Find Big Fat Fanny Fast

by Joe Bruno

  “Like the lady said, why not?” Blusterman said.

  Clarice handed Blusterman the pipe. He took a long, hard drag, taking in too much smoke, which caused him to cough violently. It took him a few seconds to get this breath back. “Wow, that's some serious shit.” He handed the pipe across the desk to Hung Far Lo.

  Hung Far Low placed the pipe on the desk. “Now what is it you would like to see me about?”

  Blusterman leaned back in his chair. “As you know now from the tapes I had Detective Jackson deliver to you, Tony B and the Wops are planning to take you out and take over your operations.”

  Hung Far low smiled. “That is not possible. Even if I were to be, as you say, taken out, the Italians have no knowledge of our Chinese operations. Our gambling is very different from their gambling. Our drug supplies are quite different from their drug supplies. There is very little overlap in our operations. Very little.”

  “But if the Wops are successful, you'd still be very dead,” Blusterman said. “And that can't be a good thing for you.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Hung Far Low said. “Are you familiar with t'ien-ming? The Mandate of Heaven?”

  Blusterman shook his head. “Never heard the expression.”

  Hung Far Low folded his hands on the desk. “Us Chinese believe, if you have lived a virtuous life, Shang-ti, the Supreme Ruler, will welcome you into Heaven.”

  Blusterman smirked. “And you believe in that hocus pokus?”

  A thin smile appeared on Hung Far Low's face. “Like you said before sir, why not?”

  Blusterman leaned forward. “Supposed I were to get someone to take out Tony B, would that be of help to you?”

  “Only in the fact that it would eliminate someone who is trying to eliminate me.”

  “And if I were to do so, what would you do for me?”

  “What would you want from me?”

  “One hundred thousand dollars cash. After the deed is done. Then ten grand a month after that.”

  “That's a steep price to pay.”

  “Not for staying alive it isn't. Plus, I will guarantee you will have no problems from the police in any of your illegal endeavors. And you know the problems I could cause you, if I wanted to do so.”

  Hung Far Low picked up the pipe and lit it with a match. He took a deep drag and exhaled the smoke up into the air. “Give me some time to think about your offer.”

  “How much time do you need?” Blusterman said.

  “A week, two weeks maybe.”

  Blusterman stood and Clarice did the same. “You've got a week. After that, I'll have my guys stir up the pot here in Chinatown. And you know what that means, don't you?”

  Hung Far Low stood. “Yes sir. I know what that means. Lots of trouble for me.”

  “You better believe it,” Blusterman said.

  *****

  It was near dawn and the black sky was turning gray with tinges of red. Big Fat Fanny stood in a doorway on Doyers Street, which was at one time, the deadliest street in America. She popped three pieces of Bazooka Joe bubble gum into her mouth, chewed hard, and in seconds, blew a bubble as big as a volleyball.

  Named after Hendrick Doyer, who ran a distillery there in the early 1800's, the street became known as Doyers after some stupid sign painter somehow omitted the apostrophe. The narrow lane, which ran between Chatham Square and Pell Street and dissects Pell Street in half, is shaped like an inverted L, making it easy to ambush and kill an unsuspecting foe. So many murders were committed on Doyers Street during the Tong Wars of the late 1800's and early 1900's, Doyers Street became known as “The Bloody Angle.”

  Pell Street started at Chatham Square and ended at Mott Street, almost directly opposite 33 Mott Street where Peggy Soo lived. At the precise time Big Fat Fanny was trying to squeeze her huge frame into the Doyers Street doorway, Shorty Stitchhead sat in a four-door Lincoln Town Car on Mott Street. He had a birds-eye view of the doorway of 33 Mott and was waiting for Peggy Soo to start her early morning jog, which always led her down Pell, right on Doyers, then straight across Chatham Square to Catherine Street. Taking various routes and jogging back, Peggy Soo's run was about four miles total, which she did in a brisk forty five minutes, give or take a few seconds.

  On this fine morning, if all things went according to plan, Big Fat Fanny would cut Peggy Soo's run short, making it the last early morning jog the squat Chinese broad with the big boobs and flat nose would ever make. The way Big Fat Fanny was situated, she was just inches from the elbow of the inverted L on Doyers, so that someone entering Doyers from Pell could not see her until they hit the elbow themselves. And by then it would be too late.

