5 Bad Moon

by Anthony Bruno

  Sal caught himself smiling then, and he wiped it right off.

  “Tell me something, Sal,” Loopy Lou mumbled. “When you become boss, is it gonna be like it was when you took over for Mistretta that time when he was at Lewisburg? Gyp and Jimmy T. asked me to ask you.”

  Sal looked him in the good eye and shook his head slightly.

  Loopy Lou’s face dropped.

  “Nope. This time it’s gonna be better.”

  A lopsided grin reached out for Loopy Lou’s earlobe. “You’re gonna make some guys very happy, Sal. Very happy.”

  Sal thought back to the time when Mistretta made him acting boss. That was when things started to fall apart between them because the old man didn’t like the way he was doing things. The old fart thought Sal’s ideas were too big. Mistretta liked the old ways, the safe bets, things he understood: girls, dope, hijacking, gambling, unions, loan-sharking. Sal had taken the family into new ventures when the old man was away: gas tax scams, insurance scams, school bus contracts, asbestos dumping, payola. Mistretta didn’t understand those kinds of things so he didn’t trust them. He said they weren’t reliable. The old bastard was a throwback to the past; he ran the family like a fucking dictator. If Sal had stayed on as boss, they would’ve made money, real money, not this nickel-and-dime whores and bookie crap they made now. Well, that was gonna be old news. Sal was ready to bring the family back up to speed. All he had to do was get outta here and take care of those other two assholes.

  Loopy Lou scratched his Brillo head. “You know, I just thought of something, Sal. Aren’t you safer in here as long as the contract is still out on you? Won’t it be easier for them to get you on the outside?”

  Sal made fists and boxed with the air. “Theoretically, yeah. But as soon as I take care of Juicy and Bartolo, that won’t be a problem anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “Would you go through with a hit if the guys who hired you weren’t around to pay you? Think about it.”

  A light bulb went on over Loopy Lou’s head. “Yeah … you’re right.”

  Sal kept sparring with the air. “So how’s Bartolo been treating you guys?”

  Loopy Lou made a disgusted face. “You know what he did now? You remember that Dominican guy Gyp used to work with all the time, Raoul, the fence up in the Bronx?”

  “Yeah, I remember him.”

  “Bartolo tells Gyp he can’t do no more deals with him, none of us can.”

  “Why not?”

  “Bartolo hates spies, that’s why.”

  “He’s crazy.”

  “I know he’s crazy. And the sad part is Raoul’s got a kid with leukemia. He really needs the dough, and Gyp told Bartolo that. But Bartolo didn’t wanna hear nothing about it. He stuck to his guns and said no more deals with no spies, no matter how much money’s involved. Can you beat that shit?”

  Sal shook his head. The way he figured, somebody oughta give him a public service award when he finally gets rid of that fat-ass, baldheaded fuck. Frank Bartolo had been a nothing, a hanger-on, never earned a penny for the family in his whole goddamn life. But he was a good ass-kisser, and he sure knew how to suck up to Mistretta. Right away, Mr. Mistretta. No problem, Mr. Mistretta. Don’t worry ‘bout a thing, Mr. Mistretta. Whatever you want, Mr. Mistretta. And in the end it paid off for him. Not only did he get himself a crew, he got a good crew, Sal’s crew. All good earners, each one of them. None of them really wanted to go with Bartolo, but what could they do? Complain to the old man? Lotta good that woulda done. It was no wonder those guys were saying rosaries every night, praying for Sal to come back. And there were guys in other crews who wanted him back as boss too. The way he and Loopy Lou figured, at the very worst they could count on half the family backing Sal. And in Sal’s mind, that was the half worth having.

  Sal tightened his fists, gritted his teeth, and kept punching air. The useless half belonged to that fucking pervert Juicy Vacarini, Mistretta’s favorite capo, his hand-picked successor. But all that guy knows about is girls. Girls, girls, girls. Vacarini wouldn’t know how to diversify the family if somebody told him. Sure, the guy makes good money with all those pros of his, but that’s all he’s got. He makes steady money, but he don’t go nowhere with it. He doesn’t know how to build with it. But old Mistretta, he thought Juicy was Mr. Wonderful. Juicy was his boy. And to his credit, Juicy may look like a sleepy momo with those Elvis Presley eyes and those stupid silk shirts of his, but he is a shrewd son of a bitch. Only thing is, he thinks he’s got a lock on being the new boss. But he don’t know how strong the competition is yet.

