The Heart of an Assassin (14 page)

“Yes, ma’am, I will get a hold of them right
away,” Adriana responded.

“Is there any other business we need to
discuss?” asked Fabio.

“Yes,” responded Encino Russo. “It appears as
if the information left at the Breakfast House was picked up on
June 2, at around 1:00 p.m. Though there was some distraction in
the opposite side of the restaurant, our man did see a blond-haired
man go in the direction of the restroom where the information was
placed. As instructed our man went outside immediately and, after a
short wait, spotted the man exit through the restroom window and
get into a rented vehicle. After writing down the license number,
our man went back into the restaurant’s restroom and found the
envelope gone. It turned out to be a rental that was picked up
close to MacArthur airport and dropped off in New Jersey. A man
fitting his description flew into MacArthur airport from Chicago’s
Midway International Airport early this morning using the passenger
name of Robert Edwards. We were able to determine the name through
the credit card he used to rent the car. As of this moment, his
whereabouts are unknown, though we are monitoring for any activity
on his card.”

“Good. Keep us posted. Remember he probably
has more than one disguise,” responded Felicia.

“Yes, we will keep you posted,” Encino
answered.

“With that said, let’s adjourn,” Fabio
announced.

After a short period, after everyone left the
room, Felicia and Fabio sat to further discuss the events that had
unfolded. Felicia had been unaware of her brother’s orders to watch
Nick, though she was quite pleased with the results. “Aren’t you
taking a chance with Nick?” she asked him.

“Yes, but if we are ever to take control of
this situation, we need to know as much about him as possible.
Besides, I cautioned our men to be extra vigilant and not to
approach or give the slightest indication that they were watching,”
responded Fabio.

“Well, let’s pray that Nick did not see our
man. He might get the wrong idea.”

OCTF Headquarters

June 4-12, 1984

John Connolly went over the reports of the
last week.

It seemed like the driver of the car that
killed Mr. Angelino, the lawyer for the Giordano family, had
disappeared. Though it was ruled an accident and the case closed by
the local police, John wanted to question the guy. He didn’t
believe in coincidences. Not much could be done about it now.

At their morning meeting, the agents briefed
John on their findings. The detectives assigned to investigate the
reincarnation of Mr. Kenny Roberts, a.k.a Lefty, working with
Captain O’Malley, had a sketch artist sit with him to try and
sketch the guy who drove them to the New Jersey pier. Mr. Roberts
did say that he remembered that the guy’s first name was Malco and
that he was attached to the Costellino family, but that is all he
could remember. They went back and found that there was a Malco
Lombardi, and they did have a file on him with a picture, who by
the way was a victim at the fatal breakfast at La Ristorante. Mr.
Roberts said that was not the guy who picked them up.

They then took the sketch and tried to match
it against thousands of photographs from that timeframe and could
not come up with a match. Who the hell was this guy, Connolly
thought to himself. He stared at the picture for a while as if he
had seen this man somewhere else, but he could not put his finger
on it.

“Ms. Diaz, Mr. Somers, take this picture to
our Lewisburg Penitentiary facility and see if the picture jogs any
memories with any of our career prisoners. Most of those housed
there are associated with crime families in the northern region of
the United States. Offer them some privileges if we get their full
cooperation. I have this gut feeling that it is essential we
identify this guy as soon as possible. Make sure you talk to any
members of the old Sabrisio family who may still be alive.”

Ed White advised John Connolly that both
Sheila and Samual had not reported in and that he was worried about
them. “I’ll look into it, Ed. In the meantime see if you can find
out what has happened to our bug request for the Giordano
estate.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll get right on it,” Ed
replied.

