out the door, he gave Joe’s shoulder a little squeeze. “I’m proud of you, kid. You’re gonna be a great lawyer.”
Gino DeMarco turned out to be really wrong about that.
9
The front of the warehouse in Red Hook faced the waterfront. It had big sliding doors, like an airplane hangar, and next to the sliding doors was a smaller, normal-sized door. Above the small door was the number one in faded red paint, about two feet high.
At the pier was a Japanese ship carrying a bunch of big construction equipment that had to be offloaded a piece at a time and later reassembled where they were doing the job. Running parallel to the ship were railroad tracks that were used by the cranes and there were a dozen flatbed trucks in a queue waiting to be loaded.
There were people everywhere—longshoremen on the ship and on the pier, truck drivers, customs agents, and members of the ship’s crew. Forklifts were zipping all over the place and it was a miracle they hadn’t run over somebody. It was noisy with men yelling and the engine noises produced by the forklifts and trucks, and lights on the ship and the pier had the whole pier lit up like Yankee Stadium for a night game.
Gino walked past the warehouse sliding doors, which were locked with a padlock. He didn’t sneak by the warehouse but moved like a man with a purpose, a man who belonged where he was. He was dressed in a black denim jacket, blue jeans, and boots. On his head was a hard hat. In other words, he looked like most of the men on the pier. He turned when he reached the end of the warehouse and walked along the side of it, in the alleyway created by an adjacent warehouse.
There were half a dozen doors on the side of the warehouse and he walked until he came to a door with the number five painted above it. Gino had a key for the door. He figured Carmine had obtained the key from somebody connected to the warehouse or the poker game. Carmine said that the guy who ran the game normally unlocked the number-five door at nine thirty so the players could get in. He told Gino that after he let himself in he was to leave the door unlocked so the cop could get in as he normally did when he played poker there Saturday nights.
Gino had been to the warehouse the night before, at the same time, to check the place out. There was no way he was going to make the hit there, no matter what Carmine had said, without examining the place in advance. Last night, just like tonight, there had been men all over the pier and trucks and forklifts zooming around. Nobody had noticed him last night and they didn’t notice him tonight; he was just another longshoreman doing his job.
He unlocked the number-five door, stepped into the warehouse, and pushed down a little button on the doorknob to make sure the door stayed unlocked. The first thing he noticed after he was inside was that the warehouse was fully illuminated from big overhead lights in the ceiling—and that wasn’t good. When he’d checked the place out the night before, the overhead lights hadn’t been on. He’d been able to see, however, because the warehouse had big windows set up high in the walls, and all the lights on the pier had provided enough illumination for him to see where he was going. He figured whoever was in charge of the game told the warehouse guys to leave the overhead lights on on Saturday night so the players could make their way back to the office where the game was played. Whatever the case, he was now worried about how well he’d be able to conceal himself with the place lit up like an operating room.
The warehouse was about a hundred feet wide on the side that faced the waterfront, and almost two hundred feet deep. The office where the game was played was at the far end, away from the waterfront. Wooden crates and barrels filled the place, stacked on pallets, and the pallet loads were stacked on top of each other as high as a forklift could reach. Some of the crates looked like they’d been there
Gino DeMarco turned out to be really wrong about that.
9
The front of the warehouse in Red Hook faced the waterfront. It had big sliding doors, like an airplane hangar, and next to the sliding doors was a smaller, normal-sized door. Above the small door was the number one in faded red paint, about two feet high.
At the pier was a Japanese ship carrying a bunch of big construction equipment that had to be offloaded a piece at a time and later reassembled where they were doing the job. Running parallel to the ship were railroad tracks that were used by the cranes and there were a dozen flatbed trucks in a queue waiting to be loaded.
There were people everywhere—longshoremen on the ship and on the pier, truck drivers, customs agents, and members of the ship’s crew. Forklifts were zipping all over the place and it was a miracle they hadn’t run over somebody. It was noisy with men yelling and the engine noises produced by the forklifts and trucks, and lights on the ship and the pier had the whole pier lit up like Yankee Stadium for a night game.
Gino walked past the warehouse sliding doors, which were locked with a padlock. He didn’t sneak by the warehouse but moved like a man with a purpose, a man who belonged where he was. He was dressed in a black denim jacket, blue jeans, and boots. On his head was a hard hat. In other words, he looked like most of the men on the pier. He turned when he reached the end of the warehouse and walked along the side of it, in the alleyway created by an adjacent warehouse.
There were half a dozen doors on the side of the warehouse and he walked until he came to a door with the number five painted above it. Gino had a key for the door. He figured Carmine had obtained the key from somebody connected to the warehouse or the poker game. Carmine said that the guy who ran the game normally unlocked the number-five door at nine thirty so the players could get in. He told Gino that after he let himself in he was to leave the door unlocked so the cop could get in as he normally did when he played poker there Saturday nights.
Gino had been to the warehouse the night before, at the same time, to check the place out. There was no way he was going to make the hit there, no matter what Carmine had said, without examining the place in advance. Last night, just like tonight, there had been men all over the pier and trucks and forklifts zooming around. Nobody had noticed him last night and they didn’t notice him tonight; he was just another longshoreman doing his job.
He unlocked the number-five door, stepped into the warehouse, and pushed down a little button on the doorknob to make sure the door stayed unlocked. The first thing he noticed after he was inside was that the warehouse was fully illuminated from big overhead lights in the ceiling—and that wasn’t good. When he’d checked the place out the night before, the overhead lights hadn’t been on. He’d been able to see, however, because the warehouse had big windows set up high in the walls, and all the lights on the pier had provided enough illumination for him to see where he was going. He figured whoever was in charge of the game told the warehouse guys to leave the overhead lights on on Saturday night so the players could make their way back to the office where the game was played. Whatever the case, he was now worried about how well he’d be able to conceal himself with the place lit up like an operating room.
The warehouse was about a hundred feet wide on the side that faced the waterfront, and almost two hundred feet deep. The office where the game was played was at the far end, away from the waterfront. Wooden crates and barrels filled the place, stacked on pallets, and the pallet loads were stacked on top of each other as high as a forklift could reach. Some of the crates looked like they’d been there
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