The Big Scam (24 page)

“Hopefully, but, as I'm sure you know, when running a scam, you can't think of everything. That's why you need a good bullshitter as a front man. Right, Manny?” Baldovino smiled with some pride. “Any questions?” They shook their heads. “Okay, then I believe you have some money for me.”

Parisi went over to a dresser drawer. He took out an inexpensive plastic briefcase; its sides bulged slightly. Egan took it from him and peeked inside. “Okay, Manny. Here's how you make sure this is handled by my squad.”

After explaining the case-assignment process to him, Egan reemphasized how critical Manny's role was to the success of the plan. Parisi was pleased how focused Manny had become, completely concentrating on each phase of the instruction.

“What is it they'll offer you but you'll turn down, Manny?” Egan asked.

“The Witness Protection Program.”

For the next hour and a half, the three men discussed every detail and contingency they could think of. Once he was satisfied, Egan took the briefcase and left. He didn't notice the black Camaro parked across the street in the restaurant lot. As he put the briefcase in the trunk, the agent fired away with his thirty-five-millimeter camera. Nobody on the surveillance team had been told that their target was an agent, only that it was organized crime and very hush-hush.

Egan started his car, and the agent radioed the second team that had been following Parisi for the last four hours. “Our boy's firing up his chopper. Looks like we're about to part company.”

“Yeah, ours is coming out, too.” The second agent snapped pictures of Parisi and Baldovino emerging from room 218. “Interesting. Our boy carries in the briefcase and yours carries it out. You don't suppose there's anything illegal in it, do you?”

“I'm guessing illegal tender.”

 

As Crowe sat down, Vanko asked, “How'd your interview with the inspector go?”

“It must have gone all right, he's been around here a lot less.”

“You do have a knack for cutting through people's BS.”

“Speaking of which.”

“Okay, I need a favor.”

“I guess I owe you one.”

“Maria Vargas.”

“The runaway?” Vanko nodded. “I was wondering if we were going to get around to that.”

“Meaning?”

“It's not like this squad is authorized to conduct homicide investigations. We know you're sticking your neck out to help her, and we don't mind being part of that. But when you didn't pursue the Maria Vargas lead, I thought maybe you were protecting Sheila's feelings. No disrespect, Nick, but it looked like you were trying to keep from proving her wrong.”

“I don't want to prove her wrong, at least not in front of everybody.”

“Does that mean you don't think there's a serial killer?”

“I really don't know. Sheila's lived with this a lot longer than we have. It
looks
like she's lost her objectivity, but who knows.”

“What about your objectivity?”

“It's suspect, that's why I'm asking you to chase this down.”

“Then I'll take care of it.”

The squad secretary buzzed Vanko. “I've got downtown on hold. They have somebody on the line who says he has important organized crime information and won't talk to anyone but the supervisor of the Manny Baldovino case.”

Crowe nodded to Vanko and left. “Okay, have them transfer it over.”

Vanko heard the line click in. “Hello, this is Nick Vanko. Can I help you?” He looked at the display on his phone but it read Not Registered.

“Yeah, are you the boss of the guys who arrested Manny Baldovino?”

“That case is on my squad, yes. Could I have your name, please.”

There was a slight hesitation. “This
is
Manny Baldovino.”

“Well…hello, Manny. I'd ask you how you are, but if you're calling me, it sounds like things could be better.”

“That's right, they could be.”

“They said you had some information.”

“That's right, and it's big.”

“Big, huh? I guess that means you're looking for some type of accommodation before you tell me what it is.” Baldovino's sarcastic laugh was slightly nervous. “How come you're not having your lawyer broker this?”

“Do you know who my lawyer is?”

“No.”

“Let's just say he represents a lot of organized crime people. Too many organized crime people, if you know what I mean.”

“So you think his interests might be conflicted.”

“If you mean me winding up dead, yeah, conflicted.”

“So I guess we need to get together and see if there's anything we can do to make each other's lives a little easier.”

“I can tell you what I want right now. I want a walk.”

“Sounds like you think you've got something substantial to offer.”

“This is going to make you a superstar.”

Vanko laughed. “No offense, Manny, but I've heard that before.”

A little unsure of himself now, Baldovino said, “You'll see.”

“Fair enough.” Experience had taught Vanko that whatever slight shift in the wind had summoned Baldovino's cooperation could just as easily reverse itself without warning. “Then we need to get together. Tonight.”

“It can't be in Brooklyn.”

“How about Manhattan?”

“Okay, but no restaurants. These people are always going over there to eat.”

“There's a small hotel on East Fifty-first. The Chase. Be at the bar by eight and have a drink. A woman will come and get you. I'll be upstairs.” When he didn't say anything, Vanko said, “Is that all right?”

