Michael looked in the small mirror on the wall, combed back his hair, straightened his tie, and went out to meet the two FBI agents.
Judge Lawrence Waldman came through, as Michael had known he would. At the preliminary hearing, an attorney selected by Judge Waldman requested bail, and it was set at five hundred thousand dollars.
Di Silva stood there, angry and frustrated, as Michael Moretti walked out of the courtroom.
58
Nick Vito was a man of limited intelligence. His value to the Organization lay in the fact that he followed orders without question and that he carried them out efficiently. Nick Vito had been up against guns and knives dozens of times, but he had never known fear. He knew it now. Something was happening that was beyond his understanding, and he had a feeling that somehow he was responsible for it.
All day he had been hearing about the raids that were taking place, the sweeping arrests that were being made. The street talk was that there was a traitor loose, someone high up in the Organization. Even with his limited intellect, Nick Vito was able to connect the fact that he had let Thomas Colfax live and that, shortly afterward, someone had started betraying the Family to the authorities. Nick Vito knew that it could not be Salvatore Fiore or Joseph Colella. The two men were like brothers to him and they were both as fanatically loyal to Michael Moretti as he was. But there was no way he could ever explain that to Michael, not without getting himself chopped into small pieces; because the only other one who could be responsible was Thomas Colfax, and Colfax was supposed to be dead.
Nick Vito was in a dilemma. He loved the Little Flower and the giant. Fiore and Colella had done him dozens of favors in the past, just as Thomas Colfax had; but he had helped Colfax out of a jam, and look what it had gotten him. So Nick Vito decided he was not going to be softhearted again. It was his own life he had to protect now. Once he killed Fiore and Colella, he would be in the clear. But because they were like brothers to him, he would see that they died quickly.
It was simple for Nick Vito to determine their whereabouts, for they always had to be available in case Michael needed them. Little Salvatore Fiore was visiting his mistress’s apartment on 83rd Street near the Museum of Natural History. Nick knew that Salvatore always left there at five o’clock to go home to his wife. It was now three. Nick debated with himself. He could either hang around the front of the apartment building or go upstairs and take Salvatore inside the apartment. He decided he was too nervous to wait. The fact that he was nervous made Nick Vito more nervous. The whole thing was beginning to get to him. When this is over, he thought, I’m gonna ask Mike for a vacation. Maybe I’ll take a couple of young girls and go down to the Bahamas. Just thinking about that made him feel better.
Nick Vito parked his car around the corner from the apartment house and walked up to the building. He let himself in the front door with a piece of celluloid, ignored the elevator and walked up the stairs to the third floor. He moved toward the door at the end of the corridor, and when he reached it he pounded on it.
“Open up! Police!”
He heard quick sounds from behind the door and a few moments later it opened on a heavy chain and he could see the face and part of the naked figure of Marina, Salvatore Fiore’s mistress.
“Nick!” she said. “You crazy idiot. You scared the hell out of me.”
She took the chain off the door and opened it. “Sal, it’s Nick!”
Little Salvatore Fiore walked in from the bedroom, naked. “Hey, Nicky boy! What the fuck you doin’ here?”
“Sal, I got a message for you from Mike.”
Nick Vito raised a .22 automatic with a silencer and squeezed the trigger. The firing pin slammed into the .22 caliber cartridge, sending the bullet out of the muzzle at a thousand feet a second. The first bullet shattered the bridge of Salvatore Fiore’s nose. The second bullet put out his left eye. As Marina opened her mouth to scream, Nick Vito turned and put a bullet in her head. As she fell to the floor, he put one more bullet in her chest, to make certain. It’s a waste of a beautiful piece of ass, Nick thought, but Mike wouldn’t like it if I left any witnesses around.
Big Joseph Colella owned a horse that was running in the eighth race at Belmont Park in Long Island. Belmont was a one-and-one-half-mile track, the perfect length for the filly that the giant was running. He had advised Nick to bet on it. In the past, Nick had won a lot on Colella’s tips. Colella always put a little money on for Nick when his horses ran. As Nick Vito walked toward Colella’s box, he thought regretfully about the fact that there would be no more tips. The eighth race had just started. Colella was standing up in his box, cheering his horse on. It was a large-purse race and the crowd was screaming and yelling as the horses rounded the first turn.
Nick Vito stepped into the box behind Colella and said, “How you doin’, pal?”
“Hey, Nick! You got here just in time. Beauty Queen’s gonna win this one. I put a little bet on it for you.”
“That’s great, Joe.”
Nick Vito pressed the .22 caliber gun against Joseph Colella’s spine and fired three times through his coat. The muffled noise went unnoticed in the cheering crowd. Nick watched Joseph Colella slump to the ground. He debated for an instant whether to take the pari-mutuel tickets out of Colella’s pocket, then decided against it. After all, the horse could lose.
Nick Vito turned and unhurriedly walked toward the exit, one anonymous figure among thousands.
Michael Moretti’s private line rang.
“Mr. Moretti?”
“Who wants him?”