by David Nees
“I called the shot back up to the Captain. I don’t want to be hung out here.”
“Fuck. You’ll get everyone killed!”
“Just give it a minute,” the lieutenant replied.
“She gets within fifty yards, we gotta do something. Doesn’t matter if you get an answer or not.”
She was a woman, a civilian. She looked to be under stress. Even as covered as she was, headscarf partly around her face, chador over her body, Dan could tell by the body language and what he could see of her face, she was terrified. She gripped the child tightly. Could he shoot her? And if she didn’t have explosives on her, what would happen to him? How much should he risk for the men he felt duty-bound to protect?
“Oh, oh. We got trouble.” Ben had turned his spotting scope back to the length of the street. “Three blocks down on the right, rooftop. We got three ali babas up there. Looks like they’re waiting. Waiting for the woman to blow?”
Dan moved his rifle and found the men looking over the parapet of the roof. “Call it in.”
“Three shooters, three blocks on the east-side roofs,” Ben radioed.
“Taking the shot,” Dan said. Everything went calm and quiet as he closed out the distractions and focused on the first shooter. Take the one on the right, the next one will turn to run for cover, take him out next. The other one is close to the wall. He’ll drop behind it. He planned his sequence of shots.
Letting his breath halfway out in a gentle exhale, between beats of his heart, he stroked the trigger and the M110 barked and kicked. The first man’s head exploded. The second man started to run, but a round slammed into his back throwing him flat to the roof. As Dan expected, the third man dropped behind the parapet.
The woman looked up as Dan’s shots rang out. She let go of the child and began to run towards the men. Without a thought, Dan brought the rifle back to her and fired. He hit her center mass and flung her backward to the ground. Her body erupted with a loud explosion. The men had already hit the ground with Dan’s first shots, so were partly protected, but the ones closest to the woman got hit hard. The child fell to the ground. Dan hoped she was not killed.
Who would do that to a child?
Back at the compound, Dan faced a dressing down from the Captain and Major. He was told a report was to be put in his file. He also realized that if he had been wrong, he would have wound up in the guardhouse facing significant time behind bars. His question to his superiors about whether he should have waited, even if that meant getting some troops killed, went unanswered. The officers knew they had to answer to those above them who did not take that consideration into account.
That night, Dan had sat in the compound alone with his thoughts. He didn’t understand these people and how they could do what they did. He had never felt so alone, so foreign, and out of place in his life. He had also realized he could kill…anyone, even a woman, if he had to. He began to recognize something hard in himself that night, and a willingness to do anything that was needed for the right cause.
Chapter 3
Vincent owned the Sicilian Gardens located on 13th Avenue and Bayridge Parkway. He ran the mob's rackets out of the restaurant—loan sharking, numbers, protection, gas tax skimming, smuggling, hi-jacking, gambling, and prostitution—anything that could make him a quick buck. Vincent controlled fifteen made guys, who each had six to ten associates, not mob members, working for them. He answered to Carmine Gianelli, the underboss of the family Don, Silvio Palma. It was a rigid, hierarchical society with strict rules.
Vincent’s crew had to deliver a certain amount of money to him and he had to pass a certain amount up to Silvio Palma. Carmine Gianelli received his cut from the Don. The made guys were the soldiers who ran the action on the street through their associates and were responsible for earning for Vincent. If they didn't bring in their share, they had to face Vincent and answer for it.
He ran a good crew, but life was harder after the Feds’ crackdown on the mob. Much of the hierarchy was in jail and discipline had slipped. He was pragmatic and old school in his methods. He wielded a strong hand, keeping everyone in line, especially the young guns, who lacked the discipline of the older gangsters. He worked at keeping things peaceful which kept the money flowing. Vincent was not above violence; if anyone crossed him, he could be brutal and swift in his response. He had engaged in his share of beatings and murder coming up through the ranks, but always as a last resort. Violence was useful, but it also disturbed things and could interrupt cash flow. The threat of it was often just as effective.
