Whacking Jimmy: A Novel

by William Wolf

  Delbert, you fol ow in Catel o’s car. When you get there put Catel o behind the wheel of his Caddy, turn the radio on, wipe for prints, and you’re al set.”

  “Let the man think Catel o died on the way in to see his ass,” said Rudy.

  “Sure. Then he’s Pat i’s problem,” Mendy said.

  “Slick,” Delbert conceded.

  “Thanks. Mouse, you bet er use a pay phone; the hotel switchboard keeps a record.”

  Rudy ipped Mouse a quarter. “Go up to the Gulf station on Woodward. They customer-friendly when it comes to white people.”

  “One thing, though,” said Mouse. “If that doctor just dragged the guy out into the hal like that and washed his hands of the whole mess, how come he was so upset?”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Mendy. “See, it turned out that his wife had just totaled her new Buick that afternoon.”

  Rudy nodded. “That’l mess up a mood,” he said.

  Chapter

  Chapter

  Twenty-seven

  ON WEDNESDAY, JULY 30, Annet e Tucci awakened with a mouth ful of fur. Scratch, curled up next to her, had somehow wedged the tip of his tail between her teeth.

  Gently she stroked the cat until he stirred. He arched his back and purred as he slid his wet tail onto the satin pil ow.

  Annet e glanced at her clock radio—ten-thirty. At this moment she was stil a ma a widow, one of many; in a few hours she would be the most powerful woman in organized crime.

  She owed it al to her father. He was a giant, a genius, the greatest man she had ever known. Compared to him, Rel i and Catel o were lit le boys squabbling in a school yard. She was only glad that she could repay his love and trust by delivering Detroit into his grand scheme.

  Someday, many years from now she hoped, she herself would rule the Center Cut. It was the destiny of the Niccolas.

  Annet e rose slowly, drew a bath, soaked her lean, strong body in rose water, and toweled o in front of Scratch’s hungry stare. Wrapped in white terrycloth, a violet turban on her head, she watched the sailboats on violet turban on her head, she watched the sailboats on Lake St. Clair as she ate half a Fruit-of-the-Month Club honeydew and sipped special y roasted Colombian cof ee.

  Three cups later, Annet e went to her dressing room and chose a conservative black silk suit, a white blouse that came to her neck, and sensible shoes. She wore light makeup, and her only jewelry was a smal gold necklace that had belonged to her mother. When she inspected herself, she saw an at ractive, unspectacular woman. It was a look designed to put the priggish Hof a at ease.

  Next, Annet e loaded her purse, a smal black custom-made Gucci given to her by her cousins Ralph and Jo-Jo, who had own in from Chicago the night before. The Gucci had a special pistol mount that al owed her to aim and re without taking the gun from the purse. She also packed two Ziploc bags, a tube of lip gloss, a rol of sugarless wintergreen mints, a smal jar of hand cream, and a butcher knife. Then she snapped the purse shut, kissed Scratch on the nose, and walked out of the house ready to make history.

  THERE HAD BEEN nobody waiting for Carmine Pat i this time when he arrived at Metro Airport, nor had he expected anyone. He had only been gone six hours, after al , just long enough to y into Newark Airport and confer with the ve old men of the Commission in a private room at La Luna Restaurant in Paramus.

  La Luna Restaurant in Paramus.

  Two of them, Edward “the Judge” Polumba and the notoriously taciturn Sam Spadol ini, headed New York Families. The others were Alfredo Orel ini of Providence, representing al of New England; Michael “the Actor”

  DiBlanca of Los Angeles; and Wil ie “Knuckles” Bontera from Dal as. Into their hands had been entrusted the executive decision-making of the American underworld.

  “I wouldn’t have requested such an urgent meeting, but the situation in Detroit requires a decision,” Pat i had said, with a formality appropriate to the occasion. “Frankly, I have no idea what to do.”

  The Commissioners nodded in approbation; humility in a young man was a prized, and increasingly rare, quality.

  “Speak freely,” said Don Polumba.

