Whacking Jimmy: A Novel

by William Wolf

“Somebody nabbed Hof a yesterday.”

  “Jeez,” said Mendy. “Who’d do a thing like that?”

  “What are you, kidding? Who wouldn’t? The guy’s got more enemies than communism. You haven’t heard anything?”

  “Where would I hear?”

  “You were seeing a lot of the don before he croaked,”

  said Klein. “I gured maybe he might have mentioned something.”

  “Aw, we went to a couple bal games,” said Mendy.

  “Jeez, the Tigers stink this year. I’m sorry Vit orio had to go out in such a bum season. What can I get you?”

  “I think I’l skip breakfast,” said Klein. “I want to drop in on a couple more guys, see who knows what.”

  in on a couple more guys, see who knows what.”

  “You workin’ for the Teamsters on this?” asked Mendy.

  Klein stood, straightened his toupee, and clicked his dentures into place. “This is strictly freelance,” he said.

  “It’s like the schvartzes say, ‘Knowledge is power, brother.’ ”

  Mendy watched Klein’s Buick head down Michigan Avenue. Then he cal ed Bobby in Ann Arbor.

  “It’s not even seven,” Bobby said in a thick voice. “I had a gig last night.”

  “Sorry, but we got a eat salami and eggs,” said Mendy.

  “Soon as possible.”

  “Salami and eggs?” said Bobby. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s a code. It means I need to talk to you in person.”

  “It can’t wait?”

  “There’s nothing that can’t wait. The only thing is, what happens while it’s waiting?”

  Bobby laughed and coughed at the same time. “You into Zen now? Okay, I’l be there in an hour.”

  “Don’t speed, drive careful,” said Mendy. “And Bobby?

  Somebody knocks on your door, don’t answer it.”

  BOBBY AND TILLIE got to the Bul Pen around eight. They were red-eyed from lack of sleep and gave o the aroma o f marijuana, which mingled with the diner’s usual morning blend of bacon grease, brewed cof ee, burnt toast, morning blend of bacon grease, brewed cof ee, burnt toast, filter cigaret es, and generic aftershave.

  “Salami and eggs,” Bobby said in a stage whisper.

  Mendy said, “Til ie, Bobby and me need to discuss something. Why don’t you grab some breakfast at the counter. I got nice western omelet es today.”

  “We’re in this together,” said Til ie. Bobby nodded.

  “Nah,” said Mendy. “You’re not in it. If Bobby wants to put you in later, that’s his business.”

  Til ie said, “I can’t burn my bra ’cause I’m not wearing one, and besides, I’m hungry. So you have your manly chat and get me when you’re nished. I’l be the lit le lady by the jukebox with her mouth ful of flapjacks.”

  “Jeez, I hope she ain’t mad at me,” said Mendy, as Til ie sauntered over to the counter.

  “If she were, you’d know it,” said Bobby. “What’s so important?”

  “Yesterday somebody snatched Jimmy Hof a.”

  “I didn’t hear about it on the radio,” said Bobby.

  “The radio don’t know about it yet.”

  “Then how do you?”

  “A guy stopped by.”

  “Wel , we know it wasn’t Rel i,” said Bobby. “It must have been Catel o, huh?”

  Mendy shook his head. “It wasn’t him.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It don’t mat er, I just do. So who does that leave?”

  “I don’t know. Who?”

  “I don’t know. Who?”

  “Your mother or Carmine Pat i. Those are the only ones I can figure.”

  Bobby scowled. “What do I care who did it? I don’t give a shit if Ho a got abducted by Martians, it’s got nothing to do with me.”

  Mendy pressed his lips together and widened his eyes.

  “Pat i cal ed me this morning. He wants to sit down. He should be here any time. In fact, here he is now.”

  Bobby saw Carmine Pat i walk in, looking crisp and fresh in a white linen suit. “Asshole,” he said. “He hit on Til ie.”

  “Let him do the talking,” said Mendy “And keep the personal stuf out of it.”

  Pat i saw Til ie at the counter and did a smal double take. “This is a surprise,” he said.

  “Surprise? I’ve been sit ing here waiting for you since seven. Don’t tel me you forgot our date.” She waited for the confusion to spread over his face before saying, “Relax, I’m here with Bobby.”

  “Does he know about us?”

