“Seems like a capable guy, in a way. Except I can never figure out what the fuck he does. Mysterious, you know? These spooks cultivate that style. They must think it adds to their image. They’re into very deep stuff, doncha know? And on a very high level, the highest. But are they? Maybe they don’t know shit—how could you tell? I guess he was CIA at one time.”
Mulheisen said that when he’d first met the man, out in Salt Lake City, on a case involving money laundering, Tucker had been running an agency, or at least an operation, that was fronted by the Immigration and Naturalization Service.
“The INS is very big these days,” Wunney said. “It’s all under the umbrella of the Homeland guys. I’m detached to Homeland, for this task force. The pay is great! I think I’m supposed to be their link to the DPD. I provide them with Detroit info.”
“Tucker mentioned Joe Service,” Mulheisen said. “The name mean anything to you?”
“Not offhand,” Wunney said. Then he added, “Oh, wasn’t he a mob guy? He had something to do with Carmine and the Fat Man, but that’s a few years back. You remember Andy Deane, Rackets and Conspiracy? Andy got it in his head that Service whacked Carmine.”
“Yeah, Andy ran it down to me,” Mulheisen said. “I couldn’t quite see it. I thought it was the daughter, Helen, Big Sid’s kid. The angle was that Carmine had Sid zipped, for skimming on some dope deal. There was a connection between the daughter and Service, which I guess is why Andy figured it must have been Service who did the job. The funny thing is, the reason I was in Salt Lake in the first place—when I met Tucker—was because I had a lead on thedaughter. She was smurfing cash there, or that was the lead. You know, laundering dope money. I figured that would be Sid’s money, the skim from Carmine. The word was the Fat Man, as Carmine’s successor, was after her.”
Wunney snorted. “Humphrey wasn’t exactly the revenge type.”
Mulheisen nodded. “More likely he just wanted to recover the skim. Anyway, the short of it is Helen winds up back in Humphrey’s good graces. So much for revenge. It looked like Joe Service had engineered all this—recovered the money, made amends with Humphrey. That’s the kind of stuff Service did. He made a career out of finding things for the mob, like who took their money, and where they were now. That doesn’t mean he didn’t pop Carmine, it just seems unlikely.”
Wunney was interested. He knew pieces and bits of this tale, picked up here and there. “Okay, I think I see it,” he said, “kinda.” He didn’t seem convinced.
Mulheisen shrugged. “Who knows? My impression is that Joe Service is perfectly capable of yanking the plug on anyone, but that was evidently not his real function in the mob. I never heard that he had any beef with Carmine, but he was pretty tight with Humphrey. Who knows? Maybe Humphrey had him hit Carmine. I had him in my hands once. But he was that close”—he snapped his fingers—“to being popped by that little weasel Itchy. Remember him?”
Wunney remembered Ezio “Itchy” Spinodi. A gunman who had taken a fall for Carmine or one of the other big boys many years ago. “Why would Itchy be after Service, if he was so tight with the Fat Man?” he wanted to know.
Mulheisen shook his head. “These guys live complicated lives. It looked to me like the national mob wanted Service dead. They must have figured he had to be at least too deep into Carmine’s deathto walk, even if he didn’t actually pull the trigger. Humphrey either couldn’t protect him, or didn’t want to, at the time. There was an earlier hit attempt that almost succeeded. Service was recovering from that when I found him and headed off Itchy, but he had a serious relapse, a kind of stroke. I stashed him in a hospital, in Denver, thinking when he came out of his coma we could get together, maybe iron out some of the wrinkles. But they let the guy
Mulheisen said that when he’d first met the man, out in Salt Lake City, on a case involving money laundering, Tucker had been running an agency, or at least an operation, that was fronted by the Immigration and Naturalization Service.
“The INS is very big these days,” Wunney said. “It’s all under the umbrella of the Homeland guys. I’m detached to Homeland, for this task force. The pay is great! I think I’m supposed to be their link to the DPD. I provide them with Detroit info.”
“Tucker mentioned Joe Service,” Mulheisen said. “The name mean anything to you?”
“Not offhand,” Wunney said. Then he added, “Oh, wasn’t he a mob guy? He had something to do with Carmine and the Fat Man, but that’s a few years back. You remember Andy Deane, Rackets and Conspiracy? Andy got it in his head that Service whacked Carmine.”
“Yeah, Andy ran it down to me,” Mulheisen said. “I couldn’t quite see it. I thought it was the daughter, Helen, Big Sid’s kid. The angle was that Carmine had Sid zipped, for skimming on some dope deal. There was a connection between the daughter and Service, which I guess is why Andy figured it must have been Service who did the job. The funny thing is, the reason I was in Salt Lake in the first place—when I met Tucker—was because I had a lead on thedaughter. She was smurfing cash there, or that was the lead. You know, laundering dope money. I figured that would be Sid’s money, the skim from Carmine. The word was the Fat Man, as Carmine’s successor, was after her.”
Wunney snorted. “Humphrey wasn’t exactly the revenge type.”
Mulheisen nodded. “More likely he just wanted to recover the skim. Anyway, the short of it is Helen winds up back in Humphrey’s good graces. So much for revenge. It looked like Joe Service had engineered all this—recovered the money, made amends with Humphrey. That’s the kind of stuff Service did. He made a career out of finding things for the mob, like who took their money, and where they were now. That doesn’t mean he didn’t pop Carmine, it just seems unlikely.”
Wunney was interested. He knew pieces and bits of this tale, picked up here and there. “Okay, I think I see it,” he said, “kinda.” He didn’t seem convinced.
Mulheisen shrugged. “Who knows? My impression is that Joe Service is perfectly capable of yanking the plug on anyone, but that was evidently not his real function in the mob. I never heard that he had any beef with Carmine, but he was pretty tight with Humphrey. Who knows? Maybe Humphrey had him hit Carmine. I had him in my hands once. But he was that close”—he snapped his fingers—“to being popped by that little weasel Itchy. Remember him?”
Wunney remembered Ezio “Itchy” Spinodi. A gunman who had taken a fall for Carmine or one of the other big boys many years ago. “Why would Itchy be after Service, if he was so tight with the Fat Man?” he wanted to know.
Mulheisen shook his head. “These guys live complicated lives. It looked to me like the national mob wanted Service dead. They must have figured he had to be at least too deep into Carmine’s deathto walk, even if he didn’t actually pull the trigger. Humphrey either couldn’t protect him, or didn’t want to, at the time. There was an earlier hit attempt that almost succeeded. Service was recovering from that when I found him and headed off Itchy, but he had a serious relapse, a kind of stroke. I stashed him in a hospital, in Denver, thinking when he came out of his coma we could get together, maybe iron out some of the wrinkles. But they let the guy
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