  “These Detroit people are crazy,” said Pat i. “They’ve kil ed each other o . First Don Tucci—al right, that could have been a natural death. Then Rel i gets shot in a warehouse by his cousin. At the funeral, Catel o tel s me he’s in charge. Three days later he turns up dead in his car in the parking garage of my hotel. The doctors say it was a heart at ack.”

  “But you doubt this?” said Don Polumba.

  “When I found him, his car radio was tuned to a black radio station,” said Pat i. “From what I know of Catel o, h e wasn’t the kind of man who listened to Curtis May eld.” The old men nodded. Not one of them had ever heard of Curtis May eld. Silently they congratulated ever heard of Curtis May eld. Silently they congratulated themselves on choosing this perceptive young American as their emissary.

  “If Catel o was murdered,” said Orel ini, “who did it?”

  Michael DiBlanca said, “With al the respect, I don’t see what di erence it makes. Unless somebody here has a personal interest in the mat er?” They looked at one another and shrugged. “We had a deal with Vit orio Tucci.

  His Family does the Ho a contract by the end of the month. Tomorrow’s the thirtieth, and Ho a’s stil walking around. Which means the contract’s no good. Which means we do what’s necessary.”

  Wil ie Bontera cracked his knuckles for at ention and said, “The Tuccis got another forty-eight hours.”

  “The Tuccis are al dead,” said DiBlanca irritably. “Pat i just said so. What’re they, gonna come back from the grave to do the job?”

  “Is that right?” asked Don Polumba. “Are they al dead?” As the senior member, he was the Commission’s informal chairman.

  “The only remaining Tuccis of any consequence are the daughter-in-law, Annet e, and the grandson, Bobby,” said Pat i.

  “A woman and a boy,” said DiBlanca.

  “She’s the daughter of Tommy Niccola, don’t forget,”

  said Orel ini.

  “Al the more reason to move now,” said DiBlanca. “I’m not speaking from greed. I control Los Angeles, what do I not speaking from greed. I control Los Angeles, what do I care about Detroit? But we can’t al ow chaos.”

  “No,” said Bontera. “We made a promise to Vit orio Tucci. Okay, he’s dead, but nobody sit ing around this table is immortal. Each one of us wil be in his shoes sooner or later. We don’t live up to our word, nobody here wil be certain his plans for the future of his Family wil be respected. And then there wil be chaos.”

  “Let’s be practical,” said Orel ini. Although he had been born in Sicily, his control of New England had won him a reputation for Yankee pragmatism. “We’re only talking about two days here.”

  “Unless the Tuccis ask for an extension,” said Bontera.

  “They got that right.”

  “What Tuccis, for Christ’s sake?” said DiBlanca.

  “The grandson,” said Bontera. “If he’s interested.”

  “I don’t think he is,” said Pat i. “But Annet e’s another story. She’s ambitious for the boy.”

  “I stil say we take over now, before a vacuum sets in,”

  said DiBlanca.

  “And I stil say a promise is a promise,” said Bontera.

  Don Polumba looked at his fel ow New Yorker. “Sam?

  You haven’t said a word.”

  “Respect the deal,” rasped Spadol ini.

  “Yes,” said Polumba. “We gave our word, we must respect our word. We’re not politicians here, we’re Men of Honor. Carmine, go back to Detroit, speak with the mother and the boy. Explain our arrangement with Don mother and the boy. Explain our arrangement with Don Tucci. Give this Bobby another two weeks. If he hits Hof a, we back him for boss. If he’s not interested, we o er a fair buyout. Something to keep Tommy the Neck quiet.”

  “What if Annet e decides that she wants control of the Tuccis herself?”
<
br />   “Impossible,” said Wil ie Bontera. “A woman can never be the head of a Family.”

  “For once I agree with Wil ie,” said DiBlanca.

  “Don Tucci would have been the first to say so,” Orel ini said.

  Don Polumba nodded. “It is the grandson or no one,” he ruled.

  Pat i said, “If the boy doesn’t want it, what about the Hof a contract?”

  “You do it.”

  “Me?”

  “Acting for us. After which Detroit wil become an open city. You wil represent our interests there. That is, if you feel you are capable.”

