Atlantic City War, page 5
Tony kept his eyes on the road. “I think it’s a good deal financially. I think it’s dangerous operationally. I think if we do this, there’s no going back. We’re in the heroin business. That’s a different world.”
“Jimmy?”
“I think Viktor is smart. I think he’s offering you something valuable. But I also think he’s testing you. Seeing if you’re strong enough to be a partner. Seeing if you’re weak enough to be eliminated later. This is a chess move. Question is whether you see the whole board.”
Sal smoked. Watched Philadelphia come into view. His city. His territory. His empire.
Adding heroin would make it bigger. Stronger. More profitable. But also more vulnerable. More exposed. More likely to attract the kind of attention that ended with everyone in prison.
“We take the weekend,” Sal said. “We talk to our people. We figure out if we can handle this. Then Monday I’ll call Viktor. Give him an answer.”
“And if we say yes?” Tony said.
“Then we’re committed. Then we do this right. No mistakes. No shortcuts. No getting caught.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“That’s the job.”
They drove to Sal’s house. Dropped him off. Sal went inside. Maria was in the kitchen. The kids were upstairs.
“How was your day?” she said.
“Long. Productive. Complicated.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer I’ve got.”
She didn’t push. Just went back to cooking. After seventeen years of marriage she knew when not to ask questions.
Sal went to his office. Closed the door. Pulled out the folder Viktor gave him. Read through it carefully.
The heroin would come through the Port of Elizabeth. Shipped in containers marked as machine parts. Viktor had customs officials on payroll. Had longshoremen who’d move the containers without inspection. Had drivers who’d transport to secure locations.
From there, Sal’s people would take over. Break down the kilos. Cut it if necessary. Package it. Distribute to street dealers through established networks. Collect money. Pay Viktor his sixty percent. Keep forty.
Ten kilos a month at wholesale prices meant maybe two hundred thousand profit. Split sixty-forty, Sal would clear eighty grand. Not counting what his dealers made on markup.
Eighty grand a month. Million dollars a year. Just from heroin. On top of everything else he was already making.
It was tempting. Very tempting.
His phone rang. Angela Russo.
His stomach dropped. He hadn’t talked to her in three years. Not since he testified against Vince. Not since he’d been released from protective custody.
He answered. “Yeah.”
“Sal, it’s Angela Russo. We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“About your meeting today. With Viktor Romanoff. In Cherry Hill.”
Sal’s blood went cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. We had surveillance. We have photos. We know you met. We know Jimmy Longo was there. We know you’re planning something.”
“Planning lunch. That’s not illegal.”
“Conspiracy to distribute narcotics is illegal. Conspiracy to engage in racketeering is illegal. Working with a known Russian organized crime figure is illegal.”
“I met a businessman. We discussed business. Nothing illegal about that.”
“Sal, don’t play games. I know what you’re doing. I know what Viktor’s offering. And I’m telling you right now—if you go forward with this, I will bury you. I will build a case that puts you away for thirty years. And this time, there won’t be a deal. There won’t be cooperation. There’ll just be prison.”
“You got nothing. You got photos of guys at lunch. That’s not evidence.”
“I’ve got more than you think. And I’m getting more every day. So here’s my offer: walk away. Don’t partner with Viktor. Don’t move heroin. Don’t expand your operation. Stay in your lane. Do that, and I’ll leave you alone. But cross that line, and I’ll make it my mission to destroy you.”
“That sounds like harassment.”
“That sounds like a warning. Take it or don’t. Your choice.”
She hung up.
Sal sat there. Staring at the phone. Thinking about how the Feds knew about the meeting. How they had surveillance. How they were watching.
Which meant they’d been watching Viktor too. Which meant anything Sal did with Viktor would be documented. Photographed. Used against him later.
He called Tony. “Angela Russo just called me. They know about the meeting. They’ve got surveillance. They’re watching.”
“Shit. What’d you tell her?”
“Nothing. Denied everything. But Tony, if they’re watching, if they’re building a case, partnering with Viktor is suicide. We’d be walking right into their trap.”
“So what do we do?”
“I don’t know. I need to think. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Sal hung up. Sat there in his office. Alone. Thinking about choices. About opportunities. About risks.
About how every decision in this life was a gamble. And sometimes you won. And sometimes you lost. And sometimes the game was rigged before you even sat down.
The folder was still on his desk. The heroin deal. The partnership. The million dollars a year.
All of it poison if the Feds were watching. All of it evidence if they were building a case. All of it a guarantee of prison time if they could prove it.
He picked up the folder. Walked to the fireplace. Lit it. Watched it burn.
Better to be poor and free than rich and in prison. That’s what his father used to say. Took Sal forty-three years to understand what he meant.
He’d call Viktor Monday. Tell him no. Tell him thanks but no thanks. Tell him to find another partner.
It was the smart play. The safe play. The only play that didn’t end with him in handcuffs.
But it didn’t feel like winning. It felt like losing. Like backing down. Like being scared.
And Sal Bonano didn’t get where he was by being scared.
He watched the folder burn. Watched his million-dollar opportunity turn to ash. And thought about how sometimes the best business decision was the one you didn’t make.
