The Big Scam Read Online Free PDF

drink.”
    â€œSure,” they answered in unison. Dellaporta lowered Rusty to the floor and handed Tatorrio the harness grip.
    As soon as the supervisor closed the door to the suite behind him, Tatorrio held a finger up to his lips. After a few seconds, he peered through the peephole. He took a long stage bow, which evoked laughter and applause from his four-man audience.
    Chianese was shaking his head. “How the fuck did you get the dog to do that?”
    â€œIn a minute. I’ve got to make one quick call. Get yourselves a drink from the bar.” He went into one of the bedrooms to use the phone. When he came back, he told the dog to sit. Holding his left forearm near the dog, he put his right hand in his trouser pocket and said, “Rusty, do you want a hit?” The dog immediately raised its paw and draped it over the offered arm. Tatorrio took his right hand out of his pocket. In it was what looked like a pushbutton door-lock device for a car, the kind found on a key ring. He held it up and pushed the button. Rusty raised his paw, reaching for Tatorrio. Then laying the dog on its side, he took off the harness. Something hard the size of half a pencil had been sewn inside the belly strap. He placed it in Chianese’s hand and pushed the button again.
    â€œIt’s vibrating.”
    â€œThe guy who sweeps the club for bugs built it for me. It’s part of a beeper. Pretty simple really. The only thing I had to do was teach old Rusty to paw me every time he felt the vibration.”
    Chianese said, “I’ve got to hand it to you, Jimmy, it was fair, and it was square. And your act, man, you had every one of them. Hell, for a while there I actually thought the goddamn dog could read cards.”
    For the next hour, they drank and retold the story, each from his own perspective. Then there was a knock at the door. Tatorrio checked the peephole and said, “In appreciation of everyone’s assistance, I’ve ordered room service.” He opened the door to reveal five young women. “My treat.”

3
    IT WAS A LITTLE AFTER SEVEN A.M. WHEN NICK Vanko’s phone rang. “Global Fish,” he offered, using the undercover name of the squad’s off-site location.
    â€œNicky, how are you?”
    When Special Agent in Charge Ralph Hansen was in a buoyant mood, he added a y to everyone’s name. Intended to give the appearance of familiarity, the gesture’s real value was to discourage serious discussion, and therefore leave unsaid any delicate detail that Hansen might later have to deny under oath. Being an FBI boss had taught him that whatever success was being celebrated had more often than not been gained by violating Bureau rules or even committing the occasional high misdemeanor, either possibility capable of ending a career.
    And Vanko understood that the SAC, no matter how strongly he urged candor, did not want specifics. “It sounds like the Dimino debriefing went well.”
    â€œNobody called you?”
    â€œNot yet, but my guys didn’t hand him off to Leary’s squad until after eleven-thirty last night, so I’m sure everyone’s running late.”
    â€œWell, as of fifteen minutes ago, he was still talking. Gave up Delvecchio on some murders and a ton of other stuff. We should be able to take out the whole top shelf of the family.”
    â€œI’m glad it worked out,” Vanko said.
    â€œHe said something about someone trying to kill him.”
    That Dimino had so completely believed the production surrounding his conversion made Vanko smile. “These people have to invent reasons to justify becoming an informant. I can guarantee you his life was never in danger.”
    â€œThat’s good enough for me. And I guess you were right about every wise guy hiding things from their bosses. Dimino was skimming from Delvecchio’s vending machine operation and was under the impression that a contract had been put out on