“What is it, Mike?”
“Vince. Somebody worked him over - and good.”
“Oh, no.” Her face paled. “Will he be all right?”
“I don’t know. I’m having him taken to the hospital.”
While talking, he had dressed with practiced swiftness, ran a comb through his hair, and was back downstairs in minutes.
Ettore was seated on a chair next to the couch, holding Vincent’s good hand in both of his. His face was set in stone, his eyes fixed on the face of his son.
Vincent’s mouth opened to speak. “Not now, my son,” said Ettore softly. “Later. Later.” Vincent’s eyes closed as the drug began taking effect.
Michael looked about. Those in the room were wisely keeping their distance to allow Vincent room to breathe. “Where’s Dom?” he asked Rose.
“He and Vito are upstairs getting dressed. He told me to tell you that an ambulance will be here in a few minutes.” She turned to Ettore. “You’d better get dressed, Papa, if you want to go to the hospital.”
Ettore rose quickly to his feet. “Watch him closely, Mike,” he said.
“I sure will, Papa.”
Ettore, Dominic and Vito were dressed and back down by the time the ambulance came. With swift efficiency, the crewmen transferred Vincent to a stretcher and started out.
Ettore held up Dominic and Vito. “I want one of you and the boys to stay here. Whoever did this to Vince might try something else.”
Vito nodded. “I’ll stay, Papa.”
Ettore and Michael climbed into the ambulance with Vincent while Dominic followed in one of the cars.
Ettore again sat by Vincent, holding his good hand in both of his own. “I had Rose phone Doctor Gardino,” he said to Michael. “He’s coming to the hospital right away to help you.”
“I’ll be glad to have him,” said Michael. Doctor Gardino had been the family physician ever since he could remember.
The sun was well up when Michael came into the hospital room assigned to Vincent where Ettore and Dominic were waiting. “Vince will be brought up in a little while. He has a moderate concussion. His left clavicle is fractured. One of the blows on his face loosened three teeth. They may have to come out when he’s better. There doesn’t seem to be any internal bleeding, and we haven’t found any organs damaged. But we’ll have to watch him closely for a couple of days. On the whole, he resembles a man who’s had the bejesus beaten out of him.”
“Are you sure there are no problems?” asked Ettore, looking closely at his son.
“No big ones, Papa. But a fellow his age isn’t going to recover like a nineteen-year-old. It will be a good month before the assorted bruises and welts heal, but he won’t pound his gavel with the left hand for two or three months.”
“Well, we can be thankful that he is no worse. When can he be brought home?”
“In a few days. We’ll run more tests to make sure we didn’t miss anything. Someone will have to notify the police.”
“I already have,” said Ettore. “Vince will have a visitor later today. Did you talk to him.”
“There was always someone present, so we couldn’t talk freely, but Vince can handle himself with the police. He said a couple of men assaulted him down the street while he was taking a walk for air, then he signaled me that there was more to it than that.”
“They couldn’t have been laying for him,” said Dominic. “He probably didn’t know himself he was going to take a walk until he did.”
He stopped speaking as Vincent was wheeled in, fully awake now and in command of his senses. Two nurses helped Michael shift him to the bed, tucked him in, then left the room. His scalp had been partially shaved, a bandage taped in place to cover the wound. Another dressing was over a split on his cheek. The eye on that side was swollen and changing color. A figure 8 bandage was bound around both shoulders under a sling supporting his left arm.
Ettore pulled up a chair closer to the bed. “Mike says you are all right. We were worried. How do you feel, son?”
Vincent grinned through puffed lips. “Like I fell off one of your apartment buildings.”
“Is it all right for him to talk?” asked Ettore of Michael.
“Sure. Talking never killed a lawyer.”
“Did you get a look at the fellows who did this?” quizzed Ettore.
“Not well enough to identify them. But they were big ones. One of them probably has a swollen face. I caught him good.”
“Did they say anything or give you a reason why they attacked you?”
