Death Of A Dream Maker (17 page)

“It has to be his car,” O'Conner explained. “It was
either that or his social club. Those are the only two scenarios
that we have wired. And the club is out. Too dangerous. Too many
exits and entrances and inside hallways. In the car, we can
surround and follow, if need be.”

This last sentence was met by silence as Auntie Lil
contemplated the implications.

“What exactly do you expect her to accomplish?” Sadie
asked.

“Just talk to him,” Agent O'Conner explained. “About
Max and his murder. You can be upset, if you want. Cry. He's a
sucker for tears.”

“That shouldn't be hard,” Auntie Lil said in steely
tones.

The agent nodded an apology and continued. “The point
is, he's usually very, very careful about who he talks to and what
he talks about. This is one of the first times he's decided to take
care of something himself. It's probably your age, Miss Hubbert. No
offense. Galvano has a soft spot for his mother and older ladies,
at least when he's not putting the moves on them. He'll be very
respectful. I think he just wants to know if Max ever mentioned him
to you or mentioned him in connection with his nephew Davy. That
nephew's name has been coming up a lot. The point is: You listen,
he talks. You talk, he listens. We'll see what we can get.”

“We'll expect full immunity in return,” Sadie said
crisply, pulling her legal pad toward her. “Federal and state. You
can do it, so don't tell me you can't. My secretary will send you a
preliminary agreement tomorrow morning. Nothing goes down until
that's been settled.”

“Agreed.” As the agent shook hands with Auntie Lil a
commotion in the hallway outside the room interrupted them.

“Seeing as how you're taking over the case, I brought
you some new suspects,” Lieutenant Abromowitz announced from the
doorway. “The more the merrier.” He gestured for Casey Jones and
T.S. to enter, taking great pleasure in his petty revenge. “Not
interrupting, am I?”

“Aunt Lil.” T.S. stared at Frank O'Conner uneasily.
“What's going on?”

No one answered.

Casey was lingering in the doorway, watching a trio
of officers walk down the hall. “I love men in uniform,” she
announced with enthusiasm, breaking the silence.

“Oh, yeah?” Lieutenant Abromowitz puffed up his
chest.

She stared him up and down. “You're not in uniform.”
She stepped around him as if he were a tree in her way and plopped
down in a chair across from Special Agent O'Conner. “What's going
on?” Casey demanded. “Why did this goon drag us up here?” She
pointed a thumb at Abromowitz, who was lurking in the doorway still
trying to think of a snappy comeback.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Agent O'Conner said
pleasantly. “I'll take it from here.”

Casey flashed O'Conner an interested grin and the
agent squirmed uncomfortably. When he realized she was checking his
bare hands for evidence of a wedding ring, he hid his hands in his
lap and turned his full attention to T.S.

“Mr. Hubbert,” he said, offering T.S. his business
card.

“How did you know who I am?” T.S. demanded, ignoring
the card.

“As I was telling your aunt...” Agent O'Conner began,
but his voice trailed off as he finally broke down under the
pressure of Casey's unceasing scrutiny. “I don't believe I know
you,” he said faintly, staring uneasily at her.

“You're federal, aren't you?” Casey cried, leaning
forward and cupping her face in her hands. She gazed at him with
adoration. “I just love the feds.”

Special Agent Frank O'Conner flushed a deep pink.

Herbert Wong began to laugh ever so quietly. It
sounded like coffee percolating over a distant campfíre.

T.S. was adamant. If Auntie Lil was meeting with
Galvano in his car, the rendezvous had to take place in as safe a
spot as possible. And Herbert Wong had to be nearby. Frank O'Conner
thought this last request absurd: what could one elderly Asian man
do that six trained agents could not?

“You'd be surprised,” T.S. said, and stuck to his
demands.

O'Conner came up with a counterdemand: Casey had to
butt out. He would not discuss the plan in front of her. Whether
this stemmed from personal discomfort or professional caution was
impossible to tell. But Casey took the news cheerfully and
announced that she thought they were all wasting their time anyway.
She would head out to Long Island and spend a few days tailing
various Rosenblooms.

