“Thank you, operator,” Bull said through clenched teeth. He heard the ringing at the other end. It was a funny buzz of a ring.
“Hello?” said Yank’s voice, faint and streaked with static.
“It’s me,” said Bull. “Everything okay?”
“Me and Duck’re right behind him,” Yank replied.
“Okay here too,” said Bull. “I’m waiting for Momma to show. Hang on till he arrives.”
“Yeah, Momma,” said Yank.
“You hold now, and we’ll keep this thing open,” said Bull. “It’s tough getting through to you.
“Okay.”
Bobby Matteawan turned left onto the overpass, crossing the highway to New York, and turned left again. He was next to the cemetery. There were no streetlights nearby. The place was as silent as tombs usually are. The wind was whistling cold and wet across the frozen trees. As far as they could see, the entire cemetery was surrounded by a ten-foot stone and cement wall.
“What a place this guy picks,” said Frankie the Pig, surveying the wall. “Who the hell could even get over that wall? And if you got to the top, they’d kill you before you hit the ground.”
“What do we do now?” asked Bobby Matteawan.
“We go slow until we see a white cloth over the wall. Then we just throw the money over.”
Matteawan drove slowly along the curb while Frankie the Pig and Angie the Kid watched the wall. Frankie said, “Shut off your lights.”
Bobby Matteawan shut the lights and continued slowly.
“There it is,” said Angie the Kid. Over the wall, apparently suspended by a rope, a white handkerchief was bobbing.
“Stop the car,” said Frankie the Pig. He got out and studied the handkerchief, then the wall above. It was solid stone and cement, without an opening anywhere in sight.
“You there, you black cocksucker?” he shouted into the wind.
“Just throw that bread over, you white motherfucker,” shouted Alfred, from the other side.
“I’d cut you open with a knife and shit in your chest, you lousy black bastard,” Frankie shouted.
“I ain’t got all day,” Alfred replied. “Throw that stuff, or I’ll do the same to that old man of yours.”
Frankie heaved the money bag over the wall. He watched it sail out of view, then heard movement on the other side. The car behind him moved quickly onto the sidewalk and pulled up directly next to the wall. Matteawan and Angie were out in a moment, jumping onto the hood and then the roof. Frankie the Pig leaped up beside them. Their heads didn’t even reach the top of the wall. Bobby Matteawan jumped up and pulled himself to the top of the wall.
“I can’t see a goddamn thing,” Bobby Matteawan said.
“Okay. What are you guys doing up there?” Lieutenant Schmidt said from behind them. Flashlights shone on the three men standing on the roof of the car. Quinn pulled up directly behind Schmidt’s car. Feigin flashed a third light on the three men standing stock still on the car roof.
“I come to see my mother’s grave,” said Bobby Matteawan, “may she rest in peace.”
Suddenly a roar of a belly laugh burst from Feigin. Quinn joined him. Schmidt looked over at his two detectives, then back at the three goons looking foolish on top of the car. He began to laugh and turned out his flashlight.
Bull was still holding the phone, talking to Yank. He heard a noise, and then footsteps. He saw Alfred squeezing through the bars of the gate.
“You got it, man?” asked Bull.
“I got something,” he said, bringing over the wrapped paper bag. In the light of the booth he tore off the wrapping. Inside were bundles of cash.
“Count it,” said Bull.
Alfred took the money out, and together they counted it, putting the packages back in the bag as they did so.
“Eighty-five thousand.” Alfred said admiringly.
“Let me look at it,” said Bull. He fanned through the money, looking at selected bills.
“Looks real to me,” said Alfred.
“It is,” said Bull. “Okay, baby, we got it,” he said into the phone.
“Let him go?” asked Yank.
“Let him go. See you later,” replied Bull.
“Okay.”
Alfred got into the car as Bull slid behind the wheel. They moved out quickly, disappearing into the dark quiet streets of Queens.
“Hey, Gianni, these guys just flashed their lights at me,” Sal said into the phone.
“What are they doing?” asked Gianni.
“It looks like they’re dropping off. Yeah—they’re dropping off me,” Sal said. “They’ve just shot off the highway on an exit. They’re gone. The bastards are gone!”
