Judge & Jury
Chapter One
MY NAME IS NICK PELLISANTE, and this is where it started for me, one summer
out on Long Island at "the wedding of weddings." I was watching the
bride celebrating at the head of the dance line as it festively wound through
the tables. A conga line. I groaned. I hated conga lines.
I should mention that I was watching the scene through high-powered
binoculars. I followed as the bride slung her ample, lace-covered rear end in
every direction, toppling a glass of red wine, trying to coax some bowling ball
of a relative who was scarfing down a plate of stuffed clams up into the
procession. Meanwhile, the grinning, affable groom did his Gowanus Expressway
best just to hang on.
Lucky couple, I thought, wincing, thinking ten years down the line.
Lucky me, to get to watch. All part of the job.
As special agent in charge of section C-10, the FBI's Organized Crime
Unit in New York, I was heading up a stakeout of a wiseguy wedding at the posh
South Fork Club in Montauk. Everybody who was anybody was here, assuming you
were into wiseguys.
Everybody except for the one m ... read full excerpt from: Judge & Jury ebook