  “What’s to know?”

  Pat i pul ed his face together as he walked toward Bobby and Mendy. “We haven’t real y met,” he said, extending his hand. Mendy gave it a shake. Bobby put his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

  “Cof ee?” said Mendy.

  “Black. I’d like to talk to Bobby alone, if you don’t

  “Black. I’d like to talk to Bobby alone, if you don’t mind.”

  “No way,” Bobby said. “Either you say what you want to say in front of Mendy or skip it.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” said Pat i. “No o ense to Mendy, but this is just between us.”

  “Hey, I got a joint to run,” said Mendy to Bobby. “You and me can talk later. I’l send one of the girls over with the cof ee.”

  “Quite a character,” said Pat i. “A real old-timer. Listen, Bobby, I came to talk to you about your family.”

  “You got bal s,” said Bobby. “As you would say.”

  “I’m just doing my job,” Pat i said. “Back east some very important men are going to ask me who’s taking over the Tucci Family business. What do I tel them?”

  Bobby shrugged. “Tel them whatever you want; it’s got nothing to do with me.”

  “Yes, it does. Your grandfather named Alberto Rel i to succeed him, but we both know that won’t happen. The same goes for Catel o. You’ve got the strongest claim now; after al , you’re the last Tucci.”

  “The last Tucci,” said Bobby. “Sounds like an anthro course. Aren’t you forget ing the ever popular Annet e Niccola Tucci?”

  “I’ve spoken to her. Frankly she wants to run things herself.”

  “Fine with me.”

  “It can’t happen. The men I work for won’t accept it. It’s

  “It can’t happen. The men I work for won’t accept it. It’s either you or the Commission takes over. Personal y I’m hoping it wil be you.”

  “What do you care?”

  “I’ve got my reasons; there’s no point in going into them now. The point is, the Tucci Family controls an empire out here. If you want it, I and the men I represent wil support you. You’l have al our help in get ing started, learning the business. I know it’s not what you had in mind but—what’s so funny?”

  “You are,” said Bobby. “You actual y think I’d consider becoming a mobster? Aside from the fact that I’d probably get myself kil ed in about ten minutes, it’d be a giant drag.

  I’d have to spend al my time with scumbags like Rel i and Catel o and my mother and you. Forget it.”

  Pat i remained impassive. “That’s your final word?”

  “No, my next-to- nal one. My nal word is ‘o .’ As in

  ‘Fuck of .’ ”

  Chapter

  Chapter

  Twenty-nine

  TOMMY NICCOLA TOOK Annet e’s cal in the sauna. “Can you come in for a celebration dinner on Saturday night?” she asked.

  “Why not come here?”

  “Johnny Baldini’s preparing something real y special,”

  she said. “Besides, I want Bobby to be there.”

  “Bobby can’t get on a plane?”

  “Bobby and I haven’t been get ing along,” said Annet e.

  “I didn’t want to worry you, but he’s not himself. The other day he cursed me.”

  “Your own son cursed you?” said Tommy, incredulous.

  “In public,” said Annet e. “I know
he’s al wound up, what with Vit orio dying and al , but he’s get ing out of control. Lately he’s been spending most of his time with a kike sharpie named Mendy Pearlstein.”

  “Mendy the Pearl?”

  “You know him?”

  “I’ve seen him around over the years. He used to hang out in Chicago with Sam Giancana’s cousin Mel. Strictly smal change.”

  “I want to make things right between Bobby and me,”

  said Annet e, “but he won’t listen. I wish you’d cal and said Annet e, “but he won’t listen. I wish you’d cal and invite him for Saturday. He won’t say no to you.”

  “Yeah, I suppose I could do that,” said Tommy. “After al , you been such a sweet girl lately. Ralph and Jo-Jo say you did great.”

  “It was your plan,” she said. “I just fol owed it. Are you gonna tel me what happened afterwards?”

  “Not on the phone,” said Tommy. “Wait til Saturday.”

  Tommy hung up, poured himself a grappa, and switched on the news. Stil no word that Ho a was missing. By tomorrow there’d be cops looking for Lit le Jimmy al over southern Michigan. In a week the FBI would mount a nationwide dragnet. The idea made Tommy grunt with pleasure; he didn’t care if they brought in the marines, nobody was gonna find the body.

