Charlie Stella - Charlie Opera

“I got a friend’s gonna stay in my place until the end of the week,” Rizzi said.

“That’s fine with me, sir,” the valet said. “You want I should prepare these here bags for a taxi? I’ll keep ’em close to the bell desk.”

“That’ll be fine, buddy,” Rizzi said.

He waited until the valet left before stopping to examine himself in a mirror. Rizzi was minutes from leaving Las Vegas and his New York mobster friends for good. He had talked it over with his brother back in New Jersey and decided that a mob life wasn’t for him after all. He would return to New Jersey and talk to somebody in law enforcement about the truck Nicholas Cuccia had im to keep in one of his warehouses. Rizzi wasn’t exactly sure what was inside the truck, but he knew it was hot.

He stood up straight and nodded at himself in the mirror. Francone was waiting for him downstairs. It was time to get out of there.

He took the elevator down to the lobby, crossed the huge casino floor, and found the sports book. He spotted Francone sitting at one of the desks, but the young bodybuilder wasn’t watching the screens. Francone seemed to be leaning forward as he touched himself in the crack of his ass.

“Joey?” Rizzi asked from behind.

Francone shifted fast on his chair. His face expressed pain when he looked up at Rizzi. “Hemorrhoids,” he said. “Most painful fuckin’ thing in the world.”

Rizzi watched as Francone struggled out from the desk he was sitting at. “Everything all right?” Rizzi asked when he noticed his friend was limping.

“Not since I got these. But there are a few problems. You talk to Nicky yet?”

“Nicky? Ah, no, not yet. I’ve been trying to get you guys.”

Francone grabbed onto one of Rizzi’s arms for support. “Why don’t we go upstairs and talk about it. It ain’t good. Lano, that rat, did a flip on us while he’s out here. He turned on Nicky.”

Rizzi felt his stomach drop.

“Why don’t you go up and I’ll be right there,” he said. “I was just going to get some money out of the deposit box.”

Francone had looked upset that Rizzi was excusing himself. Then, at the mention of getting money, Francone seemed at ease again. “Money? Yeah, that’s always a good idea. Gimme the room key and I’ll use the bathroom while you’re down here.”

“Sure,” Rizzi said. He handed Francone the flat electronic room key. “I’ll be right up.”

Francone stopped Rizzi. “Hey.”

“What?”

“You didn’t even kiss me hello.”

Rizzi leaned forward to exchange the traditional cheek kisses. The two men exchanged phony smiles.

“Don’t lose anything on the way back up,” Francone joked.

Rizzi continued to smile until Francone wasn’t looking. Then he walked away as fast as he could.

“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.