  At exactly 6:05 am, Peggy Soo appeared in the doorway of 33 Mott. While she did her customary leg and torso stretches, Shorty Stitchhead picked up his mobile phone and dialed the mobile phone Big Fat Fanny had in the pocket of her trench coat.

  “She getting ready to move,” Short Stitchhead said.

  “What do you mean, she's getting ready to move?” Big Fat Fanny said.

  “She doing all kinds of funny contortions. Bending this way and that way. Forwards and backwards. Sideways. You know, things like that.”

  “Well, that ain't a hell of a lot of help you're giving me here. I need to know when she's on her way.”

  “Well it can't be long.”

  “Can't be long, my ass. Call me back when she's on her way. These new mobile phones charge a arm and a leg to use.”

  “Wait a minute,” Short Stitchhead said. “She stopped contorting. Now she's taking deep breaths. Inhaling in and out. In and out ... Damn, her boobs are big.”

  “Cut the bull,” Big Fat Fanny said. “Is she on the way yet?”

  “Madone, she's making me horny, breathing in and out like that.”

  “Hey Strunz. We're on a job here, ya know.”

  “Wait a minute, she stopped breathing in and out. Yeah, she’s moving. Big boobs flopping up and down. Yeah, she's crossing Mott and heading down Pell. She's on the way.”

  “Good, you can jerk yourself off later. I've got a job to do. But don't get lost. I need you to pick me up. Like in about a minute. And don't be freakin' late.”

  “Ten-four,” Shorty Stitchhead said, and he clicked off the cell phone.

  Big Fat Fanny stuck her neck out just past the Doyers' elbow facing Pell Street. A few Chinamen were passing by behind her on Chatham Square, but Doyers Street was totally deserted.

  In seconds, she spotted Peggy Soo rounding Pell and jogging onto Doyers. Big Fat Fanny pressed herself back in the doorway and pulled out two trusty 38's from the pockets of her trench coat. No knives this time. She wanted to make a loud impression for the benefit of Hung Far Low.

  The moment Peggy Soo hit the Doyers Street elbow, Big Fat Fanny sprung from the doorway. Just as Big Fat Fanny was ready to fire, Peggy Soo spotted her and dove to the pavement. She rolled few times as Big Fat Fanny started firing away. Shots pinged off the pavement. While lying on her side, Peggy Soo pulled out a small pistol from her jogging pants pocket and began firing back.

  Peggy Soo took several bullets to the torso, but she still kept plugging shots at Big Fat Fanny. Big Fat Fanny took a few slugs in the torso too, but with her mounds of protective fat, they caused little more than flesh wounds.

  Finally both women ran out of bullets and Peggy Soo ran out of time. She was now dead and lying in a pool of blood in the middle of Doyers Street.

  Two old Chinese men strode onto Doyers Street from Chatham Square. When they spotted Peggy Soo's bloodied body, they yelled in unison. “Aiyyaahh !!”

  Then they saw Big Fat Fanny holding two smoking guns. One more “Aiyyaahh !!” and they rushed around the corner onto Chatham Square, screaming in Chinese.

  Shorty Stitchhead's Lincoln barreled around the corner from Pell onto Doyers. He spotted Big Fat Fanny swaying like she was ready to topple to the pavement. He steered onto the sidewalk to avoid driving over Peggy Soo's body and came to a screeching halt.

  �
��I'm hit,” Big Fat Fanny told him.

  Short Stitchhead rushed from the car. “What do you mean, you're hit?”

  Big Fat Fanny leaned on the Lincoln for support. “I'm hit. Shot. I think I'm about to faint.”

  Short Stitchhead's eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Faint! You can't faint. How am I going to pick you up?”

  Big Fat Fanny grabbed his collar, lifted him off the ground and shook him like a rag doll. “Open the freakin' back door and shove me into the back seat, you stupid bastard!”

  She dropped him to his feet and Short Stitchhead did exactly what she requested, closing the rear door behind her.

  He got behind the wheel and burned rubber to the corner. He passed the red light and made a right on Chatham Square, heading south.

  “Take me to Tony B's apartment at Chatham Green,” Big Fat Fanny said. “And make it fast, before you have to carry me to the elevator.”

