Free The Coffey Files by Jerry; Joseph; Schmetterer Coffey Page B

many organized crime investigations, especially those involving drugs, never got off the ground because the detectives were afraid of being accused of corruption. When they did something unorthodox, like meeting face-to-face with the godfather, bells would go off in Internal Affairs. But Coffey knew McDarby, McGlynn, Cahill, and the rest of his gang would support him. That’s why he had insisted on handpicking his team.
    After what seemed like a prison stretch Delmonico returned.
    â€œMr. Castellano will see you tomorrow night,” he said.
    â€œI knew,” Coffey remembers, “Castellano was in the back room and could have seen me then, but he needed to make the power play in front of his men. Since I was going to be asking him for a favor and wanted to maintain a decent relationship, I did not invoke Coffey’s Martial Law and barge right into the back room.
    â€œInstead, I said that would be fine and gave him my card with the phone number at police headquarters.”
    That evening at home Joe related the visit to the social club to Pat and the kids. They loved to hear his stories. In a way it made up for the time his work took away from the family. Before going to bed, Steven reminded his father about a school basketball game the next night. “It starts at seven o’clock. I hope you can be there,” Steven said. Joe promised his son he would try.
    At eleven o’clock the next morning Coffey’s direct phone line on his increasingly cluttered desk rang. It was Delmonico.
    â€œPaulie says seven o’clock at Tomasso’s,” the thug said.
    â€œI can’t make it at seven,” Joe answered. “My kid’s got a basketball game. I’ll send McDarby and McGlynn.”
    â€œNo good, Joe. Paulie said he’d only meet with you and you alone.”
    For what seemed like the millionth time in his career, Coffey had to chose between something important to his family and his own mission in life. As usual he chose his work. He hoped Steven and Pat would continue to know that he loved them, thought of them always, and wished they would forgive him for the time he stayed away from them.
    â€œOkay, tell Paulie I’ll be there at seven,” he told Delmonico.
    At six thirty, Coffey, McDarby, and McClynn drove up outside Tomasso’s in Brooklyn. They circled the block twice, looking for any sign they might be walking into some kind of setup. When they agreed everything seemed to be okay, they parked, to the dismay of the doorman, right in front of the restaurant. It was the spot usually reserved for “Big Paulie.”
    At seven they were at the bar ordering drinks. Joe remembers the rest of the evening vividly:
    â€œOne minute later in walked Castellano surrounded by Delmonico and five mutts in Mafia uniforms—dark suits, open shirts, gold chains, shiny pointed shoes. Paulie, though, was wearing a tie and a white-on-white shirt. He looked like a legitimate businessman. Delmonico walked over and told me to come alone with him and Paulie. McDarby and McGlynn were joined at the bar by the five stooges.
    â€œThe restaurant had two private banquet rooms and the maitre d’ led us to the smaller one. Inside a party of about ten people were having dinner. The maitre d’ told them they would have to switch to the other room. Waiters cleaned up their tables and moved them. No one objected.
    â€œThen Paulie and I were alone at a freshly made up table right in the middle of the room.
    â€œâ€˜Sergeant,’ he said, ‘I’ve heard a lot about you. I agreed to sit down with you because Funzi says you are a fair man.’
    â€œFor a moment I was surprised as hell. It was a shock to me that he and Funzi had talked about me. I was surprised that they talked at all. But I got right to business. I said, ‘Paul, I’m here because a low-class vicious killer on the West Side named McElroy has been throwing your name around. He and the rest