The Big Scam (23 page)

“Yes.”

“Good. Think you can handle the bumps that always come with something like this?”

“Yes, sir, I do. I'll have to cut back on the time I spend out at the off-site, but I should still be out there as much as possible in case there's more overhears.”

“That's fine. We're going to need some surveillance, and obviously we can't use theirs. I know the SAC in Newark. We were in Cleveland together. I think I can get him to send me a couple of teams on the QT.”

“The ideal thing would be Title Threes on Egan's home phone and on that club.”

“You've never gotten a wiretap, have you?”

“No.”

“It takes a month of Sundays. Plus you have to get the goddamn Department of Justice involved. Hell, the way they like to leak things, you'd be reading about it in the papers before we're up on their phones. No, we'll have to go with surveillance plus whatever intelligence you can pick up out there. It ain't perfect, but the tough ones never are.”

What a role model, Lansing thought—aloof, condescending, and clueless. He couldn't wait to become an ASAC.

AS THEY SAT WAITING IN ROOM 218 AT THE
Lamplighter Motel, Mike Parisi watched Manny Baldovino carefully. In an act of autohypnosis, he was pushing the channel button on the remote, repeatedly working his way through the eight available stations. His eyes were focused at some point short of the screen. “Manny, you all right?”

He hit the power button and threw the remote on the other side of the bed. “Yeah, sure. I mean, I'm a little nervous, but that's okay, right?”

“Being a little nervous is probably good.”

“Mike, I'm not
bridge
nervous, if that's what you're worried about.” Parisi's head tilted slightly with surprise. “I know you know. When something like that happens, you think nobody notices, but I could tell the way you never sent me anywhere I had to cross over any water. So, yeah, I'm okay.”

“It's just that this has got to be a lot of pressure on you.”

“This is just a scam. I'm not being asked to kill anybody. It's fine.”

“You're sure?”

Baldovino smiled. “The fuck, Mike? We need this, right? Last night, it sounded like Danny was looking to cause you a problem. Which translates into a problem for us. We were talking after you left, and we—you know—thought you might be taking one for the crew.”

The sudden endorsement surprised him, and a small rush of warmth ran up his back. “Take one for you clowns? I'd have to be an idiot. The fuck, Manny.”

“Yeah, I guess we think maybe you are.”

“I'll assume there's a compliment in there somewhere.”

“You're the one always yelling at us for assuming stuff.”

“Just for that I'm going to tell you what DeMiglia wants us to do. You think that bridge thing can keep you awake at night?” In full detail, he told Manny about the underboss's proposed diamond vault robbery.

When he had finished, Manny shook his head. “This is my fault. This all began with me getting arrested.”

“You didn't bring this on. It has nothing to do with you,” Parisi said. He took in a deep breath while he considered what he was about to say. “I don't want this going any farther, do you understand?” Baldovino nodded. “If it got back to DeMiglia that I know about this, I'd be finding the Mafia graveyard the hard way. Do you understand?”

“Absolutely.”

Parisi explained everything that DeMiglia was doing, and had done, to become boss, including the murder of Buffalo
capo
Frankie Falcone.

“That would explain why he'd order you to do something as crazy as hitting a place in the diamond district.”

“The don just needs a little time, so that's why I've been trying anything I can to delay DeMiglia.”

Manny sat quietly for a few seconds. “Does that mean that you've been going along with the treasure thing just to keep him from making his move? Don't you think my father's map is real?”

“Not much is getting by you lately, is it? Actually, I'm fairly certain the map is real, it's been checked. But yes, I have been using it to slow DeMiglia down.”

“Fair enough, Mike. And don't worry, I'm not going to let you down.”

There was a soft knock at the door. Parisi checked the peephole, then let Garrett Egan in. Not quite convinced of their alliance, the two men shook hands with some uncertainty. “You're right on time. This is Manny,” Parisi said, trying to sound at ease.

Baldovino stood up and shook hands. “How are you?”

Egan pulled his hand back and could feel Baldovino's sweat evaporating on it. He wanted to wipe it off, but knew that it would be insulting. The optimism he had talked himself into on the way over was quickly sinking. He had to be crazy to think that they could pull this off. “How do you feel about doing this?” The question was abrupt, suspicious.

“It was my old man's map. Even though it seems like everyone and their brother is getting a piece of it, I know nobody's getting anything unless I do this right.”

Egan pursed his lips. “That's good. Keep reminding yourself of that. Just remember, if at any time you feel your knees buckling, you've got to let somebody know so we can pull out. But once we get past a certain point, there is no reverse gear.”

“What point is that?” Parisi asked.

“Once the Bureau commits manpower and money, they're not going to look kindly on Manny having a change of heart. Providing false information to the government is five years per count. But as long as you never admit lying to them, they would have a hard time proving it. So once you're in, you've got to stay in.”

“I understand.”

“I hope so.”

“Did Mike tell you that you have become a snitch?”

“You mean pretend to become a snitch.”

“You can't pretend. There's going to be too many people staring into your eyes, trying to find the real Manny Baldovino. The problem is you were so standup when you were arrested, and now all of a sudden, you're flipping over. You're going to have a hell of a time convincing these people. There are some you're never going to convince, and those are the ones who you can't let rattle you. But as long as you convince the majority of them, or at least the bosses, this'll work. So you can't pretend. You have to believe you're becoming an informant. Your people know you're not, so you don't have to worry about it. Get yourself into this. Believe me, I worked undercover, and that's the difference between a successful operation and a bust-out. My trouble was I believed a little too much that I was a stockbroker. Anyway, do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Yeah, I got it. I'm a lousy, stinking rat, and, in a way, I kind of like it.”

“That's it exactly. And why are you rolling over?”

“I don't want to go to prison. Not for something as embarrassing as selling handicapped plates.”

