by William Wolf
“You and your friend, the one got a name sound like a colored high school?” said Delbert.
“Man, what’s your problem?” said Bobby. “You’ve been on my case since we got here.”
Delbert stif ened. “I don’t like white people,” he said.
Delbert and Bobby locked angry stares. After a long, tense moment it was Delbert who looked away. “Shit,” he said, “you ain’t worth the bother.”
On the way home Mendy said, “You and Delbert back there? You done it just right.”
“They cal it playing the dozens,” said Bobby; he knew that from an essay he had read by Eldridge Cleaver.
“You got a nice touch,” Mendy said.
And Til ie said, “Yeah. You one bad lokshen motherfucker.”
Chapter
Chapter
Nine
ANNETTE HIT O’HARE running, her high heels clicking through the crowded terminal. Directly outside, in a No Standing zone, a black stretch limo was waiting. Her cousin Jo-Jo Niccola was at the wheel. “Hey, cuz,” he said.
“Welcome to the Windy City.”
“Christ, it’s good to be home,” she said.
They fought tra c al the way from the airport down to Lake Shore Drive, where Jo-Jo wheeled the limo into a wel -guarded underground garage. The entire building, fourteen stories, belonged to Tommy Niccola. He lived in the penthouse, and his o ces were on the oor below.
The rest of the apartments were rented to members of the Family. Anyone trying to get to Tommy the Neck would have to fight his way through twelve floors of Niccolas.
The Neck was waiting at the elevator for his daughter. It had only been a week since her last visit, but when the door opened she ew into his arms. Annet e wasn’t more than ve foot six, but she towered over her father.
Niccola’s nickname was ironic; he looked like a giant weight had driven his head directly into his massive shoulders.
“How’s my honey?” he growled af ectionately.
“How’s my honey?” he growled af ectionately.
She nuzzled his cheek and said, “Hel o, big bear.” Then they tightened their embrace and kissed each other on the lips.
“How’s your father-in-law?” asked Niccola.
“Six months, tops,” said Annet e. Like Catel o, she had Dr. Florio on her payrol . “He’l be dead by Christmas.”
“Your mother died at Christmastime,” said Niccola.
“Did she?”
“Yeah. I got stuck with al her presents. Come on, princess, how about a drink?”
“Fix me one. I’l go get changed.”
Annet e went upstairs to what had been her mother’s bedroom and ung open the door of a walk-in closet the size of a squash court. It was ful of contraband—furs with the labels removed, counterfeit designer out ts in cleaning bags, stolen silk blouses and cashmere sweaters, boxes of lingerie stacked to shoulder level, and dozens of pairs of Italian pumps arranged by color. Her mother’s wardrobe.
Annet e stripped down to her bra and panties and inspected herself in the ful -length mirror. She was stil rm and supple. Bet er-looking at forty-three, she thought, than she had been at thirty. She slipped into a tight black cocktail dress, cut low in the back. Her mother had been a showgirl who kept her gure. Annet e remembered her in this dress.
There was a safe in the closet. Annet e spun the combination lock and extracted a blue diamond necklace combination lock and extracted a blue diamond necklace and matching earrings, a 1934 Cartier diamond watch, and a diamond-and-ruby tennis bracelet. She closed the safe and inspected herself once again. Sexier than her mother, she decided—sexier than her mother at her peak. She touched her neck and wrists with My Sin from the dressing table. It was her father’s favorite fragrance.
When Annet e came back downstairs she was rewarded with a low whistle of approval. “You’re a knockout, princess,” said Tommy. “You oughta take some of that stuf back with you to Detroit. The jewels at least.”
“They belong here,” said Annet e. “Besides, in Detroit there’s nobody to wear them for.”
“Okay, let’s talk about Detroit,” said Tommy. “You ready?”
Annet e nodded.
“What about Catel o?”
“I can handle Catel o,” said Annet e. “And Rel i, too.”
“Rel i don’t worry me,” said Tommy. “But that Catel o.
…” There was no need for him to complete the sentence.
Annet e knew her father was thinking about Catel o’s coup de grâce in the war against the Mossi Family.
