“Remember that agent who was giving you a hard time?” Jake asked. “The one who got personally involved with that stripper?”

“And I thanked you repeatedly for that,” Don said.

“And you owe me,” Jake said. “That would’ve added a lot to my piece. But you asked me to think of his family while he was out with dollar bills in his teeth and all you really wanted was something to hold over his head.”

“What the hell, this is it?” Don said, raising his voice. “This is your marker? I’ve got hotels on Boardwalk and Park Place and you’re sending me into the office? You’re calling in your marker? ’Cause you don’t get two of these, my friend.”

“You ever get the oysters at Legal’s?” Jake said. “I love those things.”

“For the record, he didn’t put the dollar bills in his teeth,” Don said. “But I think he stuck ’em everywhere else.”

57

JAKE PACKED everything he had and left Dora to line up interviews with Judge Rivers and Martin, if she could, or at least quiz them for the names of other people from the past who could verify their version of what happened. He tried Casey’s cell phone on his way to the airport. He got her voice mail and left a message before checking in with Marty, who updated him on the likelihood of her being released by four o’clock.

“Make sure she calls me right away,” Jake said. “My flight is supposed to leave at four-ten. Tell her if she doesn’t get me that I’ll call when I land. Tell her I’m heading to Washington. I’ve got a file waiting for me down there that requires some personal attention. With any luck, I’ll be back late tonight, but tell her if she can’t get me to head for the place we talked about staying. I’ll meet her.”

At the airport, Jake used the time he had waiting to board for making calls to his best and closest contacts in television. Those he couldn’t reach, he left vague messages of warning. Those he reached, he urged to hold back on their criticism of Casey, saying he knew firsthand that Graham was distorting the truth. The reaction he got left him despondent as he handed his ticket to the woman at the gate, and nearly certain that-if anything-his efforts had only made things worse. Even the good reporters he spoke with couldn’t completely disguise their giddy delight in such a salacious story.

The plane landed on time. Jake got to Legal Sea Foods before six and, as promised, ordered oysters, beer, and the famous clam chowder. The chowder cooled. Jake ate his and made three unanswered calls to Don’s phone. He finished his first pint and drank Don’s, ordering two more and telling his waitress that nothing was wrong with the oysters as far as he knew, he was just waiting for a friend.

He looked at his watch and punched in Don’s home phone. If he had to, he’d show up at the door. He’d knock until Don answered or his wife let Jake in. Sarah was his wife. She’d invite him in and chastise Don, three weeks on the road or not. Sarah loved American Sunday, and she knew the favor Jake had done for Don, saving the career of a friend who probably didn’t deserve it.

He looked at his watch again and hit send when the chair across from him barked out and Don slumped down in it.

“I called you three times,” Jake said, snapping his phone shut. “My next step was the doorbell.”

Don crimped his lips and nodded that he expected nothing else. Jake leaned over and peered at the briefcase Don held in his lap.

“For me?” Jake asked, forcing a big stupid smile.

Don nodded his head and took a long drink from the pint glass in front of him.

“Oyster?” Jake said, tilting the silver tray, its ice reduced to a pool of cold water that dribbled onto the table.

Don stabbed one with a small fork, slathered it in cocktail sauce, and slurped it down. He ate three more before taking another drink, leaning back, and meeting Jake’s eye. He lifted the briefcase and extracted a file, holding it up.

“You can have this,” Don said. “It’s all stuff you’d ferret out sooner or later if you found the right old-timers, but I can’t talk about Graham. I can’t give you anything on him.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jake asked, his mouth going slack.

Don stared hard at him and his eyes flickered around the immediate area. “It’s an active investigation. I can’t.”

“Active?”

Don nodded. “And that’s all I’m saying.”

“Because he is connected to these guys, these old mobsters turned legitimate, or more legitimate, anyway,” Jake said.

“They used to be called the Arm,” Don said, pushing the file past the plate of oysters, “an extension of New York’s five families with a seat on their council. At their peak, they ran all of upstate New York and Ohio, and they had interests in Vegas. Napoli was never out front, but my guy said he had Niko Todora’s ear, and as Todora’s star rose, Napoli was always right there with him. He was a lawyer and a master at staying just this side of the law, stretching things, directing Todora’s muscle and showing him how to make money without having to worry about wearing prison stripes. Napoli could have been consigliere if he wanted, but he never stepped into the spotlight, and then the whole organization dropped out of gambling and whores and drugs.

“My guy from Philly said it was like they just one day disappeared from the world of crime, cashed in their chips, and started legitimate businesses: plumbing fixtures, chicken wings, a travel agency, insurance, casinos, porn. It didn’t take long for others to fill the void: Asians, blacks, a couple motorcycle gangs. The Italians just let it go.”

Jake opened the file and saw black-and-white photos of Napoli taken at a distance, before he needed the wheelchair, standing outside a sandwich shop with an arm on the shoulder of another man in a suit who was as big as a bear, and both of them wearing grimacing expressions somewhere between humor and death.

“That’s Napoli with Todora,” Don said, sucking down another oyster.

“You’re telling me everything without telling me,” Jake said, “but I don’t have time for a treasure hunt. It’ll take weeks to dig through these businesses and unravel everything to find the connection to Graham, and I don’t have time.”

Don sipped his beer, staring over the lip of the glass. He shook his head.

“You can follow me home and sleep outside my bedroom door,” Don said, wiping his mouth with the napkin and rising from the table, “but I’m not going there with you. Did you not hear me? It’s an active investigation. All the strippers in Newark couldn’t save me if I leak this. I gave you everything I can, and more than I ever thought existed, and now I’m going home to finish Monopoly and probably lose because my son will have stolen about three thousand dollars from the bank. Thanks for the oysters.”

Jake stood up, too, and looked at his watch. If he hurried, he could catch the 7:05 flight back. He shook Don’s hand and said, “Sorry I had to bring up the marker.”

Don narrowed his eyes. “There’s a woman in all this.”

“Sort of.”

“That’s okay,” Don said. “Now all I’ve got left is seven years on my mortgage.”

Jake put a fifty-dollar bill down on the table and followed his friend out of the restaurant into the steady flow of weary travelers. As Jake headed for the gates, Don peeled off toward the baggage claim, then turned back.

“Jake?” he said, nodding at the file Jake held. “These guys may be below the radar with what they’re into these days, but if they catch you poking around, don’t forget who they are.”

“Some Italian American businessmen,” Jake said with half a wave.

Don shook his head. “That’s what I’m saying. They’re more than that. It’s a different playground, but trust me, they’re using the same toys.”