While Rocco was furious, he was even more frustrated. Frustrated that he couldn’t protect his family and frustrated that another man’s money put his wife in this position of power.
On Friday, Giovanna took the ten dollars from the cash box and laid it on the counter when the Blackhander arrived. A short, fat bug of a man was with him this time. The moled man pocketed the money and commented, “I take it you’ve had no problems, signora?”
Giovanna waved her hand, both ignoring and dismissing him.
“Good day, signora. And good day, little signorina.” The fat man smiled at Angelina, revealing a mouth of mostly missing teeth.
Rocco had invented a hundred reasons not to be in the store that day. He didn’t trust that he wouldn’t kill the blackmailer and put his family in danger. Besides, if his wife wanted to pay them, let her do it.
Giovanna cranked the awning down and struggled to get the barrels back into the store. Taking the day’s diminished proceeds, Giovanna locked the door and headed home. She was alone because Frances had already picked up Angelina at closing time. Remembering that she hadn’t gotten milk, she turned the corner onto Mulberry Street. A shiver ran down her spine when she realized she was being followed. She ducked into a fish store, pretending to shop, but when she turned around, she bumped into a short man wearing a derby.
“Signora, I am sorry I frightened you, but I didn’t want anyone to see me go into your store.”
Giovanna looked down and recognized the man’s pockmarked face.
“I am Lieutenant Petrosino of the Italian Squad.”
“I know who you are.” Giovanna continued to scrutinize the fish.
“We can help you, signora. The police are not like they are in Italy. We can be trusted.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Giovanna said coolly, while inside she was panicking. Who could have told the police?
As if in answer, the lieutenant said, “I’ve seen suspicious men going into your store. Did they send you letters?”
“You must be mistaken, signore.” Noticing glances in their direction from the other customers, she ignored him entirely and worked her way in among the women at the counter jostling for service. “Pescespada!” she called, and a moment later she was relieved to see that the lieutenant was not in sight. But when she exited the store, her swordfish wrapped in paper and tucked under her arm, he was there.
Petrosino walked quickly to keep up with her. “Signora, give us a chance. You are not trapped.”
“Signore, I am Scillese. I have been trapped between a rock and a hard place my entire life.” Turning back onto Elizabeth Street, Giovanna changed her tone. “I’m sorry, but you seem to have me confused with someone else.” Lieutenant Petrosino held back and let her go.
“Zia! Swordfish!” squealed Mary when Giovanna walked in the door.
“But, Zia, I already made chi chi beans!” exclaimed Frances, wiping her hands on her apron and looking older than her twelve years.
“Well, tonight we’ll have chi chi beans and swordfish.”
Rocco, who was already home, looked at his wife suspiciously. Giovanna was glad they still weren’t speaking.
A tall, thin man walked into Siena’s Fruit and Vegetables. Giovanna recognized him as her neighbor, the cafe owner of 226 Elizabeth Street. “Signore Inzerillo,” greeted Giovanna. “What can I get you?”
“Actually, signora, I came to see if I could be of assistance to you.”
Giovanna looked skeptically at the dignified-looking man, who sported the thickest mustache she had ever seen.
“I’ve heard that gentlemen outside the neighborhood have been blackmailing you for money.”
Stunned, Giovanna stared at the man before saying, “Is there a sign on my door that I didn’t see?”
Pietro Inzerillo laughed. “Signora, little goes on in this neighborhood that’s unnoticed.”
It sounded too real to be amusing. “What is it you want to tell me, signore?” asked Giovanna.
“It’s what I want to do for you. I’ve been here a while, and I hate to see fellow shopkeepers fall prey to these animals. Unlike the police, I know who these men are. I can influence their actions.”
“And why would you do me this favor, signore?”
“Because you are my neighbor. I can offer you real protection. Not like the extortionists who only want your money. I will see to it that no one touches your family or store.”
“Signore, are you offering to protect our store for a fee?”
“I am offering you a security service.”
“How much does this security service cost?”
“As you’re a new store owner, I would give you the lowest rate of thirty dollars per week, and I will have a man guard your store each evening.”
“What if they come back?”
“I assure you, you will never see these men again.”
Giovanna believed him. She didn’t trust him at all, but she weighed her options: soon the moled man and his short, fat counterpart would demand the fifty dollars per week, and there was no doubt in her mind that they would indeed bomb her store. If she went to the policeman, someone in her family could be killed. If she paid the cafe owner thirty dollars a week, she always knew where to find him, and he would have to make good on his offer of protection.
“And if someone is not here each night or these men or other men come back, we can terminate our agreement?”
“Absolutely, signora. You are hiring me for a job, and unless you get the service, you do not pay. In fact, there is no need to pay me now. You’ll see that you won’t hear from these men, and I’ll come see you next week.”
Before the week was out, Giovanna felt forced to explain to Rocco the arrangement she had made with Inzerillo.
Rocco raged. “I can protect my own store! I don’t need a Sicilian cafe owner to protect me! Thirty dollars a week? Are you crazy? That’s all our profits!”
