They found no bugs, taps or cameras, perhaps because Minelli had not thought of it, perhaps because he still had faith in his own powers of persuasion. In any case, their talks were held in privacy before they ventured out to mingle with the others, renewing old friendships and making new acquaintances.
With the exception of New York's own bosses, most capos present did not know each other personally, and few had spoken on the phone, although their families may have been cooperating for generations in a wide variety of businesses. Telephones were unreliable, at best, and sheer attrition in the past few years had emptied local thrones as fast as they were occupied. Some regions had seen half a dozen dons within a year, as prosecution and assassination thinned the ranks, promoting those who otherwise would never have approached command rank in a lifetime.
Gradually the delegations came to know each other, forming cliques determined by geography, intermarriage, common interests. The largest and most secretive group included delegates from half a dozen jurisdictions drawn together by mutual distrust for Don Minelli.
The West Coast capos, Patriarcca and Cigliano, informally presided at the poolside gathering. Around them, slumped in deck chairs or reclining on chaise longues, alert despite appearances to the contrary, were Miami boss, Jerry Lazia, and two representatives of the New York families, Tom Gregorio and Frank Bonadonna. With their consigliere, the group numbered nine, and they kept wary eyes on roving sentries whom Minelli had on duty around the grounds.
"Look at them now," Jules Patriarcca sneered. "Where were they when we needed them this morning?"
L.A. Lester took the cue. 'That's right. We damn near get our asses fried in Ernie's own front yard, and where's his goddamn army, eh?"
The capo of Miami sipped his vodka Collins, cool eyes following the nearest sentry from behind his mirrored shades.
"You think it was a setup, then?" he asked.
"I couldn't tell you yes or no," Jules answered. "But I've got this feeling. Here." He rubbed his ample gut for emphasis.
"It don't make sense, Minelli tryin' to hit you here, when everybody else was due to show up any time."
"Who says it don't make sense?" Cigliano challenged. "Could be he wanted to be rid of us before you all got in."
"I'd say it was a sloppy job."
"You would, huh?"
Patriarcca raised a soothing hand. "Could be he didn't want to hit us, after all. It could have been a warning, like, to make us see things his way while we're on his turf."
Cigliano chimed in, adapting his tune to follow Patriarcca's lead.
"He's gonna need more votes than what he's got," the California capo said. "He wants to make it stick, he's gonna need a clear majority."
"We don't know what he wants yet."
"Bullshit."
"Lester..."
Tom Gregorio rocked forward on his chaise longue, motioning them all to silence.
"I know one thing," he informed them. "I got hit for half a mill today by some slick dude. The bastard laid a Black Ace on my banker up in Harlem, and the cretin let him have the whole day's take."
"An Ace?"
Patriarcca's voice was heavy with suspicion.
"That's what he said. No way to check it out, though."
"I hear Ernie's damn near got the Aces locked these days. You've seen the one he hangs around with? What's his name?"
"They call him Lazarus," Frank Bonadonna growled.
"Some say he's as good as Pat and Mike were in their prime," Gregorio put in.
"That right?"
"You think he put this thing together up in Harlem?"
Patriarcca spread his hands, frowning deeply. "I'm not saying that. There are Aces... and there are Aces. You follow?"
Gregorio looked puzzled, glancing from Patriarcca to Bonadonna, glowering in his confusion.
"That's right," Bonadonna put in. "Minelli's not the only one with Aces underneath his roof."
"But, say..." Gregorio was plainly loath to let go of a thought once he had finally come to grips with it. "Suppose the Aces were all getting back together, like the old days. Huh? If Ernie and this Lazarus could pull it all together..."
Lazia rattled the ice cubes in his glass.
"That takes a vote by the commission, Tom, remember?"
"Well..."
"It takes a vote if Ernie puts it to a vote," the capo of Seattle told them. "Now, if he should take it on himself to build a little private army out here in the country, quiet like... well, who's to know?"
"You think?"
"Goddamn it."
"Wait a sec', before you start to look for ghosts. Who says he's got an army, eh?"
"Why don't you look around here, Jerry?" L.A. Lester's voice was taut with anger. "All these suits ain't butlers, are they?"