“Obviously we’ve struck a nerve with Kingsbury,” Molly was saying. “Finally he considers us a serious threat.”
One of the Mothers asked why Molly had not called the police.
“Because I couldn’t prove he was behind it,” she replied. “They’d think I was daffy.”
The members seemed unsatisfied by this explanation. They clucked and whispered” among themselves until Molly cut in and asked for order. The lawyer, Spacci, stood up and said it was a mistake not to notify the authorities.
“You’re talking about a felony,” he said. “Aggravated assault, possibly even attempted murder.”
One of the Mothers piped up: “It’s not worth dying for, Molly. They’re already clearing the land.”
Molly’s gray eyes flashed angrily. “It is not too late!” She wheeled on Spacci. “Did you file in federal court?”
“These things take time.”
“Can you get an injunction?”
“No,” said the lawyer. “You mean, to stop construction? No, I can’t.”
Molly drummed her fingers on the portable podium. Spacci was preparing to sit down when she jolted him back to attention: “Give us a report on the blind trust.”
“Yes, well, I talked to a fellow over in Dallas. He tells me the paperwork comes back to a company called Ramex Global, which is really Francis Kingsbury—”
“We know.”
“—but the bulk of the money isn’t his. It’s from some S & L types. Former S & L types, I should say. Apparently they were in a hurry to invest.”
“I’ll bet,” said one of the Mothers in the front row.
“They moved the funds through Nassau,” Spacci said. “Not very original, but effective.”
Molly folded her arms. “Perfect,” she said. “Falcon Trace is being built with stolen savings accounts. And you people are ready to give up!”
“Our options,” the lawyer noted, “are extremely limited.”
“No, they’re not. We’re going to kill this project.” A worried murmuring swept through the Mothers. “How?” one asked. “How can we stop it now?”
“Sabotage,” Molly McNamara answered. “Don’t you people have any imagination?”
Immediately Spacci began waving his arms and whining about the ramifications of criminal misconduct. Molly said: “If it makes you feel better, Mr. Spacci, get yourself a plate of the chicken Stroganoff and go out on the patio. And take your precious ethics with you.”
Once the lawyer was gone, Molly asked if anyone else was having doubts about the Falcon Trace campaign. One board member, a devout Quaker, fluttered his hand and said yes, he was afraid of more bloodshed. Then he made a motion (quickly seconded) that the Mothers telephone the police to report the two men who had attacked Molly.
“We don’t need the police,” she said. “In fact, I’ve already retained the services of two experienced security men.” With both hands she motioned to the back of the room, where Bud Schwartz and Danny Pogue stood near an open door. Danny Pogue flushed at the introduction and puffed his chest, trying to look like a tough customer. Bud Schwartz focused sullenly on an invisible tarantula, dangling directly over Molly McNamara’s hair.
Eventually the Mothers of Wilderness quit staring at the burglars-turned-bodyguards, and Molly resumed her pep talk. Danny Pogue picked up a spoon and sidled over to the cheese ball. Bud Schwartz slipped out the door.
In a butcher shop near Howard Beach, Queens, a man known as The Salamander picked up the telephone and said: “Talk.”
“Jimmy gave me the number. Jimmy Noodles.”
“I’m listening,” said The Salamander, whose real name was Salvatore Delicato.
“I got Jimmy’s number from Gino Ricci’s brother.”
The Salamander said, “Fine. Didn’t I already say I was listening? So talk.”
“In case you wanna check it out—I’m calling from Florida. I did time with Gino’s brother.”
“How thrilling for you. Now I’m hangin’ up, asshole.”
“Wait,” said the voice. “You been lookin’ for a certain rat. I know where he is. The man who did the Zubonis.”
The Salamander slammed down his cleaver. “Gimme a number I can call you back,” he said. “Don’t say another word, just tell me a number.”
The caller from Florida repeated it twice. Sal Delicato used a finger to write the numerals in pig blood on a butcher block. Then he untied his apron, washed his hands, combed his hair, snatched a roll of quarters from the cash register and walked three blocks to a pay phone.