  “I am honored by your faith in me,” said Carmine Pat i, trying to conceal his dismay. Running an open city was the most thankless job in organized crime. “But—”

  Sam Spadol ini cleared three months’ worth of cigar phlegm from his massive lungs and raised his eyelids to half mast. “You leave us worry about the honor, kid,” he rasped. “You just concentrate on not fucking up.”

  Don Spadol ini’s admonition stayed with Pat i during Don Spadol ini’s admonition stayed with Pat i during the ight back to Detroit, and it was stil ringing in his ears when he arrived at the Pontchartrain and found a message to cal Annet e Tucci at home. “This is a coincidence,” he said when he got her on the phone. “I was going to cal you tonight.”

  “It’s time we got together,” she said. Her manner was brisk and peremptory. “Meet me in the hotel bar in an hour.”

  Pat i was on his second dry martini when Annet e walked in, accompanied by a vaguely familiar, bul et-headed man with the build of a washing machine. She left him at the door, took a seat, and motioned for Pat i to join her. As he approached she looked him over slowly.

  “Six-one?” she said.

  “Six-two,” Pat i said with a boyish smile.

  “Broad shoulders, narrow waist. You were a footbal player, right?”

  “In the distant past,” said Pat i, warming up the smile and put ing some twinkle in his blue eyes. “You look like you might have been a cheerleader.”

  “I look like a cheerleader? What are you, a moron?”

  “I meant it as a compliment.”

  “You meant it as a come-on.”

  “You’re the one who started with the body talk,” said Pat i.

  “I was trying to gure out if I wanted to screw you later on,” said Annet e. “I don’t, so let’s get down to business.”

  on,” said Annet e. “I don’t, so let’s get down to business.”

  “Wow, you come on strong, lady,” said Pat i, stil smiling.

  Annet e leaned across the table until their faces were just inches apart. “Don’t patronize me, sonny. You talk to me with respect. I’m a fucking widow.”

  “Sorry,” said Pat i.

  “Okay, let’s start al over,” said Annet e. “How was Jersey?”

  “What makes you think I was in Jersey?”

  “Him,” said Annet e, nodding toward the washing machine. Now Pat i knew why the guy looked familiar. “I can tel you what you had for lunch. So, how’s the Commission?”

  “Nervous,” said Pat i.

  “They can stop worrying,” said Annet e. She opened her purse, extracted two smal Ziploc bags, and passed them to Pat i. He examined them in the faint candlelight, raised his eyes to meet her steady gaze, and said, “Hof a’s?”

  Annet e nodded. “You know what they say—a nger’s worth a thousand words.”

  “You giving these to me?”

  “One to a customer,” she said, picking up the second bag with her long red ngernails and replacing it in her purse. “Go ahead, get it printed, just to make sure.”

  Pat i put the bag in his jacket pocket. “When did it happen?”

  “This afternoon.”

  “This afternoon.”

  “Who did it?”

  “I did,” said Annet e. “One bul et, right between the eyes.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “What do you want me to do, bring you his head in a doggy bag?”

  “Where’s the body?”

  Annet e shook her head. “You don’t need to know.” The truth was that she didn’t know herself.

  “Al right,” said Pat i. “Say I believe you. Now what?”

  “The contract’s ful l ed, right on time. That means that Detroit stays under Tucci control. Go back and tel the Commission. I’m in charge.”

  Pat i shook his head. “They’l never approve it. It’s not fair, but there it is.” To his surprise he felt sheepish. He had just come from a meeting with ve of the top crime bosses in the country, and Annet e Tucci had more force and charisma than any of them.

  “I don’t need their approval,” she said.

  “You know what they’l do? If you make a move like that?”

  “What?”

  “Declare Detroit an open city.” Pat i frowned and said,

  “Probably put me in charge.”

  “I do the job on Ho a, and you take over because you’ve got a dick,” said Annet e. “You think that’s how it’s going to work?”

  going to work?”

  “Hey, I don’t want Detroit,” said Pat i. “Refereeing turf ghts between every Family in the country? In a shithole like this? It’s the worst thing that could happen to my career.”

  “Then tel them no dice.”

  “I can’t,” said Pat i. “I’m responsible to the Commission.