“Come on home, compard’ ou me.”
“With pleasure,” said Sal. “But how the hell do I get home when I don’t know where I am?”
11:15 P.M.
Gianni lifted his Scotch and water. Frankie the Pig had just proposed a toast. Gus, Joey, Bobby Matteawan and Angie the Kid were exuberant now, drinking to take the edge off the tension and fear that had hung over them for four long days.
The garage door suddenly opened and Sal walked in. He stood in the center of the floor, blinking, smiling, hardly believing that it was truly over.
Joey saw him first. “Boss,” he cried, running over. He embraced Sal, kissing his cheek.
The others came around joyously, slapping his back, shaking his hand.
Sal looked at Gianni. Gianni stood there laughing softly. They moved toward each other, their faces glowing, and embraced.
“I didn’t think we’d get you back, compard’ ou me,” said Gianni.
“What the hell are you talking about?” said Sal, holding him at arm’s length, looking into Gianni’s eyes. “You think those bastards could compete with you, compard’? I wasn’t worried. I tell you the truth, though”—Sal turned toward the others, his arm still around Gianni’s shoulders—“when they put me in that car tonight, I wasn’t so sure I wasn’t going for a ride. But when the guy with me got out—my God, I said to myself, look what this Silver Eagle can get these bastards to do. He got out of the car, and left me alone! But you know they left me at the ass end of the world? I had to ask a cop how to get the hell out of there. You believe it? I was out in the middle of nothing. You did well, my friend,” Sal turned to Gianni again. “Dio mio, you’re a genius.” Sal kissed Gianni on both cheeks.
“Where’s a drink?” said Sal, turning. “Everybody’s celebrating except me!”
“Here, boss,” said Joey eagerly, pouring a tumbler of neat Scotch.
“Stop! Do you want to kill me?”
“To Gianni,” he said, raising his glass. “I owe you my life, compard’.”
“We’re even,” said Gianni.
“Come on, drink hearty,” said Sal.
Suddenly Sal looked worried. “What about my wife?” he asked Gianni.
“She’s all right. I told her you had to go out of town for a couple of days.”
“I can just hear her bitching now,” said Sal. “She’ll want to know why I didn’t take her with me. I’m supposed to be a tough guy—how come I have to listen to that?”
“Tell her next time you’re kidnaped you’ll take her along,” said Gianni. They laughed.
Suddenly Sal turned deadly serious. “Now, let’s go find those bastards and get our money back. You know who they are?”
“Big Diamond located a man they think is connected with this,” said Frankie the Pig. “I sent Tony out to bring him in this afternoon. I haven’t heard from Tony at all—we’re afraid they got him.”
“They didn’t get him,” said Gianni, his humor gone now. He put down his drink, looking at Frankie the Pig, then at Sal. “Frankie sent Tony up to Harlem to grab this man; that’s true, Sal. However, I believe that if his friends had found him missing, right in the middle of negotiations, they’d have panicked or exploded. Either way, I believe it would have triggered their killing you.”
“Lucky Tony did
n’t get him, then,” said Sal.
“Yeah, what the hell, it all worked out,” said Frankie the Pig, relieved.
“It’s not as easy as that.” Gianni was staring at Frankie the Pig.
The others fell silent, aware that something was going on.
“It didn’t just work out by chance,” said Gianni. “I told you I don’t trust in luck. Tony came to see me at the hearing today instead of going up to Harlem with Lloyd.”
All eyes turned to Frankie the Pig, then to Sal.
“Tony told me what you wanted him to do,” said Gianni. “He also told me that he didn’t like the idea and he wanted me to know about it before he went ahead.”
“Why that little weasel,” said Frankie the Pig. “When I give him an order—”
“Hold it, let me hear this,” said Sal, raising his hand.
“I told Tony to go up to Harlem and just watch this Alfred,” said Gianni. “I told him to try to find out if he was really in on it, and to stay out of sight. I haven’t heard from him yet, but I know the colored guys didn’t get him.”
