Whacking Jimmy: A Novel

by William Wolf

  Rel i’s wife was a blowsy peroxide blonde named Tina, the daughter of a smal -time loan shark he had married before his rise to prominence. They lived with their three teenaged children in Grosse Pointe Woods, a ritzy suburb not too far from the don’s mansion. Rel i kept his girlfriend, a tat ooed French-Canadian lap dancer cal ed Mitzy, in an apartment downtown, just across the river from the row of strip clubs known as the Windsor bal et.

  He also had a longtime mistress, a cokehead named Sue, who taught seventh-grade history in Royal Oak. And lately he had rented an apartment near the airport for a he had rented an apartment near the airport for a Northwest stew with a dirty mind who spent weekends in Detroit. Rel i was wel pleased by these arrangements.

  Unlike Luigi Catel o, who depended on pickups because he was too cheap to support his women, Alberto Rel i was rarely more than ten miles away from a homemade blow job.Tonight he was planning to add Annet e Tucci to his stable. She would be a sweet acquisition. When Roberto croaked, he had made some advances, which she had shot down in a snooty way. But now, with the don dying and power about to shift, Annet e had become friendly. That’s why she had invited him to dinner at her big house on Lake St. Clair. She was a smart broad, Annet e. She knew how things were headed.

  When he thought about Luigi Catel o he had to laugh.

  Catel o, who had said that Rel i needed him to be his eyes.

  It was Catel o who was in the dark, Catel o who knew nothing about the don’s plans for the Family. Plans that would put Rel i at the top.

  It crossed his mind that maybe Annet e knew something. Not that the don would tel her, but her old man had friends on the National Commission. Al the bet er, he decided. Just thinking about the contract he had been given by Don Vit orio gave Alberto a massive hard-on. Annet e was the kind of broad who would respond to that, no question.

  A gnocchi like Catel o would be scared shit of Annet e.

  A gnocchi like Catel o would be scared shit of Annet e.

  But Rel i wasn’t scared of broads, and he wasn’t worried about Tommy the Neck making a move on Detroit. After he carried out the contract, Rel i would be named Tucci’s successor—he had the old man’s word on that—and the Commission would have no choice but to ratify it.

  Combine that with the army he could put on the street, and he was in an unassailable position.

  Rel i couldn’t believe his luck. Until yesterday he had been a hammer—tough, feared, respected, but no di erent from a dozen top enforcers around the country. But now he was destined to become not only a boss but a legend.

  Not since the hit on Bugsy Siegel in L.A. had there been such a plum assignment for a man in his profession. By the end of the summer he would be known to the members of the National Commission and a few select insiders as Don Alberto Rel i—boss of Detroit, the man who whacked Jimmy Hof a.

  After Rel i took over the Family, Luigi Catel o would be as dispensable as a used razor blade. Annet e was another story. She was royalty twice over, a Niccola and a Tucci.

  An al iance with her would be a class move. Plus the expansion thing could work both ways; with the Princess of Chicago at his side, he might be able to stick a toe in the Windy City.

  Rel i paused for a moment and thought about his wife.

  Divorce was out of the question, but accidents happened.

  On the other hand, Annet e wasn’t the kind of broad who On the other hand, Annet e wasn’t the kind of broad who would insist on a wedding ring.

  Rel i took a fond last look at the mirror, pul ed in his stomach, and gave himself a loopy Dean Martin grin.

  There were but er ies in his bel y when he thought about Annet e. People said he was a hard guy. Nobody knew how romantic he real y was inside.

  ANNETTE CAME TO the door on five-inch heels and a cloud of My Sin. Her black silk dress clung to her body; around her neck she wore a pearl choker that made her look like a sexy nun. It was an out t Catholic men usual y found irresistible, and she saw from his expression that Alberto Rel i was not an exception. Rel i’s reputation as a ladies’

  man amused her. She regarded him and his sunlamp tan, three-hundred-dol ar

  Italian

  loafers,

  Brylcreem

  pompadour, and Rat Pack smirk as not much more of a chal enge than Johnny Baldini.