After much debate, it was decided that Auntie Lil
would ask to meet in Galvano's car in front of the Federal
Courthouse in lower Manhattan. It was also agreed that Agent
O'Conner would look the other way should Herbert Wong happen to be
standing nearby disguised as a Sabrett hotdog man. But, O'Conner
warned them, Herbert was not to take any action under any
circumstances. And he was on his own so far as a costume and props
were concerned. Herbert agreed and set off in search of a cart.

“Will Galvano agree to meet me in front of the
courthouse?” Auntie Lil asked.

“He'll agree,” O'Conner said. “It's not like he keeps
out of sight. He knows he's got nothing to worry about, and he
wants information from you. He owns more lawyers than your average
midtown firm.”

The special agent was correct. Two days later, just
before eleven o'clock in the morning, Auntie Lil received a phone
call from a man identifying himself as an associate of Joseph
Galvano. Would she care to meet with Mr. Galvano and discuss the
late Max Rosenbloom?

“Mr. Galvano has details about his death that he
thinks you might want to hear,” the caller said. “He doesn't trust
the police. Thinks you ought to hear it from him.”

“In that case, he can call me himself,” Auntie Lil
said, hanging up. She was only halfway through her third cup of
coffee and hence a little grumpy.

Two more cups of coffee later he called. “Miss
Hubbert?” a deep voice asked. Yes, she decided, it had been Galvano
calling the Max Rose comptroller, Joyce Carruthers, several days
before. Only then he had been rude and demanding. Today he was oily
and far too nice.

“Is this Miss Lillian Hubbert?” Galvano asked when
she hesitated.

He'd been listening to far too many Tony Bennett
records, she decided. His voice was a bad imitation of the
singer's. Only completely without warmth. “Yes, it is. Who is
this?”

“This is Joseph Galvano. Do I need to say more?”

“Yes, young man, you do. Who are you and what do you
want?” Auntie Lil knew that the conversation was being monitored
and that Agent O'Conner would not be happy with her attitude. But
she didn't care. Auntie Lil had assured him that a little-old-lady
pose would not fly. Galvano was no fool, she pointed out. He
already knew she wasn't the type. More important, she felt safer
being herself.

“Who am I?” Galvano asked hesitantly.

“Yes. Who are you?”

“I'm a businessman.” He recovered smoothly. “I did
business with Max Rosenbloom.”

“He never mentioned you,” she said.

“You talked to him about business a lot?”

“Not at all. But I'm not unfamiliar with the industry
and I don't recall your name. Do you own a company I might
recognize?”

Galvano attempted a low chuckle. The effect was
ominous. It sounded like dice rattling in his throat. “Perhaps I
did not make myself clear. I am not in the same business as Mr.
Rosenbloom. I am more of an... entrepreneur, shall we say.” When
this comment was met by silence, he pressed on. “I'm sure you've
heard of me, Miss Hubbert. Joseph Galvano?” More silence. “Joey
Galvano? As in Joey 'the Snake' Galvano?”

“Oh.” Auntie Lil let him sweat for another second.
“That
Joseph Galvano.”

“Yes,” he said, relieved. “That Joseph Galvano.”

“Well, Mr. Snake, what is it that you want from
me?”

He let it pass. “I thought we should meet. Swap
memories of Max. Discuss some points of mutual interest. Perhaps I
could even shed some light on his unfortunate passing. I understand
that you'll be taking over the running of his business.”

“Possibly. I have inherited control of his estate and
one-fifth of his company. Whether or not I'll be taking over the
business is a different matter entirely.”

“All the more reason to talk. You could use an
ally.”

And you could use a good electric chair,
she
thought to herself.

“Where and when?” she asked politely. “I suppose
there's no harm in talking.”

He chuckled. “No harm at all.”

“Just the same, since you are
that
Joseph
Galvano, I'd feel much safer if we kept it informal and in a very
public place.”

“I own a club and you want to meet in a public
place?” he said in mock dismay.

“Very public,” she answered crisply.

“There's public and there's public, Miss Hubbert,”
Galvano protested. “I can't be standing around in the middle of
wide-open spaces. It's bad for my personal safety, if you
understand me.”

“I understand you. Your car, then. I assume you have
a car and driver?”

“I do. Shall I pick you up at your apartment?” he
offered.

“I don't think so. I’d prefer to meet you somewhere
where I would feel safe.”

