The Company She Keeps

by Georgia Durante

  Richard wasn’t particularly attractive, and despite his wealth, he was uneducated. I figured his lack of intelligence explained why he wanted me—he didn’t know any better. But he played his cards correctly, and he was patient. He saw what he wanted and was willing to play whatever game was necessary, because he knew he would win in the end.

  After a year, the divorce became final. Joe did not contest it. What was his was his and what was mine was his. I asked for nothing. The divorce was enough.

  My past was haunting, but it was also fading from my memory. I talked to Joe frequently, and I no longer feared him. We even visited some. I’d stop by if work brought me to San Diego, and he would come to L.A. on occasion. I never thought we would have this kind of relationship. In my mind there was no going back, but he held on to the hope that we would be together in the end.

  On one of the jobs that took me south, I stopped by to see Joe with a purpose in mind. I wasn’t quite sure if face-to-face was the way to deal with it. The sun was beginning its descent when I knocked on the door. Joe smiled when he saw me and poured us both a glass of wine. We sat on the patio watching the sunset as we had many times in the past.

  “Joe, Richard has asked me to marry him,” I admitted.

  He almost choked on his drink. The shock faded and was replaced by concern. “You’re not considering it, are you?”

  “Well . . .”

  “I don’t believe this! How could you even think about sleeping with that sand-nigger?”

  “He’s good to me, Joe. He’s good to Toni. We both deserve to have a life.”

  “I know I was a shitty husband and father, but come on. You’re not really serious?”

  I thought for a moment before continuing. “My answer was yes.”

  “It’s the money, isn’t it?”

  “No, Joe, it’s not the money.”

  “It can’t be for his good looks and his intellect!” he retorted.

  “You’re right about that. But he was there for me when I needed a friend. I value that, Joe. He’s good. He’s kind. . . .”

  “Who you trying to convince—you or me?”

  “Toni is a different kid. She laughs a lot. She’s happier than I’ve ever seen her.”

  “Well, this is just wonderful news. Let’s celebrate.” He guzzled down his wine and filled his glass again.

  “I’ll never love again with the intensity and the depth I once loved you, Joe. But there are different levels of love. Richard doesn’t even come close to that kind of love. That kind of love hurts too much. Once is enough. The kind of love I have for Richard is much different.”

  He felt better hearing those words.

  “You know as well as I do,” he said, “that when you’re finished with whatever it is you think you still have to do, we’ll be back together. I’m now the guy you always wanted me to be. I’ve changed a lot. You have to admit that, Georgia.”

  “Yes, you have changed, but not enough and a little too late. Joe, I made the decision long ago that you’re not the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  “And he is?”

  “I’m happy, Joe. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  “Bullshit! You may be able to convince him of that, but you’ll never convince me.”

  “Let’s just drop it, Joe. I thought I owed you the courtesy of telling you before I did it. I don’t want to argue about it, okay?”

  “When is this joyous event supposed to take place?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, when you do know—I want to know.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I wish I could change all the bad things I did to you. Why was I such a fuckin’ asshole? I still love you, Georgia. I’ll love you till the day I die. I don’t blame you for wanting a better life, but you have to make me a promise.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t ever cut me off from your life. If I couldn’t at least hear your voice, I wouldn’t want to live.”

  “I won’t, Joe.”

  “You and Toni are all I have. You can’t take her from me, too. I know I could never make up to you all that I’ve done to hurt you, but give me the chance to make it up to her. Please don’t let her go through her life with bad memories of me. You’ve got to let me see her. Don’t shut me out. Promise me, Georgia.”

  “I said I wouldn’t. I’m not trying to punish you. I don’t know how it happened, but it feels good to be where we are with each other right now. I never thought we could discuss something like this without—”

  “Don’t! Don’t bring it up. As long as I can spend some time with Toni, and talk to you, I can live with this. I owe you that much.”

  “Thank you, Joe.”

  “Maybe someday you’ll see I’m not such a bad guy after all. Maybe . . .”

