Find Her a Grave Read Free Page B

heart. You understand?”
    “I understand. Sure. No problem.”
    “You think, and I’ll think. Come back in ten days, and we’ll talk.”
    “Right.”
    “Okay …” Venezzio nodded, allowed his eyes to momentarily close as he drew a deep, ragged breath. Then he raised his hand, wearily signifying dismissal. Meaning that Bacardo should go to the door of the office and summon a guard.
    “Tell him to get a golf cart,” Venezzio ordered. “I feel like riding.”
    “Sure.” Bacardo rose, hesitated, then decided to touch Venezzio’s shoulder, in sympathy.

FRIDAY, JULY 19th
2:20 P.M., EDT
    “N O GOLF CART,” BACARDO said.
    Venezzio nodded as they walked through the door to the small exercise yard, a featureless expanse of concrete surrounded by prison buildings with closely barred windows. Overhead, in the clear, bright July sky, a small formation of birds whirled against the sun. At Venezzio’s request, the exercise yard had been cleared for Bacardo’s visit.
    “No golf cart,” Venezzio answered. “When we talked it was—what—ten days ago?”
    “Yeah. Ten days.”
    “Well, the day after you were here, a couple of heart specialists came.”
    Bacardo nodded. “I know. I just got the bill.”
    “How much?”
    “Plenty. The trip, everything, Jesus, it was something like seven thousand dollars. And then there was another bill from the lab. Those guys, we could take lessons.”
    “Yeah, well, whatever it was, it’s worth it. They really gave me confidence. And they told me the bill would be stiff, for all the business they lost coming here. So pay.”
    “I already paid. I took care of it personally.”
    “All right. Good.” Venezzio gestured, and they began walking slowly together.
    “So what’d they say?” Bacardo asked.
    “They said to start exercising. There’s a treadmill thing that I can hook myself up to, all computerized. I get on that thing, and start walking, and I do what the dials tell me to do. They say walk, I walk. They say stop, I stop. And there’s a tape. When the tape runs out, I send it to the doctors.”
    “So you feel—what—okay?”
    “Better than okay. I’m eating two meals a day, no meat but a little fish and skinned chicken. No booze, not even wine with dinner. And I feel fine. I’ve lost six pounds since I saw you.” As he spoke, Venezzio changed their direction. Soon they were in the center of the yard. With their backs to the windows of the buildings that surrounded them on three sides, the only place of concealment for directional mikes, they could talk business.
    “Tony G.” Venezzio said. “So far, so good, eh?”
    “Tony wasn’t so well liked, it turns out.”
    “Who’d you take along? Caproni?”
    Bacardo shook his head. “I decided to take Maranzano. He’s—well—he’s steady, on something like that. Besides, Caproni and Cella, they get together once in a while.”
    “Cella. Yeah. I was going to ask you about Cella. It’s been—what—six days since Tony died?”
    “Yeah. Six.”
    “Did you talk to Cella afterwards?”
    “The next day. We had clams, pasta, a bottle of wine. Great lunch. Fuchini’s, you know.” In tribute Bacardo shook his head. “The way they do clams, with garlic and white wine, you wouldn’t believe it.”
    “So Cella’s all right about Tony G.”
    “As far as I could see, no problems. He insisted on picking up the check. Absolutely insisted. So that says something. Plus, he sends you his best regards.”
    “Ah … good.” Venezzio nodded. Then: “Tony’s funeral, I hear it was first-class.”
    Bacardo considered. “It was okay. I mean, everything we could do, we did. But I was expecting more people.”
    “His family—what, three children?”
    “Four.”
    “Take care of them. The whole works. College, everything.”
    “Right.”
    “Let’s walk a little. We can walk along the wall. If they’re using a shotgun mike, it’s still okay along the wall.”
    “Sure.”
    As they began to walk, Venezzio said,