by William Wolf
It was at this dinner that Rel i rst met Luigi Catel o, who scurried in and out of the room several times, whispering in the don’s ear. Rel i had heard of him—
Catel o was Don Vit orio’s driver—but this was the rst time he had actual y seen him, and he wasn’t impressed.
Catel o was short and round, with a soft-looking middle and narrow shoulders. His hair, which he combed straight back, was already thinning, and he wore horn-rims.
Catel o’s most noteworthy feature, though, was a pair of large, rubbery lips. Al in al he reminded Rel i of his grandmother’s gnocchi, and that was the nickname he silently gave him.
And yet it was Catel o, the Gnocchi, who had eventual y come up with the master stroke that won the war for the Tucci Family—an idea so bril iant that even today, twenty years later, Rel i recal ed it with a combination of awe and jealousy. And although Catel o had never again and jealousy. And although Catel o had never again demonstrated such imagination and daring, that one time had been enough to put him permanently ahead of Rel i on the Family’s advancement track.
Catel o, in those days, was a quiet, unassuming young man with impeccable credentials—his grandfather and Don Vit orio’s father had come to America from the same Sicilian vil age—which is why he had been entrusted with the highly sensitive job of wartime chau eur. More than once he had sat silently at the wheel while, in the backseat, Don Vit orio discussed strategy and tactics with Roberto. He knew the Tuccis were losing the war, and one day he broke his silence.
“From what I hear, Don Silvio is a rare Man of Honor,”
he said. “Devout. Virtuous. A loving father to his children.”
The description was accurate, and it annoyed Vit orio.
“Maybe you oughta go work for him,” he growled.
Catel o was unfazed by the sarcasm. “Don Silvio has three children,” he said. “The oldest boy, Frank, is sick with polio. The other one, Pietro, is a priest. The way it looks, neither one’s gonna produce any kids.”
“So what?”
“Don Silvio’s also got a sixteen-year-old daughter, Maria.
They cal her Margie. She’s in school with the sisters out West in Arizona. She’s got bad asthma.”
“Mossi’s personal problems are none of my concern.”
“The way I see it, he’s got an awful lot riding on the lit le girl. She don’t make him grandchildren, that’s the lit le girl. She don’t make him grandchildren, that’s the end of his bloodline.”
“What should I do, nd her a husband?” asked Tucci impatiently.
“Snatch her,” said Catel o.
“You’re out a your fuckin’ mind,” said Tucci. “Civilians are of limits.”
Catel o shrugged. “What’s a civilian? When Truman dropped the A-bomb nobody beefed, ’cause it stopped the war. Same here. Snatch the girl, the war ends.”
“And as soon as I let her go, it starts al over again, only this time I got every Family in the country pissed of at me for violating the rules.”
“Not if Don Silvio makes the peace.”
“He’d never do it. I take his kid, he can’t forgive that.”
“Maybe not. But if you return the girl in the right condition, he’s gonna have his hands tied.”
Two months later, a despairing Don Silvio received a visitor from Detroit. The emissary was Catel o.
He spoke in Sicilian dialect to underscore the solemnity of his message. “Don Vit orio wants you to know while our Families are at war, that is business. He has been miserable over your personal misfortune. He has used al the powers at his command to nd your missing daughter.
And he has succeeded.”
Tears of relief wel ed up in Don Silvio’s eyes. “Thank God.”
“Maria is alive and safe. But”—Catel o’s voice faltered
“Maria is alive and safe. But”—Catel o’s voice faltered
—“I regret to tel you that she is pregnant.”
The blood drained from Don Silvio’s face. His mouth worked, but no words came out. Final y he managed to mut er, “Maria is a virgin.”
“She was raped,” said Catel o. “She fought for her virtue with al her might, but she was overpowered. Rest assured that the men who did this have been punished.”
“Men?” It was a hoarse whisper. “There was more than one?”
Catel o reached into a leather briefcase and extracted a dozen snapshots. They were the faces of rough-looking young men, ve black, six white, one Chinese. “These are the rapists,” he said. “Unfortunately we don’t know which one of them is the father.”
