Gianni studied Mickey silently. Frankie the Pig’s face was streaked with displeasure.
“You know Gugi?” asked Gianni.
“Sure. He’s in the same racket, but he’s up further. I’m in the southeast Bronx and he’s up around Boston Road.”
“You have any coloreds working for you?”
“Some, sure. Oh, I know what you’re getting at—but I haven’t come up with anything. I can’t link it to nobody I know.”
“All right,” said Gianni. “Tell us about how you were snatched. What happened?”
“It was about a week ago, let’s see,” he said, looking at the ceiling. “What’s today?”
“Tuesday,” said Angie the Kid.
“Tuesday, right. Well, it was like Friday before last Tuesday. Ten days ago. I was in the joint, ready for a night’s work. I was just hanging around. And some guy says there’s a call on the phone. So I walk up to the booth, and there’s this spook inside—I couldn’t hardly even see him. I figured he was using the phone. But he turns to me, and he’s got this knife, you know? I seen it shine. I didn’t figure it was a snatch or anything. I thought maybe a heist for a bag—and I’d give the guy the bag if he wanted it that bad. So I move back, kind of, and I bunk into this guy standing right behind me. I just turned my head a bit, like this—” Mickey demonstrated.
“Go on,” said Gianni. Tony drifted in and stood opposite Angie the Kid and Gus.
“I didn’t even hear this guy get behind me. But I turned my head, and it’s another spook. So I know I got trouble now. The bartender’s got a gun, at the bar, but he’s further down, in the back of the joint. I’m thinking, maybe I’ll call the barkeep for help, but then I figure this guy with the knife looks like he knows how to stick it in my gut.”
“What did he say?” Gianni said.
“I was mostly looking at the knife. But the guy behind me says, ‘Come outside.’ The other guy moves the knife to my throat. I ain’t arguing with him. The guy behind me is almost up my ass, he’s so close. We walk outside and there’s another guy in a car.”
“What kind of car?” said Gianni.
“Some kind of beat-up job, maybe a Ford or something. It was real beat-up.”
“They probably used some junkbox on purpose so it couldn’t be identified,” Gianni said to the others.
“I bet it’s their own car. They’re not smart enough to think of that,” said Tony.
“Let’s not make a mistake and sell them short. Go ahead,” Gianni said, turning back to Mickey.
“I get in this beat-up car and the guy behind me gets into the back seat with me. The guy with the knife gets in the front, hanging the knife down behind the front seat so the people in the street can’t see it. But I can see it, you know? The guy in the back ties this rag around my eyes and then stuffs me down on the floor. The bastards, they got me rolled up like I was a ball.”
“What did they look like?” asked Gianni.
“That’s hard for me to say, you know. I mean, I know a lot of yoms, I deal with them all the time, them and spics, so I get to know what they look like. They don’t really all look alike, you know? They’re almost like we are—I mean they all got dark eyes and dark hair. But each guy looks different anyway.”
“I know that, Mickey,” said Gianni. “What did these look like?”
“Like I said, that’s kind of tough to say, ‘cause these guys were all wearing real dark shades and hats. A lot of these colored guys wear shades, so that don’t look suspicious when they come in the joint, I guess. I couldn’t get to see much of them when they grabbed me. During the ride, of course, I couldn’t see a thing.”
“How long did they drive you?”
“Maybe half an hour, forty-five minutes. We really had a ride.”
“Do you know where they took you?”
“It must have been Queens. Yeah, it must have been. I mean, we went across a bridge—I could hear the tires making that noise when you go over a bridge. And then, later, while I was in the apartment where they kept me, I heard planes all the time—low, too. I could hear the engines like they were taking off, or coming in for a landing.”
“Fine,” said Gianni. “When you were in this apartment, were you blindfolded?”
“No, but the blinds were pulled down all the time. They wouldn’t let me near the windows, so I couldn’t see outside.”
“How about the men who snatched you?” said Frankie the Pig. “Could you see them then?”