  Ho a was only half the deal; nding a new boss’s the other half. And it can’t be you. To these older guys that would be heresy, like a woman pope.”

  “Yeah, that would be terrible,” said Annet e. “But, that’s not how everybody feels. My father, for example.”

  “Oh?” This was something new.

  “Yeah, oh. He’s in my corner al the way.”

  “Your father’s a powerful man,” said Pat i careful y.

  “But the Commission is made up of powerful men. I’d hate to see a clash of wil s. That way everyone loses.”

  “Yeah, but some people are gonna lose more than others,” said Annet e. “You know who’s gonna lose big time?”

  “Who?”

  “The guy I decide to dig up Ho a and rebury the corpse on his property and then drop a dime. That guy’s gonna get his ass in a sling. Maybe it’l be Don Polumba. Maybe it’l be that Actor from L.A. It could be anybody.”

  “I don’t believe you’d do that.”

  “Why, ’cause it’s against the rules? The rules don’t apply to me, remember? Besides, al this Sicilian voodoo crap is to me, remember? Besides, al this Sicilian voodoo crap is a thing of the past. This is a business, and I’m taking it over, no mat er what some Mustache Petes in Jersey say.

  Chicago’s backing me. So if the Commission wants to fight, they bet er bring their lunch. Is that clear?”

  “Couldn’t be any clearer.”

  “Good. Then run your cute ass back to Jersey and make it clear to the Col ege of Cardinals.”

  It was a dismissal, but Pat i didn’t budge. “No,” he said.

  “It’s the wrong message, and I’m not going to deliver it.”

  “I warned you about patronizing me,” said Annet e.

  “I’m not; I’m giving you advice, which is what I get paid to do. If I tel the Commission what you just said, there wil be a war. Maybe you and your father can win, but I doubt it. Even if you do, the price is going to be exorbitant.”

  “So what’s your advice, counselor?” Annet e’s tone was sarcastic, but Pat i could tel she was interested.

  “You said two things I agree with completely. First, this is a business mat er. The Commission feels the same way.

  They’re like a hands-o board of directors. They don’t want to get involved in Detroit, they just want ultimate oversight. Give them that, they won’t interfere.”

  “How?”

  “By using Bobby as your front man.”

  Annet e snorted. “What’s the mat er with using my father?” she asked.

  “He’d scare them to dea
th,” said Pat i. “There are a lot

  “He’d scare them to death,” said Pat i. “There are a lot of bosses around the country who consider Don Niccola a threat. He’s already got too much. Listen to me, use Bobby. It doesn’t have to be permanent.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “It goes back to the second thing you said. This old-country stu can’t last. As the dinosaurs die o they’re going to be replaced by a generation of Americans who don’t give a damn about macho taboos.”

  “Guys like you,” said Annet e.

  “Exactly like me,” said Pat i. “When we’re in control, you can step forward on your own.”

  Annet e stared into the hazy darkness of the bar. Then she said, “I don’t believe you guys are gonna be any bet er than the Mustache Petes, and I’m not waiting around to nd out. I appreciate you don’t want a war, and I value your advice. Come up with a solution that doesn’t leave me in the kitchen, I’m ready to listen. But until then, I’m in charge and I intend to stay in charge.”

  Pat i opened his hands in a gesture of resignation.

  “You’re the boss.”

  “I like you when you’re being obedient,” said Annet e.

  “Why don’t you come to work for me? You’d make a good consigliere.”

  “I’m honored,” said Pat i, “but I’m happy where I am.”

  “Okay,” said Annet e. “I can always use a friend next to the Commission.” She smiled sweetly and added,

  “Especial y one whose prints I’ve got on Jimmy Ho a’s

  “Especial y one whose prints I’ve got on Jimmy Ho a’s Ziploc finger bag.”

  Chapter

  Chapter

  Twenty-eight

  MENDY OPENED THE Bul Pen at six-thirty. Ten minutes later, Klein the Teamster lawyer came in. Mendy hadn’t seen him since the funeral, and he had never seen him this early in the morning.

  Klein took a seat at the counter. When Mendy came over Klein lowered his voice, although no one was nearby, and said, “You hear the news?”

  Mendy shook his head.