“Yes. One said we DiStephanos have big noses. He also said we were talking too damned much, asking questions. And he called me ‘judge’, so he knew well enough who I am.”
“They must have been watching the house,” said Dominic.
“I’m sure of that,” said Vincent. A wince crossed his face. He turned slightly to ease the pain. “I was merely a target of opportunity.”
“Anything else to report?” asked Ettore.
Vincent shook his head. “That’s all. Except that those fellows were pros. Bonazzi is telling us to quit now. This kind of beating is not just a warning, but a statement loud and clear that his next move will be downright dangerous.”
“That is standard procedure,” said Dominic. “Those kind of hoods don’t believe in rapping knuckles then building up the pressure. They think a sudden, violent working over will scare everybody off.”
“What are you going to tell the police?” asked Ettore.
Vincent stifled another spasm of pain. “I haven’t decided yet. I wish those devils had taken my wallet. I could say I was robbed.”
“Are you going to mention what the men said?” Dominic asked.
“Certainly not. I’ll just say they attacked me. I’m sure the police investigator will find that questionable, but he’ll have to accept it.”
“Okay, everybody,” said Michael. “Out we go. Vince had better get some sleep.”
They each pressed Vincent’s good hand and left the room. Once in the car, Dominic started driving homeward. “I’d dearly love to get those bastards in a room for half an hour,” he growled. “Imagine, kicking Vince between the legs when he was down.”
“The men aren’t important,” said Ettore, seated in the back. “Go for the head.”
“You mean Bonazzi père?”
“No, the pup.”
“Getting him will drive Bonazzi père wild,” commented Michael.
“Perhaps not. He may have enough sense to realize that a son for a daughter is a price that must be paid. That is, once the pup is executed.”
“Then why play around?” asked Dominic. “Why not let me take care of Bonazzi when I find him?”
“You will call me when you locate him. I will come there. Then we will decide.”
Back at the house, they had to explain to everyone what had happened and how Vincent was making out. The suddenness, the violence, as Dominic had said, cast a shroud of apprehension over them. The boys had sobered up. It was no longer a ball game. It would have been incomprehensible for anyone to assault an important figure like Vincent a day before, but with complete disregard for his dignified status, some hoods had trampled him to the ground as if he was a nobody. It was not a case of mistaken identity. They knew exactly who he was and didn’t give a damn that he was a justice of the New York State Supreme Court. That shook them all. If they thought so little of Vincent, how much less important were the others, and what treatment could they expect if singled out for another taste of Bonazzi’s methods,
It astonished them all and worried them, but it didn’t distract them from what they planned to do. Two of the family felt no apprehensions. Dominic was too enraged to consider anything but wading into both Bonazzis with fists flying or a gun smoking. He realized that he had been characterized by the family as being the blood-thirsty one, and it amused him, for he had never once felt any peculiar joy or exhilaration over killing the enemy during his tour in Korea, and since that time had never en
tertained the thought of harming even a fly, unless it was during a friendly type of barroom brawl. Vito was the other one who felt no fear. He was confident that proper planning and influence judiciously used would protect those he loved and overcome those who opposed him. Due to the enormous power he had at his disposal, he was inclined to shy away from confrontations; he preferred to move back from challenging situations until temper and dispute were sanded down enough to allow dispassionate settlements.
But both of them, Dominic and Vito, knew in their own ways that in this case action should be taken with speed and force. Vito was uncomfortable at Ettore’s reluctance to use the power he wielded, for he thought it dangerous. The attack on Vincent was a prime example. Vito was certain the price of the game would rise considerably at the next round. He deferred to Ettore because it was his nature to do so, and because he felt that Ettore would act decisively when the chips were down.
CHAPTER 8
Dominic and Junior arrived in Italy on a fine summer day a week after Vincent’s injury. From the moment Dominic boarded the Alitalia plane at Kennedy Airport, he regressed a generation. He kidded the stewardesses in fluent Italian, used his hands extensively to express a point, and made a fuss over the food he ate. They landed in Rome, spent a day touring, to the delight of Junior who had never been overseas before, then caught a plane to Milano. They took a taxi from the airport to a first class hotel near a park containing a zoo. A message was waiting for Dominic.
