Condemned

by John Nicholas Iannuzzi

  “Yes, sir.

  “Matthew knows I-talian and Spanish, how they sound.” Money lowered his voice a bit more. “And when Awgust tried to tell me the people were talking I-talian, Matthew takes me aside and tells me they were definitely not speaking I-talian, or Spanish. Something else, foreign. I was just wondering if it was the same language as the men who came to Miss Leslie’s house.”

  “Don’t know,” said Sandro.

  “I wonder Miss if you could talk some Russian. Maybe Matthew would be able to recognize it.”

  “I don’t know if I could do that, Mr. Money,” said Matthew. “I just know it was foreign, wasn’t I-talian.”

  “Well, just listen to a little,” said Money.

  “What would you like me to say” Tatiana said in Russian. “I am Russian, and this is the language that they speak in St. Petersburg.”

  “That sure is foreign,” said Money. “How ’bout it, Matthew?”

  “Can’t say for sure, Mr. Money. I can tell that’s not I-talian, and it sure sounds foreign like those people were talkin’ at the Flash with Awgust Nichols. But I can’t be sure.”

  “Did these people that you heard, did they call each other by name. Did you hear their names?” said Tatiana.

  “Not that I would recognized, Miss,” said Matthew.

  “Thank you, Matthew,” said Money.

  “Yes sir, Mr. Money. Anything for you and Mr. Red.” Matthew nodded and walked back toward the church.

  “You know Red was always talkin’ about a snitch in our midst,” said Money. “That the Man knew things about us before we could get it out our mouths. And—” he lowered his voice again, “this Awgust lying that his friends were I-talian, and then it turns out that they wasn’t I-talian at all.” Money leaned closer to Sandro and lowered his voice. “And then Red is killed by some strange speaking people. I never did trust that Awgust nohow.”

  “You know,” Tatiana said, looking at Sandro, then at Money, “Something just occurs to me. One night, a week or so ago, my father and I went to Romanoff’s, in Brighton Beach. And Uri, an old friend of my father from St. Petersburg, was there. And he was there with a black man.”

  “Mmmm,” mused Money. “I’m imaginin’, from the way you say it, Miss, that that’s not a very common sight,” said Money, looking skyward.

  “No, it’s not. It is unusual, not that unusual, but a black man by himself at the Russian restaurant is unusual. They were talking, Uri and this black man, very secretly, off to the side. I can’t say that it means anything, but now that we’re putting Russian with black in a black place, I can also put black with Russian, in a Russian place.”

  “Matthew,” Money called. Matthew, who was just about to enter the building, turned, walking back toward Money. Money waved the old waiter closer. “Would you do me a favor,” Money said softly, “go ’round inside, see if you see Awgust Nichols here.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Money.”

  “This snitch, whoever he is, was doing things with the D.E.A., gave them directions about where we all went every day, even where they sat,” said Money.

  “What you say is very interesting, Money,” said Sandro. “It may tie in with something else. Red was ambushed in the woods while he was in D.E.A. custody. An Agent took him by himself—which is very unusual; against regulations—the Government car was stopped at a spot in the woods where the Russians just happen to be waiting in a car in the woods. Then when he ran away to Miss Leslie’s, the people knew where Miss Leslie lived, came there, and eventually chased him down out back of Miss Leslie’s house. Mighty coincidental.”

  “Mmmm,” Money mused again. “Maybe this snitch is workin’ with the D.E.A. and the Russians?”

  “Awgust is not here, Mr. Money,” said Matthew. “I looked around.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Matthew.”

  A large, old, black Cadillac convertible pulled up to in front of the church. It was Red’s favorite car. Awgust Nichols exited from the driver’s seat, gave the keys to Half Pint, and waved toward Anton Taylor.

  Money’s back was to the street, Sandro was next to him. Tatiana was looking toward them and toward the street beyond. She gasped, raising her hand to her face to hide her surprise. “That’s the man from Romanoff’s!” she whispered quickly.

  Money turned. He saw Awgust, who had now reached the sidewalk and was mingling with some people there.

  “You sure, Miss?” said Money.

