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  Dewey had one more tape for us. At first there were the usual irrelevant phone calls and conversations in the room. Dewey fast-forwarded to a call from Charlie Moon to Domenic Scarluci. The voice was distraught and crying, and then we heard, “They killed him. They shot my Bobby down like a dog. Twelve shots, his face, his chest. Who did this to my boy? Who could do this? Why? Who? I’ll find them. I’ll kill them myself. Help me, Domenic. Help me find them. Help me kill them … I have to go, his mother won’t stop crying … she’s sick … the doctor is here.”

  The next sounds were from the room; someone walked in to talk with Domenic. A steady voice said, “I know you’ve heard about Bobby Moon. They gunned him down, Domenic, but there’s more, and it’s worse. They’ve got Lisa Marie. She’s working for them now. She gave them the drugs. She gave them Bobby Moon. Her name is all over the warrants. They did Charlie’s house this morning. They have him on possession and conspiracy to sell eleven kilos. They have his whole operation. They know everything because Lisa Marie gave it to them.”

  “That’s impossible! It can’t be!” Domenic responded violently. “That’s impossible! You should have known, why didn’t you tell me?”

  The voice answered, “It’s true, she’s a junkie. It’s worse, everyone thinks you cut Charles’s buy from Manchester and cheated him out of over two hundred thousand dollars. People are coming for you, Domenic. There’s going to be war. It’ll be a blood bath. You don’t stand a chance.”

  “That’s not possible,” Domenic replied. “No one could do this to me. How could they do it and I not know? This is impossible. Who is doing this? The police? The FBI? They can’t do this. I can beat this.”

  “It’s over, Domenic. They’ve got everything. You can’t fight them. It’s not us. If it was NYPD I would have known about it. I review these types of investigations, and I would have told you. It’s worse. It’s not the FBI. It’s 90 Church. You know what those people are like. They have Lisa Marie; they’re fucking her, they have you, and both families are going to kill each other. I’m sorry for you and the Moon family. Only 90 Church could do something like this.”

  The tape stopped and everyone looked at Kyle. Kyle just stared at the table, shaking his head, then he said, “I know who this crooked cocksucker is, he’s a lieutenant, his name is Sprague. Don’t worry I’ll get him.”

  As Silkey began to cue up the tape machine for the next round of calls, I began to think how perfectly the case had been executed. We had Lisa Marie, caught trying to sell me eleven kilos. Her father would try to save her and become our informant. We had Manchester for selling drugs and cheating on a drug deal to the Genovese family. He would live only as long as Michael needed him. We had started a Mafia war that would destroy two crime families and their whole drug operation. The impact on drug trafficking and organized crime was huge. Kyle would get the crooked cop named Sprague. Everything was legal and ready to go to court – although no one, not even me, would be telling the truth. How could I possibly explain why I tried to sell eleven kilos of stolen heroin to Lisa Marie or how we cheated the Mafia by cutting the heroin?

  Pike and I were heroes, but the great irony in this case was that Michael’s apprentice, Dewey, the boy agent who could not answer a single question on any case, was hardly even mentioned in any of the reports. It was outrageous to remember that on Dewey’s last job performance Pike had written, Agent Dwight Paris lacks initiative and needs a better understanding of investigation techniques. And Michael – who taught, encouraged, and manipulated everyone – was never mentioned at all.

  Silkey got the machine started again. The next sound we heard was Lisa Marie’s voice. “Papa, Papa.” And then Domenic said, “The heroin, the eleven keys! You set that up, and now Bobby. Charlie called me. They murdered Bobby. They shot him in the street, over and over. Imagine his mother. It was you, Lisa Marie.”

  “No, Papa, no.”

  “Yes, it was you. Do you know who you are playing with, Lisa? 90 Church. 90 Church! Do you understand, 90 Church?” Then he screamed, “Your boyfriend was 90 Church, 90 Church!”

