The death of Jimmy “the Hammer” Massaro was the beginning of the end for organized crime in Rochester. Well, at least it was the end of an era that had been a part of my life for a long time. There aren’t many left alive today to reminisce when I think of the “good old days.”
It all started with a crooked cop. Bill Mahoney had the bad guys on the run. No one knew who to trust anymore. Mahoney was playing them all against one another. He even had me picked up for questioning. When I was led into Mahoney’s office, Al DeCanzio, a local gangster, was sitting with his feet up on Mahoney’s desk, talking on the telephone as though he owned the place! Well, he practically did—he owned Mahoney. Had him in the palm of his hand.
Al held the key to Mahoney’s stardom. Without Al’s tightly held secrets, it was impossible for Bill to accomplish his ultimate goal of destroying the Mafia and their activities in the city of Rochester. With every piece of the puzzle Al gave to Bill Mahoney, he got closer and closer to seeing blue sky. Before long, Mahoney was sneaking Al out of the jail to work on his house. That was blatantly breaking the rules, but Mahoney was hell-bent on doing whatever was needed to accomplish his personal ambition. Al didn’t mind the work. It got him out his cell for a while and he got some exercise. He could also use the phone anytime he pleased. He had it made.
Al had the goods on everybody, and he was feeding Mahoney a little at a time. Al’s wish was Bill’s command. Al was awaiting trial for murdering his accomplice in a heist that they had pulled off together a few months earlier. He was obviously trading information for his freedom.
Al DeCanzio could be characterized on the same level as Jimmy “the Hammer” and Big Gene, the Accountant: He was a “strong arm” for the Mob. When Frank Valenti was in power, Al had acted as one of his bodyguards.
After Valenti’s unfortunate departure, Sammy Gingello took control of the city’s underworld activities. Yes, he still had people to answer to, but the glory was his. This was the position for which Sammy had striven his entire life. He had managed to gain his standing by the age of thirty-three. Blood flowed during that takeover, but nothing like during the war that was to come. No, Sam would not let go of what he had worked so hard for. The only way his position would be taken was over his dead body.
The detectives left me alone in Bill Mahoney’s office with Al, closing the door behind them as they departed. Al hung up the phone, put both his arms behind his thick neck, and leaned back in Mahoney’s overstuffed chair. His muscle-bound legs were still comfortably outstretched on top of the desk.
“Hi, Georgia. It’s good t’see you. You’re lookin’ good,” he said with a sick smirk, which was his normal facial expression.
I wished I could return the compliment. Dark circles encased his eyes, revealing the strain he’d obviously been living with. His hairline had receded since I had seen him last, and his straight brown hair looked a bit greasy.
I fixed him with my accusing brown eyes. “What the hell are you doing here, Al?”
This special treatment could mean only one thing: He was spilling his guts. I hadn’t heard anything about him ratting, so I assumed no one was aware of it yet.
“Bill wants to remodel his office, so he gets me out a few days a week to pound some nails. It’s cheap labor for the city, and I get to use the phone and stretch my legs a bit,” he said. “So what’s going on in the streets?”
I nonchalantly searched the room for recording devices. “What are you asking me for, Al? You probably have more information than I do, and you’re inside. With all those phone calls you make, you must have enough information to write a book.”
“That I do . . . that I do. How’s Joe?”
“He’s fine,” I answered curtly.
“Where is he these days?”
“He’s around,” I lied. He had been gone for four months.
“Seen Sammy or any of the boys around lately?”
I had enough of this cat-and-mouse game. “Al, what’s the deal? Why are you here, and why am I here?”
He laughed out loud. “Well, I know why I’m here—”
I was irritated with the position these dirty detectives had put me in. “Why am I here, Al?”
“If you don’t know, then I sure don’t,” he answered offhandedly.
I leaned forward and laid both hands flat on Mahoney’s desk, arresting Al with a penetrating glare. “Since you have unlimited use of the phone, Al, why don’t you call me a cab?” I stood to leave. They couldn’t hold me. This was a setup if I ever saw one, or maybe it was Mahoney’s way of unnerving a few people. He was a master at that.
