Deputy Tassone said, “These fellas aren’t so pleased with us.”
“So I gather,” Bapcat said.
“Questa dovrebbe essere una terr ade leggi, noni vero? This is supposed to be country of laws, no?” Geronissi said, quickly piling English onto Italian.
“It is, and it’s against the law to kill these birds.”
“For science,” Geronissi said, nearly hissing the words. “Is okay for science.”
“Tell it to the justice of the peace,” Bapcat said.
“Ella, dichiara di puttane,” the man closest to Geronissi said through clenched teeth. “Figlio de una cagna!”
Tassone laughed. “He says we’re state whores and you are a son of a bitch.”
“The second part would be accurate if he called me a bastard,” Bapcat said.
Tassone translated, and all the men, including Geronissi, laughed.
“Senzai fucili il sino fighe,” Geronissi said.
Tassone put his shotgun on the ground and used his hands to invite Geronissi forward. “He says without guns, we are cunts.”
Bapcat held up his hands. “Back off.”
“I must protest,” an exasperated Geronissi said.
“Your choice, your right—but first you are going to carry all the birds out to the road.”
“Too many,” the leader protested.
“Jesus bore his cross; consider the birds yours. Make as many trips as you have to. Deputy Tassone will accompany you.”
“I am scientist,” Geronissi, said, “il dottore!”
Tassone growled, “We don’t care if you’re da Vinci or the last Doge of Venice. Tell your men to sit on the ground and keep their damn hands on their heads. Subito!”
Geronissi mumbled some words and his men sat. When Geronissi had finished moving the birds, they made him carry all the shotguns. Harju picked up cartridges and put them in his kit bag.
“We’ll count the birds out on the road,” Bapcat said.
When the count was complete they had 224 birds, more than a thousand dollars in fines. Bapcat hoped the JP would levy all of it and not turn soft.
Bapcat stayed with the main group of prisoners, and Harju and Tassone went to fetch the Ford. When they got back, they loaded the guns and birds and lined up the prisoners in front of the vehicle. Bapcat said to Geronissi, “Harch, il dottore!”
Bapcat noticed several men smiling at this.
He made them march to Copper City a couple of miles from the arrest site, and by the time they reached town they had collected a large group of onlookers who yelled all sorts of insults at the Italians, who yelled back vociferously at their tormentors. Was this a large enough splash to announce his job? Word of mouth would carry the news all over the Copper Country, and beyond.
Justice of the Peace Alley Pahl came out of his office to look at the prisoners. “Bail ’em?” he asked Bapcat.
“Two hundred and twenty-four birds at five dollars each. That pushes it to felony level.”
“Okay, then, I set bail for the leader, release the rest on their promise to show in court; that okay with you, Deputy?”
“Nossir. None of them will confess to any birds, and the main man here claims they’re collecting them for science. I want them all on bail. That only seems fair.”
“You’re a hard case, eh, son?” the JP said. “It’s Sunday, and I got no time for these piles of Wop-crap. Bail for the lead man, and the rest can go.” Pahl barked at the Italians: “Listen up. Arraignment at ten tomorrow morning in Ahmeek. You all better be there, Johnny on the spot, or we get warrants for all of you. Capisce?”
“You got their names and addresses?” Pahl asked Bapcat. Tassone held up the list he had made and translated the JP’s words. The men nodded and dispersed.
“I am dottore,” Geronissi tried on the JP.
“You can tell me all about it tomorrow, Dottore; now step inside and let’s see what kind of bail you can come up with. Some folks go to church on Sundays, not out killing pretty little singing birds and drinking wine.”
Bapcat smiled inwardly, looked at Harju. “This the sort of public splash you had in mind?”
32
Bumbletown Hill
SUNDAY, JUNE 29, 1913
Harju and Tassone were asleep on the floor. George Gipp stared down into the hole. “Why do you keep going down there?”
“I need to know where it leads.”
“I could do it for you. Dark doesn’t bother me.”
“You could, and thanks, but no thanks.”
“You are both unbalanced in complementing ways,” Zakov said.
“Did you notice the front porch?” Gipp asked Bapcat.
“Same as always,” yelled back.
“Not really. Somebody left a message.”
“Bring it inside,” Zakov said.
“It’s not that kind of message,” Gipp said. “You have to look.”
Bapcat came out of the hole and they all went outside and saw black handprints on both sides of the door and one on the porch floor.
“You know what this means, George?” Bapcat asked.
“Not what it says, but who sent it.”
“Mano Nera,” Bapcat said.
“There is no such creature as Black Hand,” Zakov said. “This is a chimerical myth created by Italians to frighten their enemies.”
“Maybe so,” Gipp said, “but all the Italians I know think it’s real, not a fairy tale.”
“My boy, you must learn to demand evidence,” Zakov said.
“Evidence?” Gipp countered. “How about the building called the Società Italiana di Mutua Benificenza? It means—”
“I know what it means. Make your point, boy,” Zakov said.
“The Italians never say the words you said. They call it the group, or the society. You say the actual words out loud, things go bad for you.”
“Myth,” Zakov said dismissively.
