“I know, I know,” said Flor. She hugged herself closer to Tony Balls. “I just don’t want you gettin’ in any more trouble. I missed you too much the last time, to let anything happen to you again, Papi.”
Tony Balls smiled, kissing Flor’s temple, hugging her tightly. When he looked at her, he still saw the beautiful young woman she had been when they first met—flashy, but nonetheless, a beauty. That was fifteen years ago. Life was sweet then. Money flowed; hundreds filled Tony Balls’ pockets every day. Tony Balls was crazy about Flor from the first moment he first saw her. So crazy about her, it almost wrecked him. In fact, it did wreck him, or rather, one of his Cadillacs. At five in the morning, having just risen from Flor’s bed, still drunk with champagne from a celebration that Fat Tony had thrown at the Copa, Tony Balls fell asleep at the wheel, went off the road in Brooklyn, and crashed into a tree. Flor had put on some weight lately, going from a size 8 to a size 12, and was pushing that. Her hair was driving her crazy, the gray coming in so fast. And she had to use a lot more makeup to do what nature used to take care of by itself.
“What do you think of the glasses, Tony?” said Enzo as he placed two drinks in crystal stem glasses in front of Tony Balls and Flor.
“Enzo, you outdid yourself this time,” rasped Tony Balls as he leaned back against the wall in the corner of the bar. This corner had become Tony Balls’ usual spot, his post at Moscarella’s. From this out-of-view-of-the-street vantage point, he could keep his eye on the entire restaurant, and, through the glass panes of the French doors, the street outside. Tony Balls sipped, then held his glass up to better study it. The crystal glasses were formed with thin, parallel, vertical lines on the inside surface, coursing elegantly up to the drinking edge. “Are these glasses sharp, or what?” Tony Balls said to Flor.
“They’re beaut-aful, Enzo,” said Flor, smiling toward Enzo. “Maybe, a little too good for everyday at the bar, but.”
“Flor,” Enzo said, with that hint of accent that remained though he had lived in America for more than thirty of his forty-eight years, “this place is my baby. I want everything elegant. Nothing is too good for my place. If the customers break some glasses, at least they break elegant glasses, the best.”
“Atta boy, Enzo. What the hell, if you gotta break, break in style. Salute,” rasped Tony Balls, lifting his Chivas Regal toward Flor and Enzo.
Tony Balls was dressed in a white linen weave suit, with shoes to match. His shirt was open at the neck, revealing a heavy gold chain with a Capricorn medallion. He wore a pinky ring with a large red stone.
“Salute,” said Enzo. They all touched glasses. “Nice,” said Enzo, lifting his glass to his ear to hear the resonance of the crystal.
As usual, the night had been busy at Moscarella’s. Diners from all over Brooklyn and Staten Island, even some from Manhattan, came to enjoy Moscarella’s new wave Italian cuisine. Actually, as in most New York restaurants, most of the people preparing the food in the back were Chinese or Hispanic. The menu items had been initiated by Enzo, then translated into modern presentation by Claude Spencer, a graduate of the C.I.A. (Culinary Institute of America), and now prepared according to recipe by the kitchen staff. The wine list at Moscarella’s was admirable; four and a half pages of substantial wines, assembled and collected by Enzo, who considered himself a connoisseur.
“Come down to the office a second, will you, Tony,” said Enzo as he started toward a stairway that led to the lower floor where the rest rooms and his office were located.
“Sure,” said Tony Balls, following Enzo. “I’ll be right back, honey,” he said to Flor.
“The front door locked?” Flor said to Enzo.
“Yeah, sure, we’re locked up for the night. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried, Enzo.”
“What, Flor worry? Somebody comes in to knock off the joint while we’re downstairs, Flor’ll deck them with a barstool. Right, Baby?” laughed Tony Balls.
“You’re not just kidding,” Flor laughed. “I just didn’t want any customers coming in wanting to sit down or nothin’.”
“No, no. The door’s locked.”
Once inside his office, Enzo took a roll of bills out of his pants pocket and sat down. “Nice night,” he said, counting the bills, “mostly cash.”