“Yeah, I was just writing it down.”

“Good. I don't suppose you care to give me a number where I can reach you?”

“And they say you Feds don't have a sense of humor.”

“I'll see you tonight, Manny.”

Baldovino hung up and looked at Parisi. “Did I sound
too
nervous?”

“I thought you played it just about right.”

“He wants to meet tonight.”

“That's a good sign. It means he's hot for it.”

“It's just that I thought I'd have a little more time to prepare for it. You know, mentally.”

“Manny, you've got good instincts. Just let them take over. You have a tendency to tie yourself up in a knot by overthinking situations.”

Baldovino smiled. “The fuck, Mike.”

“The fuck, Manny.”

 

Vanko leaned out his door. “Sheila, can I see you a minute?”

She swallowed the last of her coffee and came in. “What's up?” she asked as she sat down in a chair across from him.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” A small flicker of expectation flashed across her face, and he realized that she thought he was asking her out. He looked away embarrassed. The fear of rejection was keeping them apart, and he was about to give her one more reason to think that was not going to change any time soon. “Sorry. I need you to work tonight. If you're available.”

A shrewd smile pulled up the corner of her eyes. “Are you sorry because you're asking me to work, or are you sorry about something else?”

Purposely ignoring her gaze, he supplied the details of the call from Baldovino. “We have to be careful how we do this. The hotel isn't the kind that would attract any of his friends, but you never know. If you pick him up in the bar, that would cover him in case someone is around. Any problem with that?”

“Are you kidding? Play a whore? To a mob guy?” she asked in that lilting, agile voice. “You dream about these things in training school, but…”

“It's really nice having someone on the squad with your enthusiasm. Never any complaints, never any sarcasm.”

“I thought these guys didn't like women around when they're conducting business.”

“When I told him a woman would meet him in the bar, he didn't object.”

“Maybe he thinks there're more benefits to witness protection than a new identity.”

Vanko laughed. “How about I pick you up at seven.”

“How about you come by at six and we'll have something to eat. I owe you a dinner.”

Vanko pointed at his in box, which teetered with Bureau mail. He felt some relief and wondered if he wasn't using it as another delaying tactic. The two of them seemed to have that effect on each other. “I've got all this to get through, and I still have to make more arrangements for tonight. Some other time—soon.”

Soon was good, she supposed. The word seemed declaratory, but it was hardly escape-proof. She wondered if she would ever stop trying to uncover the hidden labyrinth within every syllable. Maybe that's what she really wanted—rest from the endless search for motive. She looked at Vanko's face and, as always, he held it out for examination, as if he were letting it explain his reluctance. His disfigurement provided her with a good deal of safety. Without it, she doubted that she would have remained optimistic. “Okay, but you don't know what you're missing. I order a mean pizza.”

THE BAR AT THE CHASE HOTEL WAS NOT TO MANNY
Baldovino's liking. The décor was Danish Modern. The frail blond furnishings seemed too minimalist, almost surreal, at least compared to the places he hung out. The dozen or so patrons, European he guessed, looked equally misplaced. Thin men with pointed, graying goatees or sharply receding hairlines and women too skinny in the upper body, their hair severely drawn back into knotted puzzles.

He supposed that's why Vanko had picked the place, so there was less chance he'd run into someone he knew. Still, it left him empty, like having only salad with the smell of steak in the air. Maybe he was trying to find something wrong, a reason to turn and run like he had at the bridge. Feeling a little nervous but not quite panicked—not yet anyway—he considered taking one of his pills. He hadn't needed them in a while, but he no longer knew how his nervous system was going to react to stress. While calming, the pills slowed his thinking, a disadvantage someone nicknamed the Lag could not afford. Maybe a little bit of fear was good. At the moment it seemed to be speeding up his brain.

That's when he noticed the man sitting alone at the bar, almost leaning in behind a couple to shield himself from view. His face was tan and his perfectly arched eyebrows were artificially raised in an expression of boredom. His drink was tall and clear with too much ice and too many lime wedges to be alcoholic. He wore an expensively cut white linen jacket over a navy blue turtleneck. His thick brown hair was swept straight back. In the crowd of staid, immobile northern Europeans, he looked like he was in the process of breaking the land speed record. A dazzling Manhattanite.

Manny stepped up to the bar and, as he waited to give his order, tried to catch Linen Jacket's eye to tell him that he knew. Never pass up the opportunity to bust the FBI's balls; it was an unwritten law for mob guys. “Double scotch rocks,” he told the bartender.

