“I thank you for your honest opinion,” he said, finally. “So this is what we’re going to do. I’m going to have Gian-Carlo call the people in Baltimore and tell them to go ahead.”
“There’s not going to be a problem with the cop, Mr. S.,” Mr. Rosselli said. “He needs to get out from under them markers, and he needs the cash so bad, he’s pissing his pants.”
“Give Ricco the information,” Mr. Savarese said.
Mr. Rosselli handed Mr. Baltazari a sheet of notepaper. On it was written, “Eastern 4302. 9:45.”
“That’s from San Juan,” Mr. Savarese explained. “Tomorrow night, it arrives. The shipment will be in a blue American Tourister plastic suitcase. On both sides of the suitcase will be two strips of adhesive tape with shine on it.”
Mr. Baltazari then asked the question foremost in his mind. He held up the piece of paper with “Eastern 4302” on it. “Mr. S., what am I supposed to do with this?”
“I value your judgment, Ricco,” Mr. Savarese said. “I want you to give that to the cop. Tell him about the tape with the shine on the blue American Tourister suitcase. Look at his eyes. Make up your mind, is he reliable or not? If it smells like bad fish, then we do the test. It’ll be a little embarrassing for me to have to call Baltimore, but there’ll be plenty of time if you see the cop when he gets off duty, and better a little embarrassment than taking a loss like that, or worse. You agree?”
“Right, Mr. S.,” Mr. Baltazari said.
His stomach suddenly hurt.
“You go see him after midnight, at that woman’s apartment, and then you call Gian-Carlo. If you make the judgment that everything will be all right, then that’s it. If he sees something wrong, Gian-Carlo, then you call me at the house, understand?”
“Right, Mr. S.,” Mr. Rosselli said.
“I feel better,” Mr. Savarese said. “Now that we’ve talked this over. I think I might even have a little cognac. You got a nice cognac, Ricco?”
“Absolutely, Mr. S.,” Mr. Baltazari said, and got up from the table.
In the kitchen, he put a teaspoon of baking soda in half a glass of water, dissolved it, and drank it down.
Then he went and got a fresh bottle of Rémy Martin VSOP, which he knew Mr. Savarese preferred, and carried it back to the table.
At about the same time that his reliability was being discussed in Ristorante Alfredo, Corporal Vito Lanza told Officer Jerzy Masnik, his trainee, that he was going to take a break, get some coffee and a doughnut, get the hell out of the office for a few minutes, he was getting a headache.
He made his way to the Eastern Airlines area of the airport, and used his passkey to open a door marked CLOSED TO THE PUBLIC—DO NOT ENTER.
It opened on a flight of stairs, which took him down to the level of the ramp. He walked to the office from which the Eastern baggage handling operation was directed, and asked the man in charge if it would be all right if he borrowed one of the baggage train tractors for a couple of minutes.
“Help yourself,” the Eastern supervisor told him.
Vito drove slowly among the airplanes parked at the lines of airways, watching as baggage handlers loaded luggage into, and off-loaded it from, the bellies of the airplanes. Twice, he stopped the tractor and got off, for a closer examination. Once he actually went inside the fuselage of a Lockheed 10-11.
No one questioned his presence. Cops are expected to be in strange places.
The way to get a particular piece of luggage off a particular airplane, Vito decided, was to stand by the conveyor belt and watch for it as it was off-loaded from the airplane, seeing on which of the carts of the baggage train it had been placed.
Once he knew that, he would drive his tractor to the door where luggage was taken from the baggage carts and loaded on the conveyor belt that would transport it, beneath the terminal, to the baggage carousel.
Taking it from the airplane or the baggage carts at the airplane would look suspicious. But with the baggage handlers busy throwing bags on the conveyor belt under the terminal, no one would notice if he removed a bag from the other side of the cart.
And if they did notice him, and someone actually asked him what he was doing, he would say that it was his mother’s, or his sister’s, and