Rizzo's War

by Lou Manfredo

  “Absolutely.”

  “With, of course, the usual exceptions, I assume?” Eddie smiled. Joe nodded. “Right: murder, future crime, terrorist shit, you know the deal.”

  Eddie nodded. “Well, this misunderstanding involved some vegetable seller out on Rockaway Parkway. My people were offering him a little business insurance, and at a very reasonable premium. But the guy laughed at them and told them to fuck off. Unfortunately, just a few days later, the business suffered a fairly serious setback.”

  “And the problem?” Joe asked.

  “Well,” Eddie said cheerfully, “this stupid fucking immigrant fruit seller didn’t mention that he was already fully insured by the good-hands people of the Saverese family. You know Frankie Saverese?”

  “I know the name. Wise-guy out of Mill Basin and Canarsie.”

  “Yes, indeed. And first cousin to The Chink.”

  Joe shrugged. “So your people stepped on their dicks and pissed off two seriously made guys. My advice to you is, forget the message and just don’t stand next to them for a while. Chances are, in a few weeks, you’ll have a couple of spare motorcycles around here.”

  Eddie laughed. “My first reaction exactly, Joe. Great minds do think alike. Do you ride, Joe? A bike I mean.”

  “No, I never have.”

  He shook his head. “That’s too bad. You’ve got the balls for it. But anyway, your suggestion, while a good one, won’t fly here.”

  “Why not?”

  “This wasn’t our first offense. Last year, despite our formal arrangement with The Chink, a couple of my guys ventured into Bensonhurst with an ill-thought- out stolen-auto scheme. The Chink was not pleased, and you know what? I never saw either of those two boys again. It was a shame, too, they were two of my better earners. But you see my position?”

  Joe ground out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray and reached again for his pack and lighter.

  He smiled as he lit another Chesterfield.

  “Oh, yeah, Eddie, I see your position. You figure this time Quattropa sends the troops out for you personally.”

  Eddie nodded, a broad grin on his face. “Exactly. See, I knew you were a sharp cop, Joe. Now, believe me, if he wants a fight, he can have one. He’s barely one step ahead of the feds as it is, all those old guineas are. A fight with me will just speed up his indictment. This thing in Canarsie, it was just a mistake, pure and simple. The Bensonhurst thing, that was different, my guys fucked up. They went in de pen dent, behind my back, forgot they were borderline morons who need my brains the way men like you and I need oxygen. With them, what ever The Chink did or didn’t do he had the right. But this, this situation in Canarsie, this is different.”

  Rizzo dragged on his cigarette and thought for a moment.

  “So, I go to The Chink, call him off, tell him you regret the mistake and you’ll take care of it in-house. So what does he get?”

  “Discussing that would compromise your integrity as a sworn officer of the law, Joe,” Eddie said with a grin. “Just get him to agree to hear me out. I’ll reach out to him with my peace offering, and he’ll be happy at the end of the day. Plus, my two guys will make it right with the immigrant in Canarsie, and The Chink can take the credit. Or Saverese can, however they choose to handle it.”

  “And you figure I can do all this?” Joe asked.

  He nodded. “Joe, I’ve had dealings with the police on three continents: in my native Netherlands, my adopted and beloved home here in the States, and on those occasions when I’ve vacationed down in sunny, historic, and fertile South America. I know what cops can and can’t do. You can do this.”

  Joe pursed his lips and glanced at Mike. The younger detective’s face was expressionless, and Joe was pleased to see it. They both knew how close they were to Rosanne; they could sense it. The Surgeon could put them on to her, perhaps even deliver her himself. All that was required was a short visit to the Starlight Lounge, the small bar on Bay Ridge Avenue where Louie “The Chink” Quattropa held court. The Starlight, located squarely in that gray area between “legal” and “illegal,” “right” and “wrong,” now held the key to Rosanne Daily’s immediate fate.

  “And I get the girl?” Joe asked in a low voice.

  Eddie nodded. “I give you the info you need to night, you grab her tomorrow or the next day, whenever. Only after you actually get her do you have to go talk to The Chink.”

  Joe smiled and sat back in his seat. “So, you’ll take my word on this, Eddie? We got ourselves a special little bond going here?”

