they exchanged a firm handshake. “Battaglia, eh? You the Venetian?”
Carmine kept his expression neutral. “That’s what people call me, yes.”
Joe released his hand, and he regarded him for a few seconds before he flicked his gaze to Maurizio. “You making men who ain’t Sicilian, eh?”
Maurizio set his jaw but kept his tone polite. “Carmine is the nephew of a respected associate who is no longer with us, and he’s a respected associate himself. He may not be full Sicilian, but he’s earned his place in the organization.”
Joe shifted his gaze back to Carmine and looked him up and down, his expression unreadable. Then, with a curt nod, he turned to Maurizio again, and Maurizio led everyone into the warehouse. It was difficult to decide what Joe thought of Carmine, or how much of Carmine’s reputation preceded him. Joe didn’t throw him out of the meeting, though, and the group continued inside.
Carmine hadn’t dared show the Morellos where he kept crates and barrels of liquor hidden in his warehouse. Instead, he’d had some workers bring out a couple of pallets’ worth for the visitors to inspect.
Joe and his men looked over the liquor, and they seemed impressed when they tasted some of the rum and whisky. That didn’t surprise Carmine—he and Maurizio had always insisted on the best liquor. Maybe other families dealt in hooch and rotgut, but not the Pulvirentis.
Joe took a drink and rolled it around in his mouth appreciatively. Then he gazed around the warehouse before turning to Carmine and Maurizio. “You’ve apparently got a smooth operation going here. And good booze.” Joe lifted his empty glass as if in a toast, then put it down on top of an unopened case. “Tell me, how are you getting the merchandise into Manhattan?”
“We’ve got merchandise coming in from several states,” Maurizio said. “It’s being transported in from a number of operations on land, and from Rum Row out of both New Jersey and Long Island.” Maurizio put a hand on Carmine’s shoulder. “Carmine here has a particularly good crew of rum runners working off Long Island.”
“Yeah?” Joe turned to Carmine. “How good are they?”
“They’re excellent,” Carmine said. “They bring in liquor faster than I can sell it.”
Joe inclined his head. “But you can sell it? Without lowering prices?”
“Of course.” Carmine offered a congenial smile. “With the stock they’ve brought me, we’ve been able to supply two dozen more pharmacies in Manhattan alone, and several on Long Island.” He paused. “We’ve also nearly doubled the number of doctors supplying prescriptions to citizens, and we have a successful operation producing forged prescriptions to keep the demand high for our product. With what these boys bring in, we’re quickly expanding that part of the operation, including adding a number of speakeasies to the list of those who’re buying from us.”
That brought a grin to the boss’s lips, and he nodded slowly. “Good. Good. A smooth operation, definitely.” The grin faded a bit, and he looked right at Carmine. “But I understand you and a crew of rum runners recently had, shall we say, a dispute with the il Sacchis.” He inclined his head. “Was that these same boys?”
Carmine nodded.
“Right. You want to tell me what that was all about?”
Carmine could feel Maurizio glaring at him. Without looking at his boss, Carmine took a breath. “It was a dispute over the ownership of a boatload of liquor.”
Joe’s eyebrow arched. “I see. Would you care to tell me how the police found out about the exchange in Industry City?”
Carmine wasn’t surprised word had spread; Joe undoubtedly had his hands in the police department, and it was possible the il Sacchis were wooing the family for an alliance like this too. Chances were, Joe knew all the answers, and he just wanted to see how loose Carmine’s lips were and how honest he was when a boss asked him questions.
Shifting his weight, Carmine cleared his throat. “I had reason to believe il Sacchi wouldn’t hold up his end of the deal. So as an insurance policy, I paid a number of police officers to wait beyond the warehouses and, if I signaled them, to keep anyone from leaving.”
“And did they?”
“They did, sir.” Carmine nodded. “Agosto il Sacchi didn’t surrender the entire crew of rum runners as agreed, so I had the police stop him and make sure the last man was released.”
Joe watched Carmine for a painfully long moment, and Carmine could still feel Maurizio’s glare burning holes in his back. Then Joe laughed, and