  “No, Papa, I’ll work it out. I’ll straighten it out! I know what to do. It’s not that bad. I’ll fight back. I’ll win, Papa. You’ll see.”

  “No. Lisa, no! Everyone thinks I cheated my partners, my friends. I’m dead. They’ll get me.”

  “Papa, you’re not going to stop me! I’m fighting back. I’ll get them. I don’t need you.”

  All of a sudden there was a gunshot. Then a second. We all looked at each other. The silence continued, followed by uncontrollable sobbing, on and on, crying and sobbing. On and on the sobbing went, and then there was a long silence – and then a single gunshot.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SETTLING IN

  ILLUSIONS

  The next weekend all my twisted stories and lies about 90 Church came apart. Daisy loved my version of the story of the Scarluci and Moon case. I told her how I had turned Lisa Marie into an informant, and how I developed information to get a wiretap that led to the arrest of Charlie Moon to end his drug organization. I showed Daisy copies of my official report to prove it was really me working as a secret undercover agent, and explained how I had sent Lisa Marie and her father into a witness protection program for their safety. It said they were part of the Genovese family and Bobby Moon worked with Joe Valachi. From the twisted story I told her, Daisy thought Pike and Blanker were heroes working side by side with me, and that Michael and Dewey should be fired.

  The newspapers came out and reported the whole story exactly like I told her. It had pictures of Pike and Blanker holding up bags of heroin and referring to a “brilliant young undercover agent who developed the information to make the case on two Mafia families.”

  Daisy was proud of me. We went shopping and held hands with Mark. At last our relationship was coming back together. As we passed a carpet store I pulled Daisy inside. Our apartment had rough wood floors and was always cold. I chose the best carpet they had and arranged for installation the following Monday. I reached in my pocket and pulled out a couple hundred dollars and paid for it in full.

  Daisy was quiet on the walk back home. We stopped to buy groceries and a newspaper. When we got back to the apartment, and I was pacing off where the rug would be, she said, “Tell me, where did you get all of the money? Sometimes there’s thousands of dollars lying on the dresser in the morning, in bundles, or loose. I find hundred-dollar bills in your pants when I do the wash. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “What do you mean? It’s government money. Money they give me to work with, to buy drugs. That’s what I do.”

  I could see the look in her eyes as she stared at me. “They give you the money? Who is they, and were you on a case today when you bought the rug?”

  I was starting to get defensive. “The Bureau, and Michael and Dewey. It’s traveling money.”

  “Dewey and Michael give you money? Why would they give you money?”

  I felt trapped. “They give me money – for the cabs and drinks; it’s expensive being undercover. And the Bureau gives me money too. Pike gave me seventy-five thousand dollars for the buy. There’s money all over the office. Don’t worry, I have to account for every dime, it all goes into the official government report.”

  Now Daisy was angry. “Michael and Dewey, who do nothing, give you money? Money to get home. Money for you to drink with? They hand you money like you’re a waiter or bellhop? They tip you?”

  Daisy didn’t say anything more. Mark took a nap and she began reading the newspaper. I was glad the whole money scene was over and relaxed on the couch. About twenty minutes later, Daisy started in again. “Where do you think Lisa Marie and her father are now? You said you put them in witness protection. Pennsylvania, Arizona, Utah? Where do you think they went for protection?”

  It was a strange question. Her fingers were straight, holding the newspaper, and her eyes were blinking; she stared through me like I wasn’t even there.

  “My goodness
,” she said. “No wonder you need money for expenses.” She handed me the paper and left the room.

  It was folded to the local news section. The headline read, Father, daughter, murder suicide, with a picture of Lisa Marie and Domenic. The article said the deaths occurred three days earlier, but was withheld from the press pending a federal drug investigation. It described how the father became distraught when he learned that his daughter had been involved with a federal drug agent and was forced to turn on her own family.

