Don
“Journals?” Don repeated into the phone. He leaned back in his office chair. It was the third time he'd uttered the word, but he still couldn't bring himself to believe it.
“Yes, journals,” Carla confirmed patiently. “Containing every dark deed Mario's ever done. And we've got the codebreaker, ready and willing to cooperate and testify.”
“If this is true, then Mario must be the dumbest Italian since Nero, keepin' all that written down,” Don said, mystified.
“If it's true, Don—and I'm positive that it is—then this could be one of the biggest, most far-reaching LCN busts in the Bureau's history,” said Carla. LCN was FBI shorthand for La Cosa Nostra, or the mafia. “Not only will we have Mario and his immediate associates dead to rights, but we'll also have detailed accounts of all the times they've cooperated with other organizations. We could bring down three or four major crime families at the same time.”
“Well, let's not go countin' those chickens,” Don warned. He'd participated in plenty of investigations that had seemed like slam-dunks until some small misstep tripped them up in the end, and he'd long since learned the value of cautious optimism. “We still gotta get our hands on those journals, an' even then, we gotta squirrel Gio away an' put him in protective custody before Mario figures out he's been double-crossed.”
“I've got that covered,” Carla assured him. “Gio's getting the journals now, and then we're going to meet at his place so I can officially take him into custody.”
“You want me there for that?” Don asked. “When you're in the home stretch on somethin' like this, a little backup's generally not a bad thing.”
“I think it'll be better if I take him in by myself,” she said. “He seems to trust me. Having other cops there at the start might make him nervous. I can probably keep him calmer during the ride to the field office if it's just the two of us.”
Don thought about the vile sex acts Carla had probably consented to in order to gain Gio's trust, and grimaced. He hated the idea of her having to continue the charade with Gio and submit to his urges for a few more hours, and he wished she'd let him chaperone. Still, she was the agent in the field, so it was her call to make.
“Fair enough,” Don sighed. “If you think it'll make him more cooperative, then that's what counts. Just be careful out there.”
“I will,” Carla promised, ending the call.
As Don put the phone on its cradle, a fresh-faced young agent named Ives ran into his office. His face was red, and he was breathing hard.
“What's all the hubbub, bub?” Don asked. “Sit down an' have some water, you look like hell.”
“The local cops just found a body dumped in the weeds at the edge of town,” Ives said.
“So? They probably find bodies out there all the time,” Don said. “I mean, this is Chicago, after all. Murder capitol of the damn universe, last I heard.”
Ives shook his head. “It was Louie Grammatica. The Mancini lawyer. He had a dead rat stuffed in his mouth.”
Don's eyes widened. He rose from his chair slowly.
If Mario had Louie killed and a rat placed in the attorney's mouth, that meant Mario knew Louie was working with the FBI.
Which meant he'd probably had Louie tortured first to find out if he was working with anyone else undercover.
Which meant...
“Get some agents together an' get a federal judge on the phone right now,” Don said, picking up the phone and dialing it. “We need a warrant for a raid on Gio's house immediately.”
“But haven't we got probable cause to go there anyway, if we think an agent's in danger?” Ives asked.
“What probable cause, son? A mob lawyer turned up dead, an' we want to knock down a door ten miles away? That dog don't hunt. Now stop askin' stupid questions an' get a move on, before it's too late.”
As Ives scurried out, the phone kept ringing and ringing. Finally, it went to Carla's voicemail.
Don slammed the phone down angrily. “Goddamn it, Carla, where the hell are you?” he growled, heading for the door.