“They were two different guys. A little guy, his name was Hartfield, or Hartley, or something. They tried not to let me know their names. They’d call each other ‘man,’ and kept reminding each other not to use names. But one of them slipped once, he called the other guy Hartfield or Hartley, something like that.”
“And the other?” said Gianni.
“I didn’t catch his name. But he was a mean-looking bastard. The other guy, he was small, dark-skinned, with a mustache. The mean-looking bastard had a mustache too, but he was taller. He was pretty dark-skinned too.”
“Did you notice anything about the apartment?” asked Gianni.
“I know it wasn’t their apartment,” said Mickey.
“How do you know that?”
“I heard them talking about some dame who was away for the weekend or something. There was pictures on the wall, a lot of pictures. And one dame was in most of them; I think it must have been her apartment.”
“What did she look like? Did you recognize her?”
“No, I didn’t recognize her,” said Mickey. “But she must have been one of those bunnies, you know?”
“A what?” said Frankie the Pig.
“A bunny, you know, like in that Playboy magazine, with the ears and the thing on her ass,” said Mickey.
“Was she white?” Gianni asked.
“No, she was colored too.”
“A chocolate bunny,” Tony said, caustically.
“She was a good-looking head, this dame. She didn’t have them nigger features, you know. She was light, good looking, long hair.”
Gianni’s eyes widened. “A bunny from the Playboy Club, colored. There’s a piece of real information. You sure it was the Playboy Club?”
“I couldn’t tell exactly from the picture, but it looked like it.”
“Was there anything else in the apartment from the Playboy Club?” Gianni pressed him.
Mickey thought for a moment, looking at the ceiling. “Yeah, there was an ashtray. I was smoking a lot. Minca, I was nervous. I didn’t know if these guys were going to croak me, or what? If it was up to this taller guy, the mean bastard, they would have. But the little guy was all right.”
“The ashtray was from the Playboy Club?” said Gianni.
“Yeah, I’m sure of that,” said Mickey.
“Fine. What else happened?”
“Well, I didn’t exactly know. I was in the apartment, and the guys who brought me there must have been talking with my people to get the dough.”
“How much did they get?” asked Frankie.
“They took us for thirty-five large,” he said proudly.
“How did you get back?” said Gianni.
“The same way. In the back of the car, blindfolded. They left me in the parking lot over at La Guardia. It was late at night and the joint was deserted. They just tossed me out, blindfolded still. They took off fast. I didn’t even take the mask off. I just stood there for a while. When I didn’t hear the car no more, I took the thing off my eyes. I seen some headlights coming at me and I thought the bastards were coming back to run me over. I started to move—you know, this way and that, zigzag like. But it was my own guys. They called to me, ‘Mickey, Mickey, it’s us.’ And I got in, and that was it.”
“Would you be able to recognize them again, those five men?” said Gianni.
“The two guys in the apartment, for sure. The other guys, no. Only that there’s two of them big guys, and the third one is shorter and wide, built like a bull. I been looking for th
em myself, but who’s going to see them again?”
“What kind of house was it?” asked Gianni.
“We’ve even put up some money for information—ten Gs. But nobody’s come up with anything. What do you mean, what kind of house?”
“Big, little, new, old?”
“I couldn’t tell you. We walked up and down a couple of flights, but I don’t know if it was a big house, you know, an apartment house or what. But it wasn’t too old—I mean it wasn’t one of those slum kind of buildings. Inside, the apartment was all right: a nice joint, to tell you the truth.”
“Anything else that might be helpful, Mickey?” said Gianni.
He shook his head. “Not that I can think of. One of your guys got snatched too?”
“We’ve got a similar problem, Mickey,” said Gianni. “I appreciate your help.”
“It’s nothing, Gianni. If there’s anything else I can do, just call.”
“I will, thanks,” said Gianni. “Angie, give Mickey a ride back to his place.”
