Shakedown (21 page)

"Stardust Hotel," an operator said.

Elliot cleared his throat. "Room 8577," he said.

The phone clicked twice, then rang. Tony Parisi said hello.

"You fucked up," Elliot said.

"Where are you calling from?" Parisi said.

"A pay phone. Where do you think I'm calling from?"

"What do you mean I fucked up?"

"Your people are dead. They went to the Algiers and got themselves blown up by the FBI."

"What about Sands?"

"Alive. And scheduled to sit in front of a grand jury at eleven a.m."

"This is what happens when people get in a big fuckin' hurry," Tony Parisi said. "Who told you?"

"An FBI agent named Haynes called me. He and Novak wasted the two dummies you sent there. Do you understand what this means? Sands is going to
sing.
You are down the toilet if Sands sits down on the fucking witness stand."

"No, you are down the toilet if you don't fix all of this. That's what I pay you for."

"There is only so much I can do at this point," Elliot said.

"Postpone the grand jury. Stall the case."

"They'll know."

"What matters isn't what they
know.
It's what they can
prove.
Isn't that right, Mr.
Strike Force Attorney?"

"I'll do what I can," Elliot said. "But this can't go on forever."

"Get this. If I get indicted, you go to sleep with the fishes. You go to the fucking cemetery."

There was a click. Elliot rested the phone on the hook.

Novak turned off the recorder.

"That ought to do it," Lorraine Traynor said.

John Novak flung open the side door, stepped out of the van.

Elliot stopped abruptly. He looked as if he had suddenly lost his breath. He stared as Novak walked past him to the pay phone, picked up the receiver, unscrewed the mouthpiece, dropped the transmitter into his hand. He held it up for Elliot to see. "You're under arrest for obstruction of justice and conspiracy to murder Bruno Santoro," he said.

Elliot had no color in his face. "You don't have a court order to bug that phone,"

Judge Lorraine Traynor stepped out of the van. "Yes, he does," she said. "I'm the United States district judge who signed it. Be advised that you have the right to remain silent and that anything you say can and will be used against you. You have the right to speak to an attorney and to have the attorney present during questioning. If you so desire and cannot afford one, an attorney will be appointed for you without charge before questioning. Do you understand each of these rights I have explained to you?"

The dazed Elliot nodded.

"Do you wish to give up the right to remain silent?" Lorraine Traynor said.

Elliot stared at the highway.

"Before you say no," she said, "perhaps you'd like to know that the Attorney General of the United States is aware of this situation, and that I will be the one who sets your bail."

"The tape is loud and clear," Novak said. "You're slam-dunk."

After a while Elliot's lips moved as to speak. "Yes," he said under his breath.

"Do you wish to give up the right to an attorney and to have him with you during questioning?"

"Yes."

"You'll have to speak up."

"Yes."

THIRTY-TWO

It was chilly in the parking lot. Elliot
leaned against the side of Lorraine's van. His hands covered his face for a moment, then he stared at the high way, which suddenly was deserted.

Novak noticed that Lorraine looked cold. He offered his jacket. She accepted.

"You know what you have to do," Novak said.

Elliot continued to stare at the highway.

"You want me to testify against Tony."

"That's right."

Elliot shook his head. "Not if I have to do time. If I have to go to prison, I'm not going to cooperate." Elliot spoke without looking at Novak.

Lorraine blew into her right, then her left hand. She crossed her arms across her chest and squeezed, "The Department of justice would never approve a deal for no time. And if such a deal was made, no federal judge would abide by it. You're going to have to do some time."

"Time can be broken down," Elliot said.

"Make an offer," Novak said.

For a moment, Elliot just stood there staring at the highway. Finally, his mouth opened as if to speak, but nothing came out.

"How do I know that either of you is authorized to make a deal with me?"

"Would you like to call the Attorney General and ask him that?" Lorraine said. "I have his home phone number."

Elliot touched his fingertips to his lips. "I don't feel well."

"In another few minutes, there won't be enough time to do what we need to do," Novak said.

Elliot let out his breath. "I'll plead guilty if I can be guaranteed probation."

"No deal," Novak said.

"I'll do two months custody and the rest probation," Elliot said after staring for a while.

"You're not being realistic," Lorraine Traynor said.

"I can fight this case."

Novak took out a package of cigarettes, tapped on it. "You're an experienced prosecutor. How many cases do you know of where the defendant beat wiretap evidence? The jury will hear you talking shit with Parisi." He hung a cigarette on his lip, struck a match, puffed smoke. "Juries don't like to hear defendants talk like that."

"This whole thing isn't what it seems to be," Elliot said weakly. His head moved slowly from side to side. "If I'm going to risk everything to turn in Parisi there is no reason I should have to serve more than six months custody."

Lorraine Traynor rubbed her hands together. "The lowest the Attorney General will approve is eight years -two years custody and the rest of the sentence broken down to probation and community service. You'll be disbarred, but with good time you would be inside no longer than eighteen months."