Bapcat knew that the building Gipp was referring to was the same building in which Dominick Vairo had his saloon. The so-called Italian Hall was upstairs. Bapcat had never ventured up there. Vairo told him it had meeting rooms, an auditorium with a stage; it was used mostly for parties.
“Società Italiana is the same as Mano Nera?” Bapcat asked Gipp.
“That’s been my impression according to what gets said and not said around town.”
“Mano Nera owns the building?”
“Not by that name. Officially there’s a society with members, and they meet at the hall, but I heard my old man say that nobody knows for sure who actually and legally owns the place.”
“What do townspeople say about black handprints put on somebody’s house?” Bapcat wanted to know.
“Some kind of message,” Gipp said. “Not good.”
Bapcat understood who it was aimed at, and why. He got more torch materials and headed back down the ladder.
“Why do you persist in that nonsense below?” Zakov challenged.
Bapcat pointed at his belly. “A feeling in here.”
“A result of less-than-gourmet fare,” the Russian grumbled.
“Okay if I tag along?” Gipp asked. “He’s kind of cranky today,” he added, with a nod toward Zakov.
“Get torch makings,” Bapcat said. Gipp’s help was welcome, though he didn’t care to admit it. “Lots of them.”
“If my injuries were healed, I would no doubt volunteer to lead this underground expedition,” Zakov declared.
“You aren’t healed, and no, you wouldn’t,” Bapcat said as he disappeared down the ladder.
One hour later the two men had moved a large rock aside and had seen a hint of light. Gipp started to excavate loose dirt, but Bapcat grabbed his arm. “Let it be for now.”
“Why’s this tunnel down here?” the boy asked.
“Storage, escape; no way to know. What’s important is that we know it’s here.”
“It’s not a mine.”
“No, but I saw some copper seams when we were pushing back this way. I guess you can find copper just about anywhere in the Keweenaw.”
“Do we tell the Russian?”
“No,” Bapcat said. “Thanks, George. The dark unhinges me. I couldn’t have done this without you here to steady my nerves.”
“I didn’t do nothing, and we’ve all got things we’re afraid of,” the boy said.
Bapcat wondered what sort of demons haunted young George Gipp.
33
Ahmeek
MONDAY, JUNE 30, 1913
Justice of the Peace Alley Pahl was at his table just before 10 a.m. as the tiny room filled with people. Bapcat saw sheriffs John Hepting and Cruse along one wall. Geronissi had hired a lawyer named Bally. Bapcat wasn’t sure what a lawyer’s role would be at an arraignment. At ten sharp, Justice Pahl read the indictment for illegal bird killing and threatening a peace officer.
Bapcat looked at his colleagues. None of them had asked for the second charge. Why is it there?
“Bruno Geronissi, how do you plead—guilty, or not guilty?”
“My client pleads not guilty by reason of misidentification,” Attorney Bally said.
“Put that in plain English,” Justice Pahl said tersely.
“Mr. Geronissi was collecting scientific specimens, not hunting. The statute clearly and specifically exempts scientific collectors.”
The JP squinted at Bapcat. “How many birds these boys take?”
“Two hundred and twenty-four, sir.”
“Thank you, Deputy. Counselor, I know fimble-famble when I hear it, but if your client, the alleged scientist, can give me the Latin names of any five species of those birds he and his chums slaughtered and had in their possession, I’ll declare him a scientist, dismiss all charges, and release him, free as a bird—excuse the poor pun.”
Bally whispered to his client, Geronissi, whose face flushed.
“Your Honor,” the lawyer said, “my client wishes to change his plea to guilty on the bird charges, stipulating that he was unaware of any statutes governing songbird protection, but he pleads not guilty to the assault charge.”
“You don’t say,” Pahl said. “He was unaware of statutes but knew there was an exception for scientific collectors? Best you keep your mouth shut, Bally. Okay, the assault charge is dropped, which is by far the most serious, and your client pleads guilty to all the bird charges and will pay the fines. All the others here, charges and fines are dropped, but maybe they can help share Signore Geronissi’s financial burden. Questions?”
“No sir, none,” the attorney said.
“Let me say welcome to Sheriff Cruse, who met with me in private chambers and tried to convince me that this arrest was made in his county, and because Mr. Geronissi has been of great assistance in the past to him and his deputies, that I be lenient in this case. Now, Signore Geronissi, I surely commend you for you civic-mindedness. Maybe you and your chums threatened the game wardens, maybe not, but we’ll overlook that based on your history of civic-mindedness, and you can thank Sheriff Cruse for stepping up on your behalf. Your past good behavior notwithstanding, you owe the county two hundred and twenty-four times five dollars, payable in full today. If you can’t pay today, you will be incarcerated until such time that you can.”
Geronissi’s only response was a nod, and he and his lawyer left to arrange for the fine payment.
“Deputy Bapcat, come with me,” the JP said, and took him into a cluttered office.
“You think I let them off light?”
“Mr. Geronissi sells songbirds in local establishments.”
Justice Pahl coughed. “Hell, he sells to upstanding citizens too, some of them in high places. You know about Mano Nera?”
