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  Finally Michael said, “Agent Silkey is very sloppy. His reports tend to be incomplete. I think he drinks too much. I’ve been meaning to talk to him. It could affect his testimony.”

  Aggi sat stone-faced and stared down at his lunch being devoured by what would have looked to him like a crazy smiling teenager who was already halfway through the bottle of wine.

  Michael continued, “Joe needs to go to Syracuse University, not Attica. He’d make a good teacher, don’t you think?”

  Michael wrote a name on a napkin and pushed it across the table. Then he got up and said, “Thank you for seeing us. I know you’re busy.” Dewey wiped his chin and said, “Good wine, good cheese, but the rolls need less garlic.” Dewey took the bottle of wine with him.

  As we left I heard Aggi say, “You people go too far, you go too far. We have people who can reach you.”

  A few days later Michael received an “anonymous letter” with detailed information on a drug smuggler named Henri Manasso. It was the name Michael wrote on the napkin, the one originally provided by Edmond Manchester. The unsigned letter was sent, of course, by Aggi Angelici as part of his deal with Michael to save his son. It said Henri Manasso would be coming into the United States and that Customs should search him.

  A week later Henri Manasso was arrested with ten kilos of uncut heroin when he entered the United States on a flight from Paris to Atlanta. Silkey received a letter of reprimand for reporting the wrong date in his arrest report and an improper search and seizure. Joe Angelici’s case was dropped and he was off to college.

  Michael and I interviewed Henri Manasso with George Blanker. Half French and half Cuban, Manasso looked like a weightlifter dressed in a silk business suit. He had cold staring eyes, manicured nails, and a gold bracelet around his wrist that was too tight to be removed. Manasso’s file showed that he had military training by the U.S. government and at one time was a CIA operative. He smiled at us like we were children.

  Michael explained the deal. If he worked with us and made cases in the United States and Europe we would forget about the smuggling and he would go free.

  Manasso grinned at Michael, and said, “You expect me to trust that? I never break my word, although I know you’ll break yours. Nevertheless, I propose that I walk out of here and come back in two weeks to make a deal. Or I’ll stand trial.”

  Michael said, “Okay. Good-bye, see you in two weeks.”

  Manasso got up, put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently, then walked out the door.

  Blanker was so angry his face turned redder than normal and he banged his fists on the table. “How can you trust him? You can’t do this! How do you know he’ll come back?”

  “Because,” Michael said, “he has something we don’t have: integrity.”

  During the meeting Dewey had gone through Manasso’s luggage and made photocopies of all his cards and papers. Michael looked at a business card and said, “He has a connection in Atlanta; it’s probably his lawyer, named Caldwell. Let’s hold on to this and find out.”

  RACHEL

  Only Michael and Dewey expected Manasso to return. Everyone else, including me, thought he was long gone to South America. I tailored my suits, bought fancy boots and slicked back my hair. With four lines of coke each day my confidence grew. I wanted my own case, this case. Everyone could see that Manasso liked me.

  About a week and a half after interviewing Manasso I went to Greenwich Village to meet Agents Louie Gomez and Jerry Ramirez at the Showboat. Sally, Michael’s ex-CIA snitch, was behind the bar and greeted me. Jerry was waiting for me. He had just finished a heroin buy with Louie in Spanish Harlem. Louie was farther down the bar trying to make it with a hot-looking Puerto Rican girl. While Jerry was not part of the Heidelberg meetings, he was a good undercover agent. However, because he didn’t have the help of agents like Dewey and Michael, Jerry’s cases were small nickel-bag buys – but still very dangerous because of the likelihood of being robbed.

  After a couple of drinks Jerry told me he was unhappy and thinking about resigning. “My wife can’t stand the job and I’m going nowhere. All I get are small cases. That’s all Pike and Blanker want, numbers! And you, you’re everyone’s hero. After pissing your pants and freezing on your first buy, we thought you’d be gone, everyone laughed at you. Now look at you, a big-shot agent – making big cases, going undercover all the time against the big guys.”

  “Who laughed at me?”