“And what are they going to ask you about?”

“What?”

“Something that you're going to turn down because what you're giving them doesn't require testimony?”

“No, what?”

“The Witness Protection Program.”

“Oh yeah, the Witness Protection Program.”

Egan looked over at Parisi. “Maybe we should be writing some of this down.”

“It'll be all right. Sometimes it takes a while for things to register in Manny's brain, but once they do, they stay there.”

“No, no, I got it,” Manny insisted. “The Witness Protection Program.”

“Okay, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt—for now.”

“Don't worry,” Parisi said. “I'll keep going over it with him to make sure.”

“Just remember, when he walks into that FBI office, he's only going to get one shot, so he has to be completely on. Understood?” Both men nodded. “Okay, let's go over your story. How is it that you know about this burial site?”

“Back when I was on Nino Leone's crew, I drove out with my father and him once to get rid of a body. I was in a second car to cause problems if someone tried to pull them over. When we got to Phoenicia, he had me wait at the old train station while he and Nino took the body across the creek. They were gone about an hour. Nino and I were out drinking later and he told me that he had been there a number of times. On business. He always did talk too much. And he drank too much. That's why he's no longer with us.”

“Murdered?”

“Liver cancer.”

“And your father's passed, I assume. Otherwise you wouldn't be giving him up.”

“Five years ago, a heart attack.”

“That's a good story, nice and neat, easy to remember. The only reason you were trusted was because you were his son. And there's nobody left who can refute it. And you're not being disrespectful to your father's memory because this is a scam, and it'll never see the light of day.”

“Actually, from what I've been told about Manny's father, he would be pleased that he's part of this,” Parisi said.

Baldovino said, “Screwing the FBI? Who wouldn't be?” Then remembering who Egan was, said, “I mean…sorry.”

“Goddamnit, Manny, you can't let your concentration drift off like that,” Egan said. “But now that you got me aggravated, it's a good time to bring up something else. You do understand that when this information doesn't work out, and you don't give them anything else, they might bust your balls a little harder at sentencing?”

“What the fuck you telling him that for!” Parisi asked.

“Because, if by some miracle all this does work out, I don't want him all of a sudden realizing, Hey, I'm in the joint, and everybody's out there spending what amounts to my inheritance. I'm getting a little lonely, maybe I should get myself some company.”

“It sounds like you've thought this through a little farther than we have.”

“Well, we'd better all start thinking ahead, otherwise the only discussion we'll be having is who gets the top bunk in the cell.”

Manny said, “It's okay, Mike. The lawyer says for a first offense I might catch three years. It's federal, probably minimum security. And I'll have all that bread when I come out. I know you'll take care of it for me. Probably even get me some interest. I think my father would be pleased with me taking the weight on this.”

Parisi said, “How sure are you that your people will go to this kind of trouble?”

“I told you before, as soon as they hear ‘Mafia graveyard,' there won't be an ounce of common sense left between them. All they'll be thinking about will be headlines and who's going to play them in the movie. This is literally a license for us to steal. Trust me. If you told them it was under Hoover Dam, they'd blow it up for you.”

“How about when they take these readings and the box shows up on their charts. Won't they want to dig it up?”

“I spent a lot of time thinking about what could go wrong, and I checked some old cases. They've never tried anything on this scale. Seismic imaging is expensive. I can't even guess how much, probably tens of thousands of dollars a day. So time is money and anything that isn't a body, they won't waste time on. They'll actually be trying to find a way to eliminate any distractions. That's where I come in. I'll suggest they use a cadaver dog. Do you know anything about them?”

“No,” Parisi answered for both of them.

“They sniff out buried bodies. I'll simply explain to my bosses that a dog will keep us from doing a lot of unnecessary digging. See, if the FBI finds a grave, they can't just bring in a backhoe and tear it open. Each grave becomes a crime scene and has to be excavated very carefully so evidence isn't destroyed. It takes forever to find out what's buried there. Each grave would take days, if it even is a grave. But these dogs hit on the scent of decaying flesh, even if it's years old. So when they spot the box on the charts, I'll march the dog over to it, and it won't hit because there's nothing dead involved. Then the search will move on. I'll mark the spot and as soon as it's clear, I'll dig it up.”

“We'll
dig it up,” Parisi said.

“We'll dig it up.” Egan wasn't sure
we
was meant to include him, but since he would be the one to mark it, he would do it in a way that only he could find it.

“What's to prevent them from saying forget the seismic stuff and just use the dog?”

“I looked at a map of the area. Manny's going to tell them they were gone an hour. That would translate into a large area, maybe as much as ten square miles. Don't forget, as the in-house expert on seismic imaging and cadaver dogs, I'll be able to influence the size of the area that needs to be searched. Then even if they have a half dozen dogs, I'll tell them it's too large to search. Plus, dead animals can distract these dogs, and there'll be plenty in that terrain. Once they lock on to one, they're done for the day. I'll also tell them that it could take one dog months to find a body—if it didn't miss it altogether. Then the cost of the imaging will be justifiable because of the savings of having a dozen agents up there working and living in a hotel for months. Besides, they'll love the idea of using cutting-edge technology to solve a crime, especially against the mob. It'll be all over the newspapers, and they'll be doing television shows for years to come about how inventive they are. I've seen this before. They get into a frenzy, which causes extreme tunnel vision. They won't let anything get in their way. It'll be great PR, something the Bureau can't buy these days.”

“When you explain it, it sounds reasonable,” Parisi said.

“This is just money to you guys; for me, it's my freedom and my family's future. In the meantime I've been learning all I can about seismic imaging, who can do it and how. That way when I suggest it, they'll rely on me for technical advice.”

“And that puts you in the middle of the decision making. Pretty smart,” Parisi said.