  Sal threw a hard roundhouse.

  “Hey, Sal, what’s this guy looking at over here?” Loopy Lou nodded at the glass door. Charles Tate was standing there in his gray guard uniform, poker-faced, waiting to be noticed. The other guard who’d been watching the door was gone. “This moolinyam got a problem or what?”

  Sal covered his mouth and grinned. He’d never thought of Charles as a moolinyam, an eggplant. His skin wasn’t that dark. ‘Course, now that he thought about it, if you looked at his head from a certain angle, it was sort of shaped like an eggplant. Charles thought he was a tough guy, but that was all in his head. Half the time he tried to come off like Run DMC, but underneath he was Bill Cosby. Sal had to laugh. Mr. Black Mafia, this guy. Wants to be a wiseguy. Stupid moolinyam. Now that he’s made his bones shooting Tozzi, he must think he can be an honorary member. Yeah, sure. Just wait.

  Sal hunched over his hands and didn’t look at Loopy Lou as he spoke to him. “Why don’cha take off now? I gotta talk to this guy. If you wanna find out when I’m getting out, call my sister. Otherwise, stay away for a while. The feds’ll be watching me.”

  “Whatever you want, Sal.” Loopy Lou stood up and went to the door.

  Sal compared his thumbs. “And keep your ear to the ground about the hitter. It’d be nice to take care of him, whoever he is, in case it takes me a while to get Juicy. You know what I mean?”

  “I know what you mean.” Loopy Lou’s face got serious all of a sudden. He stood there like a big iguana with a Brillo pad on its head. Sal didn’t know which eye was looking at him. “You be careful, Sal, you hear? A lotta us guys are depending on you.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”

  The big iguana nodded and went out the glass door into the hallway. Charles followed him with his eyes until he was out of sight, then he opened the door and came in.

  Sal glanced over at the one-way mirror across the ward.

  “Ain’t nobody in there looking,” Charles said. “I just checked.” He pulled up a chair and propped his foot on it.

  Sal rocked in his seat and looked straight ahead, just in case someone was watching. “So what happened? Tell me.” He bent over his lap and squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth and grinning. He couldn’t wait to hear the details.

  But the moolinyam wasn’t saying anything. Sal turned his head and looked up at him. The guy looked guilty as sin.

  “No good, man. I had a problem. I don’t think I got him.”

  Sal’s stomach bottomed out. His eyes went out of focus. This was what he didn’t want to hear. “Whattaya mean you don’t think you got him?”

  “I mighta got him once, Sal. I dunno. But I don’t think he dead.”

  Sal’s fists were clenched. He wanted to smack this son of a bitch right in the mouth. He should never have agreed to let him go out and try it on his own. Sal glanced at the mirror again and leaned forward over his fists, mumbling to them frantically, just in case.

  “It wasn’t my fault, Sal. You ain’t gonna believe this, but I got distracted. And you ain’t gonna believe by who.”

  Sal glared up at him from under his eyebrows. “Don’t start telling me stories, Charles. It’s fucking bad enough already.”

  “I swear to God, Sal. This ain’t no story. That girl from that commercial on TV, the Pump-It-Up Girl. She must be Tozzi’s girlfriend or something.
She showed up outta nowhere with that body of hers and I got distracted, man.”

  Sal’s knuckles were white. He stole another glance at the mirror. Sweat was dripping from his forehead onto his pants. He was tempted to haul off and punch the shit outta this lying bastard.

  “It’s true, Sal. I was all set to do him, but then she showed up yelling to Tozzi and I looked up at her and then Tozzi grabbed the gun.”

  Panic zinged through Sal’s chest. “You mean he has the gun?”

  “No, no, don’t worry ’bout that. I got it at home. He never took it away from me.”

  Sal stared down at the sweat spots on his pants. He couldn’t believe this. Tozzi was fucking charmed. And what the hell was the Pump-It-Up Girl supposed to be? His fairy godmother?

