Swimming with Sharks (31 page)

Nelson and Massimo were waiting outside the clinic room door to speak with Sergio. Anxiety was etched across their faces.

“Doctor, when can I speak to my father?” Massimo asked Dr. Sutton.

“It’ll take a little more time,” the doctor said. “He needs plenty of rest after the operation and his extreme blood loss.”

“I can’t wait!” Massimo struggled to keep his voice down. “My brother killed himself last night. My father is the only person who can tell me what I should do now.”

“Martin,” Nelson van Mieren interjected, “the situation is really very serious.”

The doctor gave in, and Massimo opened the door of the clinic room, with Nelson in tow.

“Papa!” The young man stepped to Sergio’s bed; he was terrified when he saw how bad his father looked. The injury hadn’t looked that serious to him on Saturday night. Now, all the machines and tubes made Massimo even more nervous. Until yesterday he hadn’t the slightest idea what his father actually did all day, and was only vaguely familiar with the fatal consequences of one wrong decision. Massimo had been confident that it would be no big deal if his father were sidelined for a few days. But the events of the last forty-eight hours had proved the young man wrong. He felt like a listless sailor on a ship lost at sea with no captain. His younger brother’s arrest and sudden death had such broad implications that Massimo was frightened. There was public speculation connecting his father with the illegal eviction campaigns and the drug seizure at the port. The reporters were talking about an underworld war with the Colombian drug cartel, and Massimo didn’t know what to do. Three men who worked for his father were shot at the port last night. The situation was spinning out of control.

“Massimo,” Sergio said in a fragile voice.

“Yes, Papa, it’s me. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Sergio replied. “Where’s Nelson?”

“I’m here!”

“You were right,” Sergio murmured. “Ortega didn’t hesitate long.”

The lawyer saw how bad Sergio’s condition actually was and hesitated to report on the new problems that had emerged.

“Massimo, did you tell your mother what happened?”

“Yes, I did. But…” He fell silent and quickly exchanged a look with Nelson.

“But what?” Sergio’s gaze wandered from Massimo to Nelson and back to his eldest son. He saw their gray faces and knew that something was wrong.

“What happened?” he asked in a flat voice.

“Cesare’s dead,” Massimo responded. He and Nelson took turns as they described what had transpired, beginning with Cesare’s arrest, the scene with Kostidis and de Lancie at the police station, Cesare’s suicide, the three men shot down at the port, and the wild media speculations.

Sergio was silent as they told him everything. He needed time to put the pieces together. For a moment, he was tempted to give in to the feeling of weakness inside him. Cesare didn’t commit suicide. There was no way that he would do that, he was too much of a coward.
He
was responsible for the boy’s death, because he’d given Luca the unmistakable order to ensure that Cesare never spilled the beans. How could he have known that this situation would actually arise? He had been annoyed with his youngest son many times; it was painful for him to accept that Cesare was a good-for-nothing. But despite everything, Cesare was his own flesh and blood—his son—and now he was dead.

“What should we do now, Papa?” Massimo asked, verging on desperation.

“Above all, you need to maintain your composure,” Sergio replied, “no matter what else happens. Take cover and wait. No rash actions. What about de Lancie? Is he still on our side?”

“I think so,” Massimo replied.

“But Kostidis is running wild,” Nelson remarked. “He senses his chance to finally get to you.”

“Yes, I can imagine that.” Sergio frowned in thought. He needed to reassert his control as quickly as possible before any irreversible damage was done.

“Does Constanzia already know about Cesare?”

“Yes,” Massimo nodded, “it’s all over the TV. Domenico’s with her. She completely collapsed. She says that…”

He stopped and looked down to the ground, ill at ease. Sergio knew that Constanzia had loved the youngest and weakest of their sons more than the other two. He could easily imagine what kind of scene was unfolding at his house.

“What does she say?” he asked harshly.