  Annet e led Rel i to a sunporch that overlooked the lake. The room was lit with candles, the table set for two; Mantovani murmured in the background. There was a steaming pot on the table. Rel i sni ed and said,

  “Something smel s terrific.”

  “Greathead stu ed with crab and shrimp,” said Annet e.

  “Sautéed in but er with thyme and a lit le lemon. It’s my own recipe.”

  “Greathead, that’s a fish?”

  “Greathead, that’s a fish?”

  “I hope you like fish.”

  “Absolutely,” said Rel i. “Especial y if it’s cooked by you.”

  During dinner they exchanged Family gossip as Rel i devoured his meal, washing it down with two bot les of chil ed white wine. Then Annet e brought in tiramisu and a bot le of Hennessy VO. “Let’s have our dessert in the living room,” she said. “It’s cozier.”

  Rel i sank into the large white couch with a satis ed grunt. Annet e handed him a porcelain hash pipe. Rel i grinned; things were going just right. He took a hit, held the smoke, and then expel ed it with a violent cough.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Strong shit. Very nice.”

  Annet e took the pipe and said, “I laced it with a lit le opium.”

  Rel i stretched on the couch, let ing his arm fal over Annet e’s shoulder. “Great food, great dope, great looks, you got the whole package,” he said expansively. “How come you and me never got together before this?”

  “We’re not together yet,” said Annet e. “I’m stil thinking about it.”

  “You never thought I was in your league,” said Rel i.

  “You weren’t.”

  “But I am now.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Fuckin’ A,” said Rel i. He took another hit of the

  “Fuckin’ A,” said Rel i. He took another hit of the hashish and closed his eyes as he exhaled. When he opened them it seemed to him that Annet e was looming very close and very large. “Just wait a few more weeks, you’l see what league I’m in,” he said.

  “What’s then?”

  “That’s when things break big for me,” said Rel i. He took another hit o the pipe and washed it down with some Hennessy.

  “Oh?”

  “You don’t know?”

  She shook her head. Rel i began to say something, reconsidered, and immediately forgot what it was. After a silence that could have been seconds or minutes long, Annet e stirred and said, “Let’s go down to the rumpus room and shoot some pool.”

  Rel i’s stoned brain recognized this as a bad idea. It was dark, the couch was soft, and he could feel the warmth of Annet e’s body. Eight-bal would de nitely break the mood. He pul ed her toward him and said, “I’m gonna be the next don. After I do my thing.”

  “What thing?”

  More time passed and Rel i said, “Numb Hof a.”

  “Jimmy Hof a?”

  “He’s get ing whacked,” said Rel i.

  “Right,” said Annet e. “They’ve been whacking out Jimmy Hof a since my first communion.”

  “Except this time it’s for real,” said Rel i. “The

  “Except this time it’s for real,” said Rel i. “The Commission gave the green light. Carmine Pat i was out here the other day set ing it up with the don.”

  Annet e red up another bowl of hashish, took a hit, and passed it to Rel i. “The don’s a friend of Ho a’s,” she said. “He’s been to the house a dozen times.”

  “The don’s hands are tied. Ho a’s pissed o ’cause he can’t get his union back. He’s threatening to rat out everybody. Friendship don’t figure into it.”

  Annet e said nothing. The silence grew
heavy, and Rel i closed his eyes and drifted o . When he opened them, she was standing before him, naked except for the choker and the heels. He stared at her with admiration. “You’re a beautiful broad, you know that?” he slurred.

  “I’m gonna do something for you,” she said, lowering her nude body onto his lap. “Something you’re real y going to like.” She licked his ear. “And then, I’m gonna ask you to do something for me.”

  “I don’t give head,” he mumbled.

  She ran her hand down his thigh and said, “That’s al right, baby, I don’t need your head. Al I want is a lit le help.”

  “Anything,” said Rel i. He was panting now.

  Annet e darted her tongue into his thick, hairy ear. “Be a father to Bobby,” she whispered.

  “Sure, babe,” gasped Rel i. At that moment he had no idea who Bobby might be. Then, from the deep recesses of his hash-fried brain came the realization that she was his hash-fried brain came the realization that she was talking about her son. Broads are al alike, he thought; no mat er how hot they act, they’re stil just mothers at heart.

