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

lot longer than you, and my dues book is fuller than yours, so don’t be talking trash to me. I just want to know we going to off this cat.”
    â€œLet’s see what happens,” said Bull, pouring another neat drink. “Let’s just see what happens when we call them tonight.”
    â€œWhat’ll you tell them?” asked Alfred.
    â€œI’m going to tell them we want the hundred and no fucking around.”
    â€œWhen you going to tell them to have it?”
    â€œBy tomorrow night.”
    â€œYou think they got that kind of bread hanging around?” Alfred asked, almost licking his lips.
    â€œIf they don’t, they’ll get it. That’s their problem, baby. We got our own troubles.”
    9:45 A.M.
    Gianni Aquilino looked at his wristwatch as Sandro Luca, his lawyer, opened the huge wooden door of the New York County Lawyers’ building. Sandro was young, dark-haired and well-dressed. Gianni had known him since he was a boy; his uncle, before he had been deported to die in Italy, had been Gianni’s friend and associate for many years.
    â€œWhat time will this start, Sandro?” Gianni asked, thinking of the myriad things he had to do, details to sift and analyze, before eight this night.
    â€œIt’s supposed to start at ten,” Sandro replied, “but I don’t know how many witnesses they’ll call ahead of us.”
    The Chairman of the Joint Legislative Committee for the Investigation and Control of Crime, Maurice Stern of the New York State Senate, had chosen the County Lawyers’ building not only because its auditorium and other facilities were more conducive to a crime probe than the State Office Building on Broadway, but also because it was a more dramatic and imposing setting for television and other news coverage. And, in the eyes of Senator Stern, news coverage was always a most important consideration, particularly in an election year.
    Just inside the entrance was a sign marked HEARING with an arrow pointing up the marble staircase. Gianni and Sandro started climbing.
    â€œDo you want a slip of paper with the Fifth Amendment typed out?” Sandro asked. “I brought one with me just in case.”
    Gianni smiled. “Sandro, caro , I could recite the Fifth Amendment in my sleep. I’m going to have it carved on my tombstone.” He paused to light a cigarette.
    They reached a center landing where the stairs split into two curving marble banks, rising to a large, somber anteroom. On one side, the anteroom opened onto the auditorium; on the other, into a large waiting room with a fireplace at each end where television cameras and lights were being set up.
    Many small groups of men were huddled around the edges of the anteroom. As Gianni reached the top of the stairs, a wave of excitement quickly whipped through the reporters and cameramen. They surged toward him.
    â€œMr. Aquilino will testify inside, gentlemen,” Sandro announced. “He won’t make any statements other than that. I know you’ll get pictures whether we want them or not—I only ask you to wait until we’re leaving.”
    â€œAs long as we get them then,” said one of the cameramen.
    â€œWhat’s your name, counselor?”
    Sandro told them, spelling it out.
    The reporters were like ducks voraciously lunging for pieces of bread tossed in the water.
    â€œCan we get a filmed interview, counselor?” asked one of the well-known ABC newscasters.
    Gianni stood silently at Sandro’s side, letting him handle it all.
    â€œNo. You’ll get your pictures as we leave, but no interviews.”
    â€œHow about inside when Gianni’s testifying, counselor? Can we get a couple of shots in there?” asked another TV man. His cameraman stood next to him, camera in hand, focusing on Gianni.
    Sandro and Gianni moved forward. “No pictures inside. You’ll be able to take them on the way out.”
    â€œSee if you