Sicilian Defense by John Nicholas Iannuzzi Read Free Book Online Page B

can speed this up, Sandro,” Gianni said in a low voice. “I’ve got to get out of here as soon as possible.”
    â€œOkay,” Sandro said. “Will you be all right by yourself for a moment while I go inside?”
    Gianni nodded with faint amusement.
    â€œHiya, Gianni,” said one of the reporters, “how’ve you been?”
    â€œFine. How’ve you been?”
    â€œOkay,” replied the reporter. “Remember, I asked a lot of questions you didn’t answer back when the Grand Jury was investigating that time you were shot?”
    â€œDon’t remind me,” said Gianni.
    The reporter smiled. “How about a statement?”
    Gianni shook his head, smiled, and moved toward an empty chair against the far wall. He put down his hat and coat, took out his cigarette lighter, looking around the room as he did so. Although he knew many of the other witnesses waiting there, for all recordable purposes he did not recognize or react to anyone in the room. None of the witnesses reacted to him either. They were all aware that mixed in the crowd were local detectives, federal agents, prosecuting officials—some identifiable and others disguised as reporters and cameramen—who were watching their every move, recording their actions, noting who accorded more respect to whom, who knew whom, who spoke to whom, all later to be set down at length in official reports or family charts.
    Sandro walked into the hearing room. On the speaker’s stage several library tables had been assembled into one long table, with microphones strategically placed for the committee members. Sandro saw Senator Stern standing beside the stairs leading to the stage. He was of medium height, slim, with sharp features and red hair.
    Stern smiled a thin crease of a smile. “Good morning, Sandro. You representing some of the people here?”
    â€œJust one,” said Sandro, “Gianni Aquilino.”
    Stern’s eyebrows rose, his lips pursed as he nodded appre-ciatively. “Might as well represent a top man as long as you’re here.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?” Sandro asked.
    â€œCome on, Sandro. He’s still one of the biggest men in the Giordano family—one of the biggest men in the Cosa Nostra until he stepped down. You know that as well as I do.”
    â€œAll I know is what you tell me, Maurice.”
    A ruddy-faced, tall man walked up and joined them. Sandro recognized him as a state policeman attached to Stern’s committee.
    â€œHello, counselor,” he said distrustfully, studying Sandro as he might a suspected criminal. To him there was not much difference. Defense lawyers were trying to protect evil; therefore they too were evil.
    Stern smiled. “Is your man going to testify this morning?”
    â€œI don’t believe he will,” Sandro said.
    â€œDo any of them ever?” asked the policeman.
    â€œI thought the United States Constitution was still in force in New York State,” said Sandro.
    The trooper’s face streaked with annoyance. “The Constitution’s to protect honest citizens, not racketeers and hoodlums.”
    â€œWho’s giving out the signs these days?” said Sandro.
    The trooper stared at Sandro, trying to figure that one out.
    â€œYou know we have immunity powers now,” said Stern. “If your man refuses to testify, the committee can grant him immunity. Then he’ll have to testify because he’s immune to prosecution; he can’t claim the Fifth Amendment. If he refuses, he’ll go to jail for contempt.”
    â€œI don’t think your immunity is valid,” Sandro said flatly.
    â€œI wouldn’t count on it,” said Stern. “Why not?”
    â€œLeave a few surprises in life, will you, Senator? What time do you think you’ll get to my man?”
    â€œIn a few minutes. The reporters want to interview me before we