  “No question about it. I was introduced to him by Uri. We spoke. I looked right in his face.”

  “Sneakin’, treacherous … Sorry, Miss.” Money glanced back toward Awgust. “Not really a surprise.”

  “You think Red’s nephew could be the snitch?” said Sandro.

  “Like I told you,” Money said softly, “I never, not since he was a sneakin’ kid, did I trust that young man, not nohow.” Money’s eyes narrowed as he stared toward Awgust. “That young man has a heap of trouble coming toward him. A heap! And soon.”

  Sandro took Money’s arm and turned, so that the two of them were facing away from Awgust Nichols. “Don’t get steamed, Money.”

  “I don’t get steamed, Counselor,” Money said in a low voice. “I gets even.”

  “What we need before you get even, Money, we need information,” said Sandro. “We need to know who he was working with in the D.E.A., who the Russians are. If something were to happen to him before we have that information, then the other people who are responsible for Red will be in the clear.”

  “I can bide my time. He ain’t goin’ nowhere I can’t find.” Money’s attention was fixed on Awgust, Anton Taylor, and the people around them. His eyes were not fluttering. “Tell me what you think we should do, Counselor.”

  “We should try to find out who Awgust knows in the Russian community, who he was working with in the D.E.A. These are the people responsible for Red’s and Tony Balls’ deaths.”

  “Who is Tony Balls?” asked Money.

  “Another client, real good client, like Red. I went to his wake before I came here. Somehow, his death resulted from some involvement with Russians and the D.E.A., and drugs.”

  “How do you propose we find out this information?” asked Money.

  “I have an idea that, under the right circumstances, Awgust will tell you everything he knows.”

  “What circumstances are they?” said Money.

  As they continued to stand on the sidewalk, Sandro discussed with Money some ideas he had that might cause Awgust to give up information. As Sandro spoke, Money nodded, never taking his eyes from Awgust. When Sandro had finished explaining his ideas, Money walked toward Awgust and asked if he could speak to him—alone. He looked sternly at the friends who were around Awgust.

  “You seem to be agitated,” Awgust said to Money as they walked together away from the church toward the corner of 126th Street.

  “I am agitated,” said Money. They turned at the corner into 126th Street.

  “What’s the matter?” Awgust asked apprehensively.

  “Come in here,” Money said, taking Awgust by the arm into an empty lot between buildings.

  “It’s dark in there, you can’t see a thing.”

  “When I come out, I’m sure I’m going to be seeing a lot of things I don’t see at the moment,” said Money, his words emitted in a slow, rumbling cadence. Halfway into the alley, Money twirled Awgust around, so that they were face to face. Money put his hand on Awgust’s forearm, clamping Awgust in place. Awgust couldn’t see Money’s face well, but he could feel the intensity, the danger, emanating from his entire body.

  “What’s this all about, Money?” Awgust exclaimed, trying to move back. Money’s hold on Awgust’s arm was tight.

  “It’s about I-talian people who are really Russian people,” said Money.

  “What?”

  “Remember when I was in the Flash Inn, a couple weeks ago, and I was telling you that Red wanted you to make him more liquid? And the waiter, Matthew, said that he hoped your friend’s
girlfriend was feeling better. And you said these friends were I-talian? You remember all that, don’t you? Them folks wasn’t I-talian, Awgust. They was Russian.”

  “Russian?”

  “Don’t be trying to fool Money. I’m too old a dog for that. Those folks was Russian, and you know it.”

  “I don’t know what they are. I mean, what’s the difference?”

  “You know what they are. You know they’re Russian, right?”

  “I—”

  “Right?”

  “I don’t—”

  Suddenly, Money pulled Awgust tight to his face, pressing their foreheads together. “Don’t be lyin’ to me, son, your life is hanging by a very slim thread, an’ I ain’t just a foolin’.”

  “I don’t know what language they was speaking, I really don’t,” pleaded Awgust.

  “You remember about a week ago, maybe two, you were in Brighton Beach?”

  “Brighton Beach?” said Awgust.

  “Yes, sir, Brighton Beach, all the way in Brooklyn, and you were in a restaurant, name, I think, Romanoff—”

  “Romanoff?