  *****

  Hung Far Low sat on the couch in his apartment at Confucius Plaza and petted his German Shepard Daisey Mae, who was snuggled on the couch next to him. Lily entered the room and put a pot of tea on the teak table in front of him.

  “I'm losing people left and right,” Hung Far Low said. “First Norman. Then Yuan Dum Fuk. And now Peggy Soo. I must do something quick to get rid of Tony B. Then I'll only have Skinny Benny and Tony B's son Junior to worry about.”

  Lily sat in the arm chair opposite her father. “But why do that father? Maybe now it's time to make peace with the Italians. There has already been too much bloodshed. On both sides.”

  “No can do. If the Italians sense weakness, they will pound me into the ground. I have to get Tony B first.”

  “So what do you plan to do?” she said.

  “I have no one I can trust here in America” he said. “All the Chinese gang members here are trigger happy morons. And they can't even shoot straight. I think I may have to take Police Commissioner Blusterman up on his offer.”

  Lily stood. “What offer are you talking about?”

  Hung Far Low poured himself a cup of tea. “Blusterman met me at the Curio Shop. He was with the female detective who had given me the tape of Tony B planning to kill me. He offered to have someone take out Tony B. In return, I would pay him one hundred thousand dollar after the deed is done. Then he wants ten grand a month, as protection money for all my operations.”

  “That's crazy. The police commissioner of New York City is going to arrange a murder for you?”

  “Yes. If I don't agree with his proposition, he's going to come down hard on every money-making scheme I've got.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I said I needed time to think it over. I told him I needed a week. That was yesterday. So I have six days left to decide.”

  “Please father, take the entire six days. I need time to figure something out.”

  Hung Far Low stood up. “You figure something out? You have no say in this matter. You are my daughter. I would never allow you to get involved in something like this.”

  “But I'm already involved, father,” she said.

  “Involved? How are you already involved?”

  “It's a long story.”

  He sat back down. “I like long stories. Please tell me how you are in any way involved in this war between the Chinese and the Italians.”

  So she told her father all about Junior Bentimova.

  CHAPTER 18

  The Ultimate Shakedown

  Tony B sat in his favorite armchair in the living room of his apartment at Chatham Green and stared at the television. On the tube were reruns of the Donna Reed Show. Tony B remembered fondly watching the Donna Reed Show more than twenty five years ago, pulling his pecker, sometimes with both hands, to Donna sashaying across her living room to answer her front door. Her teenage daughter Shelly Fabares wasn't bad looking either, but Tony B is no degenerate and fantasizing to young girls is a mortal sin. The sisters at Transfiguration Grammar School told Tony B, if you die with a mortal sin on your soul, you go straight to hell. Tony B didn't believe everything the good sisters told him, but any sin concerning kids, that is, anyone under the age of 18, was a definite no-no to Tony B. And if he caught anyone else abusing kids, the bottom of the East River would be their next destination.

  Tony B heard a knock at the front door. He rose and paced to the front door. He peeked into the peephole, then unlocked both locks and removed the inside chain. Skinny Benny slithered in, followed by Junior.

  Tony B pointed a fat finger at Skinny Benny. “Have a seat on the couch. We've got to talk.”

  Skinny Benny sat on the couch. Junior stood like he was standing guard at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

  “Got something to drink?” Skinny Benny said.

  “Yeah,” Tony B said. “Two kinds of booze. Scotch and Scotch.

  “Alright,” Skinny Benny said. “I'll take a scotch on the rocks. What kind of scotch do you have?”

  “I have Dewars. And I have another bottle of Dewars.”

  “I'll have the Chivas Regal you always have stashed in the closet,” Skinny Benny said.

  Tony B's eyes narrowed. “I'm not opening up a fresh bottle of scotch, when I already have one opened.”

  “Ok, be a creep, “Skinny Benny said. “I'll take the Dewars. On the rocks, with a splash of club soda.”

  “I don't have no club soda. Club soda is for fags.”

  “Ok, I'll have Dewars on the rocks, with a splash of water. You have any Italian mineral water?”

  Tony B hovered over Skinny Benny with both fists clenched. “Italian Mineral water is like club soda. I said it's for fags.”

