Albanesi stiffened, color rising in his jowls, but whatever tart response had come to mind, he wisely kept it to himself.
Basile eyed the cartridge casings scattered around the scene and said, “The dead were armed, I take it?”
Albanesi nodded silently, still simmering.
“With automatic weapons, it appears.”
“An Uzi, a Kalashnikov, some pistols.”
“Good. Perhaps Signore Magolino can explain where his employees got that kind of hardware in Calabria.”
A scornful snort. “You think he’ll tell you?”
“I hope not,” Basile said.
He’d confused the fat lieutenant once again. Not difficult, but satisfying.
“You hope not?”
“When he refuses, or pleads ignorance, I may have grounds for a search warrant. Possession of unlicensed firearms is a serious offense. Distribution of such arms to others, much more so.”
Albanesi shrugged, as if to say Basile was free to waste his time should he choose to. Both knew his application for a warrant might well be rejected by one of the several magistrates who banked on Magolino money for a posh retirement. In any case, Basile thought, the odds of finding Magolino personally in possession of illegal arms were slim to none.
But irritating the padrino
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