“She says,” Massimo inhaled deeply and struggled to look into his father’s eyes, “that you had him killed.”

Sergio’s fingers seized the bedcovers. Constanzia knew him better than he realized.

“That’s nonsense,” Nelson said. “Your father has been in this clinic since Saturday night!”

“Papa, I know that you never thought much of Cesare,” Massimo said, his voice pleading, “but I told Mama that you’d never do such a thing. That’s the truth, isn’t it, Papa?”

“Of course, I’ve done nothing of the sort.”

Massimo seemed relieved, but Nelson still had something on his mind.

“Before Cesare hung himself,” he said, “he told the cops that they raided the building on Silvio’s order. They arrested him yesterday.”

Sergio closed his eyes. Cesare really didn’t understand anything, not even the most important law that they lived by—the code of silence,
omertà
.

“They won’t be able to use his confession,” Nelson continued, “because it was made under coercion.”

“It’s too late now anyway,” Sergio answered in a rough voice. “Cesare’s dead and nothing will change that. We need to approach things differently.”

Thinking clearly was an incredible strain for him.

“Find someone to claim that he shot at me,” he said hoarsely, “and think about a plausible reason. We need to publicly announce that the shots fired at me have nothing to do with Ortega. Nelson, bail Silvio out of jail.”

He was exhausted, and he paused for a moment. The shadows under his eyes darkened, and his throat hurt from speaking. Sergio cursed the drugs that paralyzed his brain.

“Nelson,” he murmured, “think of something we can use to distract the press. We’ve already talked about a scenario, do you remember?”

The lawyer nodded. Dr. Sutton entered after knocking on the door.

“Gentlemen, I urge you,” he insisted, “Mr. Vitali really needs to rest now.”

“Nelson!” Sergio whispered, and the lawyer leaned over closer toward him. “Please call Alex. Tell her…”

I was ready to love you, Sergio. If you’d been honest with me, I would have accepted the truth, no matter how bad it might be.

He saw the rejection flare up in Nelson’s eyes. No, she shouldn’t see him this way, so weak and helpless, with all these tubes in his body.

“Never mind,” he said, shaking his head, “don’t call her. But please make sure that Domenico takes care of his mother. She mustn’t be left alone now.”

“I will.” Nelson pressed his friend’s hand with compassion. “We’ll get everything under control again. Don’t worry.”

The phones had been ringing off the hook at city hall since early morning. Nick Kostidis didn’t feel fatigued, even though he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep over the past few nights. Cesare Vitali’s arrest and suicide and the attempt on his father’s life were the top story in every news outlet—he had made sure of it. But Sergio Vitali had disappeared off the face of the earth.
He was either dead or so severely injured that he couldn’t defend himself publicly, which was counter to Nick’s expectations. In any case, his late-night appearance on television in the Bronx prevented the matter from simply being swept under the rug. De Lancie was forced to investigate the case.

There was a knock at the door.

“Mr. Harding is here, sir,” Allie said. The police commissioner didn’t wait. He pushed the secretary aside and charged into the mayor’s office with a bright-red face.

“What the hell, Nick. Who do you think you are?” he screamed. “I’m out of town for two days, and then I hear something like this!”

He was so enraged that Nick thought for a moment he might assault him.

“What are you talking about, Jerome?” He pretended to be surprised.

“You’re not a damn US attorney anymore!” Harding roared. “How dare you interfere with a police investigation? How could you claim in front of running cameras that Vitali was gunned down by the Colombian drug cartel?”

“That’s not what I said—”

“Of course not!” Harding’s voice almost cracked in his rage. “You only insinuated it, but that’s bad enough! The governor called me. Even the secretary of state and the deputy attorney general from Washington want to know what’s going on here. I’m standing out in the rain like a complete idiot, and people are asking me why the mayor is doing my job.”

Nick suppressed a satisfied grin.

