Fuzz

Chapter 10

The first break in the case came at ten o’clock the next morning, when Fats Donner called the squadroom.

Until that time, there were still perhaps two thousand imponderables to whatever La Bresca and Calucci were planning. But aside from such minor considerations at where the job would take place, or at exactly what time on March fifteenth, there were several unknown identities to contend with as well, such as Dom (who so far had no last name) and the long-haired blond girl who had given La Bresca a lift last Friday night. It was the police supposition that if either of these two people could be located, the nature of the impending job might be wrung from one or the other of them. Whether or not the job was in any way connected with the recent murders would then become a matter for further speculation, as would the possibility that La Bresca was in some way involved with the deaf man. There were a lot of questions to be asked if only they could find somebody to ask them to.

Donner was put through immediately.

“I think I got your Dom,” he said to Willis.

“Good,” Willis said. “What’s his last name?”

“Di Fillippi. Dominick Di Fillippi. Lives in Riverhead near the old coliseum, you know the neighborhood?”

“Yeah. What’ve you got on him?”

“He’s with The Coaxial Cable.”

“Yeah?” Willis said.

“Yeah.”

“Well, what’s that?” Willis said.

“What’s what?”

“What’s it supposed to mean?”

“What’s what supposed to mean?”

“What you just said. Is it some kind of code or something?”

“Is what some kind of code?” Donner asked.

“The Coaxial Cable.”

“No, it’s a group.”

“A group of what?”

“A group. Musicians,” Donner said.

“A band, you mean?”

“That’s right, only today they call them groups.”

“Well, what’s the coaxial cable got to do with it?”

“That’s the name of the group. The Coaxial Cable.”

“You’re putting me on,” Willis said.

“No, that’s the name, I mean it.”

“What does Di Fillippi play?”

“Rhythm guitar.”

“Where do I find him?”

“His address is 365 North Anderson.”

“That’s in Riverhead?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know he’s our man?”

“Well, it seems he’s a big bullshit artist, you know?” Donner said. “He’s been going around the past few weeks saying he dropped a huge bundle on the championship fight, made it sound like two, three G’s. It turns out all he lost was fifty bucks, that’s some big bundle, huh?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“But he’s also been saying recently that he knows about a big caper coming off.”

“Who’d he say this to?”

“Well, one of the guys in the group is a big hophead from back even before it got stylish. That’s how I got my lead onto Di Fillippi. And the guy said they were busting some joints together maybe three, four days ago, and Di Fillippi came on about this big caper he knew about.”

“Did he say what the caper was?”

“No.”

“And they were smoking pot?”

“Yeah, busting a few joints, you know, social.”

“Maybe Di Fillippi was out of his skull.”

“He probably was. What’s that got to do with it?”

“He might have dreamt up the whole thing.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did he mention La Bresca at all?”

“Nope.”

“Did he say when the job would be coming off?”

“Nope.”

“Well, it’s not much, Fats.”

“It’s worth half a century, don’t you think?”

“It’s worth ten bucks,” Willis said.

“Hey, come on, man, I had to do some real hustling to get this for you.”

“Which reminds me,” Willis said.

“Huh?”

“Get rid of your playmate.”

“Huh?”

“The girl. Next time I see you, I want her out of there.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought it over, and I don’t like the idea.”

“I kicked her out twice already,” Donner said. “She always comes back.”

“Then maybe you ought to use this ten bucks to buy her a ticket back to Georgia.”

“Sure. Maybe I ought to contribute another ten besides to the Salvation Army,” Donner said.

“Just get her out of there,” Willis said.

“When’d you get so righteous?” Donner asked.

“Just this minute.”

“I thought you were a businessman.”

“I am. Here’s my deal. Let the girl go, and I forget whatever else I know about you, and whatever I might learn in the future.”

“Nobody learns nothing about me,” Donner said. “I’m The Shadow.”

“No,” Willis said. “Only Lamont Cranston is The Shadow.”

“You serious about this?”

“I want the girl out of there. If she’s still around next time I see you, I throw the book.”

“And lose a valuable man.”

“Maybe,” Willis said. “In which case, we’ll have to manage without you somehow.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I bother helping you guys at all,” Donner said.

“I’ll tell you why sometime, if you have a minute,” Willis said.

“Never mind.”

“Will you get the girl out of there?”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re going to send me fifty, right?”

“I said ten.”