  “Pike, Louie, me, Blanker, everyone; it was funny when you pissed your pants.”

  “What about Dewey and Michael? Did they laugh, too?”

  “Michael didn’t laugh; he saved your job. Dewey didn’t laugh either; strange, he laughs at everything, but he didn’t laugh at you. Michael protects you – no one knows why. We know why Michael likes Dewey. Dewey is a homicidal maniac and the best shot in the Bureau. Michael uses Dewey for protection.”

  Jerry stared down into his drink as he continued. “No, Michael and Dewey didn’t laugh at you pissing your pants, and I shouldn’t have either. You were right to not sign the reports about the shooting. They were just trying to get Dewey. In the end, you stood up and told the truth, you wouldn’t lie on a government report. Everybody respects you for that. You’re an example of what a federal agent should be. I think Michael takes care of you because you stand up for the truth. I try to be like you. Look at this.” Jerry pulled back his suit jacket to show his gun tucked into his pants. It was exactly like mine, a blue-chrome Walther PPK with pearl grips. “I’m sorry I haven’t been a better friend … and I hope we work some cases together.”

  Before I could answer, Louie caused a scene at the bar. His girlfriend tried to hit him. He twisted her arm behind her back and dragged her out the door. I’d seen this before; he was going to fuck her in the back of the government car and in a half hour they’d be back – laughing, dancing, and all over each other like young lovers.

  Jerry looked at me with disgust, shook his head. “That’s it, I’m out of here. I meant what I said. I trust you, I’d like to work with you, just give me a chance.”

  I watched him walk out the door as I sat alone at the bar. Daisy had taken Mark to Chicago to visit her parents. She had called last night to say she was going to stay another week. I could still hear her voice in my ears, asking how I was, genuinely concerned. “I’m fine,” I had said. “How’s Mark?”

  “He’s fine,” she said. “He asks about you.”

  For a split second I imagined just leaving, going to meet her in Chicago and starting over, leaving the job like Jerry. Then I heard a woman’s voice say to me, “Everyone knows who you are.” She had come up from behind me and sat on the stool next to me. “Agent or not, I wouldn’t let anyone treat me like that. Who do you people think you are?”

  “Do you know what they’re doing right now?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she answered coldly. She was thin and tall with straight, shiny black hair. She wore black high-heeled boots that reached her knees, a black miniskirt and jacket with a white silk shirt open halfway down her chest, and red manicured nails. She was brazen, no-holds-barred, street sexy, but her eyes captured me – deep, dark, like the shiny black bandit look of a raccoon.

  She held her head high and spoke in a low raspy voice. “Everyone knows you. You and your agents come in here to drink and brag about your cases, and I know how undercover agent Louie the G treats his girls. You’re from 90 Church, aren’t you? Come here to play and show off and fuck the hot Spanish girls.” Despite her words, her tone was friendly and inviting.

  “You’re right, we’re 90 Church and there aren’t too many bars in this town where we can relax.”

  She smiled with perfect white teeth. “I’m sure you’re right. Do you want to dance?”

  The moment we touched, we both knew. We didn’t talk much. We just stared into each other’s eyes, my scarred face and her dark pools of hidden light. Her name was Rachel. She was a legal secretary and a translator with an international law firm
on Park Avenue. Besides perfect English, she spoke French and Spanish. She had come with her boss, who left with another girl, so she was alone. We danced and drank for about an hour. Then she asked me to drive her home.

  She lived in Riverdale, on the Yonkers border. I parked the car and she invited me up. Her apartment was lavish, with red leather couches and bright paintings and mirrors. The bedroom was all white with dark blue wall trim. There was a big bed with fluffy pillows. A pair of long black stockings was laid out on the top of the bed. It was the only item that was out of place in the entire apartment. As her outstretched arms presented the last room, she said, “Well, do you like it? And yes, I always keep it this neat. What would you like to drink?”

  “You and only you,” I answered as I took my jacket off. She looked at the bright blue automatic in the black leather holster under my armpit and said, “Would you mind? I think you’ll be safe here. Why don’t you put it with your jacket?”