“I’m learning.”
“Add this to your education: Bruno is one of the top dogs in the society, and his little bird-hunting sideline is one of the few the society doesn’t have its hands into. It’s all his, and he’s likely to defend it to the death. You leave here, go to Kallio’s Funeral Parlor, and tell Dutu Kallio that I sent you over.”
“Dutu Kallio, yessir.”
“You made one hell of a fine first case here, Bapcat, and all your game warden pals will be proud. Other badges will be jealous, and our many violators, mad as hell. You wonder why I threw in the assault charges?”
“I did.”
“To give us some space to bargain. By taking those away, I can get Geronissi to go along with the fine on the birds. I take something away to get something bigger, see? Now, this may be one hell of a start for you, but from here on out, they’ll be watching your every move.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Don’t care if you do or don’t. We got a damn strike looming, and I don’t want or need any tangential fireworks to set off some sort of public bloodbath.”
“You expect violence?”
“Hell, thanks to you, we already have it. Go see Kallio. I’ve got a full docket today.”
Sheriff Cruse was waiting on the sidewalk. “I declare, Deputy Bapcat. Never thought I’d see you again after we let you loose. You seem to have a talent for irritating important people. What fool went and made you a game warden?”
Bapcat gave Cruse a steely eye. “Don’t take after what you can’t handle, Sheriff.”
Cruse stepped aside. “Songbirds? Who gives a damn? That ain’t real law work, son—it’s nothing.”
The funeral parlor was less than a block from the JP, and attached to an old stable. Dutu Kallio was built like a blacksmith and had corn-yellow hair. He opened a wooden coffin for Bapcat. “This fella was found hanging from a tree this morning.”
The man looked vaguely familiar. A testicle hung out of his mouth. Bapcat looked at Kallio. “His name?”
“Bruno’s nephew, Aldo.”
The one who had shouted Mano Nera out loud. “The sheriff got any leads?”
Kallio chuckled “I just clean ’em up, box ’em, and plant ’em. The sheriff pretty much lets the Wops police themselves.”
“That what this is—self-policing? Where was the body found?”
“Right beside the road from Copper City to Allouez, so nobody could miss him. His balls and pecker are in his mouth, which means he said the wrong words out loud. Do that, and this is what they do to you. Doesn’t matter if you’re blood kin or not. The guineas put top value on privacy and secrecy. Their business is theirs, nobody else’s.”
“Pahl wanted me to see this?”
“Alley’s a fine man. I’m guessing he just wants to raise your awareness.”
He’s done that.
It would be some time before Bapcat could erase what he had seen.
Returning to the cabin, he looked at his list of names from Traprock River. Aldo Geronissi had been one of the men—the one who went out of bounds, Bapcat assumed. Now he was dead. Whatever else it might or might not be, Italian justice was as swift as it was brutal.
“You know that myth we talked about the other day?” Bapcat said to Zakov.
“My memory is substantial.”
“A body was found hanging, mutilated.”
“Body?”
“One of the men we arrested.”
“So he is dead, and there are messages on our cabin walls.”
“We might assume they’ll come after us, as well.”
“Better to plan for the worst and hope for the best,” Zakov said.
“For once, we think alike.”
34
Swedetown
THURSDAY, JULY 3, 1913
Georg
e Gipp stopped the truck in front of Vairo’s saloon, and Bapcat came out to join him. “George, I’m sorry, but your services are no longer needed.”
The young man furrowed his brow. “I don’t drive good enough?”
“No, you’re a real good driver, George, but my job is going to drag me down into some pretty nasty business, and I don’t want you to get caught up in it. I don’t know what your life or mine holds, but mine feels less than comforting, and your ball playing seems pretty promising. You need to be out of this.”
“You’re firing me?”
“You know Bucky Root?”
“Know who he is—Copper Lode Taxi Service.”
“Dominick and I have talked to him. He’ll take you on as a taxi driver for the summer and manage your work around your practices and games.”
“I don’t hold much with practices,” Gipp said with a smirk.
“I heard,” Bapcat said. “Job sound all right to you?”
“Can I still bunk with you and Mr. Zakov?”
“No, George, it’s not safe with us.”
“Mr. Zakov isn’t exactly mobile, what with his leg and arm.”
“He’ll heal.”
Gipp shook his head and looked at the ground. “Okay, thanks, Deputy.”
“Call me Lute. Root’s expecting you around eleven this morning.”
“That gives me time to shoot a little pool,” the boy said.
“Just don’t be late. Dominick and I vouched for you. Now help me get this damned jalopy started.”
“Yessir, Lute.”
•••
Geronissi’s house looked like all the others in his Swedetown neighborhood, except for a newly shingled roof over the front porch and several automobiles parked out front. There were no cars at nearby houses. A black-and-white cow stood in an intersection, tail up, liquefied shit spurting on the road.
The Italian’s porch was crowded with men dressed in black. No women.
Bapcat inhaled deeply, opened the front gate, and marched down the narrow walk to the porch, feeling all eyes burning into him.
Red Jacket Page 12