“Make it twenty.”

“For the birdseed you just gave me?”

“It’s a lead, ain’t it?”

“That’s all it is.”

“So? A lead is worth at least twenty-five.”

“I’ll send you fifteen,” Willis said, and hung up.

The phone rang again almost the instant he replaced it on the cradle. He lifted the receiver and said, “87th, Willis speaking.”

“Hal, this is Artie over at the school.”

“Yep.”

“I’ve been waiting for Murchison to put me through. I think I’ve got something.”

“Shoot.”

“La Bresca talked to his mother on the phone about five minutes ago.”

“In English or Italian?”

“English. He told her he was expecting a call from Dom Di Fillippi. That could be our man, no?”

“Yeah, it looks like he is,” Willis said.

“He told his mother to say he’d meet Di Fillippi on his lunch hour at the corner of Cathedral and Seventh.”

“Has Di Fillippi called yet?”

“Not yet. This was just five minutes ago, Hal.”

“Right. What time did he say they’d meet?”

“Twelve-thirty.”

“Twelve-thirty, corner of Cathedral and Seventh.”

“Right,” Brown said.

“We’ll have somebody there.”

“I’ll call you back,” Brown said. “I’ve got another customer.”

In five minutes, Brown rang the squadroom again. “That was Di Fillippi,” he said. “Mrs. La Bresca gave him the message. Looks like pay dirt at last, huh?”

“Maybe,” Willis said.

From where Meyer and Kling sat in the Chrysler sedan parked on Cathedral Street, they could clearly see Tony La Bresca waiting on the corner near the bus stop sign. The clock on top of the Catholic church dominating the intersection read twelve-twenty. La Bresca was early and apparently impatient. He paced the pavement anxiously, lighting three cigarettes in succession, looking up at the church clock every few minutes, checking the time against his own wrist watch.

“This has got to be it,” Kling said.

“The payoff of the burley joint summit meeting,” Meyer said.

“Right. La Bresca’s going to tell old Dom he’s in for a three-way split. Then Calooch’ll decide whether or not they’re going to dump him in the river.”

“Six-to-five old Dom gets the cement block.”

“I’m not a gambling man,” Kling said.

The church clock began tolling the half-hour. The chimes rang out over the intersection. Some of the lunch hour pedestrians glanced up at the bell tower. Most of them hurried past with their heads ducked against the cold.

“Old Dom seems to be late,” Meyer said.

“Look at old Tony,” Kling said. “He’s about ready to take a fit.”

“Yeah,” Meyer said, and chuckled. The car heater was on, and he was snug and cozy and drowsy. He did not envy La Bresca standing outside on the windy corner.

“What’s the plan?” Kling said.

“As soon as the meeting’s over, we move in on old Dom.”

“We ought to pick up both of them,” Kling said.

“Tell me what’ll stick.”

“We heard La Bresca planning a job, didn’t we? That’s Conspiracy to Commit, Section 580.”

“Big deal. I’d rather find out what he’s up to and then catch him in the act.”

“If he’s in with the deaf man, he’s already committed two crimes,” Kling said. “And very big ones at that.”

“If he’s in with the deaf man.”

“You think he is?”

“No.”

“I’m not sure,” Kling said.

“Maybe old Dom’ll be able to tell us.”

“If he shows.”

“What time is it?”

“Twenty to,” Kling said.

They kept watching La Bresca. He was pacing more nervously now, slapping his gloved hands against his sides to ward off the cold. He was wearing the same beige car coat he had worn the day he’d picked up the lunch pail in the park, the same green muffler wrapped around his throat, the same thick-soled workman’s shoes.

“Look,” Meyer said suddenly.

“What is it?”

“Across the street. Pulling up to the curb.”

“Huh?”

“It’s the blond girl, Bert. In the same black Buick!”

“How’d she get into the act?”

Meyer started the car. La Bresca had spotted the Buick and was walking toward it rapidly. From where they sat, the detectives could see the girl toss her long blond hair and then lean over to open the front door for him. La Bresca got into the car. In a moment, it gunned away from the curb.

“What do we do now?” Kling asked.

“We follow.”

“What about Dom?”

“Maybe the girl’s taking La Bresca to see him.”

“And maybe not.”

“What can we lose?” Meyer asked.

“We can lose Dom,” Kling said.

“Just thank God they’re not walking,” Meyer said, and pulled the Chrysler out into traffic.