“It’s from Ugi Farini, Uncle Vito’s contact,” he told Junior. Up in their room, he placed a call to Farini. The Italian spoke English with a cultured Cambridge accent.
“Mr. DiStephano, thank you for calling. It’s a pleasure to be of service to Mr. Donini.”
“Vito sends his warmest regards and asked me to express his thanks for any help you can offer.”
“That is most kind of Mr. Donini, and please present my appreciation when you next speak to Mr. Donini.”
Dominic knew these flowery exchanges could go on for the remainder of the afternoon, so he got down to business. “Have you any information for me?”
“Yes. The gentleman you are interested in was at the Excelsior Gallia Hotel here in Milano until five days ago. It appears he had an American companion with him - a George Bucci. Unfortunately, I received Mr. Donini’s message asking me to assist you only a week ago, and by the time I learned where the gentleman was staying, he had already checked out. He went to Varese after leaving here. That is a resort town on the Swiss border about an hour’s drive north. However, he has since moved on. He is either residing with acquaintances or has crossed into Switzerland.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The hotel registration cards are taken up daily by the police. By the time they reach a central system, a day is usually lost. Therefore a person must remain in one place at least two days to be traced. Since visiting Varese, there has been no card on the gentleman.”
“Do you have any contact with the border police?”
“Quite good ones, but there is no requirement to register when entering or leaving Italy except for foreign air flights arriving here. It is very possible that he is taking a trip to Switzerland. The weather is delightful there at this time of year.”
Dominic could barely keep the disappointment from his voice. “What do you suggest, then?”
“I urge you to tour our wonderful Milano. I would be quite happy to escort you about.”
“Thanks very much, but my nephew and I would like to sight-see at our own speed. Please phone when you have any news.”
“You may be sure of that. Good day, Mr. DiStephano, and I hope you enjoy your visit here.”
Dominic hung up the receiver with a disgusted expression on his face. “Bonazzi is floating around,” he said to Junior. “He’s also got a chum along - a George Bucci.” He looked at his watch. “Come on, I’m hungry.”
Outside the hotel, Dominic pointed down the street. “Let’s go into town. I know of a nice place to eat.”
“That’s right - you said you had been here before. When was that?”
“About four or five years ago. But I didn’t stay at any twenty thousand lire a night hotel room then. I had a flea bag directly across from the main railroad station at about fifteen hundred a night.”
“That’s a little over two dollars.”
“Things were cheaper then. You could get a whole meal for a buck and a quarter. A good one, too. Pasta, steak, a vegetable, a quarter liter of wine, and some ice cream. Plus all the bread you could eat. I used to fill up for the day on one meal.”
They passed around a Roman arch and down a narrow street for several blocks to a piazza. “That’s La Scala over there,” said Dominic. Junior didn’t find the opera building at all impressive. “It’s fantastic inside. Beautiful frescos, excellent acoustics - really plush. I spent three day’s food allowance to buy a ticket for the top row. I felt like I was seated across the street or something. The Barber of Seville was playing, and was it bad.”
“No kidding. A bad opera at La Scala?”
“Well, they don’t always have top performers. And Rossini has never been a favorite of mine. I should have had my head examined, going to one of his operas.”
He led Junior across the piazza to a small restaurant on a side street. “Look at that - a tourist menu for only a thousand lire.”
They went inside and took a table. Dominic ordered the menu - spaghetti, boiled beef with french fries, wine and ice cream. Junior had a pizza, sauteed veal, a salad and a beer. After eating, they strolled through the high-domed arcade located directly behind the restaurant. Junior was enchanted by the small shops and restaurants with outdoor tables, the cafes serving coffee and exotic ice cream combinations. He eyed several beautiful girls seated at tables, alone or in couples.
“Mama Mia,” he breathed softly.
“Mama Mia ten thousand lire,” said Dominic.