The word “father” made Don Silvio wince as if he had been slapped in the face. He put his head in his hands and wept. When he raised his eyes, he saw the sly smile on Catel o’s fat, round lips and he knew the truth. Catel o wanted him to know. His instinct was to y at the bespectacled man, to tear his tongue from his mouth. But Maria was stil a captive. Mustering al his self-control, Don Silvio said, “Bring me my daughter.”
“Don Vit orio thinks it best that she not return home just yet. After al , this is a delicate mat er. It must be handled with discretion.”
“Don Vit orio has thought of everything,” said Silvio Mossi. Blood was pounding at his temples, yet he Mossi. Blood was pounding at his temples, yet he managed to keep his voice level.
“There is also the mat er of your grandchild to consider,” said Catel o. His dropped his gaze to the gal ery of faces arrayed on the table before them. “We could, of course, make certain medical arrangements—”
“Infamita!” exclaimed Don Silvio. As Catel o had guessed, abortion was out of the question.
“In that case, the birth must take place, in utmost secrecy, and the child be given away. Don Vit orio wil be honored to make the arrangement.”
“I am capable of taking care of my own daughter.” said Don Silvio.
“Don Vit orio feels that a father should not be asked to make such an arrangement for his own daughter.
Especial y since outrage might impair a father’s judgment.”
“What do you mean?”
“No man, especial y not such a man as yourself, could al ow his daughter to be violated without thirsting for retribution. That is only natural. But such an impulse, noble as it is, would be disastrous. Should you take any action, word would inevitably get out that your daughter has been ruined, that she is the mother of a bastard child.
Then she would have no prospects for marriage—and you would die without a proper heir.”
Don Silvio went to the window and peered at Lake Erie in the distance. Then he sighed heavily and said, “I wil do in the distance. Then he sighed heavily and said, “I wil do as Don Vit orio wishes.”
“He wil treat your daughter as his own,” said Catel o.
“The story wil be that she spent a year in a convent. She failed to communicate with you out of a childishly devout belief that she must be cut o from the world. An accommodating mother superior wil corroborate this.
There wil be no scandal.”
“I see,” said Don Silvio. He went back into English and said, “What does Don Vit orio want in return for al this kindness?”
“Only an end to the war.”
“On what terms?”
Catel o permit ed himself a fleeting smile. “His.”
Once again, Don Silvio sighed. Someday he would take his revenge, but for now there was no choice. “Yes,” he said. “I agree. Please tel Don Vit orio that I won’t forget his kindness.”
“I’m sure you won’t,” said Catel o. He reached into his briefcase and took out a reel of lm. “There are only two copies. Don Vit orio has one; he wants you to have the other. As a token of his esteem.” He paused and added, “It features your daughter.”
Wordlessly, Don Silvio accepted the lm. He had been wondering how Tucci dared risking his anger. Now he knew.
When Roberto learned of Catel o’s mission he was furious. “You made a pact with the devil,” he told his furious. “You made a pact
with the devil,” he told his father. “Someday it wil come back and destroy us al .”
Rel i was Roberto’s protégé, and that was enough to make him Catel o’s enemy.
Stil , there was lit le Rel i could do, and he had never quite caught up with Catel o. He was highly appreciated and wel paid by the Tucci Family, but a generation of peace had diminished the status of martial virtues. Over time he had become reconciled to the fact that in the placid, businesslike postwar world of the Tuccis, he had risen as high as a warrior could.
Then Roberto dropped dead of a stroke at the concession stand during the second period of a Wings game, and the don himself came down with cancer, and suddenly the set led world of the Tuccis was in flux.
Don Vit orio’s time was rumored to be short, and he had no successor. Rel i gured that Catel o would exploit his inside position to win the don’s blessing. If he did, the moment Tucci was dead it would be war—and in a war, Alberto Rel i’s military skil s would prevail.
