For Better or Worse by Al Lamanda

Author:Al Lamanda [Lamanda, Al]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: private detective fiction private detective series private detective mysteries
ISBN: 9781645990079
Publisher: Encircle Publications
Published: 2019-11-22T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-three

“I find the list of street informants for Smith to be sketchy at best,” Judge Brooks said. “It reads like a book of ‘he said, she said.’ However, I will allow them to be called to the stand and crossed by the defense if they want the opportunity.”

“Copies of reports to study for cross,” Carly said.

“Noted,” Brooks said. “Pick them up on the way out.”

* * *

On the courthouse steps, Kagan said, “Bekker and I have a brief appointment.”

“I was wondering why you took your own car,” Carly said.

“See you back at the ranch,” I said.

Kagan drove a two-year-old Cadillac that rode like a boat on smooth water.

The drive took about forty-five-minutes. Rizzo lived in a nice, if modest, home in the suburbs. It was surrounded by a stone wall with access through a gate.

“Frank Kagan and John Bekker to see Mr. Rizzo,” Kagan told the bodyguard manning the fence.

* * *

“Something to drink?” Rizzo said when Kagan and I took chairs in the study.

“Coffee,” I said.

Rizzo looked past us to the bodyguard against the wall. “Three espressos,” he said, and the bodyguard left us to fetch them.

“So, Frank, you said you had some questions about Jimmy,” Rizzo said.

Rizzo was around sixty, slender, with graying hair and brown eyes. He was ordinary looking except for his eyes. Any high-ranking mobster anywhere has that look in his eyes. A look that says danger.

If you put a diamondback rattler next to a harmless garden snake and just saw the eyes of both, you’d know which one to avoid.

It was that way with mobsters.

“My associate John Bekker actually is the one who wanted to speak with you, Tony,” Kagan said.

Rizzo shifted his eyes over to me. “I haven’t had the pleasure, but I know who you are by reputation,” he said.

The door opened and the bodyguard returned with a tray that held three small cups of espresso. He set the cups in front of us, turned, and took his place against the wall.

“So, John Bekker, what do you want to speak to me about?” Rizzo said.

“Jimmy DeMarko,” I said.

Rizzo sipped some of his coffee. “Sadly, Jimmy passed away,” he said.

“I’m aware of that,” I said. I sampled the espresso. “This might be the best coffee I’ve ever tasted.”

“I have a coffee machine in the kitchen made of brass,” Rizzo said. “It makes regular, espresso, cappuccino. Cost nine thousand. So, what do you want to know about Jimmy?”

“Are you aware of the situation involving Police Captain Walt Grimes?” I said.

Rizzo sipped more coffee. So did I.

“Do you think I live in a bubble?” Rizzo said.

“Is it true?” I said.

Rizzo measured his words carefully. “This isn’t the forties or even the seventies, Mr. Bekker, where we needed police captains and judges on our payroll to do business,” he said. We’re not shooting each other in the streets of Manhattan in power wars anymore. We have investment bankers who run things for us. We own businesses countrywide and overseas, and do business with foreign governments and even our own.

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