Assault on Soho
"I'll give it a try."
    "I say bullshit," Castiglione coldly commented. "I already tried that route. Trying to get next to Bolan, I mean. I sent him a nigger friend. He sent me back a planeload of dead soldiers."
    "I still think it's worth a try," Staccio insisted.
    "All right, let's talk it up this way," Marinello suggested. "Arnie, you head up the contract campaign. You'll have Nick Trigger as your number one boy, and you sure can't complain about that. You also got Danno and his crew. You add whatever else you think you need, and you go after Bolan's ass. Joe, you take whatever you need and go after his
head
. How about it? Does it make sense? I'm asking all of you, now. What do you think?"
    "I still say bullshit," said Arnie Farmer. "But I'll go along with it, even if it is dumb… if that's what everyone wants. But understand this. I take no responsibility for what happens to Joe or this Leo the Pussy.
    We'll just get in each other's way, and my boys are going to be shooting first and talking afterwards."
    "Why do you keep saying it's dumb?" Staccio asked.
    "Because," Castiglione replied, "if this Leo can get next to Bolan, he can get there also with a gun in his hand… and I don't see—"
    "What you don't see is that Bolan is more than a common rodman. That boy has a sixth sense about this stuff. I been studying him, ever since Miami. I keep thinking about the Talifero brothers. Also I just can't forget this fantastic stuff he pulled off at Palm Springs, against Deej and his boys. He's got something going for him, I don't know what. But you got to remember, every cop in the world is after this boy's ass, just like us. And he keeps dancing away from them just like he does us. It's a sixth sense, that's what, and he can smell a trap two days before he gets to it. He's—"
    The boss from New Jersey interrupted with quiet laughter. "Maybe he uses black magic, Joe," he said. "He puts on this black suit and turns into a devil or something."
    Another man at that table shivered and said, "Shit, don't even kid about that."
    "What I'm saying," Staccio went on grimly, "is that I have to go into this thing with a very sincere approach. No tricks, no traps, straight all the way. The horse race ends the minute I make contact. We got to get that straight right now. And whatever I make with Bolan, I make with all the authority of the full council. It's got to be like a contract hit—all the families have got to honor it. That means everybody, not just us here now, but all of us, and that means also Arnie the Farmer Castiglione and the Virginia bluebloods."
    Marinello had been watching Castiglione during the speech. He nodded, his eyes still on the man from Virginia, and said, "Our word is our honor, Joe, like always."
    "Okay, just so we all understand that. Otherwise, if I got doubts myself, then Bolan will tumble to it, and then Joe Staccio is in one bad spot."
    Castiglione smiled wryly and observed, "I believe Joe is superstitious."
    "No, he's right," Marinello said. "I go along with that, Joe. If we can come to an agreement here, between us, then we'll set up a telephone conference with the others and we'll get it all ironed out. So what do we say. Are we agreed to try it?"
    "We gotta know the terms and the details, Augie," Pennsylvania said.
    "Well we got all night to knock it around, huh?" Marinello replied.
    "Let's talk my end first," Castiglione suggested. "I'm already thinned out over Bolan. I'd like to have a crew from each family, and that means they pay their own way, too."
    "I'll loan you Jimmy Potatoes and his crew," Pennsylvania shot back.
    "I'll send Tommy Thompson and company," said Marinello.
    "Scooter Rizzo," chimed in another New York boss.
    "Okay, that's great," Castiglione said. "When you set up that phone council, I'll want talent from each of them, too."
    Marinello solemnly nodded his head. "Okay. This is a great approach. Now let's talk about the other end. How do you figure we can support your effort,

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