  Now a knock sounded, and Eddie glanced at the door, then back to Rizzo, his eyes hardening.

  “You know exactly what we have here, Joe,” he said, his voice a hiss. “We’ve got business. I give you the girl and you pay for her with The Chink.”

  He glanced back to the door as a second knock sounded.

  “Come in,” he said, then turned back to Rizzo, lowering his voice as two men entered the room.

  “You try to fuck me, Joe, you better hope Quattropa chills me. And soon.”

  Rizzo smiled coldly. “You seem a little tense, Eddie,” he said casually, turning to face the two men as they crossed the room. “Quattropa’s been known to have that effect on a man.”

  Bats walked slowly behind the desk and stood beside Eddie, facing the detectives. The man he had led in took a seat to Mike’s left after Eddie had gestured for him to do so.

  “Show him the picture,” Eddie said to McQueen, with a tilt of his head to the seated newcomer.

  Mike turned his gaze to the man. He appeared short, five-six at best, and very fat. His flesh bulged obscenely against the thin material of his graying white T-shirt. His dirty jeans were open at the waist, partially secured with a heavy metal chain almost obscured by the overhang of his belly. His face, pockmarked and burned dark by the sun and wind, was equally obscured by a wild, matted red beard. It was difficult to determine where the beard ended and the tangled, dirty mane of head hair began. A caveman, the bartender at McDougal’s had said in describing him.

  McQueen slipped the photo of Rosanne along the desk’s edge. He let it lay there under the dull gaze of the man.

  His eyes flickered as he looked at the photo.

  “Chicks,” he said, an eerie falsetto pitch to his voice. Mike caught the strong scent of alcohol on the man’s breath and the sickly sweet odor of burned marijuana clinging to his clothing.

  Eddie smiled. “Gentlemen,” he said to Rizzo and McQueen. “As you can see already, Chick here is not the brightest member of my choir. And on top of it, he’s drunk. If you intend to get anything from him, I suggest you let me handle this.”

  Rizzo, a slow anger still burning him from Eddie’s barely veiled threat of a moment ago, answered for them.

  “Be my guest,” he said softly to Eddie. “I’m a cop, not a fuckin’ anthropologist.”

  The Surgeon laughed, genuinely amused. “Joe,” he said, “you really must take up riding. You’re hung for it.”

  He turned to the man.

  “Chick,” he said in a kind but firm tone. “I want you to answer my questions. Simply and to the point. Don’t explain anything, just answer. Do you understand?”

  Chick looked into The Surgeon’s eyes, then glanced ner vous ly to each detective.

  “Did I fuck up, Chirurg?” he asked, using the Dutch word for surgeon, fear pushing through the alcoholic slur.

  “No, Chick, you didn’t. Just answer my questions.”

  The man relaxed a bit and smiled. “Okay, Boss. Shoot.”

  “Chick, do you see that picture?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who is it?”

  “That’s my ex-girl. Chicks.”

  “Is that what everyone called her? Chicks?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, Chicks, ’cause she didn’t have no real name, and she was mine, so the guys, they said she was Chick’s, sos that’s what we called her: Chicks.”

  Rizzo shook his head and looked to McQueen. “This kid’s got
more aliases than Lucky Luciano,” he said bitterly.

  The Surgeon chuckled at the remark, then turned back to Chick.

  “Where did you find her?” he asked.

  Chick shrugged. “Out at the Bow-Wow, the hamburger joint on Cross Bay Boulevard. In Queens.”

  “When?”

  He thought for a moment, squinting with the effort. McQueen noticed beads of sweat forming on the man’s brow despite the cool air-conditioned breeze moving gently through the room.

  “I dunno. A couple a months ago, maybe. Out at the Bow-Wow.”

  The Surgeon nodded patiently. “Yes, Chick, the Bow-Wow. We got that part. She’s the one bought you that soft-tail custom Harley you’re wheeling, right?”

  Chick’s face beamed. “Yeah,” he said happily. “She’s the one.”

  “Tell these two cops how that happened, Chick.”

  The man looked ner vous ly at Rizzo and McQueen. His eyes then darted back to The Surgeon. He began to perspire more profusely.

  “What?” he said dully.

  Eddie sighed. “It’s okay, Chick. Just tell them.”