CHAPTER 7
Sal woke up Sunday morning with a plan that was either brilliant or insane, and in his experience those were usually the same thing.
He’d spent all night thinking about the Viktor situation. About the Feds watching. About Angela’s warning. About the heroin deal. About Atlantic City.
About how saying yes to Viktor meant prison. And saying no to Viktor meant looking weak. Meant the Russians would push harder. Meant war eventually.
So he needed a third option. Something Viktor didn’t expect. Something the Feds couldn’t touch. Something that showed strength without showing crime.
He made coffee. Sat at the kitchen table. Called Tony at seven AM.
“It’s early,” Tony said.
“I know. I’ve been thinking about Viktor. About what we should do.”
“And?”
“We say no to the heroin. That’s off the table. Too much heat. Too much risk. But we say yes to Atlantic City. We formalize the split. Give him what he wants there. Make peace.”
“That’s not a third option. That’s just giving up Atlantic City.”
“It’s strategic retreat. We pull back from territory we barely control anyway. Focus on Philadelphia where our real strength is. And we make Viktor happy. Make him think we’re cooperating. Make him lower his guard.”
“For what?”
“For later. For when the time’s right. For when we’re stronger and he’s weaker. Then we take back Atlantic City. Then we take everything.”
Tony was quiet. Then: “You’re playing a long game.”
“I’m playing the only game that doesn’t end with me in prison or dead in a ditch. We can’t fight Viktor now. We’re not strong enough. But we can prepare. Build. Wait. And when the moment comes, we move.”
“And what about the Feds? What about Angela watching us?”
“Let her watch. If we’re not doing anything illegal, there’s nothing to see. We pull back from Atlantic City through legitimate negotiation. We focus on our legitimate businesses. We stay clean. We be patient.”
“Sal, you know what patience gets you in this life? Nothing. You don’t build empires by waiting. You build them by taking what you want when you want it.”
“Or you end up like Vince. Seventy years old. Alone. His organization gone. His power gone. Everything gone. Because he couldn’t see the big picture. Couldn’t adapt. Couldn’t be smart.”
Tony sighed. “Okay. So we tell Viktor yes to Atlantic City. No to heroin. What do you think he says?”
“I think he says yes. Because he wants Atlantic City more than he wants a partnership. He was offering the heroin as a sweetener. To make the deal more attractive. But if we give him Atlantic City anyway, he gets what he came for.”
“And if he pushes? If he wants the heroin deal or nothing?”
“Then we deal with that when it happens. But I don’t think he will. Viktor’s smart. He knows the Feds are watching. He knows moving heroin right now is dangerous. I think he’s testing us. Seeing if we’re stupid enough to take the bait. We show him we’re not. We show him we’re smarter than he thought.”
“Okay. Call him. Set it up. Let’s see what he says.”
They hung up.
Sal finished his coffee. Waited until ten AM. Then called the number Viktor had given him.
Viktor answered on the second ring. “Mr. Bonano. I was wondering when I’d hear from you.”
“I’ve made a decision. About your offer.”
“I’m listening.”
“Atlantic City. We’ll divide it. Formalize the split. You keep your operations. We keep ours. No competition. No conflict. Peace.”
“And the heroin?”
“No. Too much heat right now. Too much risk. Maybe later. When things calm down. But not now.”
Viktor was quiet for a moment. Sal could hear him thinking. Processing. Calculating.
“That’s acceptable,” Viktor finally said. “Atlantic City was always the priority. The heroin was optional. Additional opportunity. But if you’re not ready, you’re not ready. No pressure.”
“Good. So how do we formalize this? How do we make sure both sides respect the boundaries?”
“We meet again. This time with our people. Your bookies. My bookies. We draw the lines. Set the rules. Make it clear to everyone. Then we enforce it. Anyone crosses the line, we handle it together. That way there’s accountability. That way it sticks.”
“When?”
“This week. Wednesday. Back in Cherry Hill. Neutral ground. You bring your people. I bring mine. We make it official.”
“Okay. Wednesday. I’ll be there.”
“Good. And Mr. Bonano? I think this is the beginning of a productive relationship. Different organizations. Different backgrounds. But same goals. Same interests. Money. Power. Survival. That’s what matters.”
“Yeah. That’s what matters.”
They hung up.
Sal sat there feeling like he’d just won and lost at the same time. He’d avoided the heroin trap. Avoided giving the Feds evidence. But he’d also given up Atlantic City. Given Viktor what he wanted. Shown weakness maybe.
Or shown strength. Shown intelligence. Shown that he was someone who could negotiate. Could be reasonable. Could play the long game.
Time would tell which one it was.
He called Marco. “Wednesday we’re meeting with the Russians in Cherry Hill. You, me, Tony, and whoever else we need. We’re dividing Atlantic City. Making formal boundaries. I need you to get a list of all our bookies down there. All our operations. Everything we’re giving up.”
“Giving up?”
“It’s strategic. Trust me. Just get me the list.”
“Okay, boss. I’ll have it by tomorrow.”