This was the oldest part of the city. The streets were narrow, the buildings crowded the sidewalks and gutters, pedestrians crossed at random, ignoring the lights, ducking around moving vehicles with practiced ease, nonchalant to possible danger.

“Like to give them all tickets for jaywalking,” Meyer mumbled.

“Don’t lose that Buick,” Kling cautioned.

“You think I’m new in this business, Sonny?”

“You lost that same car only last week,” Kling said.

“I was on foot last week.”

“They’re making a left turn,” Kling said.

“I see them.”

The Buick had indeed made a left turn, coming out onto the wide tree-lined esplanade bordering the River Dix. The river was icebound shore to shore, a phenomenon that had happened only twice before in the city’s history. Devoid of its usual busy harbor traffic, it stretched toward Calm’s Point like a flat Kansas plain, a thick cover of snow uniformly hiding the ice below. The naked trees along the esplanade bent in the strong wind that raced across the river. Even the heavy Buick seemed struggling to move through the gusts, its nose swerving every now and again as the blonde fought the wheel. At last, she pulled the car to the curb and killed the engine. The esplanade was silent except for the roaring of the wind. Newspapers flapped into the air like giant headless birds. An empty wicker-wire trash barrel came rolling down the center of the street.

A block behind the parked Buick, Meyer and Kling sat and looked through the windshield of the unmarked police sedan. The wind howled around the automobile, drowning out the calls that came from the radio. Kling turned up the volume.

“What now?” he asked.

“We wait,” Meyer said.

“Do we pick up the girl when they’re finished talking?” Kling asked.

“Yep.”

“You think she’ll know anything?”

“I hope so. She must be in on it, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. Calucci was talking about splitting the take up the middle. If there’re three people in it already …”

“Well, then maybe she’s old Dom’s girl.”

“Substituting for him, you mean?”

“Sure. Maybe old Dom suspects they’re going to dump him. So he sends his girl to the meeting while he’s safe and sound somewhere, strumming his old rhythm guitar.”

“That’s possible,” Kling said.

“Sure, it’s possible,” Meyer said.

“But then, anything’s possible.”

“That’s a very mature observation,” Meyer said.

“Look,” Kling said. “La Bresca’s getting out of the car.”

“Short meeting,” Meyer said. “Let’s hit the girl.”

As La Bresca went up the street in the opposite direction, Meyer and Kling stepped out of the parked Chrysler. The wind almost knocked them off their feet. They ducked their heads against it and began running, not wanting the girl to start the car and take off before they reached her, hoping to prevent a prolonged automobile chase through the city. Up ahead, Meyer heard the Buick’s engine spring to life.

“Let’s go!” he shouted to Kling, and they sprinted the last five yards to the car, Meyer fanning out into the gutter, Kling pulling open the door on the curb side.

The blonde sitting behind the wheel was wearing slacks and a short gray coat. She turned to look at Kling as he pulled open the door, and Kling was surprised to discover that she wasn’t wearing makeup and that her features were rather heavy and gross. As he blinked at her in amazement, he further learned that she was sporting what looked like a three-day old beard stubble on her chin and on her cheeks.

The door on the driver’s side snapped open.

Meyer took one surprised look at the “girl” behind the wheel and then immediately said, “Mr. Dominick Di Fillippi, I presume?”

Dominick Di Fillippi was very proud of his long blond hair.

In the comparative privacy of the squadroom, he combed it often, and explained to the detectives that guys belonging to a group had to have an image, you dig? Like all the guys in his group, they all looked different, you dig? Like the drummer wore these Ben Franklin eye-glasses, and the lead guitar player combed his chair down in bangs over his eyes, and the organist wore red shirts and red socks, you dig, all the guys had a different image. The long blond hair wasn’t exactly his own idea, there were lots of guys in other groups who had long hair, which is why he was growing the beard to go with it. His beard was a sort of reddish-blond, he explained, he figured it would look real tough once it grew in, give him his own distinct image, you dig?

“Like what’s the beef,” he asked, “what am I doing inside a police station?”

“You’re a musician, huh?” Meyer asked.

“You got it, man.”

“That’s what you do for a living, huh?”

“Well, like we only recently formed the group.”

“How recently?”

“Three months.”

“Play any jobs yet?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“When?”

“Well, we had like auditions.”

“Have you ever actually been paid for playing anywhere?”