“That’s good,” said Tony Balls, watching Enzo count. Tony Balls put his foot up on a chair next to Enzo’s desk. Enzo glanced quickly at Tony’s leg, then continued counting. Tony Balls reached into the cuff of his pants. Under a flap inside the cuff, he drew out a small plastic envelope of white powder. Enzo momentarily suspended his count as he glanced at Tony Balls’ envelope, then returned to counting. Tony tapped a small amount of the white powder on a small note pad on the desk in front of Enzo. With a Moscarella business card he took from the top of the desk, Tony Balls divided the powder carefully into two thin lines on the pad. When he was satisfied with the division, Tony Balls licked the edge of the card. “Waste not, want not,” he said, laughing.
“You’re crazy,” Enzo laughed. He had stopped counting to watch Tony Balls.
“It’s my most endearin’ quality,” Tony Balls said, bending down to the desk. Using a small bar-straw from a box on the desk, he covered one nostril, and forcefully inhaled one line of the white powder.
“For Christ sake, you made me lose my count. I gotta start all over,” Enzo laughed. He took the straw from Tony Balls and snorted up the other line of cocaine. “Jesus,” he exclaimed, leaning back in his chair and taking a deep breath, his eyes closed. “What a week!”
“Good?”
“Very good,” said Enzo. “You know, Tony, since you started hanging around here regularly, everything’s been real good. Better than good. You brought me good luck. All our old friends—”
“What’s left of them.”
“They come in. They bring their friends, their girls. It’s a nice atmosphere. A little, you know, a little like the old days, the boys coming around, hanging out—which the regular people like. It’s kind of a … what? An attraction. Like the Godfather. The customers eat it up.”
“The suckers like that Godfather shit,” said Tony, chuckling, feeling good, easy, now.
“Yeah, and they like you, Tony. Madon, they like you,” smiled Enzo. “It’s good having you around again, Tony. It’s like the old days. You make the joint, uh …”
“Swing,” said Tony Balls, snapping his fingers.
“I was gonna say, you make the joint …”
“Jump,” said Tony Balls, mugging, laughing.
“For Christ sake, I can’t even say what I wanna say, with you interrupting me all over the place, swing, jump—what are you, a hep cat or something?”
The two of them laughed.
“Here,” said Enzo, handing Tony Balls two hundred dollars in fifties and twenties.
“I gotta count it?”
“Yeah,” said Enzo, “like I’m gonna short you; we’re standing nose-to-nose in a little cubby hole, that you could reach out and grab me by the balls without even moving.”
“Oh, so if the room was bigger, then I would have to worry?”
“But you’re crazy,” Enzo laughed. They both laughed, slapped each other on the back. There was a knock on the door. “Who is it?” Enzo said cautiously.
“It’s me. Flor. Tony, Sally Cantalupo came over. He’s upstairs. He wants to see you.”
“Oh, yeah, okay, Flor. Tell him I’ll be up in a minute.”
There was silence outside the office door for a few seconds. Tony pointed to the door, then to his ear. Enzo nodded. Tony put a finger to his lips, chuckling silently. Enzo chuckled too. A few more seconds, and they heard Flor’s footsteps go back to the stairs.
“I gotta go upstairs a minute. I’ll leave you alone with your money,” said Tony Balls.
“I’ll be up in a minute, we’ll have a night cap,” said Enzo.
Tony Balls walked out of the office. Instead of going upstairs, however, he walked to another door on the lo
wer level marked, ‘Employees Only’. Inside was a storeroom where gallon cans of olive oil, cases of wine, cans of tomatoes, bags of onions, garlic, potatoes, other supplies for the kitchen were kept. Tony Balls slid a bolt on the inside of the door, locking himself inside the room. On a far wall, several dark glass bottles of wine bound in straw, were on a high shelf. Tony Balls looked around, then lifted one of the bottles from the shelf. He pulled the cork, which had previously been removed, then replaced in the neck of the bottle. With the cork pulled, Tony Balls carefully removed a small glass vial out of the neck of the bottle. The vial was filled with red wine. From another shelf, behind cans of olive oil, Tony Balls removed a packet of tiny, plastic bags. He took one of the bags, then lifted the straw covered wine bottle from which he had taken the vial, and poured a stream of white powder slowly from the bottle into the bag. He studied the amount of powder in the bag, poured some back into the bottle, then ran his fingers along the top seam of the bag to seal it. Tony Balls folded the bag and placed it under the flap in the cuff of his pant leg, returned the vial of wine into the neck of the bottle, replaced the cork, and put the bottle back on the shelf.