  Chapter

  Chapter

  Twelve

  TILLIE INVITED MENDY to a Fourth of July picnic at her family’s cot age on Cass Lake. “Bring a date,” she told him on the phone.

  “Nah, I’l come stag,” he said. “You never know when you’re gonna get lucky at the beach.” But when he arrived he wasn’t alone. Bobby, who was out in the yard stoking up the barbecue pit, saw Mendy’s old Plymouth pul in the drive-way, fol owed by a black limousine. Carlo Seluchi was at the wheel, and in the back, looking smal , sat Don Vit orio Tucci. Bobby blinked in disbelief. In his entire life he had never seen his grandfather outside the house.

  Bobby darted into the kitchen where Til ie and her mother were making potato salad. “Mendy’s here,” he said excitedly. “And you’re not going to believe who else.”

  Til ie said, “Don’t tel me he brought one of his ankens with him. That’s what he cal s women sometimes, flanken; it’s the Yiddish word for beef,” she explained to her mother.

  “Oh,” said Ann Til man. She found the idea of having a retired gangster to lunch pleasantly confusing.

  “It’s my grandfather,” said Bobby.

  “It’s my grandfather,” said Bobby.

  “Your grandfather?” said Til ie. “Which one?”

  “Vit orio,” said Bobby. “He’s right out there.”

  “How nice,” said Ann Til man. She turned to the cook, a dour Mexican woman who had been shel ing corn. “Lu, wil you nish up in here? I want to greet our guests.”

  Without waiting for an answer, she went banging into the yard. “Welcome,” she cal ed. “I’m so glad you could come.”

  Mendy do ed his straw fedora, gave Ann Til man a smiling once-over, and said, “Now I see where Til ie gets her good looks. Meet Bobby’s grampa, Don Vit orio Tucci.”

  “Nice to meet you, Don,” said Ann. The old man nodded formal y, but Bobby thought he saw his lips twitch in amusement. If so, it was another rst; he could never recal his grandfather smiling before.

  “I’m so sorry my husband, Sandy, isn’t here,” Ann said.

  “He’s in Switzerland on business. Actual y I think you might know him, Don. At least he seems to know you.

  Sandy Til man? International Bank and Trust?”

  Tucci shook his head noncommit al y. He was dressed in a black silk suit that hung o his shrunken shoulders, a gleaming white shirt three sizes too big for his neck, and a subdued amber tie. His black wing tips glistened in the July sun, and there were beads of sweat on his forehead.

  “If you’d like to go sailing before lunch I’d love to take you out,” said Ann. “We have some beach clothes here you out,” said Ann. “We have some beach clothes here that should fit.”

  “You go,” said Tucci. “I wanna stay here and talk to Bobby for a while.”

  “How about it, Mendy?” said Ann brightly. “Are you game?”

  “I doubt if Mendy sails, Mom,” said Til ie.

  “Are you kidding? Back during Pro’bition I spent half my time on boats. I even got shot once by the Coast Guard.”

  “Where?” asked Til ie.

  Mendy blushed. “In the tochis. The hind end. We was crossing over from Canada with a shipment of booze. I gure one of the other out ts paid the Guard to take a few potshots, try to scare us of .”

  Ann Til man was incredulous. “They bribed the Coast Guard?”

  Mendy shrugged and said, “You’d be surprised who you can bribe.”

  Til ie took Mendy by the arm and started toward the dock. Bobby watched them go with anxiety. He had never before had a one-on-one conversation with his grandfather.

  “Nice-looking girl,” said Tucci. “You planning to get married to her?”

  “I dunno,” said Bobby. Seeing his grandfather waxy in the sun, dressed up like his own corpse, gave Bobby the creeps.

  creeps.

  “Her old man’s the Michigan bagman for the Republican National Commit ee,” Tucci said. “He’s lucky he didn’t go to jail with the rest of them Nixon guys.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t know him.”

  “I know him.” said Tucci. There was a long silence, and then he said, “You know why I told you that?”

  Bobby shook his head.

  “Because if you do marry her, somebody might think you’re moving up in the world, a Tucci marrying a Til man. So I want you to know her father’s a bum. Her grandfather was a bum too. He owned the worst slums on the East Side.”