Bradley Kenyon had seen Manny's mug shot early in the evening. He slipped his cell phone out of his pocket and hit the speed-dial number programmed in a half hour earlier. The phone in the room where the rest of the agents waited rang. Kenyon let it ring for ten seconds and then disconnected the call. He sipped his drink as he cautiously searched the small bar to determine if Baldovino had come alone.

Ten minutes later, Manny was about to order another drink when Sheila walked in and sat down next to him. She was wearing an emerald green silk sheath dress, and while she was as slender as the other women in the bar, her figure was convincingly American. “Hi, Manny,” she pecked him on the cheek, “have you been waiting long?”

“Ah, no, not long. How are you…?”

“Sheila.”

“Sheila.”

“I'm good.”

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Red wine would be nice. Why don't I get a booth.”

He brought the drinks over and sat down. “Don't you think you should sit next to me?” she asked.

He swung around next to her. Blushing a little, he said, “I thought you Feds couldn't drink on duty.”

“Like everything else, it's all right as long as we don't get caught…but look who I'm telling that to.”

Manny laughed. “So, are you a real lady agent?”

“I've got a badge if that's what you mean. How about you? You a real mob guy?”

“You obviously haven't read my file.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I'm not made, if that's what you mean.”

“We've all got management problems. I've got bosses who think J. Edgar Hoover was a vacuum cleaner salesman. But you're in good hands with Nick. He's someone you can trust.”

“You're all right. Too bad we had to meet like this.”

“Yes, it is.” She patted his hand. “You about ready?”

He fired down what was left of his drink. “Absolutely.” She hooked her arm through his and they walked to the elevators.

When they got to the room, she opened the door with a key card. It was a three-room suite with a small bar along the living room wall. Vanko was sitting in a leather chair with his legs crossed. He sat still for a moment before extending his hand. It was a gesture he used when someone was seeing his face for the first time. He smiled warmly. “Manny, I'm Nick Vanko.”

Baldovino forced himself to stare straight into Vanko's eyes. He shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Nick.”

“Come on into the sitting room. Can we get you anything?”

“Yeah, some scotch would be nice. I'm still a little nervous.”

“That's understandable. Water?”

“Just ice, thanks.”

They sat down and, when Vanko didn't say anything, Baldovino felt a need to break the silence. “I got to hand it to your guys, they got me good on that license plate beef.” He smiled stiffly.

“To steal a line from your outfit's book, it was just business, nothing personal.”

Baldovino laughed and seemed to relax a little. Crowe handed him a drink, then disappeared into the other room. He took a healthy swallow. “No offense taken. These things happen.”

“So, tell me what you want from us.”

“I want this case dropped.”

“What about the Witness Protection Program?”

“That would mean I was going to testify. What I'm giving you really won't need any testimony. In fact, part of this deal is that my name never comes up.”

“What you're talking about is becoming an informant.”

“Just on this one thing. I'm trading it for a walk, straight up.”

“I've already talked to the United States Attorney's office, and they pretty much gave me a free hand. So tell me exactly what it is you're offering.”

Baldovino bit the inside of his cheek hard. “I can take you to the Mafia graveyard.”

Vanko's eyes narrowed slightly. “Mafia graveyard?”

“That's right.”

“How come I've never heard about this before?”

“There aren't that many even within the family that know about this place.”

“No offense, Manny, but as far as we know, you're not even a made member. How would you know about it?”

“You know who my old man was?”

“We know he was a
capo
until his death.”

“He was the most respected man in the family, maybe in any of the families. It was his job to dispose of bodies. One time he took me along. It was only the once, kind of an emergency deal. I was his son, trust was not an issue.”

Vanko searched Baldovino for signs of deception. He showed almost none of his initial nervousness. The one advantage to having a disfigured face was that Vanko could use it to gauge people's ability to think on their feet, how fast they could ignore it, how good they were at hiding their true reactions, and how fast they could improvise. Baldovino had adjusted as quickly as any, which did not help Vanko judge the truth of his story. “How many bodies are you talking about?”

“No telling. It wasn't something my father talked about. But think about how many of our people have disappeared over the last ten years. The night I went with him Nino Leone came too. He was my
capo
before Mike Parisi. Every once in a while when we were alone, especially if we were drinking, he'd bring it up. See, when he got drunk, he got religion. He had all this regret that their wives and kids couldn't have a proper burial and mourning. I guess because I was with my dad that night, he felt it was okay to discuss it with me. Sometimes he talked about it too much, you know, like he had to unload.”

“He's dead now.”

“Yeah, liver cancer.”

“And you'll take us there.”

“I'll take you as close as I got.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's upstate. Near Phoenicia.”

“What do you mean as close as you got?”