  The plan had been simple, real y Ralph and Jo-Jo col ected the body bag from Annet e, put it in the trunk of their Cadil ac, and drove to Chicago, straight to the Molinari Funeral Home, which was owned by the Niccola Family. They handed the body over to Louie Molinari, who switched it with the corpse of a seventeen-year-old kil ed in a car accident. The kid was so badly mutilated he was due for a closed-casket funeral. The burial went as scheduled, except that the casket contained Jimmy Hof a.

  “The boss is a fuckin’ genius,” Ralph said to Jo-Jo on the way home. “Nobody’s gonna look for a guy in somebody else’s grave.”

  BOBBY PUT DOWN the phone and said to Til e, “That was Grampa No-Neck. I’m being summoned to my mother’s on Saturday night to, quote, make the peace, unquote. You’re final y going to meet dear old Mom.”

  “I’m invited?”

  “I told him the only way I’d come is if you and Mendy do.”

  “Mendy? Why Mendy?”

  “It’s a balance-of-forces thing. Knowing my mother and my grandfather, they’re going to gang up on me.”

  “Why not just blow them of , then?”

  “I hate to say this, but they’re the only family I’ve got. I don’t have to like them, but I do have to go. Besides, I’m curious.”

  “What do you think they want?”

  Bobby shrugged. “Maybe they want me to move to Chicago. Or give up the Tucci Foundation. Or tat oo

  ‘Mother I Love You’ on my biceps. Whatever it is, the answer is going to be no. And the Niccolas don’t like no.”

  “In other words, you expect an ass-kicking and you want us there as bodyguards,” said Til ie.

  “Soul guards,” said Bobby. “They’re not interested in my body.”

  “Til ie Tilman, Soul Guard. It’s got a ring to it. What do you wear to a mafia family drama?”

  “A great big silver cross.”

  “A great big silver cross.”

  “I’m not pretending I’m Catholic, if that’s what you want.”

  “Hel no. For protection.”

  “Protection from what?”

  Bobby grinned without humor and said, “Vampires.”

  LEON MITSAKAWA WAS at his desk reading about the Tigers’

  9-0 defeat at the hands of the Yankees when his bodyguard, Henry, brought Johnny Baldini in. He had been expecting Baldini. When he had cal ed Annet e Tucci to tel her the fugu had arrived, she had told him Baldini would be out to pick it up. “Give him my lit le package separately,” she instructed. “Tel him it’s a pair of diamond earrings.”

  Mitsakawa had been doing business with the Tuccis for ve years, ever since the Tokyo syndicate sent him, very much against his wil , to Detroit. From his o ce near the world headquarters of General Motors he imported food and supplies for the restaurants that catered to visiting Japanese engineers and auto executives. He also provided the ex-pats with other services. He took their bets on sporting events, sold them cocaine and heroin, and found them big-busted American women or young American boys. He had never before been asked to import fugu, but he was more than glad to do it. Without the su erance of the Tuccis, he would nd it much more di cult—and the Tuccis, he would nd it much more di cult—and dangerous—to make his living.

  The large vacuum pack from Japan contained ve pounds of expertly cut, perfectly safe sh; $2,100 with shipping. The smal box cost twice as much. It held two hundred grams of sliced, toxic fugu liver—enough to lethal y poison half a dozen people. Mitsakawa had been ten years old when the Americans bombed Nagasaki, leaving him an orphan. Importing a Japanese sh to wipe out Americans was, to him, an ironic pleasure.

  Mitsakawa handed the packages to Baldini and said, “I understand you are a great chef. I envy your guests.”

  Baldini ushed; he loved compliments. “What’s in this lit le one?” he asked.

  “A piece of jewelry for Mrs. Tucci,” Mitsakawa lied smoothly. “A token of my esteem. She is a remarkable woman.”

  “She sure is,” Baldini said, and frowned. Lately he had barely seen Annet e. Even when they cooked together she had been distant and uncommunicative. Then, suddenly, the fugu arrived, and a change had come over her. She was excited, almost giddy, and once again a ectionate.

  Baldini knew she was counting on him, and he wouldn’t let her down; on Saturday night he would cook the greatest meal of his life. He left Mitsakawa’s cramped o ce with a light step and drove Annet e’s T-Bird back to St. Clair Shores whistling Puccini. It never occurred to him that he was being fol owed, but even if it had, he never that he was being fol owed, but even if it had, he never would have spot ed Nobody Nussbaum.