Rel i saw the Big Boy sign up ahead. He pul ed into the crowded lot, scowling when he spot ed Catel o’s Cadil ac already parked near the door. The restaurant was ful of young guys from the nearby o ce towers, junior executives in wash-and-wear white shirts eating ground round while the bosses and their secretaries were down the street at Excalibur put ing two hundred bucks’ worth of wine and sirloin on the company tab. He spot ed of wine and sirloin on the company tab. He spot ed Catel o at a rear table, reading a newspaper, a gnocchi with bifocals.
“How the Tigers do last night?” he asked, slipping into a seat across from the consigliere.
“Stock page,” said Catel o, tapping the paper.
Rel i snorted. He could never understand how wiseguys who wouldn’t even consider bet ing on an honest horse race could get taken in by the Protestant shel game conducted daily on Wal Street.
A waitress in a starched white uniform set two laminated menus on the bare tabletop. “You got a wine list?” Rel i asked.
The waitress, a thirtyish woman with a honey-colored beehive, ample breasts, and a mouthful of spearmint, gave him a look.
The consigliere xed his rubber lips into a smile and said, “I’l have the Swankie Frankie, double fries, and a Coke. And an order of onion rings.”
“Water,” said Rel i tightly. “In a clean glass.” The waitress gave him another look. This time he gave her one back. She dropped her eyes and fled.
“Nervous broad,” said Rel i.
“She’s got her job to do,” said Catel o.
“What are you, bangin’ her?”
Catel o’s brown eyes blinked solemnly behind the thick lenses. “I invited you to lunch because we need to talk,”
he said. “But if it’s gonna be this way, why don’t you get he said. “But if it’s gonna be this way, why don’t you get up and leave?”
Rel i surprised Catel o by smiling. “I didn’t realize it was you inviting me,” he said. “I thought we was goin’
dutch.” He signaled for the waitress, who returned with obvious reluctance. “What’s good here?” he asked.
“Everything.”
“Yeah? Okay, bring me everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Take the menu and gimme one of everything that’s on it,” said Rel i. “To go. Wrap it al up. And a piece of cherry pie and cof ee for here.”
“You’re kidding,” the waitress said.
Rel i gave her a cold smile and said, “Do I look like the kinda guy kids around in the fuckin’ Big Boy?”
She stared at him, saying nothing.
“What’re you, deaf?” said Rel i. “Jesus, is everybody in the fuckin’ city deaf?”
“Go ahead,” said Catel o quietly. Bertoia had already phoned him with a report on what Rel i had done to Solomon Cady. Catel o wasn’t banging the waitress, but the idea had crossed his mind, and he had no intention of al owing her to wind up with shat ered eardrums. “Wrap it up and give me the bil .”
Rel i picked up a laminated menu and began reading, his lips moving as he ran his nger down the price list.
Final y he said, “Seven hundred and fty bucks, give or take. Let’s nd out what’s worth seven- fty to talk about, take. Let’s nd out what’s worth seven- fty to talk about, far as you’re concerned.”
“The future of the Family,” said Catel o. “What happens after Don Vit orio dies.”
“Don Vit orio wil live for many years,” said Rel i formal y. He was wel aware that Catel o made a practice of recording his conversations.
“Hopeful y, yes,” said the consigliere. “But let’s be practical. He’s got cancer. How much longer can he have?”
It was a rhetorical question. Dr. Florio was on Catel o’s payrol , so he knew the answer: six months at the outside.
“However long it is, you and me are gonna be on opposite sides after the funeral,” said Rel i.
Catel o said, “You ever hear of Benjamin Franklin?”
“Sure,” said Rel i. “The guy who invented the kite.”
“He said, ‘We hang together or we hang separate.’ ”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that we got problems with Chicago,” said Catel o. “Annet e wants this thing for her old man. She’s gonna open up the door.”
“Get out a here.”
“Hey,” said Catel o. He fel silent as the waitress arrived with his meal and Rel i’s pie and co ee. Rel i waited for her to leave and said, “Let’s say you’re right, we got an Annet e problem. I don’t see why you’re gonna tel me about it. You got an answer to that, I wanna hear it.”