Giovanna couldn’t stop Rocco when he stormed out of their store and headed down the block to Café Pasticceria. It was only eight stores down, so Giovanna watched Rocco stride into the cafe. She half expected him to be thrown out, but only a few minutes later Rocco walked back looking satisfied.
“He said he understood and that it was my decision. He also apologized for doing business with you. Go home. I will take care of this.”
Giovanna bristled at the order, but she was sick of fighting.
From that point on, Giovanna no longer went to the store. Rocco was there continuously; the only time the store was vacant was during his trips to the produce distributor in Brooklyn. The children brought him his meals at the store, and he slept on a cot in the back room. Homemade weapons were hidden in every corner, and he hung mirrors in strategic locations so that no part of the store was hidden from his eye. Rocco was waiting. Even while helping customers or carrying boxes, he was waiting. He considered having Clement go to Brooklyn to get the produce so he would never have to leave, but he was afraid Clement would be ambushed. Instead, he put bars on the windows and doors for those rare times he was away.
The moled man and his sidekick visited the week after Rocco told Pietro Inzerillo he would not need his services. Rocco was ready, and before they even had a chance to get down the stairs, Rocco ran at them, brandishing the wood bat he had spiked, and the men ran off shouting curses. They got two more letters, but Rocco didn’t even bother to have Giovanna read them to him.
When Rocco received the third letter, he lost his temper completely. He took all three letters, ran up the steps to the street, and threw them on the ground after igniting them with a match. Stamping on the burning letters, he shouted, “See this? This is what I think of your threats! May you burn in hell!” His rage and the fire cooled at the same time, and he noticed that life on Elizabeth Street had come to a halt as people stopped to watch. A woman crossed herself, and down the block he saw Pietro Inzerillo look at him and nod.
Rocco, confident that his defiance was witnessed, ho
ped it would incite the blackmailers. He was anxious to catch the rats red-handed with their weapons or bombs. He had decided to kill them.
With more free time than usual, Giovanna tended to travel farther when shopping and even brought Angelina to her old friend’s store in Chinatown. It was during one of these visits that Giovanna once again bumped into Lieutenant Petrosino.
“Please, I told you, we have no problems.” Giovanna continued to walk up the block, Angelina’s hand clutched in hers.
“Is that why you are no longer in the store and your husband sleeps there?”
“This is none of your business.”
“Signora, you appear to be an intelligent woman, so I am going to tell you a story.” Petrosino, glancing at Angelina, spoke quietly. “Before there was the Italian Squad, there was a shooting on Mulberry Street. Me and another detective went to investigate. A young man was sprawled dead on the corner. An older man was standing over him, horrified. We asked, ‘Who did this?’ He said, ‘I know nothing.’ Then we asked him, ‘Who is this man?’ and he replied, ‘I don’t know.’ Later that day we found out he was the dead man’s father.” Petrosino looked at Giovanna for a reaction.
“What does this story have to do with me, Lieutenant?”
“Signora, this fear is laying ruin to our people! A man denies his own son? Look, I know you are a strong woman, a brave woman. You would have to be to sue a big American company.”
Giovanna’s head snapped in his direction, her eyes flashing both anger and fear.
“Of course I know about it, signora. I’m a detective after all. But please, don’t fool yourself into thinking no one else knows. It is probably one of the reasons you are being blackmailed.”
Petrosino felt terrible when he saw the look of betrayal and bewilderment in Giovanna’s face. “I’m sorry, signora, for upsetting you. Please don’t blame anyone you know. It could have happened a hundred ways. Think about it. The payment went to a bank, didn’t it? One of the clerks could have whispered something to someone. And besides, do you think it would have gone unnoticed that an immigrant won a case like this?”
From Giovanna’s expression, Petrosino realized that he should end the conversation, but he also saw that he had got her thinking.
The next time Rocco saw the moled man and his fat accomplice, they were standing across the street from his store before dawn. He rode up in his cart laden with fruit. These were not the type of men to wake early. Rocco stopped the horse, jumped from his cart, and instead of running into his store, he grabbed a piece of wood and ran across the street toward them. Rocco swung at the tall moled one first.
“He’s crazy! Pazzo!” shouted one to the other.
As the tall one ducked and attempted to throw a punch, out of the corner of his eye Rocco saw the fat one check his pocket watch. He dropped the board and ran toward his store. He was twenty feet from the entrance when the window blew.
Giovanna was stirring polenta when she heard the explosion. Not stopping to put on her coat, she ran down the steps to the street and was nearly run over by the No. 9 hook and ladder leaving the garage across the street. The smoke was exactly where she feared it would be. Most people were running away from the scene in shock and horror; she ran against the current of the crowd. The buildings opposite the store had had their windows blown out. For one brief moment she thought they had escaped being the target, but running forward, she saw policemen disappear into a cloud of smoke in front of their store.
Tripping over barrels, glass, and what she thought was a piece of their awning, she tried to make her way through the black smoke. She ran into a policeman who attempted to pull her back, but Giovanna broke away. Covering her face with her apron, she stumbled upon two policemen crouched over a man.
“He’s alive,” shouted one cop to the other. “Let’s get him out of the smoke.”
Giovanna followed them, and by the time they reached the opposite side of the street, she could see it was Rocco.