“Calm down, Jerome,” he said. “I haven’t done anything but point out some grievances in the Bronx. Wouldn’t you agree that these raids on apartment buildings—”

“Spare me your PR speech,” Harding interrupted him harshly. “You can’t fool me! You’re taking advantage of this situation to continue your
crusade against Vitali. But you’re obstructing the police and obstructing justice in the process.”

“How is that?” Nick squinted at the police commissioner. “Because I prevented de Lancie from covering up this incident as quickly as possible?”

“That’s not your job anymore,” Harding replied vehemently. “Do you know what Vitali will do once he finds out that you’ve slandered him?”

Nick jumped up. “I don’t give a damn what he does. I represent my city’s interests, since nobody else cares to. The US attorney only cared about Cesare Vitali’s well-being on Saturday night. He didn’t say a single word about the injured police officer or the endangered citizens. It almost seemed he was trying to sweep these incidents under the rug, and I have to ask myself why. What interest would Mr. de Lancie have in protecting the reputation of someone like Vitali? I have the same question for you, Jerome. Why do you care what Vitali thinks?”

Harding’s face turned a deeper shade of red, but Nick continued, unperturbed.

“There are stacks of files on Vitali in the basement of the US Attorney’s Office. Everyone knows that, but we can’t prove any wrongdoings. Now we have a tiny chance to convict him of a crime. I won’t allow some corrupt bureaucrat to destroy this opportunity.”

“Be careful, Mayor Kostidis.” Harding’s voice was reduced to a threatening whisper. “What are you trying to suggest with that comment?”

“What am I trying to suggest?” Nick stopped just a few inches before the gigantic police commissioner, who was at least a head taller than him. “I have the suspicion that there are many influential people on Vitali’s payroll. Because of their silence, he’s in a position to do what he wants. I won’t tolerate the Mob ruling my city any longer, and I hope that you agree with me, Jerome.”

Harding stared at him and took a deep breath. But then he ran his hand through his dense white hair and sighed. Suddenly, his anger seemed to have blown over.

“You’re right,” he finally said, and let himself fall into a leather chair at the conference table. “The city is as corrupt as it’s ever been. We’re tilting at windmills. But the way you’re doing it won’t work.”

“Yes, it will,” Nick disagreed. “It’s the only way. We must publicly denounce this corruption. No politician will dare to side with a man like Vitali. His political network is paralyzed, at least for now.”

The police commissioner was silent.

“Jerome!” Nick looked at him imploringly. “This is my job, my struggle. I won’t capitulate because of convenience or fear and look the other way like so many others do. I want to put a stop to Sergio Vitali’s game.”

“When he’s gone another man will take his place,” Harding said, frowning. “It’ll never end. You know that as well as I do.”

Someone knocked on the door, and Frank Cohen entered the room.

“They caught the guy who tried to kill Vitali. It’s on the news right now. He’s even confessed.”

Harding and the mayor jumped to their feet.

“They say he was a former bodyguard of Vitali’s who wanted revenge.”

“Not the Colombian drug cartel, Nick,” Harding said disdainfully. “Just a frustrated ex-bodyguard.”

Nick didn’t answer and shook his head in silence.

“In case you should need me, I’ll be at police headquarters,” the police commissioner said. “I should take care of this matter personally before even more damage is done.”

Harding had barely left the office when Nick turned on the television. He and Frank silently watched a report about the alleged perpetrator’s arrest.

“Isn’t it strange,” Frank said, “that this guy turns himself in to the police and confesses even though they weren’t even searching for him? That’s too good to be true.”

“Simple solutions always make me suspicious.” Nick furrowed his brow in thought. “Four days after a sizeable amount of cocaine was seized
due to an anonymous tip, someone makes an attempt on Vitali’s life. We know from our informants that a war is in the making between the Colombian drug cartel and the local crime syndicate. Then three men are shot dead at the port—all of them Italian—who, if we dug deeper, would surely turn out to be Vitali’s men.”

He turned off the television.