  I took the holster off and rolled it in my jacket on a kitchen chair as she fixed herself a vodka tonic. “I don’t bring people here. I can’t believe I brought you. You’re a stranger and this is my private place.”

  I gently held the back of her neck and drew her to me and we kissed. She blushed, but I made her kiss me again, longer and harder. She hugged me and with our arms around each other we walked into the bedroom. At the side of the bed we stopped and kissed even harder, our tongues inside each other. Then she reached inside my pants, inside my underwear and grabbed my balls. She whispered in my ear, “All off, all off, everything. I have control of you now.” I began to undress as she held on, squeezing even harder if I slowed down. In just a few minutes I was naked and she was still squeezing; now it hurt, and I was starting to double over.

  “So what do you think comes next?” Her tone was different, harder. “You think I’m like the others, like Louie’s girls? Buy her a few drinks and fuck her, then good-bye till next time? Is that it?”

  She pushed me. I lost my balance and fell on the floor. I lay there on the floor naked and embarrassed. She laughed. “You’ll never have me. Look at you, naked at my feet. I would never let you fuck me, never!”

  As I started to get up, she pushed her boot on my neck, forcing me back to the floor. “Stop,” I said. “I thought –”

  “Stay on the floor where you belong. You thought? You thought what? That I wanted to fuck you? I’d have to be tied and helpless! You’re not man enough for me! Now get your clothes on and get out, go find yourself a weak whore you can slap around.” Then she pushed her foot harder on my neck.

  When she took her boot off my neck I exploded. Leaping up, I shoved her down on the bed and got on top of her. She fought back but I managed to tie her wrists to the bed rails with the black stockings. Then I began tearing off her clothes. She screamed and fought, twisting and kicking, but I unbuttoned her blouse and pulled her jacket and blouse up her arms to her wrists. Then I wrestled her kicking legs, trying to undo her skirt. She was crying and biting me, pleading for me to stop, but I kept on. I found the snaps for her skirt and yanked it with her panties down over her knees and boots and flung them across the room, then I stepped back, shocked by my own behavior.

  She was flat on her stomach, trying to hide her breasts, wearing only her black suede high-heeled boots. She lifted her head just enough to talk through her long hair, which covered most of her tear-streaked face and eyes. “Please don’t do this. I’m sorry for what I said. I don’t want this. Neither do you, not like this. Please don’t hurt me, let me go.” She buried her face, crying.

  I couldn’t believe things had gotten so far out of hand. Now I was ashamed. “Okay,” I whispered, “I’m sorry too.” As I moved toward her, reaching for the stockings around her wrists, she reared up on her knees and back-kicked me with her boot as hard as she could. Her high heel dug into my naked thigh, ripping through the skin and drawing blood. I lost my balance and fell down on one knee, holding the wound. Groaning in pain, I looked up at her tear-streaked face and her smile of satisfaction as she yanked on the black stockings, trying to get free.

  Raging out of control, I leaped on top of her, pushed her kicking legs aside and twisted her half over. I dug my face between her thighs, held on as hard as I could, and began licking. She fought back with all the strength and energy she had, bucking, kicking, twisting, crying. I held on with everything I had, licking harder and deeper. We rolled and bounced, fighting each other until she was so exhausted that she struggled to breathe. I could hardly hold on but then she finally stopped and lay motionless. We were both covered in sweat, and my tongue was aching.

  I slid my face up her stomach to find her mouth. I untied the stockings, as she raised herself and guided me into her. Stronger than any heroin, I was hooked on her and she knew it.

  SENIOR AGENT

  I took a vacation day and came back to Rachel’s apartment the next morning. Despite our truly bizarre first encounter we were in love. Our sex was passionate, not the constant stream of jokes and gags that I was used to with Daisy. Her sophistication and deep understanding was something I had never encountered before. She knew the complex dilemma I faced every day when I betrayed people while working undercover. I told her about Michael and Dewey and how I was losing all sense of what was right or wrong.