“They allow whores in the open like this?”
“Sure. They’re part of the family here. If you want to tie into one, go ahead. But I’m passing tonight.”
“I’ll pass too, but only for tonight.” They came to the end of the arcade. “Holy Smoke,” exclaimed Junior, suddenly faced with the huge, impressive Duomo. The near side of the cathedral was covered by scaffolding, but the massive front and tall towers stood open to view. Spotlights played on the wide piazza at the entrance where tourists and students grouped around orators proclaiming the virtues of the Communist Party.
They turned up an arcaded walk and continued strolling along, glancing at the people passing by. Junior stopped to observe a boy selling packs of Marlboro cigarettes on the sidewalk. He was doing a thriving business. Every now and then, a second boy brought him a plastic bag containing more cigarettes to sell.
“Contraband,” explained Dominic. “The smugglers slip in truckloads across from Switzerland.”
“Don’t the fuzz do anything about it?”
“Sure they do. They buy the cigarettes themselves when they are out of uniform. Marlboros sell for five hundred lire a pack in the stores. That’s almost eighty cents. On the street they go for three hundred lire. If the fuzz pick up one of those kids, what do they find - a dozen or so packs at the most. That’s why the other kid feeds small quantities to him. No judge is going to bust a kid for a trick like that. So the fuzz leave them alone.”
“You sound like you ran some yourself.”
“I knew a couple of guys.”
They stopped at a store for ice cream cones and ate them slowly as they walked back to their hotel.
For three days Dominic and Junior wandered throughout Milano, eating huge meals, driving around the countryside in a rented Fiat to horse races and soccer games, touring the night clubs and bars. On the second night Junior touched base with a Mama Mia that he picked up across the street from the Jolly President Hotel. He didn’t return to his room until the wee hours of the morning, and slept until noon. For supper on the third day, they tr
ied a restaurant which advertised thirty different kinds of sauces on its pasta. Junior couldn’t get over one sauce that tasted excellent until he learned it contained chocolate mixed with tomatoes. To make up for this shock, he tracked down his Mama Mia for another session of lovemaking.
During the periods that Junior was flexing his wings, Dominic wandered off to a drab cafe in the workmen’s section of Milano, brought drinks for a small group of men he hadn’t seen for about five years, and they talked and talked. On one of the nights, he left his friends early and visited a cozy, familiar apartment. The girl there had gotten a bit more plump, but the years hadn’t changed the enjoyment they shared once the lights were turned off.
On the fourth day, just as Junior was getting up for brunch, the phone rang. Dominic put down the newspaper he was reading and answered it.
“Ugi Farini here, Mr. DiStephano,” came the cool, clipped British-accented voice.
“Good to hear from you.”
“Yes, of course. I’ve come upon some news this morning. The gentleman is back in Italy.”
Dominic signaled to Junior that he was on to something. “Where is he?”
“The Hotel Excelsior Gallia again. Room four-forty-seven. His companion is in room four-forty-nine. They checked in the night before last with two young ladies. Swiss Italians. The ladies are in room four-fifty-two. “
“Thanks very much, Mr. Farini. You’ve been most helpful.”
“Always happy to be of service. Is there anything further I can do?”
“Not right now. If we need anything, I will call you at once.”
“Righto,” said Farini, and hung up.
In short of an hour, Dominic and Junior were parked in their Fiat down the street from the Excelsior Gallia. It was a huge, luxury hotel on one of the principle streets near the main railroad station. Junior drew out a photograph of Bonazzi. It showed a solid-looking man about five feet ten, twenty-seven or twenty-eight-years old, dark brown hair worn down to his nape, wide, pleasant lips, and a nose that seemed somewhat full. Junior checked his watch; it was almost eleven o’clock. He was hungry, as he hadn’t eaten since eight or nine o’clock the night before. His Mama Mia had worked him over from about midnight to four this morning, and they had had such a ball together that going through the trouble of dressing to go out for a bite to eat was out of the question.
I Contadini (The Peasants) Page 14
