“I’d like to be able to count myself among them.” Castellani’s eyes, black as onyx and just as soulless, returned to me. “And I hear you used to work for our Federal friends.”
Angelo shifted again, very slightly, but I could read him clear as day.
Since our exit from New York, rumors had swelled about me. Most Families out West took it for granted that I was a murderer, that the charges laid at my feet were true. Even those who weren’t sure about me assumed I was dirty, that I’d been feeding classified information to the Morellis.
Angelo didn’t like it when people questioned my integrity. But sometimes we had found that the assumptions and inferences made by powerful Family Dons worked in our favor.
So I said politely, “‘Used to’ is the operative phrase. I’ve left the service, Don Castellani—though, like you, I still value my old friends.”
I could guess what Castellani was hoping for, but there was no way in hell I’d be feeding anything to him about any cases the FBI was building against him—even if I had access to that information in the first place, which I most definitely didn’t.
But Angelo and Ihadpersuaded Gina Garcia to overlook our presence in New York on the condition that we fed back the occasional tip to her, to help her climb the ladder in her career. If Castellani let anything drop, Angelo and I had already agreed it would be fair game.
I didn’t much like being a cog between the wheels of the law and the wheels of organized crime—but when you were caught in the middle, you only had two choices. Spin the way the wheels demanded, or break between them.
“Bax and I are looking to exchange favors with you, Don Castellani,” Angelo said, taking up the conversation. Sal Rossi had already explained our situation to Castellani, so Angelo got straight to business. “Donnie Greco is a man who makes a mess wherever he goes. We want to save you the trouble of cleaning up by taking some preventative measures.”
“Think of us as Scotchgard,” I suggested.
I caught Angelo’s mouth quirking into a smile, but Castellani didn’t blink. “Well, as I told Sal, I’ll be very happy to help,” he said. “Very happy indeed, gentlemen. I’m going to pair you up with someone I think will be useful to you—guide you through the city, find leads when you need them—”
“That’s very generous,” Angelo said, “but all we need is Greco’s location.”
Castellani’s face morphed into regret. “I wish it were that simple. But you see, Greco has friends in this city, and they’ve been moving him around. I’m not interested in getting involved in any disagreements, you understand?”
“We’ll keep your name out of it,” I said.
Castellani’s smile was more of a snarl. “It’syoursafety I’m worried about, Mr. Flynn. Yours and Messina’s. You’re guests in my city and I won’t have any harm come to you while you’re here.”
“The last thing Angelo Messina needs is a bodyguard,” I said softly, and Castellani stopped smirking, caution flashing through those previously-dead eyes.
“Of course not,” he said. “I never meant to imply otherwise. But I assure you, my man Jacopo will be a great help to you.”
“Are you saying,” Angelo asked slowly, “that youdon’thave Greco’s location for us?”
“I’m saying that Jacopo will be able to get you that information and more. He’s great with this kind of thing.”
There was a staring contest going on between the two of them, but it ended when Angelo smiled. “That’s very kind of you, Don Castellani. We’d appreciate any help your man can give us.” Angelo stood, so I did too, and Castellani followed suit.
“Oh, Jacopo’s my best man,” Castellani said, shaking each of our hands in turn. “Best man for this kind of thing.”
* * *
“Just so you know,”Johnny “Call me Jack” Jacopo told us as we drove through the back streets of Bel Air, “the Boss isn’t happy about this whole situation. You know how I know? Cause he assignedmeto the job.”
Jack, who was waiting for us in the foyer when we left the salon, seemed like a mixture of contradictions: glib but observant, tall but soft-footed, his hair dark but not black, good-looking but not conspicuously so. The most noticeable thing about him were his eyes, a clear blue-gray that stood out in his tan face. He covered them up again immediately with sunglasses when we exited the house back into the California sunshine, and put his hat back on his head.
“Nice hat,” I said.
He didn’t reply. I glanced at Angelo, who raised his eyebrows in amusement.What fresh hell?said his face.
“See, the Boss isn’t all that fond of me,” Jack continued as we got into his car, parked to the side of the house. The car was a beat-up Pinto whose best days must have been in the Carter years. “I’m what you’d callexpendable. That’s why I’m wondering how this whole thing is likely to end.”
“What situation, exactly, do you think he’s worried about?” Angelo asked. “Greco being in town?” Angelo was sitting up front with Jack, while I tried to find space to spread out in the back. I felt like an overgrown kid relegated to the back seat.
I leaned forward between the front seats to hear better, trying not to jam my head against the car roof.
“No,” Jack said, glancing behind at me, and making an irritated face as I accidentally shoved my knee into the back of his seat. “You twobeing in town.”