  He cleared his throat and glanced at Bats who nodded discreetly to him. “Okay,” he said. “If that’s what you say.”

  “That’s what I say,” The Surgeon said softly.

  “Well, she had a sack fulla money. Hundreds and fifties and a few five-hundred- dollar bills. I never seen one before I seen those, goddamned. I told her I been wantin’ a custom soft-tail from that shop over in Jersey. She said, okay, let’s go get one. So I took her, and she gave the guy the dough right on the spot. He put it all under a light he had, said it was good, not counterfeit. That was a cool light.”

  “What happened to her, Chick? How come she’s not here anymore?”

  Chick frowned and looked sheepishly down at the floor.

  “You know why, Boss,” he said.

  Eddie smiled benignly and glanced up at the amused face of Bats.

  “Yes, Chick, I do. But these cops don’t. Tell them.”

  “Well,” he said, scratching ner vous ly at his matted hair. “I was back out at the Bow-Wow a couple a weeks after I got the new bike. Motherfucker has a hundred and fifty horses with Screamin’ Ea gle heads and cam. I was gonna tear up some dudes on Cross Bay.”

  “And how’d it all turn out, Chick? Tell them.”

  The man grinned sheepishly, apparently taking bizarre pride in demonstrating his ineptness to the strangers.

  “I lost the bitch. There was a guy there with a Jap bike looked like a pig. But he had a slit with him lit my eyes up. She had a ass like a peach, I tell ya. We got to talkin’, me and him, and we bet the slits on the bikes.” Here he frowned, regret briefly flickering in his eyes. “I thought I could blow him down, Boss, with that new ride I had.”

  “Yes, Chick. We figured you thought that. But what actually happened?”

  He slammed a suddenly balled fist into his thigh.

  “I missed a fuckin’ shift! Missed a fuckin’ shift and blew it! Goddamn stupid fuck, I missed a shift.”

  Rizzo leaned to his left, almost touching McQueen’s body.

  “You lost her?” he asked. “You lost her on a bet? What the fuck does that even mean?”

  Chick looked puzzled. He turned to The Surgeon with questioning eyes.

  Eddie smiled coldly, clearly enjoying himself, and made pointed eye contact not with Rizzo, but McQueen.

  “Tell him what it means, Chick,” he said.

  Chick turned back to Rizzo, speaking very slowly, as if to a child.

  “It means I lost her. It means she had to go off with the guy. He won her, and now he’s got two bitches. And me, I’m back to sloppy seconds and jerkin’ off.”

  They sat in silence for a moment. Then an angry McQueen spoke directly into The Surgeon’s eyes.

  “Ask this moron who the guy was,” he said to Eddie.

  Eddie’s face lit with amusement. “Why, Harpo, it’s good to hear from you. I knew you were in there somewhere.” He turned to Chick. “You heard the man. Who was the guy you lost her to?”

  Chick, seemingly unfazed by the young cop’s harsh words, shrugged.

  “Some guy rides with The Others. From Staten Island. He said his name was Cake.”

  “Thank you, Chick,” Eddie said. “You can go now. I’ll tell them the rest.”

  Chick stood, eager to leave. “Okay, Boss. Thanks. I’ll catch you later.” He turned and walked unsteadily to the door, exiting the room with obvious relief and closing the door gently behind him.

  After he had gone, Bats circled the desk and sat in the vacant chair. The Surgeon smiled coolly at his visitors.

  “Ready for that drink yet, gentlemen?” he asked.

  “No,” Rizzo answered for both of them. “Let’s wrap this up. You said you’d tell us the rest. So tell us.”

  Still smiling, The Surgeon reached into a desk drawer and removed a bottle of cognac.

  “Well,” he said, “do you mind if I have one?”

  “Go ahead,” Joe answered.

  They watched as the man uncorked the bottle, raised it to his lips, and took a long swallow. Then he sat the open bottle down on the desk and turned his attention back to the detectives. He made no offer of cognac to the still present, silent Bats.

  “Where shall I begin?” he asked, a light, conversational tone injected facetiously into his voice.

  “With the money,” Joe responded. “Where did this kid get enough cash to buy that clown a bike?”