“Is the ambulance coming?” asked one cop of the other.
“Yeah. I’m going in to check the rest of the building. It shouldn’t collapse because it blew out—probably not dynamite—but I want to make sure.”
Looking up they saw Giovanna. “You his wife?”
Giovanna stooped over Rocco, examining him. He was unconscious. She checked his pulse, surprised to find it strong, and inspected his cuts. He was covered in blood, but the wounds appeared superficial.
“Dell’acqua, per favore. Acqua,” implored Giovanna to the remaining cop.
“Lady, the ambulance is coming.”
“Acqua.”
“Could somebody bring water? I think she wants water.”
A fireman came over with a bucket. Giovanna dipped her dress into the water and wiped the blood from Rocco’s face. She then dripped water into his mouth; Rocco coughed.
“Aiutami, aiutami.” She motioned to the cop for help. Together they lifted Rocco and leaned him against the building. His eyes opened and closed.
A car pulled up. “Jesus Christ, that’s Commissioner Bingham,” the cop mumbled to himself. Turning to Giovanna, he said, “Lady, I’ll make sure the ambulance gets here. Just wait. Okay?”
Giovanna nodded and watched him run off to join the other policemen gathering around the black car. At the same time, she saw Lorenzo galloping toward her.
“What happened? Giovanna, is he alright?” Not waiting for an answer, he said, “Madonna! I had a feeling this was going on. Let me get help.”
Lorenzo returned with an Italian-speaking police detective. By now Rocco was conscious and even was trying to stand. Giovanna forced him back down.
“I saw them. I fought them,” he stammered.
“You saw who?” asked the cop.
Turning to the unfamiliar voice and realizing it was a policeman, he stopped. “Nothing. I saw nothing.”
“It is not a good time to talk to my husband. I want to get him to a doctor.”
“Of course, signora.”
On the other side of the block, Commissioner Bingham strode up to Lieutenant Petrosino exclaiming, “Jesus, Joe, what happened?”
“They wouldn’t pay the protection money, and they wouldn’t let us help. They’re new store owners.” Petrosino nodded toward Giovanna and Rocco.
“So it wasn’t an attack on the precinct in any way?”
“I don’t think so, Commissioner. I think it was a mistake. A little too much explosive.”
Bingham lowered his voice. “Well, let’s not tell anyone else that. We’ll get more support if people think they tried to go after us. Any idea who did it?”
“I don’t think it’s Lupo. Too inexperienced.”
Giovanna sat at Rocco’s side in the hospital, and Clement paced the room. Rocco insisted that he could go home after having his cuts and bruises tended to, but he also had broken ribs, and Lucrezia and Giovanna forced him to stay. The harried doctors didn’t look like they cared if the poor Italian stayed or went.
As devastated as Rocco was, he was grateful that Giovanna had not left his side and was ministering to him with devotion.
“Is there anything left?” Rocco asked his son.
“Nothing. Papa, why didn’t you tell me? I would have left my job and worked with you!”
“Why, so you could lie here, or worse?”
They stopped talking at the sound of people approaching. Two men walked into the room. While not in uniform, they were clearly detectives. Lieutenant Petrosino followed a moment later. Having not told Rocco of her encounters with him, Giovanna tensed. Petrosino sensed her discomfort and ignored her.
“Signore Siena, you are a lucky man. It may not seem that way at the moment, but you are. I am Lieutenant Petrosino, and this is Sergeant Crowley and Detective Fiaschetti.”
He was greeted with silence.
“The explosion in your store not only destroyed your business, it rocked our police headquarters. The commissioner is most anxious to know what happened. So are the n
ewspaper reporters. What should I tell them, signore?”
Rocco shrugged. When Petrosino continued to wait for an answer, Rocco mumbled, “It blew up.”
Gripping the bed rail to contain his anger, Petrosino blurted, “I was hoping for once someone would get so mad they wouldn’t be afraid!”
Taking a minute to compose himself, but not hiding his exasperation, Petrosino continued. “Va bene. I know you are frightened, but it is not as if you remained safe without the police involved. Signore Siena, had you entered your store, you would have been blown to bits.”
Petrosino, seeing the fear on everyone’s faces, softened his tone. “Every time you say nothing, you make them stronger. Rotten scum like this makes us all look bad. With your cooperation, we can put them in jail and honest, hardworking people like yourselves will not have to live in terror. Please, tell us what you know, signore.”
Rocco turned his face to the wall.
The lieutenant waited and then spoke. “Okay, I will tell you what I know.” Petrosino leaned on the iron bars of the bed. “At approximately five twenty this morning, a bomb was set in the front of your store near the counter. I noticed that you had bars on your windows, signore, indicating that this has been going on for a while, although now those same bars are twisted like limp spaghetti. Do you want to know how they got in? I’m not certain, but my guess is that they had a key to your back door. They were careful to do damage only to your store by using a bomb instead of dynamite. You see, dynamite forces the explosion down, and this type of bomb explodes out. But, while they are ruthless, they are not always expert. The bomb was bigger than they needed, and its force shook half the block.”
Elizabeth Street Page 18
