Deep (Pagano Family #4)(73)

The chief sat. “No disrespect, Nick, but I was hoping to meet with Don Pagano.”

Nick was handling the fallout from the demise of Alvin Church, and Ben was beginning to slow down. He’d gone home shortly after lunch.

“He’s not available. I’ll have to do.” Nick smiled in a way meant to convey that Irv had been disrespectful and should be careful. But his attention was acute. There was definitely something up.

“I fielded a call this afternoon from a DHS agent. She had a lot of questions.”

“DHS? Homeland Security?” Those were not the Feds who usually had their sights aimed at organizations like the Pagano Brothers.

Irv nodded. “They’re on the Neon bombing. This agent—Amy Cavanaugh is her name—followed some kind of magical trail of breadcrumbs and connected the diner to the nightclub.”

“How the f*ck did she do that?” The Paganos weren’t connected in any material way to Sassy Sal’s. Nick had never been in the place until that last night. The owner had borrowed big from Donnie, but there was no f*cking paper trail that anyone would be able to find. Donnie kept a notebook—all the shylocks kept paper, not digital—but they kept their books on their persons, and Donnie had devised an elaborate and sophisticated coding system that took the other shys days to learn. And Matty had gotten his book before the ambulances had come that night. So there were no breadcrumbs.

Donnie could simply have been there that night as a friend. The only people alive, who weren’t in the organization itself, who knew that the Paganos were involved in both events were Bruce and Beverly. And Irv.

And Skylar and Mills.

Jesus Christ. Mills had dropped a dime. Letting that realization germinate and flourish, Nick concentrated on the chief. “What does she know?”

“Far as I can tell, nothing. The questions she was asking, she was digging. I’d say somebody tipped her off, but they didn’t have anything but rumor and recrimination. Enough to get this woman wet, though. She sounds young. Might be fresh on the job.”

“Fuck.” Fresh agents were a pain in his ass. They weren’t major threats, because they had no juice at all, and the Paganos had good relationships with their superiors. But they were usually filled with a righteous na?veté that turned them into little terriers. Not unlike his mother’s Yorkies.

And she was DHS—the Paganos had never worked with DHS before. They didn’t have a standing relationship there. Ben would have to contact a senator to exert pressure on this Agent Cavanaugh. And that would be expensive.

“Fuck.” Chris Mills was going to die, and before he did, he would repent all of his sins.

“Nick…I was thinking.”

Nick regarded the chief. He lifted his eyebrows but didn’t speak.

“I was thinking about Chris Mills, what he was yelling about that day I brought him up to your uncle’s.”

Still, Nick waited silently. He knew what the chief was going to say.

“If Mills contacted this agent, I know what your play would be. But he’s a business owner. He’s involved in the Chamber of Commerce. He’s a visible presence in this town and has been for years. He’s a decent guy, well liked. People will notice if he disappears.”

“Is that advice I didn’t ask for?”

To his credit, Chief Lumley didn’t blink. “Take it as you will. A lowlife falling off the radar is one thing—I don’t lose sleep over the trash getting taken out. But this is a regular guy we’re talking about now. Our arrangement has always been about making Quiet Cove better.”

“Are we going to have a problem?”

The chief stared at him. Nick stared steadily back.

“No,” Lumley sighed. “I’m just letting you know that I don’t know how I’d clean that up.”

Nick knew. The sea wouldn’t feed on Chris Mills. He wouldn’t be made to regret his transgressions. He would have an accident instead. He would get a funeral. His friends would mourn him properly.

But would Nick keep the truth from Beverly?

He didn’t know.



oOo



Before he went home that evening, Nick stopped at Uncle Ben’s house. In a clear sign of the new peace in Quiet Cove and among the Paganos, Ellen, their housekeeper, answered the door rather than Bobbo or one of Ben’s other guards. The days of twenty-four-hour security were over. Privacy had finally returned.

“Hi, Mr. Nick.” The stocky redhead stepped back and let Nick in. “Mr. Ben is in his study.”

“Thanks, Ellen. Is my aunt home?”

“No, sir. She’s got the church charity fair meeting this evening. I’ve got a meat loaf in the oven for Mr. Ben, if you’d like to stay.” Usually, Aunt Angie did her own cooking, but when she had evening plans, Ellen stayed and took care of Uncle Ben. Angie called it ‘babysitting’—when Ben wasn’t around to hear.

Ellen’s meatloaf was delicious, but Nick wanted to get back to Beverly. “Thanks, but not tonight.”

She smiled and ducked her head, then went back down the hall. Nick went into his uncle’s study.

Ben was napping on one of his leather sofas. Nick was struck by how aged he seemed, lying on his back, his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth slightly open. He was pushing eighty. He had slowed noticeably over the past few years, and the fight with Church, cycling the way it had, had taken an obvious toll. The era of the first Don Pagano was nearing its end. But he was still sharp and wise, and he had understood better than Nick the way to finally beat the man who likely had been his final opponent.