  Despite all my lies, Daisy tried desperately to hold us together – but week after week passed, with leftover dinners piled up in the refrigerator. Once I told her I would be home at five for dinner, but it was after midnight by the time I finally walked in the door. Daisy had fallen asleep on the living-room floor, waiting for me. As I tiptoed past her I saw her face had streaks of mascara and black circles around her eyes from crying. She woke up, looked at me, covered her face and lay back down on the floor and went to sleep instead of sharing the bed with me. I had lied to her, broken our bond of truth. I couldn’t help her. We were now too distant. I realized how awful it was for her. Never again would I attempt to tell her about the cases, which had grown so strange and complicated that even I had trouble figuring out what I was doing. I knew that Michael and Dewey were wrong, very wrong and that someday I would have to turn them in.

  THE TRIP

  I soon got a reprieve from Daisy’s anger and resentment when Pike sent me out of town for a few days to work undercover in upstate New York. The Federal Bureau of Narcotics was more than just an intelligence resource to other law-enforcement agencies; it often advanced money for drug buys and even lent undercover agents to work with local cops. Each group at 90 Church took turns handling these requests. My reputation had grown in the past two years, so I was asked to work with the police department in Millbrook, New York. Pike said they wanted an undercover agent to make a buy on a dealer selling dope to tourists in the mountains. The community was so small that the drug dealer knew all of the cops so an undercover buy was not possible unless done by someone from the outside. I looked forward to leaving the city and not worrying about coming home at night. The dealer, Eric, sold a variety of drugs – heroin, cocaine, and LSD – from a bar he owned. Pike decided that I should pose as a “biker” type since I rode motorcycles in college and we had a Harley-Davidson Sportster in the government car pool. The plan was for me to take the bike, drive to Millbrook, make contact with the local police, and set up the buy.

  Early the next morning, I checked out the motorcycle from the motor pool and headed north on winding roads lined with trees and farms and lakes. It was fun, roaring down the highway through the cool, crisp, clean air. By mid-afternoon I found Eric’s bar in a resort area by a lake surrounded by woods. I decided to stop for lunch at Eric’s restaurant. It was small, but surprisingly upscale, with a well-stocked bar. I was hot and hungry from my ride.

  My waitress, Sandy, was pretty with very little makeup, unlike the girls I was used to seeing in the city. The bar was empty so we talked a lot. I’d had a long hot ride and needed to cool off. I asked her if there was a place close by where I could swim. She told me to ride back down the highway for about a mile and I would see a small dirt road on the left that was chained off. She said the bike could easily drive around the barrier and that I should follow the road to the lakeshore where I would find a great place to swim in private.

  I had no trouble maneuvering the motorcycle around the chain and found the lakeshore just as she described it. I took off my clothes and dove into the cool dark lake. In less than a half hour, I looked up at the bank and saw Sandy in a bathing suit, smiling. She seemed to enjoy catching me swimming naked. She dove in, giggling and laughing as she swam close to me. The attraction was instant. I told her I was looking for Eric to buy some drugs. She said I was stupid to be involved in such things but it didn’t seem to matter to her. I wanted to see her later that evening and knew it was just a question of when and where. I had already cheated on Daisy once, so another time didn’t seem to matter. Somehow it was just part of the job.

  Later that afternoon I left my bike in a quiet street and headed to the Millbrook police station to meet the local police chief. He was fat, with red sores on his face, and his uniform was covered with all sorts of sewn-on patches for First Aid, Marksmanship, etc. He smiled as he told me about Eric’s drug dealing and introduced me to a teenager named Jesse, who had been arrested for burglary. He was willing to rat on Eric for a reduced sentence. It bothered me that the fat police chief kept smiling as he talked about Eric. I could not forget Michael’s warning about not trusting people who smile at the wrong time so I began to worry. Jesse would tell Eric that I was a drug dealer from New Jersey and a friend of his older brother who was in the Army. I needed a new drug source because my connection had been busted.

