"They know it very well. Better than the American public, which is fed mostly bad news. But let me give a good-news headline: MAFIA ON THE RUN." I smiled but said nothing.
Mr Mancuso went on, "Since 1984, Mr Sutter, the federal government has obtained hundreds of convictions under the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act – the RICO Act. We have seized millions of dollars in properly and cash, and we have destroyed or seriously damaged nearly all of the twenty-four organized-crime families in this country. There is only one remaining stronghold of the Mafia in America, and that is here in New York. And of New York's five traditional crime families, four have been crippled by prosecutions and by death and by early retirements. The old legendary dons are all gone now. The calibre of the remaining leadership is very low. Only one family remains strong, and only one leader commands respect."
"Who could that be?"
Mr Mancuso, having delivered himself of this satisfying monologue, smiled. "You know who."
I asked him, "What is your point?"
"Well, the point, obviously, is Frank Bellarosa and your relationship with him." "I see." Mr Mancuso had intrigued me, and it occurred to me that he could answer some questions for me, rather than vice versa. I asked him, "How rich is Mr Bellarosa?"
He thought a moment, then replied, "We estimate that his illegal empire grosses about six hundred million dollars a year -" "Six hundred million? Mamma mia, Mr Mancuso."
Mr Mancuso smiled. "Yes. But I don't know how much profit there is and how much of that he keeps personally. We do know that he is involved in fourteen legitimate businesses -" "Sixteen."
Mr Mancuso regarded me a moment, then continued, "Fourteen or more legitimate businesses, from which he showed a taxable income last year of five and a half million dollars."
"And he paid his taxes?"
"Oh, yes. Overpaid, actually. The IRS refunded him some two hundred thousand dollars. He had a serious tax problem some years back that sent him away for nineteen months. So he's very careful with his taxes on his legitimate income." Mr Mancuso added, "I would not be surprised if he asked you to do his tax work at some point."
I didn't reply, but asked, "Why do you suppose he's not satisfied with five million legitimate dollars a year?"
Mr Mancuso informed me, "There are other factors at work, Mr Sutter. Bellarosa is a unique personality. He does not make decisions the way you or I would. This man fought his way to the top of New York's largest crime family, and he killed or caused to be killed at least nine men whom he perceived to be a danger to him, or who were, in fact, a danger to him, or men who were simply in his way during his pursuit of the emperor's crown. Personalities like this exist, of course, and history is full of them. Frank Bellarosa is a power freak. The money is incidental. Do you see?"
"I understand."
"Understand, too, that he likes living on the edge. You may find this hard to believe, Mr Sutter, but in his primitive way he enjoys being the target of assassins. His enemies can pay him no higher compliment than trying to kill him. Capisce?"
I smiled involuntarily. "Capisce."
"No, you say capisco. I understand. Capisce?"
"Capisco."
"Very good. But work on your accent. I understand your wife speaks some Italian.
Maybe she can help you."
I didn't reply. In fact, neither of us spoke for a while. As the Paumanok drifted, I realized that I should, at some point, let Mr Mancuso know that I was representing the man who was the subject of our conversation. But as he hadn't asked, and since nothing of a confidential nature was being discussed yet, I let it slide. I wanted to know more about my client, and since my client wouldn't even admit that there was a Mafia, let alone that he was the emperor of it, I figured that Mr Mancuso was my best source. I asked, "How big is his empire, actually? Not money, but people."
Mr Mancuso studied me awhile, then replied, "Well, again, these are estimates, but we think that Bellarosa controls the activities of three thousand men." "That's a big company."
"Yes. And at the core of his organization are three hundred of what we call "made" men. Men who have made their bones. Do you understand what that means?" "I'm afraid I do."
"And all of these hard-core mafiosi are Italian, mostly Sicilian or Neapolitan."
"And which are you, Mr Mancuso?"
"Neither, Mr Sutter. I am a true Roman on both sides of my family."
"Interesting. And Mr Ferragamo?"
He smiled. "I hear that his ancestors were from Florence. They are very cultured there. Why do you ask?"
"I'm just trying to read the subtexts, Mr Mancuso."
"I assure you, Mr Sutter, there are no subtexts."
"Perhaps not. But tell me about these Sicilians and Neapolitans." He hesitated a moment, then replied, "I suppose it might matter where Bellarosa's crime family had its ancestral origins, in that there are historical and family ties that we must consider and comprehend in order to effectively prosecute these people."
"I see. So there are about three hundred hard-core members, and about three thousand others."
"Yes. Associates. At the top is Frank Bellarosa. He has an underboss, a man named Salvatore D'Alessio, aka Sally Da-da, who is Bellarosa's wife's sister's husband. Sort of his brother-in-law. Family relationships are very important to these people. When they can't determine if a bloodline exists, they try to determine if they are related by some marriage or another. Lacking anything there, they will form ties and bonds through christenings. You know, godparents and godchildren. These ties are important because they are used to claim and to reinforce loyalty. Loyalty and respect are number one and number two on the agenda. After that, everything else follows. That's why they have been so incredibly difficult to penetrate, and so successful for a century." I nodded. "And why pale Wasps like me might tend to glamorize and romanticize them."
"Perhaps."
"But you see them more clearly, Mr Mancuso."
"I believe I do."
"Good. So, there is an underboss. Where does the consigliere fit in?"
"He is next in the chain. Their hierarchy is somewhat unique in that respect. This trusted adviser sometimes has more power than the underboss. He is the one who relays instructions to the capos, who are in charge of the gangs. Why do you want to know this?"
"I'm just trying to get a picture of my next-door neighbour. Where does a man like Jack Weinstein fit it?"
"Weinstein? Bellarosa's attorney?"
"Yes. Where does he fit in?"
"Well, if the attorney is not Italian, and I presume Jack Weinstein is not, then he occupies some sort of limbo. In Weinstein's case, he has beaten two serious criminal charges for Frank Bellarosa, before Bellarosa became the boss. Bellarosa, therefore, would be grateful, and he might respect Jack Weinstein, the way you or I would be grateful to and respectful of a surgeon who twice saved our lives. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Why do you ask about Jack Weinstein, Mr Sutter?"
"Professional curiosity. Also, I'm a little tired of the tax business." Mancuso smiled, but it was a worried smile. He said, This is all abstract, Mr Sutter. Let me tell you a story about Mr Bellarosa. There are many, but I'll tell you one that I can swear to. When Bellarosa was a capo, he summoned a man named Vito Posilico to meet him in his social club on Mott Street. When Mr Posilico arrived, Frank Bellarosa ordered coffee and they sat and talked. Bellarosa then accused Posilico of withholding money from the proceeds of an extortion of a building contractor. The contractor, an honest businessman incidentally, paid Posilico fifty thousand dollars for a guarantee of labour peace during the time the builder was working on a big project. Bellarosa had taken his half share from Posilico – twenty-five thousand dollars – but now claimed that Posilico had shaken the contractor down for one hundred thousand dollars. Posilico denied this, of course, and offered to prove this to his capo in several ways. But Frank Bellarosa did not want to be proven wrong, especially in front of other people. What he wanted was for Posilico to show respect, to confess, to crawl and beg for mercy. Or, if he still insisted on his innocence, to do so in a way that showed he was frightened. But Vito Posilico had too big an ego, and though he was respectful, he was firm in his denial. He said, "I'll get the contractor here in fifteen minutes, Frank. You can talk to him." Then Posilico raised his cup to his lips to drink, and Frank Bellarosa drew a lead pipe from somewhere and smashed Posilico's fingers, the cup, and his teeth. Then he stood and proceeded to break nearly every bone in the man's body. To give you an example."