Gold Coast

"It's still no concern of mine."

I said, "I plan to be with my client every step of the way, Mr Mancuso. I expect everyone to behave properly and professionally."

"You can count on that, Mr Sutter. May I remove my prisoner? I'd like to get on the road."

"Certainly." I said to Frank Bellarosa, "I'll see you at Federal Plaza." Bellarosa, trying to look very nonchalant despite the cuffs and Mancuso's hand on his arm, said to me jokingly, "Don't forget the briefcase, and don't stop for coffee, and don't get lost. Capisce?"

I noticed that Frank Bellarosa was not as eloquent with his hands cuffed, but I understood him. "Capisco."

He laughed and said to Mancuso, "See? Another few months and I'll have him cursing in Italian."

"Let's go, Frank." Mancuso led Bellarosa out the door. I stood at the open door, and Le

I nodded and retrieved my briefcase as Le

I found myself standing with Vi

"Yeah? Fuck him." Vi

I started to follow, but heard a noise behind me and turned. Coming down the winding staircase, wailing at the top of her big lungs, was A

Mado

"John!" She came rushing toward me like a '54 Buick with oversized bumper guards. "John! They took Frank! They took him away!" She collided with me -

Boom! – and wrapped her arms around me, which was all that kept me from sprawling across the floor. She buried her face in my chest and gushed tears over my Hermes tie. "Oh, John! They arrested him!"

"Yes, I was actually here."

She kept sobbing and squeezing me. Mado

I steered her over to a wicker chair, which was like trying to manhandle a side of beef. She wasn't wearing much under her robe, and despite the circumstances and the early hour, I found I was a wee bit cranked up by her proximity. An incredibly insane thought passed through my mind, but I got it right out of there before it got me killed.

She was sitting now, clutching my hands in hers. "Why did they take my Frank?" Gee, A

She yanked me down to my knees and our faces were close. I noticed that, as upset as she was, she'd dallied upstairs long enough to comb her hair, put on a little makeup, and that nice scent she used. She looked me straight in the eye and said, "Swear to me. Swear to me, John, that you will bring Frank home." Mamma mia, what a morning this was going to be. I never had these problems at a house closing. I cleared my throat and said, "I swear it." "On the grave of your mother. Swear it on the grave of your mother." As best I knew, Harriet was still alive and well in Europe. But a lot of people think my parents are dead, including me sometimes, so I said, "I swear on the grave of my mother that I'll bring Frank home."

"Oh… dear Lord…" She kissed my hands and blubbered awhile. I managed to get a look at my watch. "A

I disengaged my hands and said to A

On the expressway into Manhattan, Le

Vi

I was a little a

Capisce?"

Le

"I might prefer it to being in a car with two greaseballs." They thought that was very fu

Vi

"I hope so. If not, we'll get Caffe Roma to deliver to his cell." Now there's an example of the kind of joke they don't find fu

Le

That wasn't quite a threat, but it had possibilities. I replied, "Let me worry about that. You worry about driving."

No one spoke for a while, which was fine with me. So there I was, in a black Cadillac with two Mafia goons, heading into the maws of the federal criminal justice system.

It was just nine A.M. now and the worst of the rush hour was over, but traffic was still heavy, so I didn't think there was any chance that we'd overtake Mancuso, and in fact, I didn't even know what sort of vehicle he was driving. But as it turned out, though we never saw the car that Mancuso and Bellarosa were in, I began to realize that the same four nondescript grey Fords had been keeping pace with us for some time.

Le

So I did. Each car held two men, and they were staring at us as they played a game of changing positions around us. The car to our front suddenly slowed down, and Le

The grey Fords to our sides and rear boxed us in, and they slowed us down to ten miles an hour, causing the other Long Island Expressway motorists behind us, who are not known for road courtesy in the best of times, to go nearly hysterical. Horns were blaring, insults hurled, drivers pounded their foreheads against their steering wheels. They were really upset back there. So we caused what they call on the radio 'major delays' approaching the Midtown Tu

This wasn't just harassment, of course, but a rather unethical attempt to separate me from my client. I saw Ferragamo's hand in this and began to suspect that it wasn't the FBI in those cars, but Ferragamo's men from the Justice Department. I said to Le

"Do what I say."

"He'll kill us!"