“If they had, I’d be dead by now,” said Sal. He looked at Frankie. The office phone rang. Joey took the call. “It’s Tony. He wants you, Gianni.”
“No, he wants Sal,” Gianni replied.
Sal took the phone. “Tony? I hear you did fine work. Really fine, I appreciate it. Where are you now?”
“I got them. Lloyd and I’ve been watching these creeps all day. We even saw you and followed you on the road tonight. We kept about a half-mile back—saw the whole thing.”
“You mean, you were right there with me?” asked Sal. “Why didn’t you take the bastards?”
“Because I wanted you to get out first.”
“Where were you after they went away?”
“I followed them. I wanted to get them all together again. And now they’re all celebrating.”
“You’ve got them now?” asked Sal.
“Yes,” Tony replied.
“Where are they?” Sal asked hungrily.
“In the Black Pussy Café on St. Nicholas Avenue and 139th Street.”
“Keep the bastards there, Tony. You keep them there,” said Sal. He hung up the phone and stormed out of the office.
“Let’s go. Get some of your boys, get the guns, get ropes and weights.” He was looking around the garage, trying to find anything to use to crack across a skull. “Get your toughest boys together—Gus, Bobby. And some baseball bats. I want to do a job on their heads personally.”
“Let’s go,” said Frankie the Pig, pulling out an automatic from his waistband, sliding its bolt to arm it.
“No, you stay here where you can’t fuck things up,” Sal said curtly.
Frankie the Pig looked at him in amazement. “What do you mean?”
“What the hell do you think I mean?”
“I’m the underboss, I’m second in command,” Frankie the Pig protested.
“And when you found yourself really on your own,” said Sal, “you almost got me killed because of that goddamn temper—because you don’t think. Tony, now, he thinks. Look at the good work he’s done.”
Gianni watched the scene with a certain pleasure. The other men looked at Sal, then moved slowly away from Frankie the Pig.
“You demoting me, Sal?”
“Right. Demotion. You’re out, Tony’s in. As of right now. You want to stay on with us, or you want to go someplace else?” Sal’s eyes were cold and hard.
“Go where?”
“That’s up to you,” said Sal.
“I know where the someplace else is,” said Frankie the Pig. He looked around him. The others watched dispassionately. “I’m staying.”
“No funny business,” said Sal. “Any funny business and you’ll be lying all over the street the way those niggers are going to be lying all over the street in a few minutes. They’re going to be dead.”
“They’re already dead,” said Bobby Matteawan.
Gianni turned to Sal. “No!”
“What do you mean, compard’?” asked Sal. “We’ve got these niggers now. We have to teach them a lesson, don’t we?”
“I agree,” said Gianni. “But you don’t have to kill them, Sal.”
“Don’t kill them? You want me to give them a medal, a hug? You know better than that, Gianni. They got to be taught they can’t fuck around with us—nobody can.”
“That’s all right. Just don’t kill them. You said you owe me something. This is what I’m asking you.”
“What do you want me to do with them then?”
“Throw the place out in the street, fine—hit them with bats, teach them a lesson. Look: The worst thing you can do to them is take their money and their rackets; let everyone know they’re marked men, tie a can to their tails, so no one will do business with them. Just don’t kill them,” Gianni repeated. “I don’t want any more blood on my conscience. I tracked them down, I got you back. I don’t want their blood.”
“Give them a beating and leave them alone? You getting soft in the head, compard’?” Sal asked.
Gianni looked at him steadily. Then he smiled. “Besides,” he said, “I’ve got a better way for you to take care of them for good without killing them.”
“It’s got to be crazy,” said Sal, “but I’d better listen.”
Gianni said, “After you really give them their lumps, toss them over to the cops. After all, they killed a guy—and the cops have them admitting it on that phone of ours they tapped. Let the cops put them away for you.”
Sal studied Gianni a moment longer. “That head of yours never stops, compard’ ou me. Cops.” Finally he shook his head. “I never let cops do anything for me, Gianni. You know that.”
Gianni sighed and just perceptibly lifted his shoulders.
Sal nodded toward the outside and the cars. The others moved out. Sal followed. Then turned: “You come too, demoted wise guy,” he said to Frankie the Pig.