Opening the office door, I turned back to Al, who was regarding me with hooded eyes. “You know what, Al? You’re nothing but scum,” I spouted, refusing to be intimidated. “You can tell those two-faced bastards that I said to drop dead! If they have a problem with that, tell ’em to call my lawyer.” I slammed the door behind me as I left.
I marched down the corridor, buzzed the elevator, and waited impatiently. When the door opened, a man in a suit exited. In my haste to get out of there, I smacked right into him. It was Sal Ruvio, one of the cleaner detectives.
“Georgia? What are you doing here?”
“You tell me, Sal! Give Mahoney a message for me: Tell him that the next time he wants to speak with me, he’s going to need a warrant. Cops—they’re all alike!” I stormed into the elevator and pressed the desired button, leaving Sal looking baffled and confused as the door closed between us. I had no idea what was going on, but something bad was happening for sure.
I took a taxi home, and then I got into my car and drove to a pay phone. I called Joe in San Diego and told him what had transpired. He went berserk. He refused to clue me in on the details about what was going on.
“Why don’t you ever listen to me, Georgia?”
“Why don’t you ever talk to me, Joe?”
“Why? Because of just what happened today. The less you know, the better off you are. There’s a lot of shit coming down right now. Everybody’s runnin’ scared, and they’re makin’ damn sure there’s no loose ends. Mahoney is setting you up to get to me. Jesus,” he said, absorbing the seriousness of the situation. “I should’ve never left you alone. If he puts the word out on the street that you were talking to Al, it won’t be safe for you there. You and Toni get in your car first thing in the morning and start driving out here. We’ll worry about your clothes later.”
“Will you buy me some new clothes until mine arrive?”
“This is no time to be funny, Georgia.”
“This is crazy, Joe. I don’t know anything.”
“You know a lot more than you think you do, honey, and besides, it’s not what you know; it’s what they think you know.”
“Sammy would never—”
“Don’t kid yourself, Georgia.”
At five a.m. the following morning I brushed the snow off of my Chevy Mazda, and Toni and I headed for San Diego.
A week later all hell broke loose. Headlines shouted out death. The good guys and the bad guys were at war. The bad guys were killing one another off in order to ensure that the golden rule of silence would not be broken.
“I really missed you, honey. I’m glad you’re finally here,” Joe said as he lifted his glass to toast me. “You’re going to love California living.”
“I won’t love it if my hair frizzes up like this all the time.”
“Give it a chance, Georgia. Look at the bright side of things for a change.”
“Is there a bright side, Joe?” I asked doubtfully.
“You’ll learn to like it,” he snapped, his romantic mood suddenly changing.
Sitting in a wonderful restaurant on the ocean’s edge, we drank our wine and watched the sun sink slowly into the ocean. The rhythm of the tide crashing against the rocks hypnotized me as I sipped my drink. California was a beautiful state, but I did not want to be there.
The waiter arrived with our meal as I took my last swallow of wine. Joe ordered anoth
er bottle and began cutting his steak as though it deserved it.
I watched in amusement for a while, then looked for my own fork. It wasn’t there.
“Excuse me, sir,” I asked the waiter as he passed our table. “Would you bring me a fork when you get a chance?”
The next instant a fork was jabbed into my hand.
“Don’t you ever do that again!” Joe said through a mouthful of meat. He swallowed and continued. “I’m the man; I’ll ask for whatever you need. It’s not your place to speak.”
The pressure of the fork stayed constant in my hand as he reminded me of the rules. Involuntary tears sprang into my eyes. “Wipe your eyes before people see you,” he demanded.
The waiter returned with a fork, unaware of the incident. “Thank you,” I whispered as he walked away—not sure if that was allowed.
I sat toying with my food. I could feel his eyes daring me to show even a hint of a tear. Joe turned his head from side to side, and then he bent forward. “You got your damn fork—now eat!”
