Lefty flew in for a Friday night meeting with Balistrieri to “ease me in.” The three of us drove to Snug‘s, Frank’s large, busy restaurant.

Lefty’s instructions were: Let Balistrieri initiate conversation. This is a social function, so don’t discuss business. Frank might not want the others to know that he’s in business with us. Only answer his questions. Don’t get inquisitive about anything.

“Donnie,” Lefty says, “do me one favor. I love you. I’d rather do five years than lose your friendship. Do everything right over here because you can name your own ticket, believe me.”

Tony and I went to the bar to await being summoned. Lefty was taken directly to Balistrieri’s table, near the large front window, where there was a lot of fuss made over him and the usual kissing of cheeks.

After an hour we were escorted to the table by the maître d‘. Frank Balistrieri, in his early sixties, was short and pudgy, with a jowly face and black, slicked-back hair. He was immaculately dressed in a dark blue suit, like an old-time Mafia guy out of the movies.

Tony had already met him at the sitdown. Lefty introduced me. “Frank, this is Donnie. He’s with me, and he’s with Mike.” Frank introduced those around the table. Among the half dozen was his right-hand man, Steven DiSalvo, short, hard-looking, with just a monk‘s-fringe of hair around the ears.

Frank ordered bottles of $70 wine. He talked with Lefty about various New York Bonanno people he knew, like our boss, Carmine Galante, whom he called by his nickname, Lilo. He had some education, wasn’t a “dese-and-dose” type.

When he started telling us about an incident regarding a vending business in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, where he had a piece, his face and voice turned mean, and he put a fist on the table. He said he had been down there during the past week to collect his end. The guy with the business had put $45,000 in cash on the table. Frank said he swatted the money off the table and told the guy, “Wipe your ass with forty-five grand. My end is at least a quarter million.” He needed somebody like Lefty, he said, to take care of the vending business in Florida, straighten people out.

I thought, This guy could lull you to sleep, but he is nobody to mess with.

Out of the blue, Frank invited us to his home for dinner the next night, Saturday.

When we left the restaurant, Lefty was ecstatic. “Donnie, you remember when we used to have to stand outside Sabella’s joint when Lilo was inside? We couldn’t even go inside the joint. He’d come out and he wouldn’t even say hello to you. Tony, in New York you can’t even sit at the same table with a boss. And here we’re sitting down with a fucking boss, and tomorrow night we’re going to his house for dinner. Tell him, Donnie, would this ever happen in New York? Never.”

“He’s right, Tony,” I said.

“But listen. He can be moody, nasty. Frank can be maybe Jekyll and Hyde, a man who can be a fucking animal. He don’t forget. He don’t like that guy from Rockford, that Phil, because he played him for a sucker once, years ago. That’s why the call to Rockford came through Chicago, for my introduction, because Chicago was hoping to heal that there between Rockford and Milwaukee.”

“What do those guys in Rockford control, Left?” I ask.

“That’s it, only Rockford. This guy here controls. He’s more in charge than anybody else.”

“Even though those guys are older out there in Rockford?”

“What do you mean, older? Age? There’s no age limit on this here. Mike says this guy’s the biggest man in the Midwest. He didn’t get what he’s got just by staying in Milwaukee. He owns Kansas City. Cleve land and Detroit belong to Frank. I just found that out. He’s on a plane every day. He stays here one, two days a week. This guy has a limousine he uses for his mother once a week to go to church. A 1978 limousine parked, Donnie. This town, there’s nothing you can do, you gotta go through him. He’s got every union.”

“Does he ever come to New York for anything, Left?”

“Once, twice a year, that’s all. In and out. Who he’s gotta see, mostly he goes to the West Coast, does his business out there. Like Vegas.”

“Has Frank got any say back in New York?”

“He’s got say all over the world. Mostly that’s all over this country. You kidding me? They got the Commission. They settle everything. He was on it. The last war, him and the Chicago boss kicked Joe Bonanno out. He knows all the bosses. When he used to go to New York, he’d go to the Old Man’s house, Gambino’s. Equal boss.”

“How’s he get along with Lilo?”

“They love each other,” Lefty says. “I’m a-scared of him sometimes. Tony, let him do the fucking talking. You just blend into the situation.”

“I did something wrong?” Tony says.

“You told that one guy at the table, ‘Where do you come from?’ That shook me up. They don’t like that. Never ask anybody where they’re from. Because, why you asking? You a cop? That got me fucking chilled to my fucking death. I’m glad that went over Frank’s head. Because he could turn around and say, ‘Who the fuck are you to ask my friends where they come from?’ God forbid you get into a conversation.”

“Okay,” Tony says. “Now I know. I’m learning.”

“Lemme tell you something, Tony. By next summer you’ll be so polished in the underworld field that you won’t need me. And I’m gonna turn around and say I’m very proud of you. But we ain’t talking about that. Tony, we gotta emphasize to Frank that we’re getting spots for machines, we’re going after routes, taking over companies, easing other guys out. You can’t be lax in this field. That’s a tough guy there. Not somebody like that mutt, Anthony Mirra. He’s got a real empire here, Frank has. So far the people are very nice. You know that Steve DiSalvo, Frank’s guy you met at the table? I’m impressed by him. He’s got almost as many hits as I do.”

Frank Balistrieri, alone, drove us to his house in his black Cadillac. Lefty gave me a look—he couldn’t believe a boss would go anywhere alone, let alone drive himself.

On the way Frank told us, “I’ve got a good crew, but they’re older, kind of set in their ways. I could use some younger guys that I could trust to take over a couple of my clubs and other businesses. Younger guys would be able to relate to the ways of today’s business world.”

“If you need anything done,” Lefty pipes up, “Donnie and Tony can do it. You can trust them. They’re good with people. They’re at your disposal, Frank, if you need them.”

It was only about a ten-minute drive to his lakefront Colonial-style home. The people from the night before were joined by Frank’s brother, Peter. Peter was a little taller, less intense than his brother, the boss. “I wouldn’t be in his position for all the tea in China,” he said. “I couldn’t take the heat.”

We were introduced to Frank’s wife. She and another lady did the cooking and serving.

Frank sat at the head of the table, Lefty at his right hand. The women didn’t sit with us, just served. It was a fine five-course dinner with veal as the main course. Bottles of Château Lafitte wine were continuously replenished on the table. Later came Louis XIII brandy.

Frank talked about the old days. At one time he owned seven clubs in downtown Milwaukee and promoted boxing matches, many of which were setups, fixed. He said that when he travels nowadays, he flies by private jet and does not move in or out of major airports, and that he always travels under an alias—currently “Lenny Frank.”

The mood got warm and relaxed. But Conte and I had to maintain concentration and composure, choose our words and actions carefully so as not to offend. This was a boss’s house.

On the next evening, Sunday, there was to be a big “Icebreaker” banquet to kick off the Italian Golf Tournament, a charity event. He said he had not attended for several years because he was enemies with the guy who once headed the committee, Louis Fazio. “But now he’s dead,” Frank said. “Five times thirty-eight.” He laughed, but it was no joke. Thirty-eight, as in caliber. So he planned to attend this banquet as a surprise and “have some fun.” He invited us to come along as his guests.