"Got my hands on Umberto Vitale’s case file. Had to grease a few palms?—”
“I’ll cover it. What did you learn?” I wrap a towel around me, head into my bedroom, and sit on the bed to focus on the call.
“Pretty standard. Feds had been watching the family. A call came in about contraband coming into the docks. Feds show up. Umberto is caught red-handed.” Joe's gravelly voice doesn’t tell me anything new.
“Who called?” This is what I need to know.
The Vitale family says it was me, but it wasn’t.
Did whoever call say it was me?
Did the Feds suspect it was me?
Did Aldo just make it up, and if so, why?
“No mention of the caller’s name.”
“None? Not even a nickname?”
“Just says, ‘Call at 8:44 regarding shipment of weapons.’ No names. It doesn’t sound like it was an informant. It reads like an anonymous tip.”
What the fuck?
I’ve always known something was wrong about the case. If I’d betrayed Umberto to the FBI, I’d be listed in the record.
I’d have been called to give a statement and testify.
Granted, my father had me out of the country immediately after he learned Aldo was accusing me, but still. Nabbing Umberto was a big deal.
The Feds would have wanted the guy who handed him over to swear on a Bible in court and give witness testimony.
“Does my name appear anywhere?”
“From this report, it looks like they expected an associate from the Monti family to be there, but he’s unnamed.”
That gives me pause.
The associate would have been me.
No doubt about that, but why not name me?
Aldo would have known that associate was me too. Is that why he blamed me?
The truth of the matter was that I was running late that day I was supposed to meet Umberto.
I remember not looking forward to the reaming he was going to give me for being late.
When I pulled up, the Feds were there and I quickly moved away, found a safe place to watch and figure out how to help Umberto.
I’d called my father, who told me not to do anything, that he’d send men down.
I won’t deny that I felt relief at being late, even as I felt guilty that Umberto was taking the rap.
I remember wondering how I’d explain it to Elena and knowing I’d have to put off arranging a marriage match with her until her father was free.
Within thirty hours, I was on a plane to Italy, blamed for Umberto’s arrest by Aldo and Elena.
“Truth is, the file's thin. Too thin for a case that put away a captain,” Joe says.