Vincent was inside his restaurant when Angelo was shot. He heard the sonic crack of the shot, but it was the screams from the street that grabbed his attention—that and Joey running through the front door shouting about being attacked on the street.
“What the hell?” Vincent yelled as he came out of the back room.
“Someone shot Angelo. Right out front.”
The rest of the men came through the doors. Vincent heard a siren approaching. “Hide the guns,” he ordered.
The men handed their weapons to the bartender who put them in a bag which he dropped into a hiding place under the floor, behind the bar.
“Any of you see anything?” Vincent said as he headed for the door.
“Be careful, boss,” Joey said. Vincent gave him a disdainful look and went out the door.
Angelo lay on his back, face up. There was a nickel-sized hole in his forehead. Vincent didn’t need to look very close to know the back of his head was blown out. His skull lay too flat to the ground and all around it blood and bits of brain were splattered on the pavement.
“Jesus. How the hell did that happen?”
Joey came up beside him. “We were just standing around talking. I didn’t see a thing. Then, wham. Angelo’s head snaps back just as we heard the shot. I was standing right next to him. Shit it coulda’ been me.”
“You see where it came from?” Vincent asked looking around.
“He was facing down the street. It had to be from there.” Joey pointed towards where Dan had positioned himself. “But we didn’t see anyone. No one running or driving away. It just came out of nowhere.”
Vincent looked at Joey. “Shots don’t come out of nowhere. The shooter had to be somewhere, dumbass.” He could hear the patrol car getting closer. “Take a couple of guys, go back inside and get your guns. Then go out the back, and get your ass up the block. See what you can find.”
Joey disappeared back into the restaurant with two of his associates just as the cop car drove up. The officers got out. “Christ,” one of the uniformed men said when he saw the body. “We better cordon this off.” He told his partner to call it in to headquarters to get a detective out to the scene. The two began to hustle everyone back and string up some yellow tape.
“Who saw this happen?” he asked the group still outside.
No one spoke.
“Come on, I know some of you were out here with this poor SOB, anybody see anything?” Again, no one spoke. “Fuck it,” his partner said. “Let the detective on call handle it.”
Chapter 4
After two tours in Iraq, Dan mustered out and returned to Brooklyn. He and Rita decided to pursue their dream of opening a neighborhood restaurant and turn his interest in cooking into a business. With some money saved and a small insurance payoff from his parents’ accident, they were able to embark on their dream. Rita would run the business end and Dan would run the kitchen end. They were good in their roles and looked forward to an enjoyable life together.
They would build a profitable business, raise kids, and be a positive part of their community. Their own restaurant. In their own neighborhood. Dan and Rita were thrilled over their creation. They floated through the final hectic days before going operational, running on adrenalin and enthusiasm.
After ironing out the bugs, the day of the grand opening arrived. Even Rita’s parents came. Tommy Battaglia, Dan’s best friend from high school, was there to celebrate with them.
The only off note of the day was when Joey Batone showed up. He made a show of congratulating Dan.
“Hey, Danny, congratulations on your opening. You got a good looking place here. You should make a pile of money.”
“Thanks, but what do you know about the restaurant business?”
“I know more than you think. I can tell a winner when I see one.” He looked around the room. “You got a winner here.”
“I hope so. All I know is it’s a lot of hard work, but if I do it right it’ll pay off.”
“I bet it will.” Joey and his boys moved off to sample the food laid out for everyone. Joey and his pals all wore expensive, dark dress slacks, tight silk shirts, and shiny black shoes. They walked around the room with an air of superiority, expecting other customers to get out of their way. Most of the patrons glanced at them and turned away. They didn’t want any trouble.
Dan found Tommy near the back of the dining room, talking with Rita. “What the hell is Joey Batone doing here?” He pointed across the room. “He comes here, acting like he’s got a special invitation, talking like he’s an expert in the business.”
