Bury the Lead

30



THERE’S NOT TOO MUCH chitchat in the car on the way to Dominic Petrone’s. In fact, the only thing that is said is when I apologize for being late. I explain without much subtlety that, while I was at home, “I called my friend Pete Stanton of the Paterson police and told him where I was going. Just in case we have an accident.”

No one seems impressed by this maneuver, or if they are, they neglect to mention it. Marcus and Gorilla share the backseat, and I’m in the front with Driver. All the guns have been put away, which has a calming effect on everybody but me. I’m a nervous wreck.

Intellectually, I know there’s not much to worry about, at least for tonight, but the prospect of being summoned by Petrone is more than a little intimidating. My fear is that he’s going to make me an offer I can’t refuse, and I’m going to refuse it.

Driver drives us to a quiet West Paterson neighborhood, known by everyone, even me, to be the area in which the biggies in the mob reside. Rumor has it that there hasn’t been a robbery in this neighborhood since Calvin Coolidge was president.

Petrone’s house, at least from the outside, is modest. It’s a traditional colonial, two stories, and the property is both well kept and well defended. An ornate but imposing iron fence surrounds the grounds, and we drive up to a gate with three security men, all about the size of Gorilla.

They wave us in, not taking their eyes off Marcus as we go by. We enter the house through the front door, and I am immediately struck by the fact that the inside seems like a normal home. Two teenagers are playing video games in the den as we pass by, I can hear the Knicks game on a television coming from the upstairs, and the kitchen has some dirty plates in the sink. Maybe Clemenza has made some pasta sauce.

We are brought to an office in the back of the house and led in to see Dominic Petrone. I’ve met him at a couple of local charity dinners; Petrone is very willing to be seen in public. He’s like any other successful businessman, except for the part where he has button men on the street.

Petrone is sitting behind his desk watching the Knicks. He smiles when we come in and then makes brief eye contact with Driver, who picks up the remote control and shuts off the game. It’s impressive, but although I could afford it, I wouldn’t want someone to operate my remote control for me. A real man does his own clicking.

Gorilla takes a seat on one side of the room, and Marcus sits on the other. Petrone stands up and greets me with a smile. “Andy, good to see you,” he says. “Thanks for coming by.”

“Thanks, Dominic,” I say. “I was in the neighborhood, so I figured maybe I’ll stop in and see my friend Dominic Petrone.”

He nods. “Glad you did. Glad you did. Have a seat.”

He motions me to a chair in front of his desk and walks back behind that desk and sits back down. “So I was watching the news, and all they’re talking about is how you mentioned my name in court today.”

“Think of it as free publicity.”

“Or I can think of it as very annoying.”

“Or here’s a third possibility,” I offer. “You can think of it as me defending my client.”

He considers this for a while, and the silence in the room is stifling. Finally, he says, “I don’t like too many people in this world. Maybe ten, outside of my family. Most people, I don’t care about them one way or the other.”

He pauses, and I can’t think of anything to say, so I don’t.

He continues. “But on that short list of people that I like, right near the top, was Linda Padilla. I would never have hurt her, ever. And I don’t want it suggested in public that I would.”

The arrogance of the man is mind-boggling. He actually seems to think that I will stop mentioning him in court simply because he’s announced that he finds it annoying. It is the insufferable attitude of a man who considers himself all-powerful. On the other hand, he could have me killed simply by making some more eye contact with Driver.

I decide to surprise him with my vast knowledge. “Are you saying you didn’t hire Tommy Lassiter?”

A flicker of surprise flashes across Petrone’s face, and I sense a slight reaction from Driver behind me. “Impressive,” says Dominic.

“Stop. You’ll make me blush. Did you hire him?”

“No.”

“Do you know where he is?” I ask.

“You become less impressive as you go along. If I knew where he was, we would be speaking of him in the past tense.”

“Do you know why he would have killed Linda Padilla?”

Dominic nods. “For money. Or to get back at me. Or both.”

“Why would Lassiter want to get back at you?”

“Suffice it to say we are not the best of friends. The ‘why’ is none of your business. And I am getting tired of your questions.”

“One more. Why would he kill the others as well?”

“Mr. Carpenter, I brought you here to tell you that I had nothing to do with these murders and that I insist you stop implying that I did. Once you do, I will help you in your efforts.”

This is a surprise, and too tempting to let go unexplained. “How will you do that?”

“That remains to be seen. I have the ability to influence events, which is all I will say about it.”

If he’s not going to be specific, I won’t either. “I can’t promise anything. My client’s life is at stake.”

He nods. “As is your own.” And just in case that was too subtle, he points to Marcus. “Even a man as imposing as this cannot protect you forever.”

Dominic leaves the room, effectively ending the meeting. Driver and Gorilla drive Marcus and me back to my house, leaving us without so much as a word about what a fun evening they had.

I see Laurie looking out at us through the front window. I immediately decide I would rather be in there with her than out here on the street with Marcus. But this guy may have saved my life, so I feel like I owe him something.

“Thanks,” I say to Marcus. “I really appreciate what you did tonight.”

He shrugs. “Yunh.”

“You want to come in? Have a drink or something?”

“Nunh,” he says, and walks away. I walk toward my house and Laurie, thinking that “nunh” is the most beautiful word in the English language.