Gianni went into the office and put on his overcoat. Joey came into the garage as Gianni was walking to the doorway.
“Sal sent me back to drive you home,” said Joey.
“Okay, Joey. All of a sudden I’m tired.”
They went outside and got into Gianni’s silver Cadillac. Joey got behind the wheel and started away from the curb.
Friday, February 12
1:00 A.M.
Three cars pulled up in front of the Black Pussy Café. On the way up, a car with five of Gus’s boys had joined them. Tony and Lloyd got out of a car in the shadows.
“Hello, Tony,” said Sal, happy for a moment.
“I’m glad to see you,” said Tony, shaking his hand. “I’m sure glad to see you. This is Lloyd—a real good guy.”
Sal shook hands with Lloyd. “They still in there?” he asked.
“Yeah. They’re having drinks, getting a little stoned,” said Lloyd.
“Where are they sitting?”
“Third booth back, on the left,” replied Tony.
“Good. Let me go in alone,” said Sal. “Have a couple of guys watch the back entrance.”
“I already did, Sal,” said Gus.
Sal opened the front door and walked up to the bar. He was the only white man in the place. The bartender noticed him first, then a couple of customers sitting at the bar looked over.
“How about a drink?” Sal said loudly, slapping his hand on the bar.
Alfred looked up and saw Sal. He nudged Yank. Soon all five men seated at the table and the five women with them were watching Sal. The rest of the customers at the bar and at the tables fell silent; something was in the air.
Sal downed a shot of Scotch neat. He did not look toward the back. He tossed a five dollar bill on the bar.
The five men in the back began to slide out from their table. Bull reached down for the attache case full of money that was next to his chair.
The only sound in the place was the clicking of the jukebox automatically seeking out the next selection.
S
al turned now. He looked right at the table where the five men were seated. “Hiya Bull,” he said, his eyes fierce.
Bull stood in place, staring back at Sal. He said nothing. His eyes moved toward the front door as it opened.
Frankie the Pig, Gus, Bobby Matteawan, Angie the Kid, Louie the Animal, and Tony entered. Two of Gus’s boys—real hard-rock types—entered with them. One sat at the bar. The other sat at the first table. They each took out a pistol and held it down flat before them. The patrons—except those at Bull’s table—started to scramble toward the rear.
“Move slow,” ordered Sal loudly. “Have somebody watch for cops,” he said to his men.
“Right, Sal,” said Gus.
“Listen mister, we don’t want any trouble,” said the bartender.
“Forget it; you got it,” said Sal. He turned toward the back. “How about handing over that case.” He nodded toward the attaché case.
The girls sitting with Bull and his bunch got up from the table and moved to the rear of the place with the other customers. There were about twenty people, all standing, silently watching.
Tony waved the bartender to the rear with them. The bartender raised his hands and moved quietly. Tony walked over to Bull and kicked his chair to the floor. He pulled the attaché case roughly from his hands and gave it to Angie the Kid. Angie handed it to Sal. Tony nodded to Gus’s men. They trained their pistols on the five colored men as Tony frisked them one at a time. He relieved them of six pistols and five knives.
Sal opened the attache case and counted. “A hundred eighty thousand.” He looked up. “A hundred eighty. We just made up our vig, Tony. That’s the first step. Next.”
Tony looked at Sal, then Frankie the Pig, then the others. They started moving toward Bull.
“Anybody else in the back there want trouble?” asked Tony.
Nobody moved. One gun was thrown from the crowd to the floor. Angie the Kid picked it up and put it on the table with the rest of the gathered weapons. Gus’s man was minding them.
Tony turned and took a baseball bat from Bobby Matteawan. He walked slowly toward Bull, his eyes like coals, fixed on him. Bull raised his hands, bracing himself for battle. Tony took a cut with the bat swinging full as if for a fastball—Bull’s middle was the ball. Bull raised his hands to grab for the bat, but Tony had sent it in too hard. It crashed through Bull’s hands and dug hard into his gut. Bull moaned as he folded to his knees.
Sicilian Defense Page 17
