and creaked himself out of the leather. They both walked together but, as Valsi stepped towards the door to open it, the old man put his hand on his shoulder again and this time squeezed tightly. ‘We’ve spoken tonight of important things, but nothing in the world is more important to me than my daughter’s happiness. Make her joyous and you will be very richly rewarded. Break her heart and I will have you buried so deep no one will find you for centuries.’
16
Sunset View, South Brooklyn, New York City
On the way back to Nancy’s parents’ house, Jack swung by the home of his ex-FBI partner Howie Baumguard. An expensive divorce and an expansive booze problem had moved him from West Village, SoHo, to rented-room squalor. Jack climbed the garbage-strewn steps outside his friend’s building, and made his way upstairs to a third floor that had never seen a working light bulb.
He had to bang four times before Howie eventually slid the bolts and opened the paint-peeling door on a chain thick enough to tow a truck.
‘Hang on, I’ve got it,’ he said, squinting at Jack in the hallway.
A warm, sour smell of beer and fried food hung in the air. The tiny room was so untidy it looked as if it had just been burgled.
‘Great to see ya, man. Great to see ya.’ Howie bear-hugged his former partner until he heard him gasp for air.
Jack slapped his buddy’s back, then stepped away a pace. ‘Wish I could say the same about you. My friend, you look like a bag of shit.’
‘Man, ain’t you the charmer!’ Howie scratched the start of a bald spot appearing in his nest of unwashed hair. ‘Sit yourself down, Mr Smoothtongue, I’ll fix some coffee.’
Jack watched him waddle away. Howie had just hauled himself out of the sack and was dressed in blue boxers and an old grey T that only half covered his paunch. He’d never been one to watch his weight but it looked as though recently he hadn’t even given it a passing glance.
‘I ain’t got milk. Black okay?’ Howie’s head was inside a fridge that smelled as though something old had crawled in there and died.
‘Just fine. You want some help?’
‘Yeah, sure do. I want that you shoot my ex-wife, so I don’t pay alimony. I want that you get me a new job paying half a mill a year. Oh shit, I