"Don't worry, Ed...."
Next morning, Jake was rested and ready to meet the challenge of Tony Corfino's TV interview. He knew there was a danger Tony might say too much, but it was a calculated risk that had to be taken. The case needed build-up, plenty of build-up.
The interview took place in the open square between the towering cell-blocks of Manhattan's new jail. When Jake and Tony came out, the TV cameramen and reporters had already taken their places. The city's crack newspapermen were seated on folding chairs in front of the cameras, along with two men from the District Attorney's office who self-consciously tried to look like members of the working press. Jake sat down beside Tony and hunched forward watchfully over the gold head of his cane.
Bert Brown of the Tribune, whose pipelines into the D.A.'s office had brought him many an exclusive, shot out the first question. It came with a whiplash crack:
"Tony, are you paying Mr. Emspak to represent you?"
Tony looked uncertainly toward Jake, and when the old lawyer didn't answer, Tony said quietly:
"No—I'm not."
"Is the Syndicate paying Mr. Emspak?"
"I don't know why they should—I never got into the Syndicate." Tony's answer was expressionless, yet his voice had a strangely subdued quality for a Tenth Avenue kid who had grown up fighting for crumbs from the tables of underworld kingpins.
Cassidy of the Times interjected: