humidor filled with cigars.
Glossy color pictures graced the perfectly polished shelvesof a tall mahogany bookshelf. Mitchell graduating from the FBI Academy. Mitchell shaking hands with Bush. Mitchell accepting a commendation from the governor. In the center of them all, buried in a spherical monument of glass, was the Medal of Valor, Mitchell’s prized possession. When someone asked him about it, he said it was an award they gave for pulling the trigger. Mitchell leaned across his desk, lifted the heavy lid of the humidor, and offered Lou a cigar. He told him to take a couple for the road. There was no smoking in the building.
Mitchell hadn’t changed much. His face was hard, like petrified wood, and completely clean-shaven. His hair was slate gray. He was a man that wielded authority and saw the world in strictly black and white. His hands were thick and large. Now they held a copy of the
Daily News
, featuring the extra hole in Mazz’s head and his lifeless body slumped against the steering wheel of an early model Chevy pickup.
The truck was dragged out of the quarry while the news cameras rolled from shore. It looked like the engine was still running. Mazz gave a whole new meaning to swimming with the fishes. Mitchell threw the open paper flat on the table and tapped it firmly with his index finger.
“What do you know about this, Lou?”
“I saw Mazz last night, before midnight. We spoke, we drank, we danced, and we parted the best of friends.”
“Can the double-talk, Lou. I need info.”
“C’mon, Mitch, the guy’s a Pagan. This has gang hit written all over it. I’m not going to play patsy for you or anybody else.”
“Can you tell me what you’re working on, maybe I can help. We can work together.”
“Like old times, Mitch.”
“Like old times.”
“Can’t right now. But when I can, you’ll be the first to know.”
“We already know more than you think, Lou.”
“Now it’s we. Who’s we, Mitch? We started off just you and me.”
“The police, Lou. I’d like to think you’re still one of us.”
“It’s always us or them. Isn’t it, Mitch? I didn’t know I had to make a choice.”
Neither of them liked where the conversation was going but trying to get Mitch to change directions was like trying to prevent a train derailment. Lou leaned back and gripped the arms of the chair. His palms were covered with sweat.
“Is Sarah Blackwell paying you for your services or is the compensation coming in some other form?”
“You work fast, Mitch. Since you know all about it, why don’t you tell me.”
“No faster than you. I’m paid to know things.”
“Her money is just as green as the money you get paid with. The way you make it sound, it’s just as dirty.”
“Ten years ago I would have slugged you for that crack.”
“And now?”
“Just watch your step Lou and take my advice. Find out where Sarah Blackwell gets her money and you’ll learn how things work around here.”
“You’re talking about Vincent Trafficante.”
“He wields a lot of power in this part of the world, Lou. He’s a genuine heavyweight. He throws a lot of money around and quite a few people owe him favors.”
“Including members of the Philadelphia Police Department.”
“No comment. He was heavily involved in local politics about ten to fifteen years ago. I think he started in Public Works. Then, he became the mayor’s personal assistant, head of Community Development and a liaison to local business. His family had a big trucking company in the city and every truck that rolled was bought from him. The snow got plowed, the garbage got collected, the roads got paved, and Vince got paid. He’d getyour brother a job and then try to bang your sister. He had his eye on the state senate but was advised against it. Too many skeletons in his closet.”
“A real stand-up guy.”
“I never said otherwise.”
“Dangerous, you think?”
“I’d say so. He’s got a guy working for him now,
Glossy color pictures graced the perfectly polished shelvesof a tall mahogany bookshelf. Mitchell graduating from the FBI Academy. Mitchell shaking hands with Bush. Mitchell accepting a commendation from the governor. In the center of them all, buried in a spherical monument of glass, was the Medal of Valor, Mitchell’s prized possession. When someone asked him about it, he said it was an award they gave for pulling the trigger. Mitchell leaned across his desk, lifted the heavy lid of the humidor, and offered Lou a cigar. He told him to take a couple for the road. There was no smoking in the building.
Mitchell hadn’t changed much. His face was hard, like petrified wood, and completely clean-shaven. His hair was slate gray. He was a man that wielded authority and saw the world in strictly black and white. His hands were thick and large. Now they held a copy of the
Daily News
, featuring the extra hole in Mazz’s head and his lifeless body slumped against the steering wheel of an early model Chevy pickup.
The truck was dragged out of the quarry while the news cameras rolled from shore. It looked like the engine was still running. Mazz gave a whole new meaning to swimming with the fishes. Mitchell threw the open paper flat on the table and tapped it firmly with his index finger.
“What do you know about this, Lou?”
“I saw Mazz last night, before midnight. We spoke, we drank, we danced, and we parted the best of friends.”
“Can the double-talk, Lou. I need info.”
“C’mon, Mitch, the guy’s a Pagan. This has gang hit written all over it. I’m not going to play patsy for you or anybody else.”
“Can you tell me what you’re working on, maybe I can help. We can work together.”
“Like old times, Mitch.”
“Like old times.”
“Can’t right now. But when I can, you’ll be the first to know.”
“We already know more than you think, Lou.”
“Now it’s we. Who’s we, Mitch? We started off just you and me.”
“The police, Lou. I’d like to think you’re still one of us.”
“It’s always us or them. Isn’t it, Mitch? I didn’t know I had to make a choice.”
Neither of them liked where the conversation was going but trying to get Mitch to change directions was like trying to prevent a train derailment. Lou leaned back and gripped the arms of the chair. His palms were covered with sweat.
“Is Sarah Blackwell paying you for your services or is the compensation coming in some other form?”
“You work fast, Mitch. Since you know all about it, why don’t you tell me.”
“No faster than you. I’m paid to know things.”
“Her money is just as green as the money you get paid with. The way you make it sound, it’s just as dirty.”
“Ten years ago I would have slugged you for that crack.”
“And now?”
“Just watch your step Lou and take my advice. Find out where Sarah Blackwell gets her money and you’ll learn how things work around here.”
“You’re talking about Vincent Trafficante.”
“He wields a lot of power in this part of the world, Lou. He’s a genuine heavyweight. He throws a lot of money around and quite a few people owe him favors.”
“Including members of the Philadelphia Police Department.”
“No comment. He was heavily involved in local politics about ten to fifteen years ago. I think he started in Public Works. Then, he became the mayor’s personal assistant, head of Community Development and a liaison to local business. His family had a big trucking company in the city and every truck that rolled was bought from him. The snow got plowed, the garbage got collected, the roads got paved, and Vince got paid. He’d getyour brother a job and then try to bang your sister. He had his eye on the state senate but was advised against it. Too many skeletons in his closet.”
“A real stand-up guy.”
“I never said otherwise.”
“Dangerous, you think?”
“I’d say so. He’s got a guy working for him now,
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