by Debra Dunbar
“Was I professional enough for you?”
“You were a peach. Keep it up.”
“We’ll see how easy it is when we get our hands dirty,” Vincent said.
“You don’t think they’re dirty just for being in this building?”
“Yeah, but we’re only up to our knuckles. I figure we’ll be elbow-deep before this is over.”
Buddy grumbled as they exited onto the street, “You two always talk this much?”
“That’s what normal people do, Buddy,” Vincent said to him over his shoulder. “We don’t run on diesel and axle grease.”
They returned to the Monarch, each with their own single-bed rooms. Lefty excused himself to make a sandwich with his deli haul. Buddy remained in the hallway, staring at Vincent.
“What?” Vincent asked him.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Yeah, that makes two of us.”
Buddy’s face betrayed a flicker of panic.
Vincent sighed, then gestured for his door. “You know how to play Gin?”
Within a few minutes, Vincent had pulled a side table to the center of the room and had cards dealt. Buddy sat on the edge of the bed while Vincent took a seat in a chair near the window. He peered out to the street below as Buddy arranged the cards in his hands.
“You barely had any time to see Baltimore before we left,” Vincent said as Buddy drew and discarded. “This must feel a little overwhelming.”
“I’m here to serve.”
“You gotta shake that off, Buddy.” Vincent drew and discarded. “Ain’t gonna make no friends with that Ithaca bushwa.”
Buddy sucked in an alarmed breath. “It’s not bushwa.”
“It’s not normal. People don’t go around saying ‘I’m here to serve.’ Makes you sound like a butler.”
“You serve Corbi. So does Lefty.”
Vincent nodded. “Yeah, but you don’t see me acting like a marionette. Right? I have thoughts. Opinions.”
Buddy drew and discarded. “Opinions get in the way. They’re dangerous.”
“You think you’re gonna serve Vito by spitting out what he spoon-feeds you? He needs you to think. Use your noodle. Evaluation situations and speak your mind.”
Buddy shook his head. “It’s not my place.”
Vincent set his cards into his lap, staring at Buddy. “Here’s an extra edition for you, Buddy. Vito ain’t God. He’s a human being. And yeah, he owns you. But just because someone bought and paid for you, don’t mean they’re not capable of making mistakes. Vito’s a mook like me and you. What makes him more powerful than me and you is that he’s got me and you to catch him when he’s about to blow it.”
Buddy lifted his chin, eyes narrow.
Vincent continued, “I know you think I’m some smart-mouthed cart pusher, doing the bare minimum. But I’ve been at this for a long time, now. I feel like I’ve aged in dog years, like I’m older than Lefty sometimes.”
Buddy grinned, ducking his head away.
“You gotta be a man, is what I’m saying. Not a machine. And let Vito be a man, bad breath and everything. The quicker you thaw out, the easier it’ll be to work with all the rest of the boys.” Vincent lifted his cards and focused on his hand. “Not for nothin’. I don’t really care, either way.”
Buddy cocked a brow. “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be playing cards.”
“I’m bored.”
“You’re waiting for something.”
Vincent peered at Buddy over his hand. “What?”
“You keep looking out the window.”
Vincent hesitated a moment. “I was born in New York. Been here a couple times, but never had time to… Never mind.”
Buddy lowered his cards. “Time to what?”
“So, I came into the system before Ithaca. Got picked up young and educated in a Catholic school up just outside of Queens.”
“Sounds inefficient.”
Vincent laughed. “Yeah, I suppose.”
“And you’ve never gone back?”
“Never had time. Don’t know what the point would be. I just wonder sometimes.”
Buddy set his cards down on the table. “You never had time before. But we got nothing but time, now.”
Vincent shook his head. “Nah, I’m keeping you entertained.”
Buddy scowled. “I’m not a toddler.”
“I noticed.” Vincent peered at him. “You sure?”
“Unless you want me to come with you? Would that make you feel safer?”
Vincent set down his cards face up. “Had a shit hand, anyway.”
Buddy nodded. “I’ll go bother Lefty instead. Maybe he’ll let me have some of that salami.”
“Don’t count on it.” Vincent stood and went for the door, pausing as he twisted the knob. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Buddy almost grinned. “No problem.”
Vincent left the door open, strolling for the stairs. Once he was out of earshot, he upped his pace. Finally, he’d found a way to get free of Buddy and Lefty. Now, the only trick would be finding Floresta.
As he stepped out of the door and back out onto the street, Vincent found a car waiting for him. Floresta grinned at him from behind the steering wheel. “Going my way?”
Vincent slipped into the car. “How long you been here?”
“Just arrived. You made quick work breaking free.”
“Luciano waiting for me?”
“Yes.” Floresta’s smile faded. “I didn’t realize that the Old Man knew Mancuso.”
“Me neither.”
“That makes things more complicated.”
Vincent shrugged. “Don’t see how. If Luciano signs on, then we’ll take them all down.”
Floresta shot him an incredulous look. “And you don’t see how that’ll complicate things between you and your handler?”
“Things are already complicated. Besides, you really think I’ll be able to salvage anything when we take down Corbi?”