Next call was to Jimmy. “Viktor accepted the deal. We’re splitting Atlantic City. Keeping Philadelphia. No heroin. No partnership. Just coexistence.”
“That’s smart,” Jimmy said. “Vince would’ve fought. Would’ve gone to war. Would’ve lost. You’re making the right choice.”
“I hope so. Because if I’m wrong, if this makes us look weak, the vultures will circle. Everyone will think they can take a piece.”
“Then we show them they can’t. We pull back from Atlantic City but we tighten Philadelphia. We make it clear. This city is ours. Anyone wants to challenge that, they’re welcome to try.”
“Yeah. That’s the plan.”
Sal spent the rest of Sunday at home. Trying to be a father. Trying to be a husband. Trying to pretend this was a normal life.
But it wasn’t normal. Never was. Never would be.
His daughter came downstairs. “Dad, can we go to the movies?”
“Sure. What do you want to see?”
“I don’t know. Something funny. Something that’s not about work or stress or whatever you’re always thinking about.”
He smiled. “Okay. Let’s go.”
They went to the movies. Some comedy about a family road trip. He didn’t pay attention to the plot. Just watched his daughter laugh. Watched her enjoy something simple. Something innocent.
Thought about how he was building this empire for her. For his son. For their futures. So they’d never struggle like he did. Never worry about money. Never feel small.
But also thought about what it cost. What he was risking. What he might lose if it all went wrong.
After the movie they got ice cream. Walked around the mall. Normal father-daughter afternoon.
“Dad, are you okay?” she said.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You seem distracted. Like you’re somewhere else.”
“Just work stuff. Nothing important.”
“Is it dangerous? What you do?”
“Sometimes. But I’m careful. I’m always careful.”
“Mom worries about you. She doesn’t say it. But I can tell.”
“I know. I worry about her too. About you. About your brother. That’s why I work so hard. To make sure you’re all safe. All taken care of.”
“We are safe. We are taken care of. So maybe you can work a little less. Be home a little more.”
He looked at her. Twelve years old. Already seeing through him. Already understanding more than she should.
“I’ll try,” he said.
“That’s what you always say.”
“I know. But this time I mean it.”
They went home. He had dinner with the family. Watched TV. Went to bed.
Lay there next to Maria. She was reading. He was staring at the ceiling.
“You made a deal with the Russians,” she said. Not a question. A statement.
“How’d you know?”
“Because you’ve been distracted for three days. Because you disappear for meetings you won’t explain. Because I’ve been married to you long enough to know when something big is happening.”
“We divided territory. They get Atlantic City. We keep Philadelphia. That’s it. No drama. No conflict.”
“And you trust them? These Russians? You trust they’ll keep their word?”
“I don’t trust anybody. But I trust numbers. I trust consequences. They break the deal, there are consequences. That’s enough.”
She put down her book. Looked at him. “Sal, when does this end? When do you have enough? When can you just stop and enjoy what we have?”
“I don’t know. Soon. Maybe soon.”
“You said that three years ago. After the church. After you almost went to prison. You said you were done. Said you’d stay clean. Now look at you. Making deals with Russians. Dividing cities. Building the same empire that almost destroyed you.”
“This is different. I’m smarter now. More careful. I know what I’m doing.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
She turned off her light. Rolled over. Done talking.
Sal lay there in the dark. Thinking about her words. About when it ended. About when enough was enough.
The truth? It never ended. Men like him didn’t stop. Didn’t walk away. Didn’t retire. They just kept going until something stopped them. Prison. Death. Betrayal. Something.
But not choice. Never choice. Because if you chose to stop, you looked weak. And weak men didn’t last in this life.
He fell asleep thinking about Wednesday. About the meeting. About formalizing the deal with Viktor. About making it official.
About whether he was being smart or just delaying the inevitable. About whether peace was possible or just a temporary cease-fire before the real war began.
Monday morning he woke up early. Went to the office. Marco had the list ready. Eight bookies in Atlantic City. Three loan operations. Two sports books. Total revenue maybe two hundred thousand a year.
Not much. But it was the principle. It was territory. It was presence. And now he was giving it up.
“You sure about this?” Marco said.
“I’m sure we don’t have a choice. Not right now. Maybe later. But not now.”
“The guys aren’t gonna like it. Pulling back. Surrendering territory. Makes us look weak.”
“Then we show them we’re not weak. We show them Philadelphia is stronger than ever. We tighten operations here. We increase profits. We prove that giving up Atlantic City was smart, not scared.”
Marco nodded but didn’t look convinced.
Tuesday Sal met with his bookies. Explained the situation. Explained they were pulling back from Atlantic City. Refocusing on Philadelphia.
“What about our guys down there?” one of them asked. “What happens to them?”
“They come back here. We find them work. Nobody gets abandoned. We’re not leaving people behind. We’re repositioning. There’s a difference.”
“And the Russians? What if they don’t keep their word? What if they push into Philadelphia?”
“Then we push back. Hard. But I don’t think they will. Viktor’s smart. He knows this is a good deal for both of us. He knows breaking it costs him more than keeping it.”