Tommy stared across the room for a moment. “He works for Vincent Salvatore. He’s a made man now.”
“Vincent who?”
“Salvatore.” He owns the Sicilian Gardens. He’s a mob guy. Joey works for him.”
“A wise guy, for real? He was such a punk in high school. But what’s he doing here?” Dan turned to his wife. “Rita, did you invite him?”
“I didn’t like him in school. Why would I invite him now?”
“It’s an open house. He probably heard and came by just like everyone else. He is a part of the neighborhood,” Tommy said.
Dan frowned. “I don’t like it. We grew up with these guys around the neighborhood, but we never had anything to do with them. Never did.” He had a bad feeling growing in his gut. “Now at our grand opening he shows up? What the fuck?”
“Shhh, don’t talk like that,” Rita said. “You run a classy restaurant now. You have to leave that street language behind.”
Tommy grinned. “Maybe it’ll add some color to the place, give it a real Brooklyn feel.”
“Brooklyn feel, my ass.” Rita shoved her husband. “Go mingle.” Dan tried to grab her butt as he left. She deftly brushed his hand aside. “Too slow,” she taunted.
Within months the restaurant was thriving. Everything was looking up for Dan and Rita, except for growing harassment from mob associates, generally led by Joey. They would come to the restaurant, order lunch, talk loud and act obnoxiously. The other customers would clearly be irritated but also intimidated.
Dan often complained to Tommy. “What do I have to do to get these guys to stop coming around or get them to behave? Do they bother you like this?”
“Nah. My place ain’t for hanging out.” Tommy owned a small auto repair shop in the neighborhood.
“Well they’re having a bad effect on my customers. And now Joey’s saying I’ve got to pay my share for protection of the neighborhood.”
“Well…” Tommy paused. “I give them money every week. They keep an eye on things, no one steals or breaks in and no one causes problems for me. Maybe if you paid them something, they’d stay away or act right.”
“Screw that. I work hard for my money and we’re not exactly rolling in dough. I’m not giving these leaches my hard earned cash.”
“I’m just saying it may be the price for peace.”
“I know how the game works, but I’m not buying into it. They only get away with it ’cause you let them. They can run their rackets, but if they leave me alone I’ll leave them alone. I just want to run the best restaurant in Brooklyn.”
Tommy shrugged. “How does Rita feel about it?”
“She thinks they’re a bunch of losers like I do, especially Joey. They were punks in high school and they’re punks now.”
“But now they work for the mob, so they can push more weight around.”
“Maybe, but not with me; I’m going to kick them out for good the next time they start acting up.”
“You’re playing with fire, Dan.”
“I’m not giving them my money for nothing. You can do that if you want, but that’s not me.”
Six months after opening, Joey and two of his guys were at the restaurant. He had been applying pressure on Dan and Rita for them to get in line and pay their share for protection. After lunch they became louder than ever, to the point of disturbing the other customers. Finally, Dan went over to talk with Joey.
“Joey, you got to hold it down. I can’t have you coming in here and bothering the other customers like this.”
“What’re you saying?” Joey’s voice rose. “I’m not good enough for your restaurant? Is that what you’re saying?”
Dan tried to remain calm; he knew he was being baited. “Yeah, when you act like this.”
Joey paused then swore. “What the fuck. Who do you fucking think you are? I come here and support your business. I offer you protection. Not only do you turn me down, you insult me by saying I ain’t good enough to eat here. You think you’re some kind of big shot? You’re nothin’! You’re lucky I haven’t beat your ass already. I’m trying to be nice to you, to get you to come along, but you don’t get it. You’re nothing but a dumb jarhead. I’m only being reasonable out of respect for Rita…don’t know what she sees in you.”
Some of the customers started looking over at Joey’s table. They began whispering to each other. Dan leaned over close to Joey. “Leave Rita out of this.” He paused. “If you’re going to beat my ass, let’s go outside right now and see if you can do that. Tell you what.” He straightened up. “You kick my ass, I’ll pay your protection money. I kick your ass, you don’t come back here…ever.”