  He held me in silence for the longest time. His tears trickled down my neck. I cried too, for what could have been but could no longer be.

  “Let me make love to you—one last time. . . .”

  I was just waking up when the phone rang. I hadn’t had my first cup of coffee yet, but the news would call for a Scotch and water.

  “Hello, Black Widow.”

  “Nelson! Are you still lurking out there in my life somewhere?”

  “I told you I’d always watch out for you, didn’t I?”

  “What’s the matter now, Nelson? What’s he up to this time?”

  “It’s not Steve. I came to work early this morning and I got some news over the wire I think you’d like to know about, if you haven’t already heard.”

  I paused, feeling a dull sinking in my chest. I inhaled deeply. “What is it, Nelson?”

  “They got your friend last night.”

  “Which friend, Nelson?” I asked, closing my eyes and saying a silent prayer.

  “They killed Sammy Gingello.”

  “Oh, God . . . Sammy!” I cried, feeling like my stomach had dropped out. “How did it happen, Nelson?”

  Every time I called home I’d hear about someone else who had been murdered. Just a matter of time. I immediately made some calls and spoke to people who had seen Sammy in different places during that fateful night. I pieced the story together from what I was told and from my own experiences when I’d been out on the town with him. In my mind, I traced the last steps of Sammy’s life. . . .

  Defiantly, Sammy G strutted into the packed Club Car bar on Lyell Avenue with the confidence of the don that he was. His bodyguards, Tommy Taylor and Tom Torpey, followed closely behind. They were his eyes as he walked through the crowd shaking all the extended hands. An outsider would have thought the president had entered the room. The going was slow as he nodded and paused to exchange small talk with well-wishers.

  “Good to see you back, Sammy,” came a yell from the crowd.

  “They should fry those rat bastards!” someone else offered, slapping him on the back.

  “Keep your hands to yourself!” Tommy Taylor shot back, quickly backing the man off with his icy stare.

  “It’s cool, it’s cool,” the man said, putting his hands in the air and stepping backward into the crowd.

  Two detectives sat at a corner table watching the scene, wishing they could become invisible. Their colleagues had changed places behind bars with Sammy and his entourage for fabricating the evidence that had convicted them for the murder of Jimmy “the Hammer” Massaro. “The Man” was back, but too much time had passed and too much money was at stake for Sammy G to easily resume the throne of the treacherous world of organized crime. The kingdom still belonged to him, but his loyal soldiers had switched sides in his absence. With loyalty the equivalent of power, it was hard to tell who the enemy might be.

  A bullet with Sammy’s name on it was out there somewhere. He could feel it, but he refused to lie low. Against the strong advice of the two big men who stood by his side, he would not wear the bulletproof vest. It remained in th
e backseat of the Buick along with the loaded .20-gauge shotgun. Hell, such an undergarment would spoil the effect of the expensive, custom-made silk suit that fit his body to perfection.

  “Let’s blow this place,” Sammy said to the boys as he slugged down the last of his Scotch. “Let’s see what’s happening on the other side of town.”

  They went through the same charade on the way out as they had when they walked in. Taylor and Torpey gave the car a quick inspection before getting in. They drove down Lyell Avenue and considered stopping at Caesars II, now called Alexander’s, but decided to pass. The place had lost the excitement it once had when Joe Lamendola owned the joint, and besides, that slimy little creep, Jimmy Massaro’s brother, owned it now. Not a good choice.

  The 747 Club would be their next stop. Sammy made a quick appearance there and moved on to the Encore Club, where he threw some dice in the dimly lit back room. He gave his winnings to the girl who stood beside him and whom he thought had brought him luck. Last stop: Ben’s Café Society.

  They didn’t notice the light-colored Lincoln that followed in the shadows two blocks behind with its lights off as they hopped from bar to bar—a ritual Sammy had missed during those long days and nights behind steel bars.