  “Whereas the Tuccis are paragons of civic virtue,” said Bobby.

  “This might be my last day outside,” said Tucci mildly.

  “Do me a favor, don’t fuck it up.”

  “Sorry,” said Bobby. He wasn’t sure if he meant it or not. “So you came out here to do what? Commune with nature?”

  “I came out to talk,” Vit orio said. “There’s a couple things we need to get cleared up before I croak—”

  HEY, I GOT IT,” said Mendy. Til ie and Ann were already on board, but he had lagged behind, his eyes shut in concentration. Now they popped open and he snapped his ngers. “The Roostertail. You used to dance down his ngers. “The Roostertail. You used to dance down there, right?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” said Ann.

  “There was a dancer looked just like you in the line at the Roostertail, back in, oh, ’49, ’50, around in there. I bet that was you.”

  Til ie laughed. “My mother the chorus girl. I can just picture it.”

  Ann smiled at Mendy and said, “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong girl. I’m embarrassed to tel you this, but I was away at finishing school.”

  “Wel , you got your money’s worth,” said Mendy approvingly. “Besides, now that I think about it, you’re a lot bet er-looking than her. She didn’t have your creamy skin.”

  “Watch out for Mendy, Mom,” said Til ie playful y.

  “He’s got girlfriends al over the place. I hear he’s even got a wife stashed away somewhere.”

  “Hey, how’d you know about her?”

  “Mildred. So, are you real y married?”

  Mendy shrugged. “I might be. I’m not sure.”

  “You must know if you’re married,” said Ann, in the same tone she’d used about the Coast Guard.

  “I was,” Mendy said, “but when I went in the joint she took o for Vegas and we didn’t keep in touch. She might have got a divorce, I dunno.”

  “You got in a lit le trouble and she split,” said Til ie.

  “Very nice.”

  “Very nice.”

  “Aw,” said Mendy. “I went up for six years. That’s an awful long stretch for a hard charger like Dixie.”

  Til ie laughed. “Dixie Pearlstein?”

  “Nah, she went by Dixie Dixx. Miss Dixie Dixx and her bag of Trixx. That was her stage moniker. Her real name was Dot y Kless.” A sweet smile crept onto Mendy’s lips.

  “Jeez, she had some f
rame,” he said. “I hope she’s doin’

  good, wherever she is.”

  I’M HAPPY YOU and Mendy are buddies,” said Vit orio.

  “Mendy’s a good man.”

  “The grandfather I never had,” said Bobby, making no e ort to hide the sarcasm. He had decided to give Vit orio Tucci exactly what the old man had given him for the past twenty-one years—nothing.

  A sudden chil made Tucci shiver—eighty- ve degrees out and his bones were cold. “You wanna know why I wasn’t palsy-walsy with you? Fine. First of al , your old man didn’t want me around you. He thought I’d fuck you up.”

  “Bul shit,” said Bobby. “My father worshipped you. He pissed away his whole life working for you.”

  “He worked for me, yeah, ’cause he didn’t know how to do anything else. Maybe that was my fault, but that’s how we raised our kids back then. But if you think he worshipped me, you’re ful of shit. In the beginning, yeah, worshipped me, you’re ful of shit. In the beginning, yeah, but not later. He said I made a deal with the devil.”

  “Did you?”

  Tucci shrugged. “I’l nd out soon enough. Anyway, that’s one of the reasons. Another one is your mother.

  She’s an evil bitch.”

  “Man, once you get started you don’t beat around the bush,” said Bobby.

  “I hate her no-neck old man, and I hate her. After Roberto died, having you around meant seeing her, and it wasn’t worth it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “That’s the other thing,” said Tucci. “That snot y la-di-da way you’ve got of talking, it rubs me the wrong way. Like you think you’re so much bet er than me. Sometimes I see the look on your face when I talk, like my words are farts, stinkin’ up the place.”

  “Maybe that’s because you talk like a Hol ywood gangster,” said Bobby. He had been stung by his grandfather’s bluntness. “You grew up in Detroit, not the Bowery.”