  That night Jesse took me to a house party on the lake where I met Eric. The guests were mostly tourists and almost everyone was doing pot or coke. I told Eric that I wanted to make a score of heroin. He said he had no heroin, but he did have cocaine and LSD. I guessed that Eric’s source was someone in New York City. So when he asked me about a lot of places where drug dealers hang out in the Bronx and lower Manhattan I was ready with the right answers. Then we snorted a line of coke together. After that he was absolutely convinced that I was a dealer.

  I called Sandy and left the party early, riding my motorcycle through the dark to a house on the lake where she was house sitting. It was a beautiful house, with a big front porch that overlooked the lake. We necked on the porch then went inside to make love in the master bedroom. Later I called Daisy and told her I wouldn’t be home for a couple of days. She was okay with it. Lying to her was easy, just like the lies I told every day on the job.

  The next day, we went boating and sunbathing. I called Eric and told him that I was ready to make a buy of cocaine. He said he would like to wait another day, which was fine with me. Sandy and I went for a ride on the motorcycle through the hills north of Millbrook and Poughkeepsie, and down the winding roads of Connecticut. I drove past Candlestick Lake, where Mark fell in and Daisy got muddy pulling him out of the water. That memory seemed to be about someone else, not me. We stopped for dinner and then went back to the house to make love again. Being with her felt so natural that I forgot about my past or what I was doing.

  I dropped Sandy off at her apartment and met with the fat, swearing, smiling police chief to report my progress. They were delighted that I could make a buy so soon and pointed out that if it took place at Eric’s house, they could go in, arrest him, and search and seize all of his drugs – so a second buy wouldn’t be necessary.

  I called Dewey and Ed Silkey and told them to bring three thousand dollars in government funds since I would be making the buy tomorrow night. Again I spent the next day with Sandy on the lake and told her that I wanted to continue seeing her. She hoped that I would stop buying drugs and “get a decent job.” I wasn’t ready to tell her that I was a federal agent, but planned to tell her everything when the time was right. That evening Dewey and Ed met me in town with the three thousand dollars. I told them that the plan was for me to go to Eric’s house, buy the drugs, return, and give the drugs to the police chief. After the buy I would meet them at an intersection a mile from Eric’s house, then they would raid his house, arrest him and I would get the government money back.

  As planned, I went to Eric’s house in the woods. We talked for a while and smoked a joint. Then Eric gave me two ounces of cocaine and I gave him the money. I told him I was going back to Jersey that night. He thought I should stay over with him because it was beginning to thunder and cloud up. I said no and left to meet Dewey and Silkey with the local police. I showed them the drugs and they sped off down the road to raid Eric’s house. Then I drove to Eric’s bar and waited. About a half hour later I heard sirens. An ambulance roared up the dirt road toward Eric’s house.

  Soon it came back out, but without flashing li
ghts or sirens. A few minutes later Dewey and Silkey came into the bar. Silkey said, “The crazy fucking police chief shot Eric. He opened the door, and he shot him. The kid never knew what hit him.”

  Dewey shook his head. “There was drug money all over the place and the police helped themselves. We were lucky to get our three thousand dollars back. Eric did have a gun, so the police will claim they shot in self-defense, but it was a botched amateur job. No one should have gotten hurt. These people didn’t like Eric. It was a set-up. They were looking for a reason to kill him. They just shot him.”

  It had begun raining and by now everybody in the bar knew what had happened. One of the policemen joined us and tried to apologize. He said the whole town was talking about it. I asked the cop if he knew Sandy. The cop nodded, “Sure, Sandy is Eric’s sister.”

  I was stunned, but I knew Sandy hated drugs and hoped that once I explained what had happened, maybe she wouldn’t blame me. I called her at home. One of the local cops had already called her so she knew about Eric and the drug raid. She said sooner or later she knew this would happen. She also knew who I really was and understood everything. I felt relieved that I didn’t have to tell her. I said I wanted to see her before I left. She told me to come back to the house on the lake.

  Dewey and Ed had each taken a government car because Dewey refused to ride with Silkey. Although the rain had stopped, I took Ed’s car, since I didn’t want to risk riding a motorcycle if it started to rain again.