“Believe me, when the time comes he won’t be around to worry you,” said Annet e. “You got my word on that.”
Tommy took a map from his desk and spread it on the table. It was his master plan, the outlines of a Niccola empire from the Canadian border to the Gulf of Mexico, bounded by Detroit in the East and Kansas City in the bounded by Detroit in the East and Kansas City in the West.
“The Center Cut,” he had cal ed it the rst time he revealed the plan to Annet e. “We start out at the top with Chicago, Milwaukee, Minneapolis, and Detroit. Then we drop down like a curtain, al the way to New Orleans and South America. In the middle we got the horses in Kentucky, the booze and the music business in Tennessee, and the oil and the gambling in Louisiana, plus the seaport in New Orleans and the Mississippi River. Hel , we even got Alabama. There must be something down there.
“But the best thing’s what we don’t got. We got no Five Families to ght with. We got no New York newspapers poking into our business. We got no Washington bureaucrats breathin’ down our necks. We got no Mormon politicians stickin’ their hands in our pockets like in Vegas. And we ain’t got no fucking California.” Tommy Niccola distrusted California because the TV programs came on at the wrong times. “What we got is the best part of America, the dumb America, America the stupid. The fuckin’ Center Cut. You see it?”
Annet e had seen it right away, and she had watched with admiration as her father brought one piece of the center after another into his domain. Now al that was left was Detroit, the gateway to the North and the East. Thanks to her, Detroit was about to fal , the dream was about to become reality.
become reality.
Tommy ran his stubby hand lovingly over the map and said, “What about Bobby?”
“Bobby’s Bobby,” she said dismissively.
“Bobby’s important,” said Tommy “If he gets the nod from Vit orio, the New York Families wil stay out. But if there’s a vacuum …” His neckless shrug was eloquent.
“I got Vit orio by the short hairs,” said Annet e. “He’l give it to Bobby.”
“I can’t stand the kid, but when I croak the whole Center Cut wil be his,” said Tommy.
“Not for years,” said Annet e. She let her a ection for her father dilute the irritation she felt when he spoke this way. When the time came, her father’s successor would not be Bobby. Bobby was weak like his father, Roberto.
Worse, he was a Tucci. Annet e jabbed a long, laminated ngernail into a scab on her left wrist and watched a tiny bubble of crimson rise to the surface. This is what would entitle her to her father’s empire. When the time came.
Blood. Niccola blood.
Chapter
Chapter
Ten
THE DOORBELL RANG twice, and Mendy, dressed in a worn red satin bathrobe, went to answer it. Out of long habit he stood of to the side and cal ed out, “Who’s there?”
“It’s the feds. This is a raid.”
Mendy laughed as he opened the door for Bobby and Til ie, who began serenading him with “Happy Birthday to You.”
“Jeez,” said Mendy. “How’d you know?”
“Same way we know your address—it’s on your driver’s license,” Bobby said.
“The other night you left your jacket on the chair with your wal et in it,” said Til ie.
Mendy said, “You drove al the way down here just to wish me a happy birthday?”
“And to take you out to dinner,�
� said Til ie. “I mean, you don’t turn seventy every day and—”
“Mendy, who’s there?” cal ed a woman from the other room. Her voice was young-sounding, ful of sleep and cigaret es.
“Just some pals stopped by,” Mendy cal ed out. “I’l be back in a minute.”
Bobby and Til ie looked at each other. “Oops,” Til ie Bobby and Til ie looked at each other. “Oops,” Til ie said.
“We bet er split,” said Bobby. “Looks like you’re already having a birthday party.”
Mendy said, “Tel you what. How about we meet around nine at the Riverboat. Mel Tormé’s there.”
Bobby grinned and said, “Table for four?”
Mendy nodded, then cupped his hand to his mouth in a conspiratorial gesture. “Tonight? Don’t say nothin’ about this, okay?”
“Don’t worry,” whispered Til ie. “We won’t embarrass her.”
A sheepish look came over Mendy’s face. “Nah, that ain’t it. See, I’l be comin’ with a dif erent girl.”
WHEN MENDY ARRIVED at the Riverboat with his date, a stylishly dressed woman in her mid-forties named Mildred, Bobby and Til ie were waiting in the parking lot.