  The Surgeon laughed. “Ah, Joe, you see, I was right. Great minds do think alike. That’s exactly the question I asked when I first found out about Chick’s good fortune.”

  “Who did you ask?”

  “Why, Joe, I asked her, of course. Do you not fully realize that Chick is a bit intellectually challenged? A moron, I believe Harpo here called him.” He smiled coolly at McQueen, who answered the smile with hard eyes.

  “What did she tell you?” Rizzo asked.

  “She said she stole it. From her father. It seems he’d been prying into her life lately. She was very upset about that; although what a modest young lady like Chicks could possibly have done of an embarrassing nature is beyond me. She said she waited until he had gone off to corporate land, then she went into his den. She had a key to his desk and the combination to his wall safe, apparently from nosing around the office during her formative years.”

  Here he paused and took a second pull from the cognac bottle.

  Rizzo leaned forward and spoke. “So she was still livin’ at home at the time?” he asked.

  “Yes. In fact, I believe she mentioned that it was partially why she had run off. She took about a hundred thousand in cash. By the time she started running with Chick, most of it was gone, or so she claimed. As a matter of fact, he rode her over there, to her house, to try and get more, but the combination on the safe had been changed.”

  “She told you this?” McQueen asked.

  Eddie turned to Mike. “Oh, she told me lots of stuff. She told me her father was some kind of crook, and she had proof. She said if he ever tried to put her away, she’d use it against him. I wasn’t sure if I believed her till now. She was really flying, all hyper and excited, she was so happy I figured she had forgotten she was going to die someday. I asked her if daddy knew about this proof she had and she said absolutely not. Just about the money she stole. All I was really interested in was whether or not there was any more cash lying around the house. She said there wasn’t, so I dropped it. I considered the possibility of selling her and her evidence back to the old man, but I was busy at the time and next I heard, Chick had lost her. She was totally broke by then anyway, so it didn’t matter much.”

  “Where’s this evidence?” Rizzo asked.

  He smiled at the two detectives. “Ah, yes, I thought you might ask. Remember, gentlemen, I told you before that I could give you the girl and maybe more if you wanted it? Well, that’s it. The old man sent you after his money. It’s the reason you r
eally came. The reason I now know she was telling the truth about the old man being crooked.”

  Rizzo frowned at him. “What? What do you mean?”

  Now The Surgeon’s eyes went flat, the smile left his face. “Don’t confuse me for a fool, Joe. Papa Man has friends, I have friends, some of them cops. He knows you been lookin’ for this kid full-time. Cops don’t do that, so you guys are working a contract. I know her father is a wheel, big-shot politician, and he couldn’t give a goddamned about his daughter. She told me that, and on that I believed her. Hell, you can’t even blame the guy: we specialize in dysfunctional females around here, and she was this year’s trophy winner. Her old man had threatened to lock her away somewhere and soon. See, she knew he was a crook and she figured if she could prove it, he’d have to leave her alone. The old man tried to hijack her off to some nut house once before, but somehow her shrink stopped it. Chicks figured she needed protection against her old man. So what does he do? He sends you two looking for her. I figure he does know she’s got something to hurt him with. I guess I’m sitting here with the next police commissioner and his right-hand man, Joe, and I want you to know I’ll always feel free to call on you in the future should I ever need a favor or two. You have to be in on it. Daily would never have gotten straight cops involved. See, I’ll know that you found what ever she’s got, and I’ll know it magically disappeared. And you, well, you’ll never know just what I can and cannot prove.”

  He looked from McQueen to Rizzo and his cold smile returned.

  “So you see, gentlemen, you’re working for two coldhearted scumbag criminals now: William Fuckin’ Daily and me, The Surgeon.” He leaned forward across the desk and lowered his voice to an almost pure hiss. McQueen felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stir at the sound.

  “If you’ve got time, why don’t I send for my scalpel? We can initiate both of you right now. Right here. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  RIZZO AND MCQUEEN SAT SIDE BY SIDE at the end of the long, battered bar, hunched over their beers. The tavern on Surf Avenue stood diagonally across from the minor league ball field that was home to the Brooklyn Cyclones, and it was nearly deserted. The person closest to them was the disinterested bartender thirty feet away, leaning against the back bar and leafing idly through a Daily News.