  “Why you just keep repeating what I say, boy? You tryin’ to play with me?” Money growled.

  “No, no, I—”

  “Tell me right out and right now! They was Russian, and you was in Brighton Beach with them, at Romanoff, right?”

  “I—”

  “You better speak now, son,” said Money, grinding his forehead closer, their noses, literally touching. “I—am—not—I—repeat, so—you—don’t—make—no—mistakes—I—am—not—fucking—with—you.”

  “Yes, yes, they were Russian,” Awgust stammered. “But, so what, so what that they were Russian. It don’t mean nothing that I know Russians.”

  “Oh, yes it does,” Money said in the dark. He pulled his head back, but grabbed Awgust by his shirt front. “It means you a lying, sneaking, sniveling rat son of a bitch who I ought to flay right here, right now, ’cause, first of all, you been lying to me. And, you know how I hate liars.”

  “I didn’t think it meant anything—”

  “Oh yes you did, you miserable, slimy snake, boy. You know, and now you know that I know, a lot more, a lot about the fact that Mr. Red, your uncle, who you betrayed, was killed by Russian people, probably the same Russian people that you was in that drunken club with.”

  “That can’t be—”

  “Don’t tell me what can be and what can’t be, boy,” Money said from deep down in his throat. “I’m telling you what is. Mr. Red was killed by Russians, and they were the Russians that you were planning things with, planning to take over when Mr. Red was dead, and me in jail.”

  “No—”

  “Don’t be saying no to me,” Money growled through gritted teeth, pulling Awgust’s face close to his own again. “I don’t like people saying no to me when they ought to be saying yes, ought to be saying the truth. I should put a cleaver down the middle of you soon as look at you, you filthy, treacherous dog.…”

  “No, please Money—listen, the Russians don’t mean nothing. It’s all a set up.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The D.E.A. is right on top of them, ready to suck them up,” Awgust said quickly, “leaving everything in place for The Brotherhood—for you, for the rest of us.”

  “You mean for you. I’m going straight to the Can. Your friend Anton’s goin’, too. You caused all of this, ’cause you have no balls. None. Never did. You was the snitch Mr. Red was talking about, the one who helped them plant the bug in the Sporting Club, right?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You’re lying to me again, Awgust, and I’m getting mighty impatient. You was the snitch, right?”

  “I—”

  “Right?” Money ground his face hard against Awgust’s, his eyes boring deep into him. “Right?”

  “All right, all right. Yes. All right, yes. I didn’t think it would go this far.”

  “Of course you did, you miserable dog. You knew exactly where this was going. Now I’m going to the joint for the rest of my life, and Anton, too, everybody. And Mr. Red is dead. Mr. Red is dead, you, you nigger bastard. You helped people kill Mr. Red—”

  “I didn’t know anything about that—I swear,” said Awgust.

  “Your swearing don’t mean too much at this point,” said Money. “The Russians killed Mr. Red, they were working with the Man, the D.E.A. This couldn’t have happened without the D.E.A. helping. Who are the people at the D.E.A. that you been cooperating with?”

  “Who are they?”

  “You repeating what I’m saying? Don’t repeat me. Answer me.”

  “The main D.E.A. man is named Becker, Michael Becker. He’s the one been pulling my chain, making me do all kinds of shit, otherwise—”

  “He didn’t have to pull that chain very hard, dog. You always were perfidious, Awgust. Otherwise what, Awgust? Otherwise the Man he would lock you up, like you helpin’ him lock all of us up? Is that what otherwise is?”

  “Look, look, the Man is looking to clean up the Russians, that’s what he’s really interested in. He’s looking to clean up the Russians. He’s going to let everything else stay in place here, everything. The Brotherhood can still go on. There’ll be enough to take care of everything, take care of him, the Man, take care all our things, your Grandma, Anton, his family. I’ll be here to take care of our end.”

  “I bet you will—after you set the whole thing up. What do you think about that, Anton?”

  Out of the shadows further back in the alley, Anton Taylor said: “I think it’s about the lowest, most miserable, mother fuckin’ thing I ever heard.”

  “Anton?—” Awgust gasped.