“Whatcha doin’ out here?” he asked.
“They wouldn’t let us in,” said Til ie. “We’re under-dressed.” Bobby was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a black T-shirt, Til ie a miniskirt and tank top.
“Lemme talk to them,” said Mendy.
“It won’t do any good,” said Bobby. “I already had a few words with the prick at the door.”
“A few wel -chosen words,” giggled Til ie. They were both stoned.
both stoned.
Mendy went inside. Thirty seconds later he was back, along with a stricken-looking maître d’. “What a misunderstanding,” he wailed. He ushered them into the club, where waiters were already set ing up a table for four in the front.
“They must know you here,” said Bobby.
“Everybody knows Mendy,” said Mildred. She was a redhead with a big bust and merry blue eyes that darted around the room.
Til ie said, “I bet you slipped him a twenty al folded up in a lit le square, the way they do it in the movies.
Right?”
“Nah,” said Mendy. “I just used the magic word.”
“ ‘Please’?”
“ ‘Tucci.’ Bobby’s grampa owns this joint.”
“Figures,” said Bobby. “Wel , that’s another use for the family name, get ing in to see Mel Tormé.”
The manager arrived with a bot le of Moët ’69. “Next time, please let me know you’re coming,” he said to Bobby. “And if there’s anything else I can do—”
“No, that’s cool,” said Bobby. He sensed that people were looking at him.
The band struck up a Tommy Dorsey tune, and Mendy led Mildred to the dance oor, which was l ing up with middle-aged men in dark silk suits and women in clinging, sparkly dresses. One bald man danced with an unlit cigar in his mouth. “Can you believe this place?”
unlit cigar in his mouth. “Can you believe this place?”
Til ie giggled.
A man stopped at their table. He had wavy white hair and a giant diamond on his pinky nger. “Sam Zaramis,”
he said in a gravel y voice. “Me and your grampa go back.”
“Nice to meet you,” said Bobby.
“Pleasure’s al mine. Be sure an’ remember me to your grampa. Sam Zaramis.” He made an awkward half bow and walked away.
No sooner had Zaramis left than another man came up.
He, too, was in late middle age. He, too, wore a pinky ring. “Al ie Alkarian,” he said, shaking Bobby’s hand. “Me and your dad, Roberto, were close, God rest his soul.
Maybe he mentioned me sometime?”
Bobby shook his head. “Sorry—”
“Hey, I just wanted to come by and pay my respects,”
Alkarian said. “Enjoy the show.”
“And to think, I loved you even before I found out you were royalty,” said Til ie.
“Let’s dance,” said Bobby.
“To this? No way. You’l kil my feet.”
“You dance with Mendy and I’l take Mildred. She looks like she knows how to lead.”
They danced for a while, and then Mel Tormé came on.
Al through the show waiters kept refreshing their drinks.
When the rst set ended, Mildred rose and said to Til ie,
“Let’s go powder our noses.”
“Let’s go powder our noses.”
“Okay,” Til ie said. “But I have to piss first.”
As they walked away Bobby said, “Nice lady.”
“Sure. She’s tops.”
“Good thing you warned us about not mentioning this afternoon.”
Mendy hitched his shoulders and widened his eyes, like a mischievous kid. “Yeah, that wouldn’t have been too good.”
“Mildred’s the jealous type, huh?”
“Aw, it’s not that,” said Mendy. “But see, that girl I was with today? That was her daughter.”
“Whose daughter?”
“Mildred’s.”
Bobby threw his head back and laughed. “You’re screwing Mildred’s daughter?”
“It’s not a serious thing.”
“How old is she? If you don’t mind my asking?”
“Karen? She’s, ah, about twenty- ve, twenty-six.
Somewhere in there.”
Bobby shook his head. “Un-fucking-believable,” he said.
“Prob’ly you shouldn’t mention it to Til ie,” said Mendy.
“It’s not the kind of thing a guy should tel a broad. Let’s just keep it between us.”
“Okay,” said Bobby He couldn’t wait to tel Til ie.