  Ben’s—a place of many fond memories, laughter, and even a few tears. It was one of my favorite meeting spots in years past. I could still see the decor clearly in my mind’s eye. The placement of the tables, the location of the piano bar . . . it was all familiar, as well as the smiles Sammy G encountered as he elegantly glided to the table which always sat empty, awaiting his arrival.

  He noticed a girl alone at the bar, crying, and he sent her a drink even though she had already consumed one too many. It wasn’t necessary to order drinks for themselves; three glasses of Scotch were waiting before they arrived at the table. Within minutes, four more shot glasses backed them. Torpey and Taylor sipped theirs slowly—they had a job to do.

  While people approached the table to greet the king, Sonny Serpentino crept across the parking lot with the explosive device. Across the street in the Rascal Café, Chief Bill Mahoney sat unaware, staring into his empty glass and pondering his career. It all had gone so well. But now his world had changed. The good guys had suddenly become the bad guys. How could he have been so careless? The years he had given to the department in the name of the law would all be forgotten now. He would not go out a hero, as he had hoped. He ordered another drink and tried to forget.

  Drunken laughter spilled out toward the parking lot as the bar door swung open. Sonny’s heart stopped as he cautiously retreated behind the 1978 Buick. He had to work fast. This was his last chance. Twice before during the course of the evening he had been forced to abort. It had to be now.

  Inside, Murph Marciano approached Sammy. He had worked for the prosecution’s office on Sammy’s case. He and Sammy were boyhood friends. When they grew to manhood, Murph went in one direction—the right side of the law—and Sammy went in the other.

  “Glad to see you again, Sam,” Murph said with sincerity.

  “Yeah, thanks for all the help,” Sammy replied sarcastically.

  Murph looked saddened and turned his face away. Sammy reached out and put his hand on his shoulder. Murph turned to Sammy with an obvious ache in his heart. He loved Sam. It wasn’t his fault things had turned out the way they had.

  “Ah, you did what you had to do, but you should’ve listened to me when we were kids. I told you those damn books were gonna get you in trouble. Gotta remember who your friends are, Murph,” Sam said as he scrutinized his old friend’s face. Murph held his breath. “I don’t hold it against you, buddy,” he added with a wink.

  Murph sighed, grateful for being exonerated. Now maybe he could start sleeping again at night. He did his damnedest riding the fence, he really did.

  Sonny finished the tedious job of planting the bomb, and then slithered to the alley where the Lincoln was parked. With his finger on the button and a smile frozen on his face, he waited.

  Mahoney passed when they announced last call. He paid his tab and left the bar, deep in thought. He took note of the gold Lincoln as he walked the block and a half to his parked car. Detail: That was what had once made him a good cop. Good or bad, he’d never stop being a cop. He’d been one too long to change his ways now. One too many drinks clouded his mind. Think about it tomorrow. He’d been thinking too much already tonight.

  “Well, whatta ya say, boys,” Sammy said. “Shall we hit an after-hours joint before we call it a night?”

  “We might be stretching it, Sammy,” Taylor answered.

  “Yeah, you may be right.”

  They rose and began their departure. Torpey and Taylor snapped to attention. They had made it through another night without incident. Maybe tomorrow they would take the Rolls-Royce.

  “Thank you for the drink, Mr. Gingello,” slurred the teary-eyed girl from the bar stool as they passed.

  “My pleasure,” Sammy replied, adjusting his cuffs and straightening his tie as he continued to walk forward.

  Maybe they all had just one too many. They were no longer paying as much attention to detail as they had when the night began. Sam opened his car door and casually got in. Taylor and Torpey had just opened their doors and begun to enter when Sonny could wait no longer. His sweaty finger pressed the button.

  I could imagine Sonny’s smile growing larger when he saw the bright orange flames. The glass and debris shot out over a 140-foot radius. The explosion threw Taylor and Torpey thirty feet from the vehicle. The blast could be heard three miles away on South Avenue.