  Sal wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “This is bullshit, Charles. You’re lying. You didn’t even try. Pump-It-Up Girl, my ass. She wasn’t there.”

  “I swear to God, Sal. She was there. And if it wasn’t for her, Tozzi’d be dead now.”

  Sal grit his teeth and frowned, his chest heaving. “What about Emerick? Where’s he?”

  “Donnie? He’s home too. Don’t worry. He’s okay.”

  “Don’t tell me not to worry. You fucked up. I got plenty to worry about now.”

  “No, Sal, no. I’ll fix it. I’ll find Tozzi and I’ll get him this time. I promise.”

  “Emerick leave any prints?”

  Charles shook his head. “No time. Happened too fast.”

  Sal grumbled at his fists. “Shit.”

  “Look, Sal, I know you mad already, but I got another problem. You know, it ain’t easy keeping Donnie at my place, man. Even with his pills, he’s all over the place. Them pills only keep him doped up so long.”

  “So double the dosage.”

  “Can’t do that. What if he die?”

  “So whattaya telling me here? Just say it.”

  “I’m afraid he gonna get loose one of these days while I’m here at work. If I had some money, maybe I could get somebody to come in and give Donnie his pill, put him to bed. But I need cash, Sal.”

  “I told you from the very beginning, Charles. There wasn’t gonna be no cash till this was all over. When I can walk outta here, then you’ll get paid.”

  Charles’s face froze. He was looking at Sal through slit eyes, like he knew Sal was lying.

  “Look, Charles, I can’t leave here till Tozzi’s dead. It’s as simple as that. With him around, there’s nothing I can do for you.”

  “I told you, Sal. I’ll find him and I’ll do him. But I need some money now.”

  Sal’s stomach was in agony. It was one big knot. He couldn’t lose Emerick. Jesus, everything depended on that little fruitcake. Everything. Sal stared at his thighs and shook his head.

  “Whattaya shaking your head for, Sal? Sal? You listening to me, Sal?”

  Sal mumbled in a trance. “You fucked up once. That’s once too many. You ain’t gonna do nothing no more. I’ll do it.”

  “That’s crazy, man. I can’t get you out again.” Charles creased up his face like he was in pain.

  “You did it once. You’ll do it again.”

  “Can’t do that no more. Everybody jumpy enough around here with Donnie gone. They find you missing, all kindsa shit’ll come down.”

  “Hey! You wanna get paid or not? You want them nice clothes and the Lincoln and all that shit you told me you wanted? You wanna keep working for me? Then you get me outta here to do the hits. You ain’t no hitter, Charles. Face it. And I can’t afford any more fuckups. Tozzi has to go, fast.” Sal thought about the contract they had on him. If Loopy Lou was right and they got a hitter nobody knows, he’s a sitting duck cooped up in here. He had to whack Tozzi so he could get out as soon as possible.

  “Yeah, but Sal, you really think—”

  “Yeah but nothing, Charles. That guard downstairs who watches the video monitors? And the other guy who works the all-night shift on this ward? Your friends?”

  “Yeah, Buster and Ramon.”

  “Right, Buster and Ramon. You told me they both got little habits, the two of them. So they need money for coke, right?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Shut up and listen for a change. I want you to go buy them some shit. Give ’em a taste for free. Let ’em know, when they do something for us, you’ll give ’em another toot. They’ll get me out and they’ll get me back in, just like the last time. You watch.”

  “But, Sal—”

  “I don’t wanna hear it, Charles.”

  Sal curled into himself as he pulled his St. Anthony medal out of his undershirt. He glanced at the mirror and turned his back on it completely before he slipped his thumbnail into the back of the gold medal and pried it open. Tucking in his chin to see what he was doing, he opened the locket and picked at the folded bill inside until it came out. He unfolded it and smoothed it out on his thigh.

  The whites of Charles’s eyes were showing. He was grinning like a wiseass monkey. Sal was pretty sure the moolinyam had never seen this president before. Grover Cleveland.

  Sal folded the thousand-dollar bill in half and kept it close to his chest. “Take this and get your friends some good shit. Then you give it to them a little at a time so they do what you tell them to. You listening to me, Charles?”

