I tried to picture this scene of a restaurant on Father’s Day, filled with families, and two men coming through the door, and before anyone even knows what’s happening, one of them blows Salvatore D’Alessio’s head off, after wishing him a happy Father’s Day. What was the D’Alessio family doing in that few seconds before Sal’s head and their world exploded? Talking? Laughing? Passing the pastry? Did Salvatore D’Alessio know, in that second before the blast, that it was over for him?
I remembered how fast it had happened in front of Giulio’s – actually, I didn’t realize what was happening until it was almost over. With no point of reference in my life, my brain did not comprehend what my eyes were seeing. In fact, it didn’t even register when Vinnie’s face disappeared in a cloud of blood, brains-
“Mr. Sutter?”
“Yes…”
“I said, you may not want Mrs. Sutter to see this on TV.”
I glanced at Susan, who was curled up on the couch, staring off into space. I replied, “Right.”
“And perhaps you should not have any of the tabloids lying around tomorrow.”
“Right… well, I guess that answers the question of whether or not Anthony Bellarosa is alive.”
“Correct. I think we should assume that he ordered the hit.” He pointed out, “It seems like the kind of message he would want to send to his uncle’s colleagues. Meaning, this is what happened to my father in front of my mother.”
“Right… well, I wouldn’t have given Anthony that much credit for showmanship, or symbolic acts, but maybe he does have a little of his father in him.” So maybe he could appreciate my act of slashing his painting; his father would have.
Mr. Mancuso stayed silent a moment, then said, “I, too, was surprised at how the hit went down. I had expected something… quieter. A disappearance, so as not to draw the full attention of the law, or too much public attention. Or, if it was going to be violent, then I didn’t think Anthony would make it so obvious that he was behind it.” He added, “He might as well have had the killer say, ‘Happy Father’s Day, Uncle Sal.’” He speculated, “This hit may cause him some problems. And that brings us to another subject.” I didn’t respond, so he went on, “It is possible, as we’ve discussed, that Anthony will now turn his attention to Mrs. Sutter, and possibly to you.”
I glanced again at Susan, who was now looking at me. She needed to hear this, so I hit the speaker button, replaced the receiver, and said to Mancuso, “Susan is back.”
He said to us, “Based on the usual modus operandi, I’m fairly certain that Anthony Bellarosa is, and has been, out of town for this last week, and he can document this when we ask him where he was on the night of his uncle’s murder. In any case, wherever he is, my guess is that he will stay put for another week or so, or at least until he’s certain that he’s coming home as the undisputed boss.” He concluded, “Probably he’ll wait until after his uncle’s funeral, though he may actually show up for that.”
I pointed out, “Well, he should if he was the cause of the funeral.”
He allowed himself a small chuckle, but Susan didn’t smile.
He went back to the more immediate subject and informed us, “Anthony’s absence, however, does not preclude him from taking care of business here, as Mr. D’Alessio’s murder obviously demonstrates. In fact, if there is any more such business, it may be done while Anthony Bellarosa is still out of town.”
Susan thought about that, then asked, “So what do you suggest we do?”
“I suggest taking extra precautions, including hiring a personal bodyguard.”
I pointed out, “That didn’t help Uncle Sal.”
“No, it didn’t. But hopefully your bodyguard will not be working for the other team as D’Alessio’s was. Also, I’d advise you both to stay within your security zone at Stanhope Hall as much as possible. Meanwhile, I’m asking the county police to see if they can assign you a twenty-four-hour protection detail. Also, I’ve asked if the Bureau can assign one or two agents to you, but quite frankly, we’re shorthanded since 9/11.”
Susan looked at me, then asked Mancuso, “How long are we supposed to live like this?”
He replied, “I wish I could tell you.” He tried out some good news and said, “Bellarosa will surface soon, or we will find him. And when that happens, the NYPD will take him in for questioning regarding the murder of Salvatore D’Alessio, and the FBI will assist if requested. The county police will also speak to him about the threats he’s made against both of you. With any luck, as I’ve said, we can make an arrest. At the least, we can make sure he’s on notice and under constant surveillance.” He reminded us, “The problem now is that he’s missing. And missing people, if they’re not dead, are more dangerous than people who are present and accounted for.”
Susan had believed that it was good that Anthony Bellarosa was missing, but now she understood the problem with that. She asked, “Why can’t you find him?”
Mr. Mancuso, who’d probably answered this question many times, replied, “It’s a big country, and a big world.” He added, “He has the resources to remain missing indefinitely.” He reminded us, “He’s not a fugitive from the law, so we’re assuming that he’ll just appear when he thinks it’s best for him to do so.”
What Felix Mancuso said sounded logical, of course, and certainly if I were Anthony Bellarosa, I’d be more worried about my paesanos and the law than thinking about killing any more people – especially people who, for all he knew, were being protected by the police and the FBI. And yet… I knew, deep inside, that this had more to do with revenge than business, and that the revenge murder of Salvatore D’Alessio was just the first of two. Maybe three.
I had a thought, and I said to Mancuso, “I have business in London…” I glanced at Susan, who was nodding – “so, I’m thinking that this might be a good time for me and Mrs. Sutter to take a week or so in London, and then maybe a week or two on the Continent.” I added, “In other words, we, too, should go missing.”
He replied without hesitation, “That would be a very good idea at this time – until the situation here becomes more clear.” He added, “If you stay in touch with us, we can keep you up to date on developments.”
“We’ll certainly be interested in news from home. And please don’t hesitate to call us the moment Sally Da-da’s friends whack Anthony.”
Mr. Mancuso never responded well to my murderous remarks regarding Anthony Bellarosa – he was a professional – but he did say, “We’re hoping to locate him first.”
“I hope Uncle Sal’s friends locate him first.”
He ignored that and asked me, “When do you plan on leaving?”
I looked at Susan, and she said, “Tuesday is fine with me.”
Mancuso agreed, “That would be good.” He reminded us, “Keep the particulars of your itinerary to yourselves.”
“We will.”
“And enjoy yourselves. You need a break.”
Mr. Mancuso seemed happy that we were getting out of his bailiwick. Again, he liked us, and he would be personally saddened if we got whacked. And professionally, of course, he would be more than saddened; he would be in the same embarrassing situation he’d been in when Susan whacked his star witness. He certainly didn’t need that aggravation again.
He assured us, “I’m confident that we will catch some breaks while you’re gone, and that Anthony Bellarosa will be either in jail, under tight surveillance, killed by his own people, or frightened into permanent retirement and relocated to Florida or Vegas, where many of his colleagues wind up when they need to give up the business.”
I wasn’t so sure about Anthony retiring and moving away, but I did agree with Felix Mancuso that Anthony’s career was at a crossroads. Not my problem, as long as none of those roads led back to Grace Lane.
I thought, too, of Anthony in hiding, or in exile, and I wondered if he had normal human feelings of missing his family, and not knowing when or if he’d see them again. On the other hand, this was the life he’d chosen. And then, of course, I thought about my own exile. That was not the life I’d chosen – well, maybe it was – but it wasn’t my first choice.