“Hey, no way, but, you know, like maybe he made a mistake—”

I jerked his collar once. “Knock off the shit.” Elvis Cole, Professional Thug.

Richard Sealy started to cry.

I said, “The Gambozas know that something is going on, but they don’t know what. You know how they hate that bastard Charlie DeLuca. You know what Tommy thinks.” I didn’t know what Tommy thought, but if the blood between the DeLucas and the Gambozas was as bad as Roland George had said, whatever Tommy thought couldn’t be good.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“Okay. They told us, give him one chance. They said, if he comes clean with you, let him live, but only if he comes clean and gives the whole thing.” I looked at Pike. “Isn’t that what they said?”

Pike nodded.

I looked back at Richie. “You hear that?”

Richie was sobbing. A ribbon of mucus ran down across his mouth and along his chin. He said, “I can’t say anything. I can’t.”

I slapped him. “You made fools out of those guys, you moron. Ricci, Tommy, the Gamboza brothers. They grew up with you. They loved you like family and you have made them look like turnips, and you have done this with the help of Charlie DeLuca. Can you imagine how this makes Tommy and Nickie feel?” Elvis Brando. One step away from the Great White Way.

Richie Sealy was nodding and shaking his head at the same time and his eyes looked like dried apricots. He said, “Jesus Christ, we’re talking Crazy Charlie DeLuca, Charlie the Tuna. Charlie will kill me. He’ll cut out my eyes, for Christ’s sake, can’t I make it up to Tommy another way?”

I shook him and said, “Moron. You’re worried about Crazy Charlie. Why do you think the Gambozas brought us in for this?” I looked at Pike again. Pike reached behind his back and brought out a twelve-inch Buck hunting knife. It was so bright you could shave in the reflection.

Richard Sealy tried to backpedal away, but the dumpster was there. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Whatever you want.”

“What do you and Charlie have going?”

“I tell him when some of the dope shipments are coming in through Kennedy.”

“Gamboza dope.” There it was.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“What about the Jamaicans? What about the cop out in Queens?”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy knows everything.”

I pulled Richie close. “Tommy knows all and sees all.”

Pike sighed and looked away.

Richie said, “Charlie sells the information to the Jamaicans. The Jamaicans hijack our stuff and sell it and then they give Charlie a piece.”

“Is this DeLuca family, Richie, or is this just Charlie? If it’s family, we’re talking war.” War. Mario Puzo, eat your heart out.