Dan stepped back as Joey sized him up. Dan knew his challenge in front of Joey’s boys couldn’t be ignored. Joey couldn’t back down. He knew Joey didn’t stand a chance in a one-on-one with him, but Dan also knew Joey’s boys would join in and they would try to deliver a good beat down. He watched Joey begin to smile.
Just then Rita came over to the table. “Joey, just take your guys and leave us alone. We’re not bothering you and we don’t want you around talking like that. Go. Find someone else to hit up on, ’cause you aren’t getting anything from us.”
Joey looked at her.
Dan put his hand on Rita’s arm. “It’s okay, Joey was just leaving. We’re going to talk about this outside.”
“Yeah,” Joey said, “we’re going to talk about this outside. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”
Rita glared back at him.
Dan expected Joey to jump him as soon as they were out of the door. He slid through the door in front of Joey without opening it much. Joey was slowed down, having to push the door farther open. Dan waited for a second after hearing him come through the door. There would be no further talk or squaring away. Joey would try to strike him from behind, and he expected the whole pack would descend on him, punching and kicking him when he fell.
Hearing Joey step forward, Dan ducked and swung his body, shoulders hunched, to the left. He felt a blow, something like a truncheon glancing off his right shoulder. It hurt but did little damage. He spun his body counterclockwise. As he came around, he slashed out his left foot aimed at Joey’s knee. He hit just above the knee, caving in Joey’s left leg. Joey cried out in pain, and Dan continued to spin again, this time leading with his left forearm. Knocking down Joey’s arm, Dan’s fist slammed into the side of his neck. Joey staggered back. Dan closed up and delivered a left underhand punch into Joey’s solar plexus. He went down, gasping for breath.
It was over in three seconds. Dan turned to face the two guys who had come through the front door too late to help. Just then one of Dan’s cooks, a large man, came rushing out brandishing a large kitchen knife and stepped towards Joey’s boys. They hesitated, evaluating what they were up against. One of them pulled back his jacket to reveal a pistol in his b
elt.
“Go ahead and pull that. You gonna shoot both of us, here on the street, in front of all my customers? That’ll get you twenty years to life, easy.”
The thug hesitated.
“Go pick him up. He’ll get his breath back soon, but his leg may be broken, better get it checked out. And don’t ever come back to my restaurant.”
The two lifted Joey to his feet and helped him stagger off to their car.
Rita came running out. Dan grabbed her as she was about to light into Joey and deliver her own version of an ass kicking on him. “Let them go, honey. We settled this. I told him if he kicked my ass, we’d pay his protection. If I kicked his ass, we don’t and he doesn’t come back.”
“You sure?” Rita had a doubtful look in her face. “I don’t trust Joey as far as I can throw him.”
“I hope I’m sure. But now he knows I’m no one to mess with.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to buy into that mob crap.” Dan, Rita and the cook went back into the restaurant and were greeted by a standing ovation.
Chapter 5
Joey stood in front of Vincent Salvatore’s desk in the back room of the Sicilian Gardens. From this desk—his throne—Vincent held court. His men came and went throughout the day, bringing him news of what was going on. Deals were made. Civilians also were ushered in to ask for favors or to correct a problem. Over the years, a web of indebtedness had developed with nearly everyone in the neighborhood owing some sort of favor to Vincent. Owing a favor meant going along with whatever Vincent wanted. His soldiers could beat up someone on the street and the cops would never have an eye witness. Even better for him, some of the cops owed Vincent and would help cover for him.
He was at a comfortable point in life. He had things under control. There were occasional periods of stress and some violence, but they always passed. He solved those problems and got back to business. That was his reputation and his value to Carmine Gianelli. Now Vincent was unhappy. There had been a scene, one which would cause him to have to react.