“Well, no, man, not yet. Not actually. I mean, man, even The Beatles had to start someplace, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“Like, man, they were playing these crumby little cellar joints in Liverpool, man, they were getting maybe a farthing a night.”

“What the hell do you know about farthings?”

“Like it’s a saying.”

“Okay, Dom, let’s get away from the music business for a little while, okay? Let’s talk about other kinds of business, okay?”

“Yeah, let’s talk about why I’m in here, okay?”

“You’d better read him the law,” Kling said.

“Yeah,” Meyer said, and went through the Miranda-Escobedo bit. Di Fillippi listened intently. When Meyer was finished, he nodded his blond locks and said, “I can get a lawyer if I want one, huh?”

“Yes.”

“I want one,” Di Fillippi said.

“Have you got anyone special in mind, or do you want us to get one for you?”

“I got somebody in mind,” Di Fillippi said.

While the detectives back at the squadroom fuzzily and fussily waited for Di Fillippi’s lawyer to arrive, Steve Carella, now ambulatory, decided to go down to the fourth floor to visit Patrolman Genero.

Genero was sitting up in bed, his wounded leg bandaged and rapidly healing. He seemed surprised to see Carella.

“Hey,” he said, “this is a real honor, I mean it. I’m really grateful to you for coming down here like this.”

“How’s it going, Genero?” Carella asked.

“Oh, so-so. It still hurts. I never thought getting shot could hurt. In the movies, you see these guys get shot all the time, and they just fall down, but you never get the impression it hurts.”

“It hurts, all right,” Carella said, and smiled. He sat on the edge of Genero’s bed. “I see you’ve got a television in here,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s the guy’s over in the next bed.” Genero’s voice fell to a whisper. “He never watches it. He’s pretty sick, I think. He’s either sleeping all the time or else moaning. I don’t think he’s going to make it, I’ll tell you the truth.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know. He just sleeps and moans. The nurses are in here day and night, giving him things, sticking him with needles, it’s a regular railroad station, I’m telling you.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Carella said.

“What do you mean?”

“Nurses coming in and out.”

“Oh no, that’s great?” Genero said. “Some of them are pretty good-looking.”

“How’d this happen?” Carella asked, and nodded toward Genero’s leg.

“Oh, you don’t know, huh?” Genero said.

“I only heard you were shot.”

“Yeah,” Genero said, and hesitated. “We were chasing this suspect, you see. So as he went past me, I pulled my revolver to fire a warning shot.” Genero hesitated again. “That was when I got it.”

“Tough break,” Carella said.

“Well, you got to expect things like that, I suppose. If you expect to make police work your life’s work, you got to expect things like that in your work,” Genero said.

“I suppose so.”

“Well, sure, look what happened to you,” Genero said.

“Mmm,” Carella said.

“Of course, you’re a detective,” Genero said.

“Mmm,” Carella said.

“Which is sort of understandable.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you expect detectives to get in trouble more than ordinary patrolmen, don’t you? I mean, the ordinary patrolman, the run-of-the-mill patrolman who doesn’t expect to make police work his life’s work, well, you don’t expect him to risk his life trying to apprehend a suspect, do you?”

“Well,” Carella said, and smiled.

“Do you?” Genero persisted.

“Everybody starts out as a patrolman,” Carella said gently.

“Oh, sure. It’s just you think of a patrolman as a guy directing traffic or helping kids cross the street or taking information when there’s been an accident, things like that, you know? You never figure he’s going to risk his life, the run-of-the-mill patrolman, anyway.”

“Lots of patrolmen get killed in the line of duty,” Carella said.

“Oh, sure, I’m sure. I’m just saying you don’t expect it to happen.”

“To yourself, you mean.”

“Yeah.”

The room was silent

“It sure hurts,” Genero said. “I hope they let me out of here soon, though. I’m anxious to get back to duty.”

“Well, don’t rush it,” Carella said.

“When are you getting out?”

“Tomorrow, I think.”

“You feel okay?”

“Oh yeah, I feel fine.”

“Broke your ribs, huh?”

“Yeah, three of them.”

“Your nose, too.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s rough,” Genero said. “But, of course, you’re a detective.”

“Mmm,” Carella said.

“I was up the squadroom the other day,” Genero said, “filling in for the guys when they came here to visit you. This was before the shooting. Before I got it.”

“How’d you like that madhouse up there?” Carella said, and smiled.

