My father may be retiring, but his standards remain exacting. A clean operation is a successful operation.
“The Italians won’t be a problem. I’ve spoken with Salvatore personally.”
I smile at the question, and also at the memory of the Italian lieutenant dangling upside down from rusty chains in a dank Tribeca basement as I asked again and again whether he grasped what I was telling him.
“I trust that he understands the consequences of breaking it,” I say vaguely.
There’s a pause on the line. “And what about the commissioner? He’s been making noise again, demanding more money.”
Greedy bastard. We already pay him enough to fund his mistress’s Park Avenue apartment and his son’s cocaine habit. And he still wants more?
“If the commissioner gives you trouble, remind him of our arrangemen
