Read Online Frame-Up by John F. Dobbyn - Free Book Online Page B

the phone. He’ll work with people he can trust in the federal system. We can get Peter protective custody in the federal witness protection program. You must know from experience that even you can’t break that security.”
    I recalled witnesses whose testimony had put two of Don Santangelo’s capos in prison. They might not have lived to testify if the don had been able to breach the security of the federal witness protection program. Mr. Devlin added a final point.
    â€œHear me, Dom. I’ve seen to it that the report of Peter’s death will be in every newspaper and television newscast by tonight. Even the DA’s office, with the exception of Billy Coyne, doesn’t know that Peter’s alive. We can have him in safe quarters before we put out the truth. It’ll take one call. If we delay, we could lose that advantage.”
    We all looked at the man who had built an empire and beaten the odds against staying alive by trusting no one outside of his professional family. I believe it would have weighed less heavily on his mind if it had been his own life at stake instead of his son’s.
    It was clear to us all that Santangelo was turning over the option of smuggling his son out of the country into friendly hands, probably in Sicily. We also knew that while it might have kept his son alive, it would deprive him of a life. Peter was an American with a promising future after college. There was no such future in Sicily.
    We all looked at Santangelo, but the first one to speak was Peter.
    â€œLet’s go, Uncle Lex. We’ll try it your way.”
    We still looked to Santangelo, who had his arm on Peter’s shoulder. He looked at Peter, but he spoke to us. I could see him straining under the words.
    â€œPeter is twenty-two-years-old. He’s a man now. A man makes his own decisions. One thing. Word of this goes no further than this room, and Mr. Coyne, and the federal agents in the program until Peter’s safety is secured. Do we have your sacred word on that?”
    We all agreed.
    Mr. Devlin made the call to Billy who had already made the arrangements. The federal authorities were willing to cooperate in exchange for favors of cooperation that Billy could provide in other prosecutions. A transfer point outside of Boston was agreed on. Mr. Devlin, as Peter’s attorney, was given a telephone number to memorize through which he could transfer messages to and from Peter.
    The four of us, Mr. Santangelo, Peter, Mr. Devlin, and I, rode together in Mr. Santangelo’s limousine to the hand-off spot. One of Mr. Santangelo’s men drove Mr. D’s car behind us.
    During the ride, we tuned the radio to the all-news station. We were pleased to hear the report of the murder the previous night of the son of “reputed” mob patriarch, Dominic Santangelo. That suited our situation.
    What was less suitable, and, in fact, considerably disturbing to Mr. Devlin and me, was the follow-up report that one night-shift guard and three prisoners in the same lockup had been found dead that afternoon. Each had thirty dollars stuffed in his mouth and a knife in his back. No one beats the Mafia for symbolism. Thirty pieces of silver was the price of Jesus’s betrayer, Judas. The knife in the back underlined the point.
    We listened in silence, but I knew Mr. Devlin and I were sharing the same thoughts. When we were admitted to the bar, we had sworn an oath to uphold the law. When the news report ended, Mr. Devlin continued to look out the window, but his words were slow and deliberate and carried unquestionable conviction.
    â€œMichael and I will defend my godson, Dominic. We’ll use every legal defense in our power. We’ll do this because he is no part of this despicable empire of yours. When it ends, you’ll do me one last favor. And that will be my fee. You will never call me again for any service as long as we live.”
    There was silence, until Mr. Santangelo