“Oh, I handled it okay, I guess,” Genero said. “Of course, there’s a lot to learn, but I suppose that comes with actual practice.”

“Oh, sure,” Carella said.

“I had a long talk with Sam Grossman …”

“Nice fellow, Sam.”

“… yeah, at the lab. We went over those suspect notes together. Nice fellow, Sam,” Genero said.

“Yeah.”

“And then some kid came in with another one of those notes, and I held him there till the guys got back. I guess I handled it okay.”

“I’m sure you did,” Carella said.

“Well, you’ve got to be conscientious about it if you expect to make it your life’s work,” Genero said.

“Oh, sure,” Carella said. He rose, winced slightly as he planted his weight, and then said, “Well, I just wanted to see how you were getting along.”

“I’m fine, thanks. I appreciate your coming down.”

“Oh, well,” Carella said, and smiled, and started for the door.

“When you get back,” Genero said, “give my regards, huh?” Carella looked at him curiously. “To all the guys,” Genero said. “Cotton, and Hal, and Meyer and Bert. All of us who were on the plant together.”

“Oh, sure.”

“And thanks again for coming up …”

“Don’t mention it.”

“… Steve,” Genero ventured as Carella went out.

Di Fillippi’s lawyer was a man named Irving Baum.

He arrived at the squadroom somewhat out of breath and the first thing he asked was whether the detectives had advised his client of his rights. When assured that Di Fillippi had been constitutionally protected, he nodded briefly, took off his brown Homburg and heavy brown overcoat, placed both neatly across Meyer’s desk, and then asked the detectives what it was all about. He was a pleasant-looking man, Baum, with white hair and mustache, sympathetic brown eyes, and an encouraging manner of nodding when anyone spoke, short little nods that seemed to be signs of agreement. Meyer quickly told him that it was not the police intention to book Di Fillippi for anything, but merely to solicit information from him. Baum could see no reason why his client should not cooperate to the fullest extent. He nodded to Di Fillippi and then said, “Go ahead, Dominick, answer their questions.”

“Okay, Mr. Baum,” Di Fillippi said.

“Can we get your full name and address?” Meyer said.

“Dominick Americo Di Fillippi, 365 North Anderson Street, Riverhead.”

“Occupation.”

“I already told you. I’m a musician.”

“I beg your pardon,” Baum said. “Were you questioning him before I arrived?”

“Steady, counselor,” Meyer said. “All we asked him was what he did for a living.”

“Well,” Baum said, and tilted his head to one side as though considering whether there had been a miscarriage of justice. “Well,” he said, “go on, please.”

“Age?” Meyer asked.

“Twenty-eight.”

“Single? Married?”

“Single.”

“Who’s your nearest living relative?”

“I beg your pardon,” Baum said, “but if you merely intend to solicit information, why do you need these statistics?”

“Mr. Baum,” Willis said, “you’re a lawyer, and you’re here with him, so stop worrying. He hasn’t said anything that’ll send him to jail. Not yet.”

“This is routine, counselor,” Meyer said. “I think you’re aware of that.”

“All right, all right, go on,” Baum said.

“Nearest living relative?” Meyer repeated.

“My father. Angelo Di Fillippi.”

“What’s he do?”

“He’s a stonemason.”

“Hard to find good stonemasons today,” Meyer said.

“Yeah.”

“Dom,” Willis said, “What’s your connection with Tony La Bresca?”

“He’s a friend of mine.”

“Why’d you meet with him today?”

“Just friendly.”

“It was a very short meeting,” Willis said.

“Yeah, I guess it was.”

“Do you always go all the way downtown just to talk to someone for five minutes?”

“Well, he’s a friend of mine.”

“What’d you talk about?”

“Uh music,” Di Fillippi said.

“What about music?”

“Well uh he’s got a cousin who’s gonna get married soon, so he wanted to know about our group.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“I told him we were available.”

“When’s this wedding coming off?”

“The uh sometime in June.”

“When in June?”

“I forget the exact date.”

“Then how do you know you’ll be available?”

“Well, we ain’t got no jobs for June, so I know we’ll be available.”

“Are you the group’s business manager?”

“No.”

“Then why’d La Bresca come to you?”

“Because we’re friends, and he heard about the group.”

“So that’s what you talked about. His cousin’s wedding.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“How much did you tell him it would cost?”