Angie nodded and moved toward the door. Mickey stood and shook hands with Gianni and Frankie. He followed Angie out of the garage.
“Well,” said Gianni. “We’ve got something really real now.”
“The bunny?” asked Frankie the Pig.
Gianni nodded. “Right. We’ve got to find a chocolate bunny.”
“I didn’t even know they had any,” said Tony.
“Now you know,” said Gus.
“You want me to go up to that Playboy place and look around, Gianni?” asked Tony.
“Yes.”
“Take Gus with you,” said Frankie the Pig. “If you took Matteawan he’d end up playing around with the dames and we wouldn’t see him for two days.”
“Yeah. And you can’t come either,” said Tony, a cool smile on his lips.
“Minca. That reminds me, I better call a cummad’ and tell her I’m busy,” said Frankie the Pig. “I hope we find Sal soon.”
“I do too,” said Gianni.
Wednesday, February 10
10:00 A.M.
John Feigin was sleepily leafing through the September issue of Reader’s Digest he had found in the school custodian’s office. During the night, until the restaurant closed, there was very little action, nothing significant, on the phone-booth tap. There was nothing at all on Sal Angeletti’s home. Communications had completed that installation about 1:00 A.M.
It was just about time for one of the other detectives from the squad to relieve him, Feigin thought, looking at his watch. He suddenly noticed the recorder on the tap at Angeletti’s home moving, the spool of tape winding. Feigin picked up the headset and fit the cups over his ears.
“Hello, Maria?” Feigin heard a woman’s voice from the outside line.
“Oh, hello Andrea,” said the voice in Sal’s home.
“What’s the matter?” Andrea asked, “you don’t sound well.”
“I didn’t sleep last night,” said Maria. “Sal hasn’t been home now in two nights. How could I sleep?”
“He hasn’t been home in two nights?”
“Two nights. He was out Monday night and didn’t even tell me. And I fixed veal and peppers—the way I do? And he didn’t even come home. So I figured I’d put it in the refrigerator and he’d eat it Tuesday. But he didn’t come home last night again.”
“Maybe he heard you kept the leftovers.”
“It isn’t funny, sister of mine,” said Maria soberly.
“What do you think?”
“What can I think? I haven’t any idea,” said Maria. “When he gets tied up like this, usually he lets me know—he sends Joey over, or Tony.”
“Nobody came over to explain anything?”
“Gianni Aquilino came over just now.”
“Gianni Aquilino?” Andrea was surprised.
“Just like that,” said Maria. “Gianni rang the doorbell and came in for coffee. I haven’t seen him it must be three years.”
“How did he look, still as handsome as ever?”
“Still the same—elegant, handsome.”
Feigin on the earphones was listening and taking notes. He had written the name Gianni Aquilino, underscoring it three times.
“Remember when he was sweet on me?” asked Andrea.
“Remember the lions eating the Christians?”
“Speak for yourself, sister dear.”
“We’re both old now,” said Maria.
Andrea sighed. “What did Gianni say?”
“He said he was in the neighborhood, and he knew Sal wasn’t home, so he thought he’d come and say hello and let me know Sal was all right.”
“That was nice of him,” said Andrea.
“Gianni is considerate,” said Maria. “Not like that Sal, leaving me alone without calling.”
“Sal was always that way—you expect him to change now?”
“Well, it was nice of Gianni to come over and let me know everything is okay.”
“Yes,” said Andrea. “How are things otherwise?”
“Okay, and you?”
“Okay,” said Andrea. “Except for Jimmy’s ulcer.”
“How are the children?”
“Okay. Everybody’s fine. Well, I just called to see how you were. Let me know about Sal, if he’s okay?”
“I will. Thanks for calling.”
“You’re welcome. Remember, it’s your turn now,” said Andrea.
“How could I forget it?”
They both laughed and hung up.
Feigin opened the door, locked it behind him and went down to the principal’s office to call the precinct house. A few children were walking through the halls, toward their classrooms, or to lavatories. They looked at him quickly as they passed, wondering who the new teacher was.