Catel o swal owed and dabbed his lips. “For right now I just wanna cal your at ention,” he said. “Things are gonna just wanna cal your at ention,” he said. “Things are gonna start happening in the Family. Sooner or later you’re gonna realize it. Then we can sit down and gure out how to work together.”
“Say you’re right again—what am I gonna need you for?”
“Information,” said Catel o. “Just like you don’t know about Annet e and I do? It’s gonna be the same right down the line. I got sources of information. You y blind in a situation like this, you get whacked. I’m the eyes.”
Rel i took a bite of cherry pie and thought it over.
Catel o was a master fucking spy, no question; he could never compete with the consigliere for military intel igence. “Okay,” he said, “put the question backwards.
You got these sharp eyes, whaddya need me for?”
“Tommy Niccola comes in to help Annet e after the don dies, it’s war. I can’t win a war against him and you at the same time. Same for you. That’s why we got a be on the same side.”
“Yeah, and when it’s over we beat each other’s brains in,” said Rel i. “So what’s the point?”
Catel o looked at Rel i for a long moment and then said,
“I’m playing my cards face up here. We beat Niccola, you and me could have a problem. But it don’t have to be that way. You got any idea how big the Tucci Family real y is?”Rel i smiled knowingly. Actual y he had no idea about many of the Family’s activities, but he wasn’t about to many of the Family’s activities, but he wasn’t about to admit it.
“Okay,” said Catel o. “Then you know there’s plenty here for both of us. When the don goes, I want the legal businesses. I don’t have the muscle for the street stu .
Take it al , the gambling, the hookers, the smuggling, the protection, the unions, it’s yours.”
“You didn’t mention the drugs,” said Rel i. “What’d they do, legalize cocaine and I didn’t hear about it?”
“Drugs we got a split,” said Catel o. “There’s too much money in it for just one or the other. We buy together, you get the wholesale and the street business, and I do the laundering through one of our banks. We can work out the percentages later.”
“Jesus, you got this al gured out,” said Rel i. “You take this and I get that, like it’s your cal .”
“Come on, Alberto, you want to run
an insurance company? Or a savings and loan? The split’s fair. I want you happy. Otherwise the deal’s no good anyway.”
“Who gets to be the don?”
“You want it, you got it,” said Catel o. “To me it’s an old-fashioned title.”
Rel i regarded Catel o with contempt; only a gnocchi would think such a thing. It was Catel o’s lack of honor and manliness that made his proposition believable. Rel i thought it over and decided there was no harm in going along—for a while. Sooner or later an enemy would surface—Tommy Niccola, the New York Families, Catel o surface—Tommy Niccola, the New York Families, Catel o himself with hired muscle, it didn’t real y mat er. Rel i had absolute con dence that when the time came, he had the bal s and the brains to beat al comers. He signaled for the waitress. “You got my order ready?” he demanded.
“There’s eighteen main courses on that menu,” she said.
“Wel , I changed my mind,” said Rel i, standing. “I just want the pie and the co ee. My friend wil take care of it.” He turned and walked away. The waitress cal ed after him, but he kept going.
“You already working on that order?” Catel o asked.
“They’re bagging up the salads and the desserts back there right now,” said the waitress. “Everything else is on the gril or in the oven. Sorry, but you’re gonna have to pay for it.”
“I got an idea,” said Catel o. “Let’s sel it.”
“Used food?”
“Who’s gonna know? Peddle the stu to customers.
Whatever you sel , great, you keep ten percent. The rest I’l spring for. What time you get of ?”
“This isn’t some kind of Health Department sting, is it?”
Catel o reached into his pocket and extracted a wad of hundred-dol ar bil s held together by a rubber band. He peeled o two and handed them to her. “I’m your rst customer,” he said. “Salads and pies for everybody, pass
’em around.”
The waitress smiled for the first time. “I get of at six.”