“I said uh it uh seventy dollars.”

“How many musicians are there in the group?”

“Five.”

“How much is that a man?” Meyer asked.

“It’s uh seventy uh divided by five.”

“Which is how much?”

“That’s uh well five into seven is one and carry the two, five into twenty is uh four, so that comes to fourteen dollars a man.”

“But you didn’t know that when you asked for the seventy, did you?”

“Yes, sure I knew it.”

“Then why’d you have to do the division just now?”

“Just to check it, that’s all.”

“So you told La Bresca you’d be available, and you told him it would cost seventy dollars, and then what?”

“He said he’d ask his cousin, and he got out of the car.”

“That was the extent of your conversation with him?”

“That was the extent of it, yes.”

“Couldn’t you have discussed this on the telephone?”

“Sure, I guess so.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Well, I like to see Tony every now and then, he’s a good friend of mine.”

“So you drove all the way downtown to see him.”

“That’s right.”

“How much did you lose on that championship fight?”

“Oh, not much.”

“How much?”

“Ten bucks or so. How do you know about that?”

“Wasn’t it more like fifty?”

“Well, maybe, I don’t remember. How do you know this?” He turned to Baum. “How do they know this?” he asked the lawyer.

“How do you know this?” Baum asked.

“Well, counselor, if it’s all right with you,” Meyer said, “we’ll ask the questions, unless you find something objectionable.”

“No, I think everything’s been proper so far, but I would like to know where you’re going.”

“I think that’ll become clear,” Meyer said.

“Well, Detective Meyer, I think I’d like to know right now what this is all about, or I shall feel compelled to advise my client to remain silent.”

Meyer took a deep breath. Willis shrugged in resignation.

“We feel your client possesses knowledge of an impending crime,” Meyer said.

“What crime?”

“Well, if you’ll permit us to question him …”

“No, not until you answer me,” Baum said.

“Mr. Baum,” Willis said, “we can book him for Compounding, Section 570 of the Penal Law, or we can book him for …”

“Just a moment, young man,” Baum said. “Would you mind explaining that?”

“Yes, sir, we have reason to believe that your client has been promised money or other property to conceal a crime. Now that’s either a felony or a misdemeanor, sir, depending on what the crime is he’s agreed to conceal. I think you know that, sir.”

“And what’s this crime he’s agreed to conceal?”

“We might also be able to book him for Conspiracy, Section 580, if he’s actually involved in this planned crime.”

“Do you have definite knowledge that a crime is to take place?” Baum asked.

“We have reasonable knowledge, sir, yes, sir.”

“You realize, do you not, that no agreement amounts to a conspiracy

unless some act beside such agreement is done to effect the object thereof?”

“Look, Mr. Baum,” Meyer said, “this isn’t a court of law, so let’s not argue the case right here and now, okay? We’re not going to book your client for anything provided he co-operates a little and answers …”

“I hope I didn’t detect a threat in that statement,” Baum said.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Meyer said, “we know that a man named Anthony La Bresca and another man named Peter Calucci are planning to commit a crime, misdemeanor or felony we don’t know which, on March fifteenth. We also have very good reason to believe that your client here knows exactly what they’re up to and has demanded money from them to keep such knowledge or information from reaching the police. Now, Mr. Baum, we don’t want to pull in La Bresca and Calucci for conspiracy because (a) it wouldn’t stick without that ‘act’ you were talking about, and (b) we might end up with only a misdemeanor, depending on what they’ve cooked up. As I’m sure you know, if they’ve planned the crime of murder, kidnaping, robbery One, selling narcotics, arson or extortion, and if they’ve committed some act other than their agreement to pull the job, each of them is guilty of a felony. And as I’m sure you also know, some very big officials in this city were recently murdered, and the possibility exists that La Bresca and Calucci are somehow involved and that this crime they’ve planned may have to do with extortion or murder, or both, which would automatically make the conspiracy a felony. As you can see, therefore, we’re not after your client per se, we’re merely trying to prevent a crime. So can we cut all the legal bullshit and get a little co-operation from you, and especially from him?”

“It seems to me he’s been co-operating splendidly,” Baum said.

“It seems to me he’s been lying splendidly,” Meyer said.

“Considering what’s involved here …” Baum started.

“Mr. Baum, could we please …?”

“… I think you had better charge Mr. Di Fillippi with whatever it is you have in mind. We’ll let the courts settle the matter of his guilt or innocence.”

