Mr Mancuso studied me awhile, then replied, "Well, again, these are estimates, but we think that Bellarosa controls the activities of three thousand men." "That's a big company."

"Yes. And at the core of his organization are three hundred of what we call "made" men. Men who have made their bones. Do you understand what that means?" "I'm afraid I do."

"And all of these hard-core mafiosi are Italian, mostly Sicilian or Neapolitan."

"And which are you, Mr Mancuso?"

"Neither, Mr Sutter. I am a true Roman on both sides of my family."

"Interesting. And Mr Ferragamo?"

He smiled. "I hear that his ancestors were from Florence. They are very cultured there. Why do you ask?"

"I'm just trying to read the subtexts, Mr Mancuso."

"I assure you, Mr Sutter, there are no subtexts."

"Perhaps not. But tell me about these Sicilians and Neapolitans." He hesitated a moment, then replied, "I suppose it might matter where Bellarosa's crime family had its ancestral origins, in that there are historical and family ties that we must consider and comprehend in order to effectively prosecute these people."

"I see. So there are about three hundred hard-core members, and about three thousand others."

"Yes. Associates. At the top is Frank Bellarosa. He has an underboss, a man named Salvatore D'Alessio, aka Sally Da-da, who is Bellarosa's wife's sister's husband. Sort of his brother-in-law. Family relationships are very important to these people. When they can't determine if a bloodline exists, they try to determine if they are related by some marriage or another. Lacking anything there, they will form ties and bonds through christenings. You know, godparents and godchildren. These ties are important because they are used to claim and to reinforce loyalty. Loyalty and respect are number one and number two on the agenda. After that, everything else follows. That's why they have been so incredibly difficult to penetrate, and so successful for a century." I nodded. "And why pale Wasps like me might tend to glamorize and romanticize them."

"Perhaps."

"But you see them more clearly, Mr Mancuso."

"I believe I do."

"Good. So, there is an underboss. Where does the consigliere fit in?"

"He is next in the chain. Their hierarchy is somewhat unique in that respect. This trusted adviser sometimes has more power than the underboss. He is the one who relays instructions to the capos, who are in charge of the gangs. Why do you want to know this?"

"I'm just trying to get a picture of my next-door neighbour. Where does a man like Jack Weinstein fit it?"

"Weinstein? Bellarosa's attorney?"

"Yes. Where does he fit in?"

"Well, if the attorney is not Italian, and I presume Jack Weinstein is not, then he occupies some sort of limbo. In Weinstein's case, he has beaten two serious criminal charges for Frank Bellarosa, before Bellarosa became the boss. Bellarosa, therefore, would be grateful, and he might respect Jack Weinstein, the way you or I would be grateful to and respectful of a surgeon who twice saved our lives. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Why do you ask about Jack Weinstein, Mr Sutter?"

"Professional curiosity. Also, I'm a little tired of the tax business." Mancuso smiled, but it was a worried smile. He said, This is all abstract, Mr Sutter. Let me tell you a story about Mr Bellarosa. There are many, but I'll tell you one that I can swear to. When Bellarosa was a capo, he summoned a man named Vito Posilico to meet him in his social club on Mott Street. When Mr Posilico arrived, Frank Bellarosa ordered coffee and they sat and talked. Bellarosa then accused Posilico of withholding money from the proceeds of an extortion of a building contractor. The contractor, an honest businessman incidentally, paid Posilico fifty thousand dollars for a guarantee of labour peace during the time the builder was working on a big project. Bellarosa had taken his half share from Posilico – twenty-five thousand dollars – but now claimed that Posilico had shaken the contractor down for one hundred thousand dollars. Posilico denied this, of course, and offered to prove this to his capo in several ways. But Frank Bellarosa did not want to be proven wrong, especially in front of other people. What he wanted was for Posilico to show respect, to confess, to crawl and beg for mercy. Or, if he still insisted on his innocence, to do so in a way that showed he was frightened. But Vito Posilico had too big an ego, and though he was respectful, he was firm in his denial. He said, "I'll get the contractor here in fifteen minutes, Frank. You can talk to him." Then Posilico raised his cup to his lips to drink, and Frank Bellarosa drew a lead pipe from somewhere and smashed Posilico's fingers, the cup, and his teeth. Then he stood and proceeded to break nearly every bone in the man's body. To give you an example."

Wow. I let go of the wheel and leaned back against the rail. Yes, I could easily picture Bellarosa, wielding a lead pipe, cigar in his mouth, cracking a man's bones because of some suspicion of thievery. In truth, Bellarosa would have broken old Richard's arm for taking his salad away if we had been in Bellarosa's club rather than mine. And this was the man whom Susan liked. I watched the wheel move to and fro as the rising wind and current carried the boat farther out. Evil and viciousness, I thought, are only fully understandable in anecdotal form. To hear that a man murdered nine nameless people to get to the top is distressful, but to hear in detail how he smashed Vito Posilico's face and teeth with a lead pipe is gut wrenching.

Mr Mancuso broke into my thoughts. "Why would a man like you associate with a man like that?"

"Are you here on government business, Mr Mancuso, or are you here to save my soul?"

"Both, Mr Sutter, as they happen to coincide." He regarded me a moment, then said, "I don't know you, but I know a lot about you. I know that you are a church-going man, a law-abiding citizen, a family man, a successful and respected attorney, a respected member of your community, and an army veteran. Frank Bellarosa is a malignancy on society, a vicious criminal, and a man whose soul is going to burn in hell for eternity."

The last thing caught me by surprise, and I must have shown it. I replied, "I'm not arguing with you. Come to the point."

"I would like your help."

"How?"

"We have a court order to tap Bellarosa's phones. But he knows that, of course, and he doesn't say anything on the telephone, so -" "And you overheard my conversations with him?"

"Yes. We know about the variance, the stables, and about his asking you to walk with him to Fox Point. Incidentally, you have a good sense of humour. And I'm happy to discover that you are not intimidated by him. He puts up with a lot of your sarcasm. I wonder why."

"I think it goes over his thick head, Mr Mancuso."

"Perhaps. Anyway, we know that you and your wife went there one night, of course, and I have photos of you waving at us, and photos of you walking with Bellarosa to Fox Point. We know, too, that you took him and his wife to your country club, and that this caused you some problems with your friends. Also, we've heard your wife talking to Mrs Bellarosa on the phone, and even with Mr Bellarosa a few times." He watched me a moment, then added, "Your wife spends a good deal of time at Alhambra. We understand that she is painting a picture of the house. Correct?"

"My wife is a professional painter. Artists, writers, and whores work for anyone with the cash."

"But attorneys don't?"

"Depends on the cash."

"Your wife did not charge the Bellarosas for the painting."

"How do you know that?"

"There are things I know that I would be happy to share with you, Mr Sutter, if you would do me a few favours."

I did not reply.

He said, "What we need is for you to plant three or four bugs in Bellarosa's house. One in his den, one in the entranceway, maybe one in his greenhouse where we see him talking to his goombahs, and definitely one in the kitchen where he probably does most of his business because he's Italian." Mr Mancuso flashed all his Chiclets.