From The Brass Wall:
The instant Armanti set foot in Café D'Oro, he could feel the strands of the investigation beginning to unravel. A half-dozen of the café's usual suspects sat nervously around the poker table, but there was no card game going or music playing, just edginess heating up the place. Carlo Cuzzi, wanted by the police in at least one double murder, stood with his burly arms crossed-not exactly a harbinger of peace.
"Up against the wall, Vin," Cuzzi demanded. "I've got to search you."
Fear flooded through Armanti's body in a fast, hot wave. His first instinct was to laugh the whole thing off, scoff and order a drink. But the look on Cuzzi's face told him that this was not cocktail time.
Less than an hour earlier Armanti had been fully wired-tape recorder strapped to one ankle, cord winding up to the microphone near his chest. A search would have earned him three quick shots to the back of the head. But the weather was so muggy that Armanti had ignored his backup team and removed the gear before hitting the café. What he hadn't removed, however, was the radio transmitter inside his box of Newport Light cigarettes.