“The fact that this Laurie Montgomery is involved,” Angelo said. “She gives me nightmares. Tony and I tried to whack her, but we couldn’t. It was like God was protecting her.”

Franco laughed in spite of Angelo’s seriousness. “This Laurie Montgomery would be flattered that someone with your reputation has nightmares about her. That’s hilarious.”

“I don’t find it funny at all,” Angelo said.

“Don’t get sore at me,” Franco said. “Besides, she’s hardly involved in what we’re doing here.”

“It’s related,” Angelo said. “And she told Vinnie Amendola that she’s going to make it her personal business to find out how we managed to get Franconi’s body out of the morgue.”

“But how is she going to do that?” Franco said. “And worse comes to worse we send Freddie Capuso and Richie Herns to do the actual dirty work. I think you’re jumping to conclusions here.”

“Oh yeah?” Angelo questioned. “You don’t know this woman. She’s one persistent bitch.”

“All right!” Franco said with resignation. “You want to be bummed out, fine by me.”

As they reached the New Jersey side of the bridge, Franco bore right onto the Palisades Interstate Parkway. With Angelo insisting on sulking, he reached over and turned on the radio. After pushing a few buttons he found a station that played “oldies but goodies.” Turning up the volume he sang “Sweet Caroline” along with Neil Diamond.

By the second refrain, Angelo leaned forward and turned off the radio. “You win,” he said. “I’ll cheer up if you promise not to sing.”

“You don’t like that song?” Franco questioned as if he were hurt. “It’s got such sweet memories for me.” He smacked his lips as if he were tasting. “It reminds me of making out with Maria Provolone.”

“I’m not going to touch that one,” Angelo said, laughing despite himself. He appreciated working with Franco Ponti. Franco was a professional. He also had a sense of humor, which Angelo knew he himself lacked.

Franco exited the parkway onto Palisades Avenue, passed Route 9W, and headed west down a long hill into Englewood, New Jersey. The environment quickly changed from franchise fast-food restaurants and service stations to upper-class suburban.

“You got the map and the address handy?” Franco asked.

“I got it right here,” Angelo said. He reached up and turned on the map light. “We’re looking for Overlook Place,” he said. “It will be on the left.”

Overlook Place was easy to find, and five minutes later, they were cruising along a winding, tree-lined street. The lawns that stretched up to the widely spaced houses were so expansive they looked like fairways on a golf course.

“Can you imagine living in a place like this?” Franco commented, his head swinging from side to side. “Hell, I’d get lost trying to find the street from my front door.”

“I don’t like this,” Angelo said. “It’s too peaceful. We’re going to stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Now don’t get yourself all bent out of shape,” Franco said. “At this point, all we’re doing is reconnoitering. What number are we looking for?”