  Mahoney caught a faint sound as he drove toward his home, noted it, shrugged, and continued on.

  Murph was the first one out the door. “Oh, my God, they got Sammy!” he cried in disbelief. “Someone call an ambulance!” He ran toward the car, but the flames would not allow him to get close enough to try to save his friend.

  The firemen were the first to arrive. Torpey and Taylor were walking around, dazed and in shock but otherwise unhurt. Flames from the burning car hid Sammy from the firefighters. They extinguished the flames, but two long minutes passed before he was visible. He was lying faceup near the rocker panel on the driver’s side, motionless, with his eyes wide open. Very little blood, although his right leg was completely blown off and the left one was hanging by mere strands of flesh. A few cuts and bruises marked his face, but his upper body was intact.

  Presuming him dead, the firemen pulled Sammy from the smoldering wreckage and placed him on the stretcher. The mourning crowd watched in horror. Then he moved. He was still alive! He tried to raise his head to look at his legs, but didn’t have the strength. Even in shock he was determined. With all of his willpower, he raised his upper body enough to see that he no longer had legs. He dropped back down on the stretcher and said nothing.

  “Who did this to you, Sammy?” asked the detective on the scene.

  Sammy looked at him, raised his right hand, extended his middle finger, and closed his eyes.

  His arm dangled from the stretcher as they slid his mangled body into the ambulance. No one moved until the sound of the siren could no longer be heard, and even then no one was anxious to start their cars. An hour later, at the Genesee Hospital, Sammy G was pronounced dead from shock and blood loss.

  The bloody war that followed Sammy G’s murder will probably end up on the big screen one day, but for now it just lies in the memory of the few who survived. Not only was it the end of an era for the Mob in Upstate New York, but it was a turning point in my life as well—a crossroad long overdue. This was the only way it could end for Sammy. Live by the sword, die by the sword.

  The cornerstone of my underworld past had fallen. It was the closure I needed to begin transforming my own life. Darkness would seek me out from time to time, to repay favors owed, but for the most part I moved forward with my life, trying not to look back at a world I no longer wanted to remember.

  Good-bye, my friend. . . . Rest in peace. .
. .

  Today, organized crime is still doing business in Rochester, except all the players have changed. Nothing stays the same. Shadows of my past still weave in and out of my life, but mostly I see mobsters only on television now. The movie Goodfellas was an accurate portrayal of my perception of life in the Mafia. But that’s in my past. Today my life and the people in it are very different. One thing will never change for me, though: I will always have the negatives—tucked somewhere in the darkroom of my mind.

  Chapter Twelve

  No invitations were sent. Only family members and a few close friends were present in a large suite at the Desert Inn Hotel in Las Vegas. This wedding wasn’t sitting well with Joe. He knew it was going to happen, but not when or where. Although we were finally on speaking terms, and he wasn’t using the violent approach anymore to get me back, I still had to be cautious about his unpredictable personality. It was Thanksgiving Day, 1979. My new life was beginning on the same day that Jimmy Massaro’s had ended six years earlier.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

  I expelled a big sigh. Time to sign the marriage certificate.

  Darlene, once married to Joe’s younger brother, Jimmy, was my maid of honor. With pen in hand, she hesitated when signing her name as a witness. Darlene was easy to read. She worried that Jimmy or Joe would somehow find out that she was a willing accomplice in the “crime” I was committing, daring to remarry. When married to Joe, I wasn’t even allowed to be friends with Darlene. Joe viewed her independent spirit as a bad influence on me, and here she was my maid of honor. Darlene never did well in handling the craziness of that world we had both come to know. I knew what she was thinking. A little “oh, God” escaped under her breath as she quickly signed her name in the appropriate place.

  The photographer, anxious to capture the moment, tugged at Dar’s arm. “Where you running off to? Let me get a shot of this.”

  Dar looked at me, rolling her eyes as she reluctantly moved into position for the best shot. “This is just too bizarre,” she whispered as the photographer went on to create more memories.