I looked up. “I’m not hungry anymore.”
“Eat that fucking food or I’ll shove it down your throat,” he said through clenched teeth.
“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” I announced as I stood and reached for my purse.
“Leave your purse here.”
“I need my makeup. I’m sure my mascara has smeared.”
“Leave it.”
I left my purse, but he knew, as always, that I was planning to run. I walked past the ladies’ room and darted out the door. Not quite sure where the condominium was, I followed the beach and hoped I would recognize it. The seashore was dark and cold. California evenings were cool in January. The sound of the waves was somewhat soothing, but nothing could take away the emptiness in the pit of my stomach. I had no family, no friends, nowhere to turn. I was alone.
You’re not alone. I’m here. You know, White, you’re a lot smarter now. Don’t let him take your independence away again. You know who you are. You’ve always known—but you let this jerk fill you with doubts. Don’t let him do it again. Stand up to him. You have a lot to give, White. Don’t waste it on him—he doesn’t deserve you.
Toni was asleep when I returned. Joe had gotten there before me, paid the babysitter, and sent her home. He was sitting on the couch with a drink, looking remorseful as the reflected flames from the fireplace danced softly on his face.
“I fucked up again. I’m sorry—but dammit, Georgia, you know better than that,” he said, trying to justify his actions.
Walking past him, I stood looking out the large sliding glass door at the moonlit body of water, contemplating the words to express my anger. I cringed as I watched Joe’s reflected image approach in the glass. Putting his body to my back, he slipped his arms around me. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, kissing my neck.
I pulled away. “I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry you will never be healthy. While you were gone I started living like normal people do.” I turned to him and continued: “I forgot the sick rules, and ya know what? They’re going to stay forgotten. I won’t live like this anymore.” I turned my back to him again.
He swung me around, pressing his long, thin fingers into my arms. Trapped in his pupils were the fire’s flames, flickering as he spoke. “Oh, yeah?” he said. “And what do you think you’re going to do?”
“I don’t know. . . .” I broke away from his grip and began walking toward the bedroom. He followed behind me, spewing his cruelty.
“Who do you think would want you with a kid? You’re no prize, ya know.”
You’re gonna eat those words, Mr. Wonderful—just wait and see.
“When are you going to stop belittling me, Joe? If I’m such a stupid, undesirable woman, then what do you see in me? Why would you love such a worthless person? Can you answer that?”
He couldn’t.
“You know,” I continued, “I’m not nearly as stupid as you think I am—or should I say, as you’d like me to think. If you would just allow me to speak once in a while, you might find I have something intelligent to say. Or is that what you’re afraid of? I’m a person, for God’s sake, not your servant, not an instrument for your pleasure. I’m a human being! All I want from you is to be treated like one. Why can’t I ask for my own goddamn fork in a restaurant?”
Go, girl! That was good.
“Because it’s not your place!” he screamed.
“It’s not yours either!” I screamed back. “I have a mind of my own, Joe. From now on if I want a goddamn fork, I’ll ask for it myself,” I said assertively, but my bravado served only to convince me.
“You’ve been talking to your girlfriends again. I can see I’ve been away from you too long,” he snarled.
“Do you really believe you think like a rational person, Joe?”
He inhaled deeply, and when he resumed his voice was measured. “Look, Georgia, I said I was sorry. Now can we just start over and pretend this didn’t happen?”
“Sure, Joe, I’ll pretend. I’m good at that.”
“What do you mean by that?” he snapped.
“Nothing.”
The argument raged, then drifted off again. He tried to reach into my soul and soothe the wounds, but the fear he’d struck in my heart over time had become too deep to be dislodged. I gave him a tired, indulgent smile and finally relented. But he was aware that inside my silence was a bucking bronco. It made him more determined than ever to tame me.
With the night between us, I lay in bed, lonely and homesick. The memory of the few short months I’d been away from Joe made living this way again unbearable. But for now, I had no choice.