  “They sell it in all the restaurants on Mulberry Street.”

  “Sure they sell in the restaurants on Mulberry Street. Fags got money too and they like to spend it. They're not cheap bastards like you.”

  Skinny Benny jumped to his feet. “Why are you insulting me like that? I didn't do nothin'.”

  Junior got between Skinny Benny and his father. “Hey guys, cool down.”

  Tony B tried to get around his son to get at Skinny Benny. “You didn't do nothin'? I'll show you the nothin' you didn't do.”

  Junior stood firm and Skinny Benny was safe. For now.

  Big Fat Fanny emerged from the bedroom. She was wearing a huge nightgown, and her left arm was in a sling that could hold up an oak tree. “Hey guys, will you quiet down. The doctor said I need my rest.”

  Tony B pointed at the couch. “Have a seat on the couch next to Skinny Benny.”

  Skinny Benny sat first and Big Fat Fanny followed suit, squeezing Skinny Benny against the arm of the couch.

  Tony B barked at his son. “Go get that thing from my drawer in my bedroom.” He turned to Skinny Benny. “And you, I want you to hear something.”

  Junior left the room and returned seconds later with a cassette player. He placed it on the coffee table in front of the couch and pressed the play button.

  “This was recorded in Forlini's,” Tony B said. He sat down in his armchair.

  Crappy's voice: “The main thing is, Tony B has got to go. He's financially choking us to death.”

  Skinny Benny voice: “But he's been my friend my whole life. I can't just kill the man.”

  Crappy's voice: “That's why you have to be the one to do it. He trusts you. You're the only person who can get close enough to do the job.”

  Skinny Benny's voice. “Let me think about it.”

  Crappy's voice. “You can think about it all you want, but you'll come to the same conclusion I have. Tony B has got to go.”

  Skinny Benny's voice. “Maybe you're right. Tony B has become too greedy.”

  Tony B leaned forward and hit the stop button on the cassette player. “Want to hear more? We've got the whole freakin' conversation on tape.”

  Skinny Benny squirmed in his seat, as Big Fat Fanny squeezed him harder into the arm of the couch. “I said to Crappy, I'd think about it.”

  Tony B stood and smack
ed Skinny Benny's face. “On the rest of the tape, you say a hell of a lot more than that.”

  Skinny Benny started to cry. “But Crappy got me drunk. It was the wine talking.”

  “It was the wine talking alright,” Tony B said. He turned to Big Fat Fanny. “Do your job.”

  Big Fat Fanny took a 22 caliber revolver from inside the sling on her left arm and shot Skinny Benny twice in the head. Blood splattered all over Big Fat Fanny's nightgown. She stood up and Skinny Benny, now quite dead, slithered to the floor.

  “Call the cleanup crew,” Tony B told Junior. “I want this garbage disposed of as soon as possible.”

  Junior stood like a statue. “What do you do that for? He's been your friend since you were kids.”

  Tony B sat down in his armchair. “Because my friend since I was a kid was planning to whack me. That's why.”

  “You could have given him a pass,” Junior said. “For old time's sake. Banish him from the crew. Make him leave the city, or even send him back to Italy.”

  Tony B folded his arms like the Sphinx. “Skinny Benny's never been to Italy. And he ain't goin' now.”

  Big Fat Fanny picked up the phone and dialed. Someone answered and she said, “Yeah, send a few guys over to play some poker. We got a stiff here who's ready to be taken for everything he's got.”

  *****

  Lily Low and Junior Bentimova sat in a booth in the back of the Red Apple Rest.

  “We've got to do something quick,” Lily said. “My father is on the verge of starting an all-out war with the Italians.”

  “My father too,” Junior said. “He's gone completely nuts. He whacked Skinny Benny, then he made Big Fat Fanny his underboss. That's against all the rules. People in all the crews are starting to question my father loyalties and his sanity.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Woman can't be mob bosses, or underbosses. They can't even become legitimate members of any crew.”

  “But they can kill, right?”

  Junior sipped his coffee. “That's kind of unusual too. But my father trusts Big Fat Fanny to pull off a big hit more than anyone else.”

  Lily reached across the table and held his hand. “Even you?”

  “I don't do hits. Never have and never will. It's against my nature.”