  We walked at night in Central Park through the cold dark footpaths. She had what Daisy could not give me: complete acceptance for what I was. It was okay that Dewey and Michael used me and that I was not quite strong enough to stand up to the corruption at 90 Church. But as she said, my day was coming, I needed to be ready.

  Two weeks from the day that we first met Manasso, and four days after meeting Rachael, I heard arguing in the office. George Blanker had just left the discussion and passed me as I came in to Group Two. Michael was yelling, “You’re going to get him killed! This is wrong. Can’t you see it?”

  They stopped when they saw me. I sensed they were talking about me. I asked what was going on. Pike said, “It’s Manasso. True to his word, he came in to see us this morning. He wants to make a deal. He’ll give us five major cases, and twenty kilos, but no overseas connections and, above all, no independent cases on any of his associates. And he will not testify. We have to make the court cases without him.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “That’s incredible. He can do all that.”

  Then Michael said, “Listen carefully, there’s one condition. He wants to work with you and only you, exclusively.”

  “Me? I only met him once.”

  “Don’t you see?” Michael yelled at Pike. “He’s picked the most inexperienced, weakest agent out of our first meeting so he can control everything.”

  Insulted, I said, “I can handle him.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael shot back. “Look at the man’s record. He eats assholes like you for lunch. Dewey says he’s totally independent. He’s smart, he’s savvy, he’s connected, he’s trained, and he’s an international killer. He will find a way to beat us.”

  “What did Blanker say?” I asked.

  “Blanker doesn’t even know you,” Michael said. “Blanker just wants nickel bags off the street with his meatball cases. He doesn’t give a fuck about you.”

  “Michael, give me a chance,” I pleaded. “I’ll work with you every step, not like the Noodles case. I won’t be alone. We can win here; let him and everyone else think I’m running the show. It’ll give us an advantage.”

  Michael stared down at the floor and said, “You don’t understand. When he came in this morning I studied him through the mirror for about fifteen minutes. He’s the most dangerous man I’ve ever seen. He’s going to kill us all.”

  “No, he won’t. He’s just another bad guy. We can handle him. If you don’t let me do it I’ll go to Blanker.”

  Michael shook his head, and handed me a telephone number. “Call him, but remember his deal.”

  I met Manasso alone at a French restaurant in midtown that same d
ay. He didn’t pat me down for a body wire or look around to see if we were being watched. He shook my hand and ordered lunch for both of us, speaking in French to the waiter. Finally I asked why he chose me to work with.

  “It’s very simple.” He smiled. “Your agent, Pike, is a sadistic buffoon. Your senior agent, Blanker, is a hopeless alcoholic. Michael Giovanni is very dangerous, very dangerous indeed. He’s used to betraying people. He does it every day. He can’t be trusted; his craft is deception. You are young, intelligent – but above all, you are honorable. You’ll keep your word and our deal. I trust you. You’re always searching for what is right.” I felt proud of myself. I couldn’t wait to tell Rachel.

  The next day the whole office knew that Manasso had chosen me. Blanker called me into his office and said I could work with anyone I wanted, and have any resource – money, surveillance, taps, hotel suites – I needed. This was a big opportunity for the Bureau: at least twenty kilos of heroin. Blanker said he had confidence in me although I knew he couldn’t remember my name until yesterday. I told Blanker I wanted Dewey Paris, Jerry Ramirez, Ed Silkey, and Michael to help me. I knew he hated Michael and Dewey, but he reluctantly agreed. Everything they were working on would be put on hold, to await my orders. They were all working for me now. Dewey, Michael and I met privately in a small conference room to plan our strategy. Michael asked Dewey. “What have your file toads dug up on our man?”

  Dewey thumbed through a thin file. “Not much, only at this point that he sells heroin to a lawyer named Caldwell in Atlanta. Manasso was carrying his business card, for Christ’s sake! Caldwell doesn’t have a record, but he’s all over the local wiretap chatter. I think he’s harmless, but he hires some nasty hillbillies to do his dirty work and take all the risks. I don’t think Atlanta is worth our time.”

  Michael agreed. “You’re probably right, and we made a deal with Manasso: no cases on his associates. Let’s stick to the deal. No Atlanta.”