Boss of Bosses: The FBI and Paul Castellano
Language: English
Pages: 0
ISBN: B002CL8TQW
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Very Good to Like New. Strong spine with light creasing. Bright clean cover has very slight edge wear. Text is perfect. Same day shipping.
surprising diat Mafiosi have problems with their tickThey eat a lot of red meat. Miles of sausage. Tons of veal. gists reall)' ers. They salt everything. And there's all that intermarriage. Then, too, there's the pressure of the job. "Mr. Castellano," continued the prosecutor, "isn't it an odd coincidence that you should be seeking Mr. Barbara's medical advice just at the time that so many of his other friends and associates were visiting his home?" BOSS OF BOSSES 40 "Yeah, " said
too, the pair indulged in long and petting, stroking and teasing, without ever having actual intercourse. The reason for the abstinence was not moral but medical, involving a problem for which Paul Castellano would later subject himself to a radical solusatin robe. sessions of kissing — Ardor and frustration, desire and constraint the heady combination brought forth in the Godfather a sat>Tish streak he seemed powerless to hide. As time went by, all pretense, all nods to convention, went by
no idea." "I think maybe you do." "I don't." "Did he want money for this help?" "No," said Perdue. "Money was never mentioned. I was asking as a favor, and I felt it wasn't out of line to ask, because of the business relationship with Dial." "So what did Castellano do for you?" Perdue shrugged. "Some of the problems went away. Some didn't. It's not like Castellano calls you on the phone and says he did A, B, and C for you. If he helped, I don't know about it. "But, Mr. Perdue," said Joe
with. I don't know how else to put it." "Are you aware of his connections to organized crime?" Julie Miron put down his pencil, noticed it was at a jarring angle to the paper, and moved it slightly. "You know, Mr. O'Brien, I don't like prejudice. Italian guy has a big house, right away it's organized crime." said O'Brien. "But you "I don't like prejudice either, didn't answer the question. "No," said Miron. "I don't know anything about Paul Castellano and organized crime. Okay?" "Okay," said
volunteered. "Not, between us, in ." He tilted his head in syncopathe best of taste. A litde with wagging hand. "A little ..." tion a "Mafioso?" In spite of himself, Miron laughed. "All right, have it your way. A little Mafioso. But everything the best. Carrara marble. Inlaid woods. Notching moldings. The kind of detail work you just don't see anymore. "Still," O'Brien said, "when I see a house that big, I feel a little oveiAvhelmed. I can imagine getting lost in there. Julie Miron was quick to