Росс Томас - The Singapore Wink

“You’ve lost me,” I said.

“A long time ago, about seven or eight years before you were born, they had a meeting in Atlantic City.”

“They?”

He gave me a disgusted look. “You want a name for it?”

“Does it have one?”

“Why don’t you ask J. Edgar Hoover?”

“I don’t have to. He calls it the Cosa Nostra.”

“La Cosa Nostra is what he calls it.”

“Is that its name?”

“No,” Small said, “but it’s always good for a few laughs. So let’s get back to the meeting.”

“In Atlantic City.”

“That’s right. They were all there, Costello, Luciano, Vito Genovese, even Capone and his brothers. Anybody who was anybody. They got together at this meeting and decided that they needed to reorganize their operations. They were going to lay out territories, cut out the wars, and improve their image, although nobody was using that word then you understand. They just wanted to get more respectable and one of the ways they decided to go about it was to send some of the younger, brighter punks to college. So they went around the room to find out if there were any candidates. My brother was there and he put in my name and promised them that he’d break my neck if I dropped out of high school. Costello said he knew a young kid who he’d do the same thing to, so out of that entire crowd they could only come up with two they could send to college, me and this kid that Costello nominated.”

Small paused and took another long swallow of his drink. “Well, the other kid made it. You know what happened to me — I already told you that. But they got a tutor for the other kid and he not only finished high school, but they got him into Harvard and they put him through in style. I mean he didn’t lack for anything. Then when he got through Harvard, they sent him down to the University of Virginia’s law school. I hear he breezed through that.”

“And this is the man in Washington who wants to see me?” I said.

“He’s the one.”

“How did he get to be Sacchetti’s godfather?”

“Because Angelo Sacchetti was Sonny from Chicago’s kid and Sonny from Chicago once saved this guy’s life.”

“You lost me again.”

Small sighed, this time more deeply than before. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this. It’s just going to get you in trouble.”

“From what you’ve said, I’m already in trouble.”

He thought about that for a moment and then seemed to come to a decision. Or perhaps he was just acting it all out; I could never tell.

“All right,” he said finally. “This Sonny from Chicago, nobody ever found out his real name, showed up in New York one day with a one-year-old kid on one arm and a violin case in the other.” He paused and looked at me skeptically. “You think I’m kidding about the violin case, don’t you?”

“You’re telling it,” I said.

“Then keep your looks to yourself.”

“Go on.”

“Well, it seems that this Sonny’s wife was an ex-hooker who had got into some trouble with one of the Chicago outfits and they dumped her into Lake Michigan. I don’t know what kind of trouble it was. So this Sonny takes his violin case and takes out seven of the guys who he thought were responsible for it and he brings his kid and his Thompson down to New York. Well, by this time the kid I went to high school with is through with law school and he’s back in New York and running a few errands for Costello. He meets this Sonny from Chicago who’s also gone to work for Costello and they start palling around together. You know why?”

“I couldn’t even guess,” I said.

“Because this Sonny from Chicago looks nice, you know, neat — just like a college kid. He speaks well, dresses conservatively, and this kid I went to high school with has turned into something of a snob because of his education. You follow me?”

“So far.”

“Well, the guy who’s gone to college gets into trouble — not with Costello, but with somebody else, it doesn’t matter who. But it’s bad trouble, very bad, and Sonny from Chicago and this kid get caught in a fight down in the Village. Somehow Sonny saves the kid’s life and the kid promises that he’ll make it up to him.”

Small gave me another of his long pauses. “Well?” I said.

“Well, they catch Sonny from Chicago trying to cheat in a crap game two weeks later and they just nail him to the wall and leave him there. The college kid hears about it, so he takes this one-year-old baby of Sonny from Chicago’s to raise. He becomes his godfather.”

“And the baby was Angelo Sacchetti.”

“That’s right.”

“Why the name Sacchetti?”

“I don’t know, but somebody once told me that he got it off a box of noodles.”

“What happened to the college kid — the godfather?”

“They sent him to Washington.”

“Why?”

“Why does anybody send anybody to Washington? As their lobbyist.”

“I’d say he forgot to register.”

“Don’t kid yourself.”

“What does he do?”

Small managed a pained expression. He did it very well, I thought. “Let’s just say he looks after their interests.”

“And this guy reared Angelo Sacchetti?”

“He tried to anyhow. Maybe you don’t know it but Angelo had about nine governesses and maybe as many tutors. He was kicked out of four prep schools and three colleges. The only thing he ever liked was sports and that’s how he wound up out here.”

“His godfather put the word in?”

“Right,” Small said.

“Does the godfather have a name?”

“It used to be Carlos Colanero. Now it’s Charles Cole, and in certain circles it’s even Charlie the Fix.”

“You seem to know a lot,” I said.

Small gestured at the framed pictures on the wall behind him. “With a few drinks in them they sometimes talk a lot — to one of their own kind.”

“Why does Cole want me to find Angelo?”

“I don’t know,” Small said. “Angelo hung around sometimes, but not much. Then he was dead for a couple of years and nobody seemed to go into mourning. Now you say he’s alive.”

“And they want me to find him.”

“Not they. Charles Cole does, and when you meet him you’ll have gone about as high as you can go.”

“You think I’ll meet him then?” I said.

There was still another pause. Finally Small said, “Cole does and Cole usually gets his way.”

“Any advice?”

“Sure. Change your name and disappear. This isn’t just a search for the missing heir. It’s some kind of big mess or they wouldn’t send Callese out on an errand-boy’s job and he wouldn’t go on one. Somehow, they’ve got you all wrapped up in it.”

I thought about that for a moment while Small watched me intently. “I think I’ll say no,” I said.

“They don’t understand what it means.”

“There isn’t much they can do.”

“There’s just one thing,” Small said.

“What?”

“They can make you wish you’d said yes.”

Someone had done a thorough job. All four tires on both the Jaguar and the Ford were slashed, the canvas tops were in shreds, and two empty gallon cans of Karo syrup stood on the floor at the rear of the two cars near their open gasoline tanks. The Cadillac was untouched.

Trippet was walking around the Ford when I arrived the next morning, his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets as he gave instructions to Sydney Durant, one of our long-haired young employees who looked as if he were about to cry. I could tell that Trippet was upset, too; otherwise he would never have had his hands in his pockets.

“We had some night visitors,” he said.

“So I see. How bad?”