“While two hoods pull off their job, right?”

“I’m not interested in the entrapment of two hoodlums,” Baum said. “I’m advising my client to say nothing further, in accordance with the rights granted to him under …”

“Thanks a lot, Mr. Baum.”

“Are you going to book him, or not?”

“We’re going to book him,” Meyer said.

“For what?”

“Compounding a crime, Section 570 of the Penal Law.”

“Very well, I suggest you do that with reasonable dispatch,” Baum said. “It seems to me he’s been held in custody an extremely long time as it is. I know you’re aware …”

“Mr. Baum, we’re aware of it inside out and backwards. Take him down, Hal. Charge him as specified.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Di Fillippi said.

“I suggest that you go with them,” Baum said. “Don’t worry about a thing. Before you’re even arraigned, I’ll have contacted a bail bondsman. You’ll be back on the street …”

“Hey, wait one goddamn minute,” Di Fillippi said.

“What if those two guys go ahead with …?”

“Dominick, I advise you to remain silent.”

“Yeah? What can I get for this ‘compounding,’ whatever the hell it is?”

“Depends on what they do,” Meyer said.

“Dominick …”

“If they commit a crime punishable by death or by life imprisonment you can get five years. If they commit …”

“What about a holdup?” Di Fillippi asked.

“Dominick, as your attorney, I must again strongly advise you …”

“What about a holdup?” Di Fillippi said again.

“Is that what they’ve planned?” Meyer said.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“If they commit a robbery, and you take money from them to conceal the crime, you can get three years in prison.”

“Mmm,” Di Fillippi said.

“Will you answer some questions for us?”

“Will you let me go if I do?”

“Dominick, you don’t have to …”

“Do you want to go to prison for three years?” Di Fillippi asked.

“They have no case, they’re …”

“No? Then how do they know the job’s coming off on March fifteenth? Where’d they get that? Some little birdie whisper it in their ear?”

“We’ve leveled with you, Dominick,” Willis said, “and believe me, we wouldn’t have brought any of this out in the open if we didn’t have plenty to go on. Now you can either help us or we can book you and take you down for arraignment and you’ll have an arrest record following you for the rest of your life. What do you want to do?”

“That’s coercion!” Baum shouted.

“It may be coercion, but it’s also fact,” Willis said.

“I’ll tell you everything I know,” Di Fillippi said.

He knew a lot, and he told it all.

He told them that the holdup was set for eight o’clock on Friday night, and that the victim was to be the owner of a tailor shop on Culver Avenue. The reason the hit had been scheduled for that particular night and time was that the tailor, a man namd John Mario Vicenzo, usually packed up his week’s earnings then and took them home with him in a small metal box, which box his wife Laura carried to the Fiduciary Trust early Saturday morning. The Fiduciary Trust, as it happened, was the only bank in the neighborhood that was open till noon on Saturday, bank employees being among those who did not like to work on weekends.

John Mario Vicenzo (or John the Tailor as he was known to the people along Culver Avenue) was a man in his early seventies, an easy mark. The take would be enormous, Di Fillippi explained, with more than enough for everyone concerned even if split three ways. The plan was to go into the shop at ten minutes to eight, just before John the Tailor drew the blinds on the plate glass window fronting the street. La Bresca was to perform that task instead, and then he was to lock the front door while Calucci forced John the Tailor at gun point into the back room, where he would tie him and leave him bound and helpless on the floor near the pressing machine. They would then empty the cash register of the money that had been piling up there all week long, and take off. John the Tailor would be left dead or alive depending on how co-operative he was.

Di Fillippi explained that he’d overheard all this one night in the pizzeria on South Third, La Bresca and Calucci sitting in a booth behind him and not realizing they were whispering a little too loud. At first he’d been annoyed by the idea of two Italians knocking over a place owned by another Italian, but then he figured What the hell, it was none of his business; the one thing he’d never done in his life was rat on anybody. But that was before the fight, and the bet that had left him broke. Desperate for a little cash, he remembered what he’d heard them discussing and figured he’d try to cut himself in. He didn’t think there’d be too much static from them because the take, after all, was a huge one, and he figured they’d be willing to share it.

“Just how much money is involved here?” Willis asked.

“Oh, man,” Di Fillippi said, rolling his eyes, “there’s at least four hundred bucks involved here, maybe even more.”