13
Jensen was getting sick of waiting. "No word on those tags yet?"
"She's faxing it through now."
Fortunately one of the DMV Dormentalists had been on the night shift.
A few moments later Jensen had the sheet in his hand. But what to make of it?
The owner of the getaway car was one Vincent A. Donato, resident of Brooklyn. Somehow the guy pretending to be Jason Amurri didn't look like a Vincent Donato. Something else bothered him.
He looked up at Margiotta. "Donato… Donato… why does that sound familiar?"
"Rung one of my bells too, so I asked her to send over a photo." The fax rang in the other room. "That'll be it now."
A moment later Margiotta returned, saying, "Oh-shit, oh-shit, oh-shit."
Jensen didn't like the sound of that. "What's the matter?"
"You know why it sounded familiar? Vincent A. Donato is Vinny the Donut."
Jensen levered forward in his seat and snatched the fax from Margiotta.
"What? There's got to be—"
But there on the sheet was a pudgy, jowly face known to pretty much everyone in New York—at least anyone who read the Post or the News. At various times over the past ten years Vinny the Donut had been indicted for loan sharking, for prostitution, or for money laundering. But before any charges could be brought to trial, witnesses seemed to develop memory lapses or give in to an urge to visit relatives in foreign countries. Not a single charge had stuck.
"Can you believe it?" Margiotta said. "He's driving Vinny the Donut's car! Our phony is mobbed up!"
"Got to be a mistake. Lewis flubbed the tag number."
"That's what I thought, but look what the Donut drives—a black Crown Vic. And what kind of car whisked Grant off the street? A black Crown Vic. And I doubt very, very much that he stole Vinny's car. You do not steal from Vinny the Donut."
Jensen felt adrift on a rough sea. None of this made sense.
"But what possible interest could the mob have in Dormentalism?"
"Maybe they want to horn in. Maybe they hired Grant to get inside info on us."
Jensen shook his head. "No. It's got to be something else."
"Like what?"
I don't know, he thought, but I'll come up with something.
Jensen knew he'd better have some sort of explanation when he laid this double bombshell on Brady tomorrow morning.
Not only was the SO's pet recruit not Jason Amurri, but he was connected to the mob. Brady was going to shit a brick.