Chapter 17: The Cameras

Cesare came down the dock at seven on Wednesday morning with two enforcers and an easy smile.

I was drinking coffee on the boathouse stair with Remo beside me, and I watched him come.

The cap was gone.

He wore a navy jacket and a pressed shirt, and he walked as if the dock were still his.

"Morning, Sil," he said. "Remo."

"Cesare," Remo said.

"Papa's in no state to run the lake. I'm his son, and until the table votes on me, I'm still the Brancato name on this water."

He took a folded paper out of his pocket.

"So I'm collecting the cameras."

"Which cameras?" I said.

"All of them. The pole camera, the dock feeds, the patrol boats' dash units. Anything with a card in it."

He smiled at me.

"Papa has enough sad news. I'll keep the footage safe."

"You'll wipe it."

"I'll keep it safe."

Behind him, the two enforcers spread out along the planks.

The patrol crew had been drifting down to the dock since the first coffee.

Now there were six of them, standing in a loose line behind the boathouse, saying nothing.

The old deckhand with the gray beard stepped in front.

"We don't take orders from a man the table sent out," he said.

"You take them from the Brancato name."

"We took them from your father, and he didn't send you."

Cesare's smile thinned.

"Remo," he said. "Call off your dogs."

"They're not mine," Remo said.

"They're your crew."

"They're the Don's crew. They answer to the Arcuri chair while he's down." He pointed with his chin at me. "Ask her."

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