went to jail.”
“More than five years. That’s why you guys ain’t making no money. You’re soft. People don’t fear you. A little heat comes down from the feds, and all of sudden everybody’s a rat. They don’t respect you anymore.”
Mucci pointed a thick finger at Johnny. “Watch your mouth, punk.”
“What are you gonna do?” Carlo said, his face pink with anger. “Whack us? Johnny’s right. You guys don’t do that anymore. I tell you what we’re gonna do, though. We’re gonna quit paying. If you ain’t gonna let us in, we ain’t gonna pay. Why should we? What are we paying for? Protection? We don’t need your protection. Me and Johnny can take care of ourselves. Connections? You don’t have any connections, and if you do, you ain’t sharing them with us. Do you and your wiseguy brothers support our business? Help us in any way? No. You just sit around with your hands out and wait for your tribute. You’re welfare gangsters, you guys.”
Mucci narrowed his eyes and looked at Johnny. “What about you? That how you feel?”
Johnny nodded. “Yeah. That’s how I feel. Screw you guys. We ain’t paying no more.”
Carlo stood and took a step toward Mucci’s desk. He looked like the grizzly bears Johnny had seen on National Geographic and the Discovery Channel, hovering over his prey, panting, about to attack.
“How about I just snap your neck like a twig?” A vein in Carlo’s forehead was protruding, a sure sign he’d gone into a steroid-induced rage and was about to do something violent. Johnny stood and put a hand on Carlo’s bicep while Mucci stared up at Carlo.
“I’ll give you both a little time to think about this,” Mucci said. His tone had changed. It was less aggressive, lighter, not so self-assured. “Maybe change your minds. You’re young. You need to be patient.”
“Patient? For what?” Carlo waved his hand and looked around the room. “So some day we can have all this?”
A couple of minutes later they were on the sidewalk.
“Short and sweet,” Johnny said.
“Yeah. I’ll bet he pissed himself.”
“He’s on the phone right now, ratting us out to the bosses. We just spit in their faces. They’ll do something. They’ll come at us.”
“I hope so,” Carlo said. “I’ll make ‘em wish they was never born.”
Chapter 10
LIKE I told Roscoe Barnes the day I met him, money talks in the legal system. In this particular case, the amount had been five thousand dollars in cash, and it was paid to a well-qualified psychiatrist in Johnson City named Dr. Leland Holmes. Charlie had chosen him and made the initial contact, and once he received the money, the doctor became extremely accommodating. He’d set up an appointment for Roscoe immediately and had written a report that said exactly what we needed it to say. Roscoe was mentally competent. He was not a danger to himself or anyone else. As soon as I received a copy of the report, I called Nathaniel Mitchell – Roscoe’s son’s lawyer – and asked for a meeting.
At 9:00 a.m. on a Wednesday, Roscoe, Charlie and I approached the front door of Mitchell, Skaggs, & Ward, the oldest and largest law firm in Northeast Tennessee. Charlie was dressed in a royal blue business suit and carrying a briefcase. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail and she was wearing a pair of dark-framed glasses that gave her the look of an attractive, studious young lawyer. I’d asked her to persuade Roscoe to wear something at least semi-formal, but he’d stubbornly refused and was decked out in his bib overalls and red flannel shirt.
Nathaniel Mitchell’s firm’s offices occupied the entire top floor of a gleaming, ten-story bank building in Johnson City. The building sat at the top of a hill, the centerpiece of the city’s high-rent district. I’d been there a couple of times before, and I always felt as though I was entering a fantasy world, a world where, at least on the surface, everything
“More than five years. That’s why you guys ain’t making no money. You’re soft. People don’t fear you. A little heat comes down from the feds, and all of sudden everybody’s a rat. They don’t respect you anymore.”
Mucci pointed a thick finger at Johnny. “Watch your mouth, punk.”
“What are you gonna do?” Carlo said, his face pink with anger. “Whack us? Johnny’s right. You guys don’t do that anymore. I tell you what we’re gonna do, though. We’re gonna quit paying. If you ain’t gonna let us in, we ain’t gonna pay. Why should we? What are we paying for? Protection? We don’t need your protection. Me and Johnny can take care of ourselves. Connections? You don’t have any connections, and if you do, you ain’t sharing them with us. Do you and your wiseguy brothers support our business? Help us in any way? No. You just sit around with your hands out and wait for your tribute. You’re welfare gangsters, you guys.”
Mucci narrowed his eyes and looked at Johnny. “What about you? That how you feel?”
Johnny nodded. “Yeah. That’s how I feel. Screw you guys. We ain’t paying no more.”
Carlo stood and took a step toward Mucci’s desk. He looked like the grizzly bears Johnny had seen on National Geographic and the Discovery Channel, hovering over his prey, panting, about to attack.
“How about I just snap your neck like a twig?” A vein in Carlo’s forehead was protruding, a sure sign he’d gone into a steroid-induced rage and was about to do something violent. Johnny stood and put a hand on Carlo’s bicep while Mucci stared up at Carlo.
“I’ll give you both a little time to think about this,” Mucci said. His tone had changed. It was less aggressive, lighter, not so self-assured. “Maybe change your minds. You’re young. You need to be patient.”
“Patient? For what?” Carlo waved his hand and looked around the room. “So some day we can have all this?”
A couple of minutes later they were on the sidewalk.
“Short and sweet,” Johnny said.
“Yeah. I’ll bet he pissed himself.”
“He’s on the phone right now, ratting us out to the bosses. We just spit in their faces. They’ll do something. They’ll come at us.”
“I hope so,” Carlo said. “I’ll make ‘em wish they was never born.”
Chapter 10
LIKE I told Roscoe Barnes the day I met him, money talks in the legal system. In this particular case, the amount had been five thousand dollars in cash, and it was paid to a well-qualified psychiatrist in Johnson City named Dr. Leland Holmes. Charlie had chosen him and made the initial contact, and once he received the money, the doctor became extremely accommodating. He’d set up an appointment for Roscoe immediately and had written a report that said exactly what we needed it to say. Roscoe was mentally competent. He was not a danger to himself or anyone else. As soon as I received a copy of the report, I called Nathaniel Mitchell – Roscoe’s son’s lawyer – and asked for a meeting.
At 9:00 a.m. on a Wednesday, Roscoe, Charlie and I approached the front door of Mitchell, Skaggs, & Ward, the oldest and largest law firm in Northeast Tennessee. Charlie was dressed in a royal blue business suit and carrying a briefcase. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail and she was wearing a pair of dark-framed glasses that gave her the look of an attractive, studious young lawyer. I’d asked her to persuade Roscoe to wear something at least semi-formal, but he’d stubbornly refused and was decked out in his bib overalls and red flannel shirt.
Nathaniel Mitchell’s firm’s offices occupied the entire top floor of a gleaming, ten-story bank building in Johnson City. The building sat at the top of a hill, the centerpiece of the city’s high-rent district. I’d been there a couple of times before, and I always felt as though I was entering a fantasy world, a world where, at least on the surface, everything
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