  The moolinyam was nodding, smiling and nodding. His hand crept over his knee, reaching out for the money. His fingers were like tarantula legs. “Don’t you worry, Sal. I fix everything this time. This time I do it like a pro. Money-back guarantee. Tozzi be so dead he won’t even know it.”

  The tarantula snagged a corner of the bill, but Sal wasn’t letting go. “You’re not listening to me, Charles. I said I don’t want you to do it. I’m gonna do it. Tozzi’s too tricky.”

  “Don’t sweat it, man. You leave it to me. Better for you to just chill out here. You know, just in case they do a surprise night check or something like that. If they find you gone the same night Tozzi die, then maybe they blame you. You stay cool and let me take care of it.” The tarantula tugged on the grand.

  Sal looked up at his smiling monkey face and released his grip. But as the tarantula snatched up the cash, Sal went for the moolinyam’s crotch with his other hand and grabbed him by the balls. He got a good grip through the gray uniform twills, squeezed hard, and put a clamp on. He wanted to make sure he had the man’s attention.

  “Now, tell me, Charles. Whattaya gonna do with that grand?”

  Charles’s voice was high and hoarse. “Don’t worry, Sal. I’m gonna fix—”

  Sal squeezed.

  Charles shut his eyes and groaned.

  “You and your two friends got me and Emerick out before, so I know you can do it again. You’ll get me out, I’ll do what I have to do, and then you’ll get me back in before anybody misses me. Same way we did it with Mistretta. Okay? Do we understand each other?”

  Sal kept the pressure on. He could feel the throb of Charles’s pulse through his fingers. His own heart was throbbing just as hard.

  Charles’s face was creased and tight, his eyes squeezed shut. “Okay, Sal, okay. If that’s the way you wanna do it.”

  “That’s the way I wanna do it.” Sal let him go. He could see that Charles wanted to double over, but he was fighting it. Didn’t want to show that he was in pain.

  Sal glanced down and saw that Grover Cleveland was on the floor, right next to his foot. Charles must’ve dropped it. “Why don’t you pick up the money, Charles. It’ll make you feel better.”

  Charles hunkered down and let out a groan.

  Sal let his face go slack and glanced at the one-way mirror again. He wiped his sweaty face and took a few deep breaths. Friggin’ Tozzi. It wasn’t like the guy was magic, he told himself. If he could kill a boss, then killing a stupid little fed like Tozzi shouldn’t be that hard. All you needed was an experienced hitter.

  He sat up and looked at his fists, nodding to himself. It
shouldn’t be that hard, he thought. He had plenty of experience. Plenty.

  He kept staring at his fists, and his thumping heart started to calm down a little.

  Chapter 4

  Gibbons sat back in the blue vinyl armchair and cracked his knuckles one by one as his wife, Lorraine, fussed over her dear cousin Tozzi, scolding him for hopping around the hospital room on one foot the way he was. They were making such a scene, Tozzi’s sick-looking roommate put on his robe and slippers and wheeled his IV bottle down the hall to the dayroom to get out of their way. Tozzi was just trying to collect his things and get dressed, but Lorraine wanted to help him get dressed and he didn’t want to be helped. Gibbons understood how he felt. Women don’t have the same sense of dignity men do. What do women always talk about when they get together? Their plumbing, their feelings, and their underwear. Men talk about sports.

  He looked out the open window at the noisy intersection of Greenwich and Seventh Avenue South. It was a good thing St. Vincent’s Hospital was right here. This was supposed to be one of the most dangerous intersections in the city, people getting killed here all the time. He thought about the guy who tried to kill Tozzi and wondered if the guy was really a mugger. Maybe the guy really was out to get Tozzi. Maybe the guy had been sent to kill him. Maybe whoever it was who sent the guy wanted Gibbons done too. They were partners, after all. Gibbons tugged on his nose and frowned.

  Lorraine was still chasing Tozzi around the room, scolding him like a mother hen. Her long, dark hair was wild today, and the bright sunlight streaming through the windows picked up the silver threads every time she passed through it. She hadn’t bothered to tie it back this morning, she was so worried about her cousin. Just threw on a blouse and a skirt, brushed her hair a little, and rushed Gibbons out the door. She looked nice. Sort of wanton but stern.