Welcome to California. . . .
In all the years with Joe, the next four months brought with them the worst mental abuse I ever encountered. I was a virtual prisoner. Having nowhere to run when he was out of control, I spent many nights hiding with Toni in the local theater, waiting for Joe’s temper to cool so we could go home—that is, if I was lucky enough to get out with my purse. Other times, we hid outside in the cold night, clad in our pajamas, shivering from the dew-drenched grass beneath our bare feet and praying he would be calmer when we returned.
The more I stood up to him, expressing my thoughts, the more abusive he became. In the past, although I clung to my beliefs, I buckled under to Joe’s ridicule and demands. Away from him for any period, I was able to think clearly. I had slowly become stronger, and my life with Joe became more intolerable. My tone changed. Rather than sounding as though I were pleading, I began speaking from strength. Joe was so extreme, so purposeful, so sure of everything, he made me want to fight him even if I agreed. I no longer wanted to tolerate looking at life through his eyes. He was losing control of me, and it terrified him. His only recourse was to attempt to instill more fear, but I rebelled, regardless of the consequences.
Joe became so paranoid with my new attitude that I had to sneak to have lunch with my sister-in-law, Darlene. Even his own brother’s wife was off-limits outside of our house. Darlene, a beautiful soul, was my only outlet for venting frustrations. Being in her company, if only for an hour, did wonders for lifting my spirits. Her husband, Jimmy, was nothing like Joe, but he too had his dominating ways. We could sit for hours and complain to each other, but only so many unguarded moments could be stolen.
An attractive mixture of Cherokee Indian and German gave Darlene a distinctive beauty, a sort of intelligent attractiveness touched with class. She worked as a representative for a cosmetics company. Her shoulder-length honey blond hair and startling direct green eyes enhanced her looks as well as her product. She always dressed tastefully; even if she simply wore jeans, she spent time in the planning.
Darlene never broke a rule in her life. She wouldn’t even cross a street against the light. Her rigid lawfulness was a constant irritant to me, but that was Darlene. I could tell her anything. She always listened, wide-eyed and animated. Always concerned, she put herself on the line by covering for me, keeping me out of troub
le. This was a special feat for Darlene, being so damn rule-oriented. If she had to lie, she was usually a dead giveaway, but she did it anyway.
I learned never to ask her opinion if I didn’t want to hear the truth. Despite my hesitations, however, she spoke her mind without even being asked. During our many conversations, we often planned and schemed about how we were going to leave our husbands. To my surprise, Darlene acted on her threat and left Jimmy. Now she was definitely off-limits. It was impossible for us to have contact, and I felt lost and abandoned. My only outlet for sanity had deserted me. I wondered how I could survive without her.
If she could do it, so could I!
The day was finally here. Toni’s class was bringing an end to the school year with a kayaking outing. She was so excited, she talked about it for weeks. We were in the bathroom trying out different hairstyles. She wanted to look just right.
“Kevin doesn’t like it in a ponytail, Mommy. Put a barrette in it and let it be straight.”
“Who’s Kevin?”
“Just a boy . . .”
“He sounds pretty special—”
Joe barged into the room, yelling. He had found the potato chips I had hidden under the bed. Because he was a health nut, we had to be too. He started pushing and shoving me and wouldn’t let up. I ran from the house and down the 102 steps to the beach. I sat on the sand and waited until he had time to cool down.
I assumed Joe would take Toni to her event. He knew how much she was looking forward to it. When I got the courage to go back, the door was locked. I had to ring the bell several times before Toni finally opened the door.
She stuck out her lower lip and stared at me accusingly with teary eyes. I had let her down. Joe used her to get back at me for running by refusing to drop her off. I’ll never forget that crushed look on her face. To this day, when I drive to San Diego on the 405 freeway and pass the place where she was supposed to go kayaking, a sick feeling fills the pit of my stomach, and I cry.
The Company She Keeps Page 22
