Wow. I let go of the wheel and leaned back against the rail. Yes, I could easily picture Bellarosa, wielding a lead pipe, cigar in his mouth, cracking a man's bones because of some suspicion of thievery. In truth, Bellarosa would have broken old Richard's arm for taking his salad away if we had been in Bellarosa's club rather than mine. And this was the man whom Susan liked. I watched the wheel move to and fro as the rising wind and current carried the boat farther out. Evil and viciousness, I thought, are only fully understandable in anecdotal form. To hear that a man murdered nine nameless people to get to the top is distressful, but to hear in detail how he smashed Vito Posilico's face and teeth with a lead pipe is gut wrenching.
Mr Mancuso broke into my thoughts. "Why would a man like you associate with a man like that?"
"Are you here on government business, Mr Mancuso, or are you here to save my soul?"
"Both, Mr Sutter, as they happen to coincide." He regarded me a moment, then said, "I don't know you, but I know a lot about you. I know that you are a church-going man, a law-abiding citizen, a family man, a successful and respected attorney, a respected member of your community, and an army veteran. Frank Bellarosa is a malignancy on society, a vicious criminal, and a man whose soul is going to burn in hell for eternity."
The last thing caught me by surprise, and I must have shown it. I replied, "I'm not arguing with you. Come to the point."
"I would like your help."
"How?"
"We have a court order to tap Bellarosa's phones. But he knows that, of course, and he doesn't say anything on the telephone, so -" "And you overheard my conversations with him?"
"Yes. We know about the variance, the stables, and about his asking you to walk with him to Fox Point. Incidentally, you have a good sense of humour. And I'm happy to discover that you are not intimidated by him. He puts up with a lot of your sarcasm. I wonder why."
"I think it goes over his thick head, Mr Mancuso."
"Perhaps. Anyway, we know that you and your wife went there one night, of course, and I have photos of you waving at us, and photos of you walking with Bellarosa to Fox Point. We know, too, that you took him and his wife to your country club, and that this caused you some problems with your friends. Also, we've heard your wife talking to Mrs Bellarosa on the phone, and even with Mr Bellarosa a few times." He watched me a moment, then added, "Your wife spends a good deal of time at Alhambra. We understand that she is painting a picture of the house. Correct?"
"My wife is a professional painter. Artists, writers, and whores work for anyone with the cash."
"But attorneys don't?"
"Depends on the cash."
"Your wife did not charge the Bellarosas for the painting."
"How do you know that?"
"There are things I know that I would be happy to share with you, Mr Sutter, if you would do me a few favours."
I did not reply.
He said, "What we need is for you to plant three or four bugs in Bellarosa's house. One in his den, one in the entranceway, maybe one in his greenhouse where we see him talking to his goombahs, and definitely one in the kitchen where he probably does most of his business because he's Italian." Mr Mancuso flashed all his Chiclets.
"How about his bedroom?"
"We don't do that." He added, "Not too much goes on there anyway." He walked toward me on the rolling boat and put his hand on my arm as though to steady himself. "Can we count on you?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Well… I'm his attorney."
He took a step back as if I'd said I had a communicable disease.
"Are you serious?"
"Yes. I am. Specifically, he wants me to represent him in the matter of the murder of Juan Carranza." I studied Mr Mancuso's face and saw it was not a happy face.
He went to the portside rail and looked out to sea awhile. I realized that I had made a tactical blunder in relating this to him if Bellarosa actually wanted it to remain a secret until his arrest, arraignment, and bail hearing. But that was a small mistake, and I was bound to make a few more since I do mostly taxes, wills, and house closings. Also, Bellarosa had, at one point, wanted me to speak to Mancuso about Ferragamo, so I was not actually violating a privileged conversation. I said to Mancuso, "Do you want to know why I agreed to represent him?"
Without turning around, Mancuso replied, "I could speculate, Mr Sutter, and if I did, I would say it had nothing to do with cash."
"No, it doesn't. In fact, I'm repaying a favour. But the main reason is that I believe Bellarosa is innocent of that particular allegation." He turned toward me. "Do you? Why do you believe that?" "Among other reasons, because Bellarosa has convinced me that the U.S. Attorney, Mr Alphonse Ferragamo, is framing him for that murder. Actually not just framing him, but setting him up to be murdered by the Colombians or by Bellarosa's own people to keep the peace with the Colombians." I watched Mr Mancuso closely. He has a very expressive face, which is not good for a cop, and I could see that he did not find this statement absurd. Bellarosa was right about watching faces when I made this accusation. I said to Mr Mancuso, "I will relate to you what Bellarosa told me." And for the next ten minutes, I did just that. I concluded by saying, "Bellarosa said you are an honest man. So if you are, then tell me honestly, does this sound plausible to you?"
He stared down at the deck for a full minute, then without looking up at me replied, "A United States Attorney is not going to jeopardize his career and his very freedom for personal revenge."
"Well, I wouldn't have thought so three months ago, but -" – I affected an Italian accent – "but now I'ma learna abouta you paesanos, Mistah Mancuso, an' I'ma thinkin', maybe Mistah Bellarosa knowsa whas ina Mistah Ferragamo's head. Capisce?"
Mr Mancuso didn't seem amused.
I added, reverting to my normal accent, "Save Mr Ferragamo's soul, Mr Mancuso. Remind him that revenge is a sin. If he backs off, that will let me off the hook as well. Tell him to find something better than a frame-up for Frank Bellarosa. Tell him to play fair."
Mr Mancuso did not respond.
I glanced at my watch, then said to Mr Mancuso, "I'll show you how to tack.
Raise the mainsail first."
And so we set sail for home, tacking through the wind, and fighting the tide, which was still running out. After about an hour with little headway, a weary Mr Mancuso inquired, "Can't you just start the engine?"
"I could, but sailing into the wind is very instructive. It's a test of skill and patience. It is allegorical."
"It's a useless exercise," declared the crew.
We rounded Plum Point, and the wind shifted in a more favourable direction, so we made better headway. Mr Mancuso was kneeling on the foredeck, holding on to the rail. He seemed to enjoy the wind in the sails and the bow cutting through the water. I had advised him to put on a life jacket or tie on a lifeline, but he assured me he was an excellent swimmer. I called out to him, "Did you people screw me up with the IRS?"