“Hey, Sally,” Tony Balls said, kissing the cheek of Salvatore Cantalupo. Sally was thin, with dark hair and a gold earring in one ear. He was the son of Billy ‘Legs’ Cantalupo, named for his long, thin legs rather than his habit of breaking other people’s legs. Billy Legs was a Captain in the Colombo Crew who had recently been convicted for extortion and sentenced to one hundred and five months, which he was serving at Lewisburg. He was still on top of things in the street, however, by way of his son visiting him every week, bringing reports and receiving instructions.
“Tony. How’s it poppin’?” said Sally.
“Great. What’s happening? You want a drink?”
“No thanks. Could I talk to you a minute? Something personal,” he said toward Flor.
“Yeah, sure,” said Tony Balls. “Let’s go outside.”
“What you got to do outside, you can’t do in here?” Flor said toward Tony Balls’ reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
“Hey, Flor, you wanna start somethin’?” Tony Balls stared at the side of her face for a moment, then turned to follow Sally Cantalupo toward the entrance. They turned left and stopped at a darkened doorway several buildings away from Moscarella’s. Third Avenue was deserted. No one was driving or walking. Tony Balls could hear a radio playing somewhere. He studied the street more carefully.
“That radio’s in my car,” said Sally Cantalupo. “I got some girl, an’ I mean some girl, with me, you know what I mean?” Tony Balls nodded. “You got something for me, Tony?”
“Just one,” said Tony Balls.
“One? I got a chick that’s a fucking animal. She snorts this shit like it was candy. What the fuck am I gonna do with one?”
“I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do with it. You’re gonna do the best you can, ‘cause it’s all I got to give you. And it costs more, too.”
“You kiddin’ me or what, Tony Balls?”
“What the fuck I got to be kidding you for? All of a sudden, for who knows why, this shit is scarce. I can’t get it myself.”
“How much you gotta get?”
“Thirty a bag.”
“Thirty a bag? Holy shit.”
“And then I got to listen to you breakin’ my shoes about the price? If I wasn’t so fuckin’ broke, I wouldn’t even bother.”
“Minca, Tony Balls, that’s a hefty price.”
“What the fuck can I do? I gotta get that, ‘cause you gotta see what they charge me. I’d be better off collecting soda cans for all the money I make from this miserable babagna. But, it keeps Flor in dresses.”
Sally Cantalupo stepped into the shadows of the doorway of a shoemaker’s shop, and put his hand in his pocket.
“No money out here,” said Tony Balls as he bent down to tie his shoelaces. While he was bent over, he studied the street in both directions, then slipped the bag of white powder out of his cuff and dropped it onto the sidewalk next to his shoe. He stood. “Take it easy, kid. And, listen, don’t be tellin’ nobody what you and me are doing. Your father’d kill me, and I ain’t just exaggerating, if he knew what we were doin’. You know it’s against the rules.”
“Rules, smules. Where is it?” said Sally Cantalupo.
“On the ground, right behind me. Let me go into the store, before you pick it up, okay? Then you come inside, have a drink, leave your money on the bar like you was paying for the drinks, got it?”
“Yeah, yeah, but Tony, I need more than one stinking little bag.”
“Hey, not for nothin’, I’d like to have a ton of the shit to sell you, and I’d like you to have a ton of dough to pay me for it, you know what I mean?”
“I’d like to have that much dough, too, Tony Balls.”
“You’re not shittin’ you would.” Tony Balls walked back toward Moscarella’s. As he walked toward the entrance, he noticed a car was parked at the curb in front of the restaurant, with two dark figures seated inside. Who the hell is this? And how long they been there? he wondered to himself as he calmly continued to walk, watching the figures in the car from the corners of his eyes. He almost reached the door when the passenger-side window slid down.
“Hello, Tony.”
“Who is it?” Tony said defiantly, squaring to face the car.
“Sandro Luca.”
“Counselor?” Tony smiled broadly, moving closer to the car, lowering himself to look into the dark interior. He saw a blonde woman he didn’t recognize in the driver’s seat. “That you?” The passenger door opened and Sandro Luca stood on the sidewalk, smiling at Tony Balls.
