Charlie Opera

Chapter 52

“This unofficial harassment or the official kind?” Jerry Lercasi asked Detective Iandolli. The gangster ignored Charlie.

The three men stood behind the building model on the Palermo construction site. Charlie noticed that they were standing fewer than ten yards from where he had been assaulted. He looked back to the ditch where he had been left unconscious. The ditch was half-filled with gravel now.

“I wanted you to meet somebody,” Iandolli told the Las Vegas gangster.

Lercasi nodded without looking at Charlie.

“His name is Charlie Pellecchia,” Iandolli continued. “He’s the poor bastard some wiseguy from New York is trying to kill.”

Lercasi glanced at Charlie and turned back to the detective. “He looks alive to me,” he said.

“He looks better than your accountant.”

“My accountant? What happened to him now?”

Iandolli held both his hands up. “Let’s not blow smoke at each other.”

Lercasi looked in the direction of a bulldozer pushing dirt about a hundred yards from where the three men were standing. “I’m listening,” he said.

“I wanta trade-off,” Iandolli said. “This guy gets a pass for information you can use when the shit hits the fan back East.”

Lercasi shrugged. “What makes you think I can do anything for this guy?”

“Some Vietnamese kid in a hospital downtown,” Iandolli said. “He got his head cracked trying to stab Mr. Pellecchia here. That one had to go through you, whether Nicholas Cuccia approached you or not.”

“You give me way too much credit, pal.”

“So let’s make believe it went through you. For argument sake. The bottom line is you can get him a pass.”

“Really? You think I’m that powerful, huh?”

“I know it. Which is why I don’t want to go back and forth with you right now, just to waste time. I have something you can give to New York in exchange for that pass for Mr. Pellecchia here. So when he goes home, he doesn’t have to hide under a couch.”

“I’ll ask you again,” Lercasi said. “What makes you think I can do anything in New York?”

“Because Allen Fein arranged the assault at the Palermo,” Iandolli said. “And he arranged the assault of a woman at a motel in town. Which you have to know by now or else Allen Fein wouldn’t have a tag on his foot in the city morgue.”

“That’s very dramatic,” Lercasi said.

“And true,” Iandolli said. “Hey, nobody is complaining. The world is definitely a better place. Maybe the Feds care. Maybe not.”

Lercasi checked his watch. “I’m running a little late,” he said. “You want to tell me what I get out of all this?”

“Information. Except first I want your word that you’ll help Mr. Pellecchia here. You call off the Viet Cong and talk to New York.”

“What’s the information?”

“Say the magic word.”

Lercasi thought about it a few seconds, then said, “I’ll do what I can.”

“Nicholas Cuccia and the DEA,” Iandolli said.

Lercasi was impressed. “The DEA?”

“The one and only. Which means you’ll have clout dealing with New York.”

“What about proof? I won’t have anything but a headache without proof.”

“Trust me,” Iandolli said. “I have pictures.”

Lercasi seemed impressed again. “They say those are worth a thousand words,” he said. “Still, I can’t make promises.”

“I know how that is,” Iandolli said. “It’s the same way for me sometimes. I say I can do things, then find out later I can’t deliver. You’re going to get some federal flak from what’s been going on here this week. If things don’t happen the way we agreed, for Mr. Pellecchia here, there might be a few new things you can’t avoid.”

“Things like what? I’m just curious.”

“Whatever our surveillance picked up,” Iandolli said. “Where you ate yesterday. Who you ate with. A few back-and-forth telephone calls to the same restaurant. A surveillance tape with Mr. Fein and Nicholas Cuccia and another one of the New York crew. The Feds are much more meticulous than us local yokels, should they get the tape. They’d probably look into every detail, an indictment at a time. I don’t have to turn that information over to the Feds. It could slip my mind.”

Lercasi looked from Charlie to Iandolli. “Suppose they already have it, the Feds?”

“You’ in cuffs by now,” Iandolli said. “This place would be crawling with Feds. Your gym, your house, all your other fronts in this town. They’d be upside down from search warrants. This is a tourist town, Jerr. Nobody wants violence like this. Much less in the hotels themselves.”

Lercasi nodded. “All right,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’m not done yet,” Iandolli said. “There’s something else.”

Lercasi looked to Charlie. “You his brother or something?”

Charlie didn’t flinch.

“Beau Curitan,” Iandolli said.

“Beau who?” Lercasi said.

Iandolli unfolded his notepad. He wrote the name out on a blank sheet of paper and handed it to Lercasi. He pointed at the name as he pronounced each letter. “C-U-R-I-T-A-N,” he said. “Curitan. Pronounced just like it’s spelled. He was last seen speeding toward the Strip after he tried to rape a woman. He did manage to shoot her in the leg.”

Lercasi stared at the paper.

“You have friends across the good state of Nevada,” Iandolli continued. “Some in the auto repair and used-car businesses. Maybe they’d like to help catch an abusive husband who tried to rape some poor woman, then shot her when he couldn’t. In the event the guy tried to switch or sell a car, I mean.”

“And this would be an unofficial request or an unofficial favor?” Lercasi asked.

Iandolli turned to Charlie. “Does it make a difference to you?”

Charlie glared at both men. He didn’t think any of it was funny.