“Hey, Lou, I got something interesting over here,” said Feigin into the telephone.
“What’s that?”
Feigin glanced at the principal’s secretary, who was now listening to the conversation. She looked down at her typewriter.
“Hold it,” Feigin said in the phone. “Miss, is there a private office I can use?” He looked at her without hiding his contempt. She was a little Jew intellectual, he thought, one of those liberals.
“You can go into the principal’s office,” she said, pointing to an inner door.
“Thanks. Hold it, Lou,” said Feigin, pushing the HOLD button. He walked into the office and picked up the phone. “Listen, Lou. Gianni Aquilino was just over to see Sal’s wife.”
“Aquilino? I didn’t think he’d be around this morning.”
“He went over to tell her that Sal’s all right,” said Feigin. “He must have been the guy talking on the phone last night.”
“Of course. Who else would talk instead of Frankie?” said Schmidt. “Very good.”
“I thought you’d like to know right away.”
“I think we should drop over there and pick Gianni up,” said Schmidt. “Maybe he’s used to the soft life these days. Maybe he’ll talk where the others won’t.”
“You want me to pick him up?” asked Feigin.
“No, I’ll take care of it from here,” said Schmidt. “You stay on the wires until I get somebody over to relieve you. Then come in. Aquilino will be here by the time you get here.”
“If his high-priced lawyer doesn’t get there first.”
“I’ll see you in a bit.” Schmidt hung up.
Feigin went out of the office and returned to his listening post. The tape in Sal’s house was going again. Feigin donned his headset quickly.
“Even so, he’s still your father,” Maria’s voice was saying.
“But that doesn’t mean I have to agree with what he is or does,” said a female voice. “One of these days you’re going to be a widow. He thinks he’s still a kid.”
“He’s got a lot more life than a lot of men,” said Maria.
“And if he’ll just stop what he’s doing and retire, and go to Florida, he’ll keep that life, God willing,
for a long time. I just worry about him, mother.”
“I know. I do too,” Maria agreed. “But what can we do? You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. That’s the way he is.”
“I’m sure Daddy’s all right. Didn’t Gianni say so?”
“Yes, but even so, how does Gianni know? He’s not around to know from day to day.”
“If Gianni Aquilino says everything is okay, mother, I’m sure it is.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. And so do you.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Maria. “It’s just that I worry.”
“Do you want me to come over and stay with you today?”
“Can you?”
“Sure. I’ll bundle up little Sal and we’ll come over and spend the day together.”
“That’ll be nice,” said Maria. “I’ll fix some food the way you like it.”
“We’ll be there in about forty-five minutes.”
“Okay. And bundle Sal up warm, now. It’s cold out.”
“Yes, mother.”
“All right, come on, we’ll watch the astronauts on the TV. Tell little Sal to hurry to Nonna.”
“Okay, good-by.”
“Good-by.”
Feigin shrugged, picking up his Reader’s Digest again.
10:30 A.M.
Gianni lit a cigarette and put the lighter back in his pocket. He was sitting to the right of Lieutenant Schmidt’s desk. He smiled at him. “You’re really looking great, lieutenant. And the promotion, that’s great. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. How long has it been since I’ve seen you?”
“Come on, Gianni, don’t horse around,” Schmidt said patiently.
“I’m not horsing around,” said Gianni. “I’m delighted you made lieutenant. It’s nice to know the old-timers on top are letting in a few besides their own for the promotions.”
Schmidt leaned back in his chair and smiled. “You look great too, Gianni. Come on now, level with me. We’re not trying to pin anything on you, or on Sal. You know-that. We know there’s something wrong. We’re trying to help—but you’ve got to cooperate.”
“You know, I wish there was something for me to tell you, lieutenant. But I don’t know what in blazes you’re talking about. As far as I know, there’s nothing wrong.”
Sicilian Defense Page 9