“Once they got close enough that they didn't need me, they went in by themselves. I may have been his son, but he still followed the rules. It couldn't have been far though, because they were gone less than an hour. Figure in digging time and then covering up, it had to be close by.”

“I'm just surprised we've never heard about it before.”

“You mean on wiretaps? There's only a couple of guys who knew about it and they're dead. Neither of them ever went to jail because they never said anything on the phone. And tell me this, Nick, what kind of moron would I have to be to come to you and lie when you can put me in prison anytime? I know that if you don't find any bodies, I'm going to prison and maybe for longer for wasting your time.”

Baldovino's point was inarguable. As Vanko considered it, he heard the just-audible strains of Sheila's voice from the other room. He thought he caught a hint of her shampoo, that damp, scratchy scent from the car. And that stunning green dress. Surprisingly, she had worn makeup, the first time he had seen her use it. Applied skillfully, it had smoothed the uneven texture of her skin and given it a consistent color. But she had allowed herself to slip into her role only so far. She wore no nylons or nail polish, and when she walked in front of him to the car, he noticed the back of her hair was still wet from the shower. “I hope you don't have any immediate plans, Manny. We'll want to go up there in the morning.”

“So I guess that means you believe me.”

“It means that I want to believe you.”

 

The squad had assembled in the office by 8:00 the next morning. Vanko had been there since 6:30 making last-minute arrangements for the trip north, an odyssey he hoped would not be filled with the Homeric obstacles it somehow promised. When Charles Lansing walked in and saw all the activity, he headed straight for the vault.

Receiving word that the inspector had shown up, Vanko knew he had little choice but to brief him on the information provided by Manny Baldovino. When Vanko mentioned Baldovino, Lansing realized that his “information” was part of what Egan had been planning on the phone. Aware of Egan's duplicity, plus whatever story Baldovino was telling, Lansing could find out what was really going on. But he would have to be careful not to know too much because Vanko already had two people trying to deceive him; a third might expose everything. “A Mafia graveyard? I've never heard of anything like that, have you?”

“No. But according to Baldovino, it was an extremely well guarded secret. His father was one of only two men who had detailed knowledge of its existence and had involved him only once, peripherally.”

“Any problem me tagging along?”

The last thing Vanko wanted was to give Lansing prolonged exposure to his squad. Any one of them might divulge secrets out of boredom or do something stupid simply to get a rise out of the inspector. “It's going to take the entire day.”

“That's all right, something like this would probably be worth getting behind schedule a little.”

“As long as you don't mind being in the car with me for a couple of hours.” He had hoped to make the trip with Sheila, but that small luxury was about to vanish.

“I can ride with someone else if you like.”

“No, we can go over some of the inspection deficiencies you've been wanting to discuss.”

“I'll get my briefcase.”

Vanko instructed T. H. Crowe and Dick Zalenski to make sure Baldovino wore sunglasses and some kind of large hat until they were out of the city on the off chance someone spotted the easily identifiable agents and recognized their backseat passenger. Baldovino expressed some concern for what the hat would do to his hair. Crowe said, “Manny, it's my job to get you to Phoenicia safely. You know, so no one will shoot you. So please don't make
me
want to shoot you.”

“The hat's fine.”

Crowe looked at his hair. “Guys with your hair usually prefer hats.” Zalenski gave a low chuckle.

“What's wrong with my hair?”

“Where it's still growing, I guess it's fine.” Zalenski looked over at Crowe and wagged his eyebrows in appreciation.

Manny ran his fingers through the hair at the back of his head where it was longer. “Hey, I've got good hair,” he protested, his tone rising. Suppressed laughter shook Zalenski's shoulders. Baldovino looked over at Crowe, who seemed stoically frozen in his seat. The older agent's hair was thick and full, but he was a couple of weeks past needing a haircut. “I spend a lot of money on my hair. I get it cut every week, by a stylist, not some Marine Corps taxidermist. It costs me a half a buck. What do you pay, six dollars at the barber college?”

Crowe turned around slowly. “Okay, let me have a good look. Take the hat off.” Baldovino took it off and smoothed down the sides. Crowe tilted his head appraisingly. “I hope that fifty cents included a tip.”

After two and a half hours and less than a hundred words later, the three men pulled into the parking lot of the old train station. Vanko and Lansing were already there. Straker, Snow, and Kenyon drove up in one of the squad's surveillance vans, which had been outfitted with as many digging instruments and probing devices as could be rounded up on short notice. Egan and Sheila pulled in behind them. Just prior to leaving Global Fish, Lansing had called the chief inspector from his cell phone, telling him to call off the surveillance on Egan. On that long a trip, and with so many agents, someone might notice they were being followed.