are.”
“Most of them,” Carramazza disagreed.
“No,” Jack insisted. “There’re bad apples, sure, and weak sisters. But
for the most part, I can be proud of the people I work with.”
“Most are on the take, one way or another,” Carramazza said.
“That’s just not true.”
Rebecca said, “No use arguing, Jack. He has to believe everyone else is
corrupt. That’s how he justifies the things he does.”
The old man sighed. He opened the attache case on his lap, withdrew a
manila envelope, handed it to Jack.
“This might help you.”
Jack took it with more than a little apprehension.
“What is it?”
“Relax,” Carramazza said. “It isn’t a bribe. It’s information.
Everything we’ve been able to learn about this man who calls himself
Baba Lavelle. His lastknown address. Restaurants he frequented before
he started this war and went into hiding. The names and addresses of
all the pushers who’ve distributed his merchandise over the past couple
of months-though you won’t be able to question some of them, any more.”
“Because you’ve had them killed?” Rebecca asked.
“Maybe they just left town.”
“Sure.”
“Anyway, it’s all there,” Carramazza said. “Maybe you already have all
that information; maybe you don’t; I think you don’t.”
“Why’re you giving it to us?” Jack asked.
“Isn’t that obvious?” the old man asked, opening his hooded eyes a bit
wider. “I want Lavelle found. I want him stopped.”
Holding the nine-by-twelve envelope in one hand, tapping it against his
knee, Jack said, “I’d have thought you’d have a much better chance of
finding him than we would. He’s a drug dealer, after all. He’s part of
your world. You have all the sources, all the contacts-”
“The usual sources and contacts are of little or no use in this case,”
the old man said. “This Lavelle . . . he’s a loner. Worse than
that. It’s as if . . . as if he’s made of . . . smoke.”
“Are you sure he actually exists?” Rebecca asked.
“Maybe he’s only a straw man. Maybe your real enemies created him in
order to hide behind him.”
“He’s real,” Carramazza said emphatically. “He entered this country
illegally last spring. Came here from Jamaica by way of Puerto Rico.
There’s a photograph of him in the envelope there.”
Jack hastily opened it, rummaged through the contents, and extracted an
eight-by-ten glossy.
Carramazza said, “It’s an enlargement of a snapshot taken in a
restaurant shortly after Lavelle began operating in what has been
traditionally our territory.”
Traditionally our territory. Good God, Jack thought, he sounds as if
he’s some British duke complaining about poachers invading his
fox-hunting fields!
The photo was a bit fuzzy, but Lavelle’s face was sufficiently distinct
so that, henceforth, Jack would be able to recognize him if he ever saw
him on the street. The man was very black, handsome-indeed,
striking-with a broad brow, deepset eyes, high cheekbones, and a wide
mouth. In the picture he was smiling at someone who wasn’t within the
camera’s field. He had an engaging smile.
Jack passed the picture to Rebecca.
Carramazza said, “Lavelle wants to take away my business, destroy my
reputation within the fratellanza, and make me look weak and helpless.
Me. Me, the man who has controlled the organization with an iron hand
for twenty-eight years! Me!”
Finally, emotion filled his voice: cold, hard anger. He went on,
spitting out the words as if they tasted bad.
“But that isn’t the worst of it. No. You see, he doesn’t actually want
the business. Once he’s got it, he’ll throw it away, let the other
families move in and carve it up among themselves. He just doesn’t want
me or anyone named Carramazza to have it. This isn’t merely a battle
for the territory, not just a struggle for control. For Lavelle, this
is strictly a matter of revenge.
He wants to see me suffer in every way possible. He intends to isolate
me and hopes to break my spirit by robbing me of my empire and by
killing my nephews, my sons. Yes, all of them, one by one. He
threatens to murder my best friends, as well, anyone who has ever meant
anything to me. He promises to kill my five precious grandchildren. Can