“Hey, Counselor,” Tony Balls said exuberantly. “I thought who the hell it was. Maybe the spiru come to break my shoes. Pardon my language, Miss,” he leaned down to say to the blonde in the car.
“Tatiana, you remember Tony?” Sandro said, leaning down next to Tony Balls.
“Good seein’ you again,” Tony Balls said, smiling. “I still think you got a beaut-aful name.”
“Thank you.”
“What the hell are you two doing up at this hour, Counselor?”
“We’ve come to see you. I told Tatiana I was going to show her one of the major attractions in Brooklyn.”
“Moscarella’s is one of the major attractions of Brooklyn?”
“Not Moscarella’s, you, Tony B., the last of the big time operators,” said Sandro.
“Yeah, big-time operator,” scoffed Tony Balls. “I’m over here working like a regular sucker. But …” Tony shrugged. “Come on in for a drink. Who’s car is this anyways? I didn’t recognize it,” he said. As Tony Balls turned to the restaurant, he saw Sally Cantalupo standing at the entrance.
“This is Sally Cantalupo,” Tony Balls said to Sandro. “Billy Legs’ kid. You know Counselor Luca?” he said to Sally.
“I heard of him,” he said as he shook Sandro’s hand. He nodded to Tatiana. “I just wanted a shot of something to steady my nerves.”
“Come on in,” said Tony Balls, opening the door of the restaurant.
“Sandro Luca, is that you, sweetie?” Flor smiled, hugging Sandro, kissing his cheek. “Oh, I got lipstick on you,” she apologized, wiping the mark off his cheek with one of her fingers. “At least you saw how it happened,” she said to Tatiana.
“Hello, Flor,” said Tatiana.
“Good seein’ you again,” Flor said, smiling at Tatiana.
“What’ll it be?” said Tony Balls enthusiastically, walking to the bar. “What’ll you have, Sally? Chivas?”
“Yeah, great,” said Sally, putting fifty dollars on the bar.
Tony poured a shot glass of Chivas Regal, and Sally knocked it back in one shot. “I gotta go,” he said abruptly. “Good meeting all of you,” he said to Sandro and the women. “So long, Tony.”
“Wow, that was fast,” said Flor. “What’s he on, speed?”
“Kids,” said Tony Balls. He shrugged, p
icking up the money Sally had left on the bar.
Parked at the curb on Third Avenue, a block from Moscarella’s, Marty Geraghty sat low in the driver’s seat of the confiscated bright red TransAm, his eyes level with the top of the steering wheel. In the passenger seat, Lou Castoro hunched low as well.
“Here comes Sally out of the restaurant. Did that look like Bingo that we saw between Tony Balls and Sally, or what?” said Geraghty.
“Bingo,” said Castoro.
“Real big Bingo, baby,” countered Geraghty. “Tony Balls doing something dirty with Sally Cantalupo.”
“Big time dirty,” said Castoro. “Tony Balls breaking ‘the Life’s’ rules—and with the Boss’s son! Naughty shit, that.”
“Ram Rod Becker is going to be happy to hear this.”
“You know what this is going to mean?” said Castoro.
“What?”
“The squad’s gonna have another target, besides Tony Balls and Sandro Luca to follow around.”
“Sally Cantalupo,” agreed Geraghty. “If we squeeze Cantalupo, we can probably get him to help us with Balls, then the suppliers, right up the line.”
“And the lawyer,” said Castoro.
“I can’t wait to see Becker’s beady little eyes when we lay this on him. He’ll start coming in his pants.”
They both laughed at the thought. “Should we stay on Sally or the lawyer?” asked Castoro.
“You don’t expect Luca to go stick up a bank when he comes out, do you?”
“The only thing he’s going to stick is his dick into some Russian twat. We’ll be better off seeing where Sally goes, although he looks like he’s going to play Hide-the-Weenie, too. We’ve done good tonight, my son.” Geraghty fired the engine of the TransAm and followed Sally Cantalupo’s car deep into the darkness of deserted Third Avenue.
“Hey, Enzo. Enzo,” Tony Balls called loudly toward the back of the restaurant.
“What?”
“Come here. Meet a friend of mine. My Counselor. The guy I told you about. I tell everybody about you, Counselor,” he said to Sandro.
Condemned Page 33