  Annet e’s was quiet and almost dark when Baldini arrived; she sat on a sofa stroking Scratch, who purred on her lap in a way that gave Baldini a jolt of irrational jealousy. He tapped one of the boxes and said, “I’ve got it.”Annet e looked up; her brown eyes were soft, unfocused. “You’re a sweet boy,” she said. “Come over here.”

  Baldini swal owed hard. His palms were wet. As he approached he saw her skirt was above her knees. She was not wearing panties. “Come and kiss the cat,” she said huskily.

  It was kinky, even for Annet e, but Baldini was beyond caring. He plucked up Scratch and planted a kiss on his strenuously resisting mouth.

  “Let go of him, you idiot,” snapped Annet e.

  “You said—”

  “Jesus, Joseph, and Mary!” Annet e caught herself, took a deep breath, and said, “I’m sorry, baby. You go get naked. Mama’s gonna take good care of you.”

  Scratch hissed at him as he went, humbled but hopeful, into the bedroom. Annet e watched him with a combination of mirth and contempt. Johnny was a gifted cook, but he was also a complete clod. For the next twenty-four hours she intended to make sure he was a happy clod. After that—wel , there wasn’t going to be an happy clod. After that—wel , there wasn’t going to be an after that for Johnny Baldini.

  Chapter

  Chapter

  Thirty

  MENDY RANG THE doorbel at a quarter to seven, his arms ful of long-stem roses and a bot le of chil ed champagne.

  Annet e welcomed him with a smile that stopped at her eyes.

  “Jeez, you got a terri c spot here,” said Mendy.

  Although he had known Roberto al his life, he had never been to the big house on the lake.

  Annet e took the champagne, the owers, and his fedora and ushered Mendy into the living room. Bobby and Til ie smiled in welcome. Tommy raised his eyebrows.

  Mendy sat on a couch next to Scratch, who was wearing a diamond col ar for the occasion. “Jeez, he’s a beauty,”

  Mendy said, stroking him softly. “Abyssinian?”

  “Yes. Are you a cat lover?” said Annet e.
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  “From way back. I once had an employer named Jew Mary used to keep cats. I used to take care of ’em for her.”

  Tommy snorted; guys who took care of whorehouse cats weren’t in his social class.

  “Can I get you a drink?” asked Annet e.

  “J&B, Jewish booze. Hey, Don Tomás. How’s tricks in the Windy City?”

  the Windy City?”

  “I’m going back tomorrow,” said Tommy. The party had barely started, and he was bored already. Bobby had always been a strange, distant kid, and tonight he seemed glazed over. His girl was a looker, but she kept staring at Annet e, making Tommy wonder if she might not be a lez.

  He had heard someplace that it was common among hippies. He wanted nothing more than to get dinner over with and fly back to the real world.

  Bobby’s stomach churned as he watched his mother pour Mendy’s drink. When Bobby had arrived, twenty minutes earlier, she had startled him with a rare kiss on the cheek and an even rarer apology. “I went too far the other day,” she said. “I’m sorry. Truce?”

  “Truce,” Bobby had mumbled, wondering how stoned he real y was.

  Then Annet e had completed his astonishment by turning to Til ie and saying, “You’re lovely. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time.”

  Now Annet e handed Mendy his drink and said, “We’ve got a treat for dinner. Johnny Baldini’s prepared a Japanese feast.”

  “Is that like Chinese?” asked Tommy.

  “You’l love it,” said Annet e. “The sh alone costs four hundred dol ars a pound.”

  Tommy brightened. “Four hundred bucks? Leave it to my baby.”

  Annet e smiled and raised her glass. “I propose a toast.

  Annet e smiled and raised her glass. “I propose a toast.

  To harmony in the family. The most important thing.”

  They drank and Mendy said, “Where’s the powder room?”

  “Down the hal on the left, next to the kitchen.”

  “I’l nd it,” said Mendy. He ambled down the hal , past the bathroom to the kitchen, stuck his head in, and saw a large, soft, ushed young man in a white apron. “You must be Chef Baldini,” he said. “I’m Mendy Pearlstein.

  Smel s delicious.”