  “Don’t say a word to me, not a word, you miserable, low life, piece of rat shit nigger.” Anton’s anger rose like a storm. He knocked over some trash barrels as he lunged forward toward Awgust.

  “Back off, Anton!” Money commanded fiercely.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Money—but that—”

  “All in due time, Anton, all in due time. There’s only one way out of this alley, and I’m standing in it. There’s only one way Awgust gets out of this here alley alive. He has to agree to help find the people responsible for killing Mr. Red, nail the wolves in government clothing that killed Mr. Red, If he don’t, well, if he don’t I can’t tell what’ll happen.”

  “Leave him to me, Mr. Money” said Anton.

  “Not yet, Anton. He’s got work to do.” Money took a cleaver out from a leather sheath under his jacket. He clanged the cleaver against the brick wall of the alley. “You know what that is, don’t you, boy?”

  “Jesus, Money—”

  “Don’t be calling the Lord into this, Awgust. This is just me standing here, me and my blade. Now which it going to be? You want to help nail the people responsible for killing Mr. Red, or you want to die right where you stand?”

  There was silence in the darkness.

  Even though Money had said in advance that he wasn’t going to harm Awgust, at least not with Sandro around, he was just going to scare Jesus out of him, this was getting too real. Money clanged the cleaver against the wall again. “Answer me, you sniveling rat!”

  “What do you want me to do?” said Awgust softly.

  “One thing you ought to know. Everything you said is on tape, right, Mr. Luca?” said Money.

  “That’s right,” said Sandro’s voice from the same area of the dark alley where Anton stood.

  The threats Money made to Awgust, the entire scenario, was part of the plan that Sandro had hatched with Money so that everything could be recorded, so that the people responsible for Red could be made to account.

  “So you go on and tell Mr. Luca what this Becker said.”

  “You’re telling me that Michael Becker told you that if you helped him clean up the Russians, he’d let you and The Brotherhood continue doing drug business?” Sandro asked.

  “Not by myself,” Nichols said softly.

  “Who else was
going to be in on it?”

  “He wanted a piece,” said Awgust.

  “Who wanted a piece,” pressed Sandro.

  “The Man.”

  “What man,” demanded Money. “Speak plain.” He clanged the cleaver against the wall again.

  “Becker—he was going to be in on it.”

  “What about them Russians that got Mr. Red? How did that get put together?” Money said harshly.

  “He did that. Not me. His men brought Mr. Red into the woods. I couldn’t be telling his men what to do.”

  “But the Russians, they were friends of yours, not his, right?” said Sandro.

  “I might of known them—”

  “Don’t start none of your weaslin’,” said Money. “They was your friends, right? You were the one that arranged all that with them, right?”

  “I only introduced them. I didn’t send them to do nothing.”

  “You just introduced the people who killed Mr. Red to the people who brought Mr. Red to the slaughter,” shouted Money, spittle flying from his mouth. He started to raise the cleaver, shaking with fury.

  “Money, Money,” shouted Sandro, “we need Awgust, we need him, if we want to get this Becker. Don’t do anything …”

  Money was panting, the cleaver raised in his hand. “Mmm, mmm, mmm, you right, Mr. Luca. Don’t worry. I be all right. I be all right.” He was blowing air, trying to cool himself down. He turned around, put his hands on his hips—one hand still holding the cleaver—breathing more slowly. “I’m okay. I’m okay,” he said, more to convince himself than to reassure Sandro. He turned back to Awgust. “Let me tell you what you’re going to do,” he said softly, directly into Awgust’s face. ‘You going to trap this Becker. You’re going to help take him down, understand?”

  “How’m I gonna do that?”

  “Mr. Luca’ll tell you how. You listen to what Mr. Luca tells you, and you listen good, because if there’s something wrong with your ears, I’ll slice them off your head, sure as God is my judge.”

  “I’ll do whatever you say. You know I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t say another word, nigger, not another word. Get this filth out of my sight before I forget myself,” Money said to Sandro. ‘You go with him, Anton. Don’t hurt him. They’ll be time enough for that. You listen to everything Mr. Luca tells you, hear?”