Callie’s Last Dance

40.

I LEAN FORWARD in my chair and place the folder I’ve been holding on Sal’s desk. He opens it and looks at the thin stack of papers.

“What’s this?”

“The first page is a copy of FBI phone records documenting conversations with Frankie. The next twelve pages are certified transcripts of phone conversations between Frankie and Special Agent Robert Thorne, of the FBI. If you read those transcripts, I think you’ll be stunned to see what he’s already given the Feds.”

Sal glances at the papers and says, “What’s this last bit?”

“The evidence catalog.”

“What’s that?”

“The sheet that documents where the evidence is being held, and what type of evidence they have.”

“What type is that?”

“Audio tapes of the phone conversations, for one.”

“There are three listings for audio tapes,” he says.

“The others are recordings Frankie made of private conversations with you.”

“I don’t believe it. Anyone could type this shit up.”

“You think? Plus, why would I want to kill Frankie for free, other than to save your ungrateful ass?”

“Frankie was as loyal as they come. This here’s bullshit. Unless you’ve got proof says otherwise.”

“One of those tapes on the evidence sheet is a private discussion he claims you had in your basement last Memorial Day, when you gave him the order to whack the DiPietro brothers.”

Sal looks like he ate a bad fig. “That’s on tape?”

“It is. Apparently you also told him to torch the Jersey Icehouse restaurant, and gave him a date and time to do it. And it was, in fact torched on that day, at that time.”

“The FBI heard that?”

“They did.”

He closes his eyes. After a long time he says, “What’s the other tape?”

“A meeting he says took place here in the office ten days ago where you discussed a hostile takeover of Carmine Porello’s territory.”

“Frankie said that?”

“He did. And gave them the tape to prove it. I can’t believe you don’t strip search your people before having these meetings.”

He waves a hand, absently. In a defeated voice he says, “That would be disrespectful.”

“So is ratting you out to the Feds.”

Sal looks at me like a guy on a sinking ship, watching the last lifeboat launch without him.

“The Feds have all this?” he says.

“Did have all this,” I say.

“What’s that mean?”

“Permission to reach into my jacket pocket?” I say.

He nods. “You already been searched.”

I remove two microcassette tapes, and slide them across the desk.

“Happy birthday, Sal.”

“What’s this?” he asks hopefully.

“I was called to Virginia yesterday. Emergency meeting with Homeland Security. For some insane reason they made me head of the whole anti-terrorist division. While I was there I thought I’d check out the FBI files on my good friend, Sal Bonadello. Imagine my surprise when I learned they had a full-scale investigation underway, based on the tapes and testimony of Frankie De Luca.”

“These are those tapes?”

“Glance at the sheet in front of you that shows the location of the tapes”

“What about it?”

“There are tapes in those evidence cubicles. But one’s Paul Revere and the Raiders, the other’s Peter & Gordon’s Greatest Hits. You’re holding the originals.”

Sal frowns. “You like that sissy music?”

“Who doesn’t?”

Callie groans.

Sal looks at her and says, “I’m right, right?”

“You are,” she says.

“What about the phone tapes?”

“They’re in a different building. I couldn’t get to them. But I had a friend erase them.”

“How?”

“They were on magnetic tape.”

“So?”

“He put a giant magnet in an envelope and stuck it in the adjoining cubicle.”

He looks at me a long time, then calls Big Bad, his bodyguard. When Big Bad enters the room, Sal holds up the tiny tape and says, “We got anything here that can play this size tape?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Yes you do,” I say.

“What’re you talking about?”

“When you patted me down you took my microcassette player.”

“Oh yeah.”

Sal frowns. “Go get it,” he says.

When Big Bad comes back, Sal says, “Stay in here. I want you to hear this when I hear it.”

He fiddles with the recorder a minute, then gives up and says, “I don’t know how this shit works. You do it.”

He hands me the recorder and one of the tapes and we listen to Sal telling Frankie to kill the DiPietro brothers. Then we hear some small talk. Then he tells Frankie how and when to torch the Jersey Icehouse restaurant. Then I switch tapes and we listen to the meeting where Sal decided not to support Roy in his effort to kill Carmine Porello because he heard I shattered Roy’s hand and forced him to kiss Carmine’s ring in front of the entire Top Six audience and staff.

When the tape ends, Sal says, “You heard all that?”

Big Bad nods.

“That’s a tape Frankie made and gave to the FBI.”

“Frankie done that? Naw, not Frankie! I don’t believe it.”

“You were in this very room when that discussion happened!” Sal says. “And the first one was in my own home, in the basement!”

Big Bad stares straight ahead, as if it takes him longer to hear things than the rest of us.

“There were only two of us in the fuckin’ room,” Sal says. “Me and Frankie. Unless you think I’m stupid enough to tape my own conversations and send them to the FBI.”

“The Feds?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Maybe the Feds bugged the office and your basement.”

“Do you personally let Cheech in here twice a week to sweep my office?”

He nods.

“You ever see him find any bugs?”

He shakes his head no.

“And he sweeps my house the same days. It’s not a fuckin’ bug, it’s a wire. Frankie made these tapes, and gave them to the FBI.”

To me he says, “How much did they pay him?”

“You’re not going to like my answer.”

“Go ahead. Say it.”

I shake my head, sorrowfully.

“How much?” Sal repeats.

“He did it for free.”

“Son of a bitch!” Sal yells. “Now do you see why I told Creed to kill the bastard?”

Big Bad nods.

Sal says, “You heard the proof. Now tell the others what you know and tell them to shut their fuckin’ mouths and let me run my own business. And never speak of this again. Frankie was a rat. You wanted me to kill these two today? Well this is why I’m in charge. It’s why I make the important decisions and leave you to decide how many times you can pull your pud in the shitter while pretending to shit.”

Big Bad looks at Callie. He’s embarrassed. She shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

Sal says, “Thank God for these two. Callie and Creed saved our asses. Again.”