“Guys like the DeLucas, they won’t do something out of the goodness of their hearts. If we want something, we’ll have to give something.”

“Like what?”

“They might let you go if we could put one of their people in your place. That way they don’t lose anything. Would you walk away from the bank?”

“Yes. Yes, I’d walk away.” Her face was pale when she said it.

I nodded. “Okay. That’s a place to start. I’ll ask around, find out about the DeLucas, see what’s there that we can give them or what we can use as leverage. What you can do is get together all the information you have about the accounts and about what you know about Charlie and Sal. Don’t leave anything out. Even if it seems small or silly or beside the point.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll go to Charlie and give him a little push and see what happens. Charlie won’t like it, but there isn’t any other way. Is that all right with you?”

She nodded.

“Maybe I can get you away from the DeLucas before we bring Peter in. If they’re away and you’re not a part of them anymore, it might work.”

She nodded again.

“If it works, Peter doesn’t have to know about the DeLucas and they don’t have to know about Peter.”

She was looking hopeful. “That’s what I want.”

“But it may not work out that way. It may get messy and you have to be ready for that, too. Focus on DeLuca. DeLuca is who is important. Not Peter. Do you understand?”

“Of course.”

“We’ll take it a step at a time.”

She nodded some more, then we stood up and went to the door. When we got there, she said, “How much?”

I looked at her.

“How much do you want for this?”

“Fifty billion dollars.”

She stared at me and then she nodded and made a little smile. “Thank you, Mr. Cole.”

“Don’t mention it. We’re a full-service agency.”

Chapter Fifteen

Fifteen

I called Joe Pike at seven-thirty that night, L.A. time. “It’s me. I’m in New York on this thing, and it’s heating up. Looks like the mafia is involved.”

“Rollie George.”

“You got his number?”

Pike gave me a phone number. “Where are you staying?”

I told him.

“Wait ten, then call Rollie. Try to survive until I get there.”

He hung up. That Pike. Some partner, huh?

Fifteen minutes later I called the number and a deep male voice said, “I’ve got an apartment on Barrow Street in the Village, just east of Seventh. You need a place to stay, it’s yours.” Roland George.

“How ya doin, Rollie?”

“Can’t complain. My friend Joe Pike says you want to know some things about your classic, all-American-style mafia.” He dragged out mafia into three long syllables. Street black.