returning his calls. The New York Post was running a series of investigative articles documenting the cozy relationships between city politicians and alleged organized crime figures, making the former suddenly gun-shy.
Even his right-hand man, Ricky, was falling down on the job. Smitten by a red headed co-ed philosophy major at NYU, Ricky was busy squiring the young lady on vacation trips to St. Kitts, Stowe and Las Vegas.
The only shining exception in this miserable picture was Wentworth. The young man now had Al-Mac Construction Co., Inc. running like a finely calibrated machine. In fact, Al-Mac was the one business free of problems. As efficiency increased, so did contracts and profits. Things were running so smoothly there that Al began to worry that his newest acolyte might be getting bored despite the frequent fat bonuses Al bestowed. The lad was unquestionably trustworthy. Nonetheless, Al carefully kept him out of his other enterprises, preferring to use Wentworth as gloss on his ongoing program to portray himself and his wide-ranging commercial realm as clean and legitimate. He came, however, to depend on his ex-Marine more and more in face of the compounding problems and Ricky's goofing off.
Al's most reliable business partners, the Russians, now also fell into the same jinxed category of problem-makers.
94 JAMES
BRUNO
It was six weeks since the last meeting with Yakov. Al passed word that he wanted an urgent conference.
A private upstairs room was set aside at Pironi's. Al wanted to confront the Russian on his own turf this time.
Whether out of growing paranoia or prudence, Al took precautions he had never taken before at Pironi's. He made the reservations under an alias. He told only Ricky -- just back and visibly fatigued from a gambling-cum-sex binge in Las Vegas -- and Wentworth in advance that the meeting would take place. Bags and Herman "The German" were given much shorter notice. They were Wentworth's muscle on the security side.
With Bags at the wheel, Al, Herman and Wentworth drove at a leisurely pace to the lower Manhattan address in an unassuming, maroon Buick Lucerne. Al told Wentworth only that he needed to discuss financial and other business matters with an associate and wanted to ensure that no competitors were tuning in. He instructed Wentworth to sweep the meeting room for bugs. Wentworth, Bags and the German were to wait outside while Al and Ricky met with Al's counterparts upstairs.
Al washed down a couple of Tums with a glass of cold Brioschi. "Where the hell is that son of a bitch nephew of mine?" Al demanded to no one and everyone as he nervously paced the meeting room. "Those goddamn Russians will be here in ten lousy minutes and that no-good-for-nothing, shit-for-brains, jerk-off nephew of mine is off doing God knows what!"
Bags, never a master of tact, replied, "Geez, Al, could be he's shackin' up with that college chick again. You never know, yah know?" He finished with a pointless shrug and a dumb grin.
Al stopped in his tracks, wheeled around, held his face six inches from that of Bags' and glowered at the PERMANENT INTERESTS
95
unfortunate flunky. The sight of Al's big, bloodshot eyes boring in on him without so much as a blink and his nostrils flared like those of a wolf about to pounce a prey caused Bags to take a step backward. Sensing fallout from an imminent multi-megaton explosion, Herman turned his shoulder away from the blast site. "I think I better go outside and keep an eye out for Ricky. Yeah, that's what I'll do," Bags said. The diminutive lieutenant flew down the stairs, barely avoiding smashing into a platter-laden waiter climbing the steps.
Ever the epitome of cool, Wentworth ignored Al's blustering and proceeded to sweep the room methodically with his electronic detection equipment.
Al shook his head and slowly turned to Wentworth. He visibly untensed. No explosion after all.
"Chuckie, you sure what you're doing will do the job?
The FB-…uh, I mean
Even his right-hand man, Ricky, was falling down on the job. Smitten by a red headed co-ed philosophy major at NYU, Ricky was busy squiring the young lady on vacation trips to St. Kitts, Stowe and Las Vegas.
The only shining exception in this miserable picture was Wentworth. The young man now had Al-Mac Construction Co., Inc. running like a finely calibrated machine. In fact, Al-Mac was the one business free of problems. As efficiency increased, so did contracts and profits. Things were running so smoothly there that Al began to worry that his newest acolyte might be getting bored despite the frequent fat bonuses Al bestowed. The lad was unquestionably trustworthy. Nonetheless, Al carefully kept him out of his other enterprises, preferring to use Wentworth as gloss on his ongoing program to portray himself and his wide-ranging commercial realm as clean and legitimate. He came, however, to depend on his ex-Marine more and more in face of the compounding problems and Ricky's goofing off.
Al's most reliable business partners, the Russians, now also fell into the same jinxed category of problem-makers.
94 JAMES
BRUNO
It was six weeks since the last meeting with Yakov. Al passed word that he wanted an urgent conference.
A private upstairs room was set aside at Pironi's. Al wanted to confront the Russian on his own turf this time.
Whether out of growing paranoia or prudence, Al took precautions he had never taken before at Pironi's. He made the reservations under an alias. He told only Ricky -- just back and visibly fatigued from a gambling-cum-sex binge in Las Vegas -- and Wentworth in advance that the meeting would take place. Bags and Herman "The German" were given much shorter notice. They were Wentworth's muscle on the security side.
With Bags at the wheel, Al, Herman and Wentworth drove at a leisurely pace to the lower Manhattan address in an unassuming, maroon Buick Lucerne. Al told Wentworth only that he needed to discuss financial and other business matters with an associate and wanted to ensure that no competitors were tuning in. He instructed Wentworth to sweep the meeting room for bugs. Wentworth, Bags and the German were to wait outside while Al and Ricky met with Al's counterparts upstairs.
Al washed down a couple of Tums with a glass of cold Brioschi. "Where the hell is that son of a bitch nephew of mine?" Al demanded to no one and everyone as he nervously paced the meeting room. "Those goddamn Russians will be here in ten lousy minutes and that no-good-for-nothing, shit-for-brains, jerk-off nephew of mine is off doing God knows what!"
Bags, never a master of tact, replied, "Geez, Al, could be he's shackin' up with that college chick again. You never know, yah know?" He finished with a pointless shrug and a dumb grin.
Al stopped in his tracks, wheeled around, held his face six inches from that of Bags' and glowered at the PERMANENT INTERESTS
95
unfortunate flunky. The sight of Al's big, bloodshot eyes boring in on him without so much as a blink and his nostrils flared like those of a wolf about to pounce a prey caused Bags to take a step backward. Sensing fallout from an imminent multi-megaton explosion, Herman turned his shoulder away from the blast site. "I think I better go outside and keep an eye out for Ricky. Yeah, that's what I'll do," Bags said. The diminutive lieutenant flew down the stairs, barely avoiding smashing into a platter-laden waiter climbing the steps.
Ever the epitome of cool, Wentworth ignored Al's blustering and proceeded to sweep the room methodically with his electronic detection equipment.
Al shook his head and slowly turned to Wentworth. He visibly untensed. No explosion after all.
"Chuckie, you sure what you're doing will do the job?
The FB-…uh, I mean
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