Elliot slid his hands into his pockets. His eyes were full. "I'm not going to risk my life testifying against Tony and then go to jail for two years besides."

Novak moved closer to him. "Your family will be sitting in the courtroom. They'll hear the tape," he said. "Reporters will be parked in front of your house."

"And two years will just be the beginning," Lorraine said. "The Department of justice will want to make an example out of you."

Elliot wiped an eye, looked at his hand. "I don't want to be fingerprinted."

"I order that you not be fingerprinted or booked," Judge Traynor said. "And that you appear before the federal grand jury at eleven a.m. to testify."

Elliot nodded. Lorraine Traynor returned to her van, climbed in. Elliot turned to Novak. Novak turned, walked away.

Driving along the Las Vegas Strip, Novak passed the Algiers Motel, where the parking lot was cluttered with police cars and ambulances, all with blinking emergency lights. He swerved into the circular driveway of the Stardust Hotel and parked at the curb near the front door. He brushed past a doorman, entered.

At the eighth floor, he stepped off an elevator and sauntered down the hallway. At Room 8577, he knocked on the door. There was the sound of footsteps. He took out his badge and held it up to the peephole. The lock clicked. Then the door opened. Parisi was wearing a blue terry-cloth bathrobe.

"I just want to talk to you for a minute."

"I'm sleeping. Come back later." He shut the door.

"I just arrested Elliot," Novak said in a loud voice.

The door opened again. "Who's he?" Parisi said.

"Mind if I step in for a moment?"

Parisi flipped a light switch on, turned around, and headed into the apartment. Novak stepped inside, closed the door behind him.

"I'll listen to you, but I'm not making any statement," Parisi said as he stepped to the bar. He ran water into a glass, took a drink, spit into the sink.

Novak moved to the middle of the room. "Elliot has agreed to testify against you."

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"What I'm talking about is a trip to the joint," Novak said.

"So you're here to arrest me?"

"Actually, I just wanted to get together with you before things started to get out of control," Novak said.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm here to explore all the avenues with you ... so to speak."

Parisi's worried look changed to a nervous grin. "If you were going to arrest me you wouldn't have come here alone."

"Not necessarily."

"What are you here for? What is this?"

"Remember that day at the courthouse when I told you I was going to lock you up?"

"Get to the point."

"I've been doing some thinking about that," Novak said. "I said to myself, 'What good is it to put someone in jail who might be able to do me some good?"'

Parisi came from behind the bay, sat down on a bar stool, adjusted his robe. "So maybe there is something that can be done?" he said in a conspiratorial tone.

"That's what I'm here to talk about it."

"You're saying that maybe there is ... uh ... another way out?" Parisi wiped his chin, looked at his palm.

"That's what I'm saying."

"Now we're talking the same language," Parisi said.

"Both of us are part of this town," Novak said. "We live here. There's no reason why we can't work together."

"You wearing a wire?"

Novak shrugged off his coat, turned his palms upward. Parisi walked around him to inspect. "I came here to talk man-to-man," Novak said.

Parisi nodded. "Let's get down to the bottom line."

Novak stepped to the wall stereo unit near the bar. He reached into his pocket, removed a cassette tape, shoved it in the tape port, turned up the volume. There was the sound of a telephone ringing, Parisi answering the telephone. It was a recording of the call Elliot had made from the pay phone. Parisi swallowed a couple of times as he listened. Color left his face.

After a minute, Novak turned off the tape player. "The tape would kill you in court," he said.

Parisi moved to the bar again, mixed a drink, sipped. "So you're here to shake down Tony Parisi."

Novak nodded.

"How much are you talking about?"

"A lot."

"Throw me a number," Parisi said.

"Fifteen."

Parisi thought for a moment. "How do you want it?"

"How do I want it?"

"The fifteen grand. You want it as a loan from a bank, in cash, gold coins? You tell me."

Parisi's eyes followed Novak as he walked to the curtain, pulled the drape cord, revealed the Las Vegas skyline: desert sun coming alive behind air-conditioned hotel/casinos. "I meant fifteen years in the joint, as opposed to five if you agree to testify before a federal grand jury about all your connections in Las Vegas."

"You came here to blackmail me into becoming a stool pigeon."

"I came here to give you an opportunity to cooperate with the government," Novak said.

Parisi glared. "I want to talk to my attorney."

"You can call him from the federal lockup. You're under arrest."

Parisi didn't move from where he was standing. He sipped his drink. "Get out of here," he said with a nod toward the door.

Novak sprang, yanked Parisi over the bar counter, slammed him to the floor. Parisi moaned as Novak twisted his arm behind him into a hammerlock, ratcheted handcuffs onto his wrists. Novak dragged him to his feet roughly, pulled him out of the room by his collar.

Parisi was still dressed only in his bathrobe when Novak marched him through the lobby past the crap and blackjack tables and out the front door.