“Good. Hey, look who’s here!” Bobby turned and saw a man approaching. He was younger than the guys who had come over before, around forty, with less esh on his face.
come over before, around forty, with less esh on his face.
Mendy introduced him as Jackie Glass. When he shook Bobby’s hand his grip was strong. Bobby noticed that he wasn’t wearing a pinky ring.
“You’re Roberto’s kid,” said Glass, sizing Bobby up with a frank, almost clinical stare.
Bobby nodded; he didn’t like the vulpine look on the man’s face. “You were a great pal of my dad’s, right?”
“You got me mixed up with somebody,” said Jackie.
“Me and him did a lit le business from time to time, but that’s about it.”
“Oh.”
“You got the place buzzing,” Jackie said. “The two of you.”
“It’s my birthday,” said Mendy. “Bobby and his girl are helping me celebrate.”
“Many happy returns,” said Jackie. “Listen, Bobby, this isn’t a good place to talk, but I got a proposition the Tuccis might be interested in. I was going to speak to the don direct, but maybe you’d like to take it to him. You want, we could get together later and discuss it.”
Bobby felt light-headed from the champagne and grass.
What the fuck, he thought. “What kind of proposition?”
Jackie Glass shot a look at Mendy, who responded with an a rmative blink. “Without get ing into the details, a mil ion bucks in cash wil net you out three within thirty days.”
“How?”
“How?”
“It’s in the nature of an international nancial transaction,” said Glass.
“Drugs?”
Glass nodded. “Yeah.”
“Grass? Or coke?”
“The former.”
“Good shit?”
“Primo,” said Glass.
“Cool,” said Bobby. “Tel you what. You score real y good shit, I’l take a key. How’s that?”
Glass looked at Mendy and said, “I make a mistake here?”
Mendy shrugged.
“How about it, Bobby? I make a mistake talking to you?”
“Look, Mr. Glass,” said Bobby, “I don’t make drug deals with strange
rs in nightclubs. The only reason I’m buying the key of you is because you’re a friend of Mendy’s.”
Glass stood. “We never had this conversation,” he said.
“Sure, no problem,” Bobby said. “It’s been nice not meeting you.”
After the second show, Bobby and Til ie headed back to Ann Arbor, leaving Mendy and Mildred with a table ful of complimentary drinks. On the way Bobby recounted his conversation with Jackie Glass. “While he was talking I sat there thinking—two generations of Tuccis have spent their lives making deals with assholes like him.”
lives making deals with assholes like him.”
“Yeah, and for what?” said Til ie. “A paltry couple hundred mil ion dol ars.”
He laughed. “Think I blew it?”
“Wel , it doesn’t sound like we’re gonna get that key.”
“Know what Mendy said? He said, ‘I never like a fel a who’s too big to sel retail.’ ”
“Words to live by,” said Til ie. “You’re not going to believe what Mildred told me.”
“You’re not going to believe what Mendy told me,”
Bobby said. “You know that girl at his place today? Guess who she was.”
“Okay. I guess it was Mildred’s daughter.”
“How do you know?” asked Bobby.
“Mildred told me when we were powdering our noses.
She said not to let on to Mendy that she knows.”
“Poor Mendy,” said Bobby. “Busted. Mildred’s not pissed?”
“She didn’t seem to be,” said Til ie. “Of course she wouldn’t. Under the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
“Did Mendy happen to mention how he met her?”
“Mildred? No. How?” Her tone made him grin.
“At his wedding.”
“His wedding?”
“Yep,” said Til ie. She began to giggle. “He’s married.
To Mildred’s aunt.”
Chapter
Chapter
Eleven
ALBERTO RELLI DRESSED careful y for his date with Annet e Tucci. He considered himself a handsome man in a rough-hewn way, despite the fact that his prominent nose and his mouth bent slightly rightward, the result of a childhood il ness. When he was young he pat erned himself on Tony Curtis, until he found out that Tony’s real name was Schwartz. After that he chose Dean Martin for his model. He wore his hair like Dino’s—in a ducktail with a lit le curl up front—favored cashmere sport jackets, and rarely put on a tie. It was a look, he felt, that worked for him, a fact at ested to by his many romantic conquests.