“Please, Miss Hubbert.” His feelings were hurt. “I am
not in the habit of harming old ladies. You have nothing to fear
from me.”

“Nor you from me. Therefore, let's make it in front
of the Federal Courthouse on Chambers Street. Tomorrow afternoon?
We can sit there and chat for a few minutes.”

He was silent for a moment. She was afraid that she'd
been too bold. “Okay,” he finally conceded. “That's very clever of
you. If you feel that you need half of the world to see you get
into my car, have it your way. As I say, you have nothing to fear.
I am a legitimate businessman. I'll pull up in front of the
courthouse at one o'clock. I've got tinted windows, so keep an eye
out. All right?”

He was polite, she noticed. But he also had to be the
one giving orders in the end. “Certainly, Mr. Snake,” she agreed.
“I look forward to our meeting.”

Ten minutes later the phone rang again.
“'Mr.
Snake'?”
a sputtering voice asked.

“Agent O'Conner. Lovely to hear from you. I thought
everything went according to plan, didn't you?”

“ 'Mr. Snake'? Miss Hubbert—don't play around with
this guy. Just listen to him, get him to talk as much as possible.
And then get out. I'm having second thoughts as it is.”

“Don't you worry, Agent O'Conner. I'm going to be
fine.” Auntie Lil hung up, hoping it was true. She had decided that
the scariest thing about Galvano was how much like the rest of the
world he seemed.

By noon, Herbert was parked outside the Federal
Courthouse, mustard bottle in one hand and hotdog fork in the
other. He'd had a little trouble with the regular vendor, who had
refused to move from the corner until Herbert slipped him fifty
dollars. “Just go down one block,” Herbert urged him. “Just for
today. You'll make more money there anyway. It's criminal court.
They eat more hot dogs.”

The stout man accepted this logic and wheeled down
the block. Like most New Yorkers, he was happy to take his extra
fifty and vamoose.

Business was brisk and a line soon formed. Herbert
was so busy juggling hot sausages with all-beef frankfurters that
he started to worry about missing Auntie Lil. He needn't have. She
was in line demanding a hot dog with all the trimmings half an hour
before the appointed meeting time.

“He may have men watching,” Herbert muttered as he
piled sauerkraut on her hot dog.

“A little more of that please, Herbert. Don't worry.
Everything is under control.”

“No doubt.” He bowed slightly as she walked away,
munching on her hot dog. Now, that was a woman, he thought to
himself for at least the hundredth time.

Just before one o'clock, Herbert noticed an alarming
increase in his business. It seemed as if scores of men and women
were waiting in line, demanding knishes, more mustard, less fried
onions, extra napkins, and more. “What in the world is going on?”
he wondered as he hurried to meet their demands.

What was going on was that Agent O'Conner had called
in a few favors. Half of the federal workforce in lower Manhattan
had conspired to keep Herbert too busy to get into any trouble.
O'Conner had bribed several offices full of allies to a free lunch
at Herbert's cart. Their only task was to keep Herbert busy. A free
lunch was a free lunch and they happily complied — some of them
twice.

T.S. knew this because he was sitting in a sound
truck next to Agent O'Conner. It was disguised as a Con Ed vehicle
and pulled up next to another van parked by a gaping hole in the
street nearby. “This is a little obvious,” he muttered, staring
anxiously out the tinted back windows of the truck. Joey Galvano
had not yet arrived. He could barely see the tip of the feather
that festooned Auntie Lil's enormous hat as it poked above the
portal window of the courthouse door.

“Relax,” O'Conner assured him. “We're parked above a
legitimate electrical problem and those are real electricians
working below us. Con Ed has been trying to fix this junction for
over a week. It's our best bet for picking up what they say.”

The inside of the van was lined with digital
recording equipment. Any wall or floor space remaining was
carpeted. T.S. and Agent O'Conner sat with their backs against the
rear doors, watching two technicians adjust dials and check sound
levels.

“Put it on the speaker, okay?” O'Conner told his men.
“But give me the extra headphones.”

“If we can get anything, I will,” the bigger of the
two technicians growled. He had worn a perpetual scowl ever since
T.S. had first glimpsed him and been introduced. Listening to
crooks enjoy the high life probably irritated him, and T.S. could
not blame him for it.