Savoli shook his head.
“Let him work in his own way,” he said. “He would not work well with Genara and Anelmo. If Monk comes here, hold him in readiness. That is all.”
“And Steve Cronin?”
“Leave him out of it. He has done his share. Tell our two Sicilians to do a neat job. Fix it with Marmosa, so Vincent will suspect nothing.”
“Right,” agreed the enforcer.
“But remember this,” added the big shot, “Genara and Anelmo must not act too quickly. Let them report here by telephone after they have captured their man.”
“I understand,” said Mike Borrango.
The enforcer’s words concluded the discussion.
After Borrango had departed, Nick Savoli indulged in a grim smile. He plucked his chewed cigar from his mouth, and threw it from the half-opened window.
“To-morrow night,” he muttered, in a satisfied tone. “To-morrow night, we will strike.”