Now turning his attention to the rest of the
agents in the room, John said, “Folks, we are closing in on the
Giordano family. Every day we are getting new evidence against
them. Unfortunately, nothing that we have is concrete. They have
proven to be a lot smarter than we anticipated. What we do know is
that they have eyes and ears in most of the government agencies,
though we cannot identify who the moles are. We would have to
triple our size to investigate all of the rumors. What we can do is
stay vigilant with our eyes open and ears to the ground. I want
each of you to pick a couple of precincts to visit and make contact
with the captains and their best officers. See if we get lucky and
pick up some information that could link the Giordanos to any local
crimes. Also, find out if there are any rumors flying about that we
should know. Good luck to all of you,” said John.

A short time later, Ed appeared at John
Connolly’s door. “No good on the wire tapping, sir,” reported
Ed.

“Damn! How are we supposed to get these
bastards if we can’t even get a simple wiretap installed?” he
screamed.

“Sir, how about another attempt at
infiltrating their organization?” Ed asked.

John looked at Ed, and memories of the
funeral services for the two slain undercover officers came vividly
to his mind. “I can’t. I can’t ask another young officer to risk
his life. We already lost two. Two, too many,” he said.

“Yes, sir, I understand,” replied Ed.

Over the next few days, reports were coming
in from all over. Precincts were reporting that a $25,000 reward
was posted for any information about the judge. Also, and to
everyone’s surprise, they were searching for a 1984, black
four-door Accord.

Agent John Connolly was envious of how
quickly the Giordano family had the information out on the street.
He knew that it would only be a matter of time before they found
the judge and the other agents. John called O’Malley instructing
him to let Tyler know, if he called in, that he has to ditch the
car as soon as possible. John had advised Sheila to call in every
few days so that they could bring her up to date on any new
developments. She was to use a pay phone and never to divulge her
present location.

Everyone was on pins and needles as the
information continued to pour in.

June
5, 1984 (New Jersey)

Nick remained in his room for most of the
time as he went over all of his options before deciding to venture
out as Neal Galuchi. He contemplated changing his disguise but that
would entail replacing all of his identification, which he did not
have on him. He could revert back to Robert Edwards, but that would
leave a trail from the airport to wherever he was, a risk he wasn’t
willing to take. Finally, he decided to remain disguised as Neal
Galuchi, and in the worst-case scenario, he would have to dump his
present disguise, get rid of all of his IDs, and become a bum
making his way back to San Francisco. His gut feeling warned him to
be extra careful.

Moving on, he decided to drive approximately
130 miles down to Pleasantville where he knew of a contact by the
name of Eric Shamoski that might be able to help him get some tools
of the trade. Nick had never dealt with Eric, but he had heard of
him through his various contacts. Nick decided to go right down
there and pay him a visit without calling first. Jay had mentioned
Eric once in passing conversation; he said he didn’t trust the guy.
Always in for the money and quality was not high on his list. Since
Nick was only interested in a couple of handguns, he wasn’t
concerned about having anything special made.

With the judge being protected and all, it
would be hard to set up in any location where he could use a rifle,
so a handgun with a silencer would have to be the tool of choice.
He would have to come within fifty feet of him, shoot, and be able
to escape. It had been done before, but every job presented new
challenges. Nothing he couldn’t handle, Nick thought to
himself.

Arriving at 1015 North Main Street, Nick
pulled over to the curb and parked the car a block away from the
gun shop. It being a workday, the streets were relatively empty,
except for a few window-shoppers. Nick got out of the car and
proceeded north on Main Street. Reaching the front of the shop, he
peered in, and seeing the shop empty of customers, went right
in.

Behind a counter was a balding man who
appeared to be about five feet tall, weighing approximately 125
pounds. “Can I help you, sir?” he asked Nick.

“Maybe. A friend of mine recommended your
shop,” Nick responded. “Are you Eric Shamoski?”

“Yes, I am,” the man replied. “Oh, and who
was this friend of yours that recommended me?”

“His name is F. U. Shmuck,” answered
Nick.

Eric stared at the six-foot man in front of
him and, in a second, knew not to push the matter further. Nick had
removed his dark glasses, and his cold eyes told Eric all he needed
to know. Don’t fuck with this guy, thought Eric to himself, but
what he said was, “Sir, whatever you need. I am sure I can help
you”

“I am looking for a good handgun with the
proper silencer. One that cannot be heard by anyone close by,” Nick
told Eric.

“I see. You planning on a hit or something?”
asked Eric smiling. Nick gave Eric a cold stare and said nothing as
a hot flash went though Eric’s body. At that moment, Nick felt like
grabbing this fuck’s head and shoving a fist down his throat.

“No, nothing so dramatic,” responded Nick as
he controlled his words. “You got what I need or not?” Nick got a
little irritated.

Eric felt his stomach turn as he realized he
fucked up royally. He saw Nick’s eyes turn red and his fist clench.
He knew he fucked up and now had to make up for it, real fast. “Uh
. . . I didn’t mean anything by it. You know inside joke. I say
that to my customers all the time,” said Eric, trying to defuse the
situation with humor.

“I get it,” Nick responded.

“Well, let me see, here,” Eric said, looking
down at the counter in front of him, a little shaken. “I . . . I
don’t have anything here, but I am sure I have something in the
back. Please give me a minute,” he told Nick. Nick nodded as he
went about looking around the shop.

Eric disappeared into the back room, feeling
somewhat relieved that his stupidity did not cost him his life.
This fucker was no one to kid with. What the hell was I thinking,
he thought to himself. He gathered his wits about him, and after a
short period, Eric returned carrying a few boxes.

Just then, two customers came into the store.
Eric looked up and told them he would be right with them. Nick
looked at Eric, once more a little annoyed with Eric’s behavior.
“Take care of them first. I’m in no hurry,” Nick advised Eric.

“Oh . . . um . . . yes, of course,” Eric
responded.

Nick stared for a second at Eric. “I’ll be
right back.”

“Umm, sure no problem,” responded Eric.

Nick walked back to his car and got in, sat
there while he watched the front of the shop. After a few minutes,
the two that had entered the gun shop left. Now that the shop was
empty, Nick walked back to the shop.

Closing the door behind him, he turned the
Open sign over so that the Closed sign now appeared in the door
window. Eric, seeing what Nick had done, nodded his approval. “I am
so sorry. Not used to dealing with your type of clientele,” Eric
apologized.

“No problem. I understand,” responded Nick.
Eric showed Nick two sets of guns, a 1984 .32 H&R magnum and a
.38 special caliber S&W revolver, both in excellent condition
with top-of-the-line silencers.

Nick was impressed with the quality of both
guns and decided to take them both. Eric was pleased with the
transaction as Nick was quite generous. Still feeling somewhat
uncomfortable, Nick turned to Eric before leaving and said in a
cold, flat voice, “If you intend to continue in this line of
business, may I suggest that you behave in a more professional
manner. Otherwise deal with the consequences.”

Eric stared at Nick’s cold eyes without
flinching as he finished making his statement and left the shop.
His cold eyes and mannerism left Eric seriously wondering if the
cost of doing business with these kinds of people was really worth
it. That night Eric would not sleep well, not sleep well at
all.

Nick arrived back in Newark, and for the next
several hours went over the interaction between himself and Eric
Shamoski, finally making up his mind that unnecessary risk was
unacceptable in his line of work. There was no room for error and
that was key to his survival.

A Change of Heart

June 6, 1984

The next morning, Eric Shamoski awoke with a
scream. He dreamed that there were people chasing him with guns and
knives. It was horrible. His wife, Irene, was startled out of her
sleep with Eric’s outburst.

“What’s the matter with you? You scared the
crap out of me,” she screamed at him.

“There’s something I gotta tell you. Got to
tell someone. But . . . but you have to promise not to tell anyone.
Promise me first,” he begged her.

Eric and Irene had been married for over
twenty years, and she knew when something was really wrong, when
something was bothering him. And this had every indication that
something was wrong. “Sure, sure, honey, what is it?” she asked,
now concerned.

“This guy came into the shop, and I sold him
a gun, illegally” he responded.