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As they light up their cigars, I put an envelope on the table. Setting up the meeting, I had said there were a couple of things I wanted their opinions on.
Don Vitelli acts as the senior head at the table. He says, “You’ve come here in good faith and I don’t mind telling you, you show a lot of heart, just reaching out the way that you have. We’re all impressed by your honor and your sincerity.”
Don Cappoci agrees. “In recognition I can tell you that you’ll be safe in Chicago.”
Don Amato says, “We guarantee it.” I don’t know if they mean that I’ll be safe like a made guy is safe, or if they’re just saying that they’ll extend their protection to me. I don’t want to hold things up inspecting the teeth of a gift horse, so I thank them and let it ride.
Continuing, Don Amato says, “The Pacific Northwest is technically still out of any of our jurisdiction. But it sounds like Jerry Fortuna plans to fix that.”
They tell me is that Jerry Fortuna has no authority to make the offer that he’s made to me, but that he has their blessing to do it. It’s not sanctioned, but he’s showing initiative and so they all will give him backing.
Don Cappoci says, “That’s not the answer that you wanted to hear, right? Mi dispiacce.”
“We’re making some assumptions here, to be fair.” Don Amato adds, “Jerry marches to the beat of his own drum.”
I ask them, “What about the Commission? He says that he’s going to get franchise extended to the Pacific Northwest. Can he make that offer?”
“Things got very tight for the Commission in the ’90s. They were in a bad spot, every way that they looked.”
Don Vitelli sits back and says, “Don Fortuna made himself very helpful to the Commission’s efforts. He secured deals and assurances to help certain people out of the picture, and enabling certain others to stay in. So, long story short, Jerry does have a hotline to the Commission. Whether he can really deliver what he may have promised to you, I can’t say. Not with any certainty. But he is connected in that way so, if anybody can make that offer, it would be him.”
“What about the Commission’s attitude,” I ask him, “or Chicago’s, come to that, about non-traditional relationships?”
He tells me, “We’re a what you call a broad church. A lot of people are very strict in their ideas about the family as an institution and the way that a family shows a commitment to the future, as well as giving an example. A declaration of values and a positive role model. But we’re aware that there are people who express themselves in a different way. We can respect that.”
“Some maybe more than others, eh, Tommy?” Don Cappoci chips in with a look toward Don Amato. “But in full public view? I’m not so sure any of us could go along with that.”
Don Amato leans toward me. “You pardon us speaking frankly.”
When he takes me back to the jetty, Don Amato gives me a number and an email address. “I don’t know how much we’ll be able to do together, but we’ll get back to you about your packet. Whatever happens, let’s keep lines of communication open at least.”
Driving back to the house, I make certain that I’m not followed. I take even more thorough evasion tactics, turns and switchbacks than I did when I drove out to the jetty earlier.
Taking my time over the drive, I think back over the meeting. From what they said, I’m convinced that when Jerry had brought his schemes to Seattle, he didn’t have any approval or sanction and that he invented all of his offers and promises. It’s all been made up, I’m sure of it.
I’m not sure how much difference that makes to my predicaments but i cam e for knowledge and knowledge is power.
In the fridge I have a microwave pizza and a couple of cold beers. The perfect food for thinking, and I have a lot of thinking to do. As I reach into the fridge, my phone buzzes.
From the pattern of the vibration, I know where the text comes from and what it means. I don’t need to read it. I just duck down between the kitchen island and the sink.
I see a red dot flash across the room from outside. Then I hear the three muffled pops of suppressed rifle fire.
At the same time as the sliding glass door shatters, a heavy male body tumbles in through the glass and crashes hard onto the floor. He’s a big man, with a nine millimeter automatic Colt SMG and a big, black hole in the back of his head.
From behind him, Catlin advances to the window with her Remington M24 rifle still raised and trained on the would-be assassin.
I sigh and tell her, “No pizza for me, then.”
Still keeping the muzzle trained on the guy, even though he’s pretty clearly dead, she asks, “Will there be anything to eat on the plane?”
“No. Nothing’s booked.” I tell her, “We’ll pick something up on the way to the airfield. You take a look on the phone for a decent takeout. Maybe Vietnamese. Does that appeal?”
She smiles and nods.
I need to take a picture of the guy who’s repainting the kitchen floor and drop it into the email box that Don Amato gave me. I’m sure he’ll be smart enough to get the location from the picture file. I don’t know if he will recognize the man from the photo, but he will know that somebody broke the promise of safety they made to me aboard Persephone.
What I want to know is, did Jerry put spyware on Alessio’s phone, or has my Alessio really sold me out this much?