“Let’s not put the cart before the horse, shall we?”
Floresta drove to a restaurant not far from the Monarch, parking on the street. The pair walked into the restaurant, finding Luciano seated in the center of the room facing the door. Floresta urged Vincent forward, staying near the entrance with his gun tucked into his jacket at the ready.
As Vincent approached the young man, his eyes followed Vincent like a predator.
“Luciano?” Vincent said.
“You Calendo?” Luciano said in a thick Mediterranean cadence.
“Yes, I am.”
“I hear you have some requests,” Luciano purred as he pulled a cigarette case from his jacket to light a smoke.
Vincent nodded. “I’m hoping that if I help you and Sparks, then you help me.”
Luciano lit the cigarette. “Why should I trust a stregone? Hmm?”
“You trust Floresta, don’t you?”
“I wouldn’t rush to conclusions.”
Vincent bit back a smile. “He tells me you’re forward-thinking.”
Luciano’s face pulled into the barest of grins. “Si. But are you?”
“I’d like to think I am.”
Luciano nodded. “I am told you are one of the many stregone ripped from their families as bambini. I’ve heard this story many times before. Would it surprise you to hear that these stories move me?”
Vincent squinted. “It would, actually.”
Luciano grinned. “Then my reputation precedes me. Fine. I shall stop trying to play the wise man. Stregone are wasted in the old ways. Such power left to waste and wither. It is tragic.”
“You think we pinchers aren’t getting worked hard enough?”
Luciano wagged his cigarette. “You misunderstand. My only concern is business. The way things are? This is bad business. Slavery is bad business. Now incentive? That is good business.”
Vincent shook his head, not sure if he believed this man or not. “You want to put pinchers on a payroll, then?”
Luciano gave Vincent a noncommittal shrug.
“Will you agree to help me topple Vito Corbi if I help you?”
Luciano took another long drag off his cigarette as his sharp eyes took Vincent in. Finally, he exhaled a plume of smoke and replied, “I cannot involve myself so directly. I can, however, turn a blind eye.”
“That’s not much,” Vincent informed him.
“That is business.”
Vincent sighed, then nodded. “Then I’ll take it.”
“Any other requests?”
Vincent suddenly had an idea—a wild crazy idea that surely wouldn’t fly, but was worth throwing out anyway.
“Ithaca,” he replied. “I want it shut down.”
Luciano grinned as he cocked his head. “The pincher farm?”
“You know what it does. You know the sort of pinchers it creates. Mindless drones. If you’re serious about giving pinchers the latitude and incentive to do what we do best, then you’ll understand why I’m asking for this.”
“Bene. Ithaca will be dismantled. Masseria and Maranzano both go down. When I am Capo di tutti Capi, you can have Baltimore. I will not interfere. And, if I’m feeling generous, I may encourage the others to follow suit.”
Vincent reached a hand across the table.
Luciano gripped it in a surprisingly vicious grip.
“Then we have an agreement,” Vincent said.
“Si.”
Vincent stepped back out onto the street, Floresta beside him. “We’re on. What’s next?”
“Next you meet Maranzano’s people. This is the tricky bit. We have to keep quiet. Any of our people catch a whiff of this, it’s over. I’ll pick you up from the Monarch at midnight. Be sure you’re alone.”
Vincent sighed. Twice in one day he’d have to shake his entourage. At least it would be late into the night hours. He knew Lefty was the “early to bed, early to rise” sort. But what about Buddy?
At this point, he didn’t have a choice. He’d have to risk it. Because now he finally had a plan.
Chapter 11
True to form, Lefty retired after a late dinner, leaving Vincent and Buddy to sort themselves out. Buddy took a moment to grill Vincent over whether he’d found the school in which he’d spent a childhood of imprisonment. Vincent brushed the question off with a display of emotion. It was enough to sell that he had, in fact, confronted some demon of his past.
It was the demons of his present that Vincent ruminated on as Buddy withdrew to his own room. Luciano was playing a high stakes game with this scheme. It was too easy for this to go wrong. Granted, there were degrees of separation between Vincent and Luciano. And Vincent was sure Floresta had some manner of trap door in case things went terribly wrong.
Floresta pulled up to the front of the Monarch promptly at midnight, rolling half a block east before stopping. Vincent slipped into the car, checking the front of the building for prying eyes.
“Let’s go,” he muttered, confident that neither Buddy nor Lefty were spying.
Floresta drove to the Bronx, a painfully slow journey as he wove around jaywalkers and crept behind horse carriages. Vincent marveled at the sheer number of people streaming through the city after midnight.
“Maranzano’s turf is the Bronx?” Vincent asked.
“And Queens. A bit of Brooklyn. That’s where the dust-ups go down, usually.”
“What about the other families?”
“Too small to matter,” Floresta replied. “It’s a two-sided war.”
“Bet we tipped the scales when O’Donnell went down.”
“You’d be surprised how quick Masseria adapted. It’s Maranzano who’s on the ropes. He lost some talent in the last brouhaha. He’s basically down to two pinchers at this point. Which is why I came to rattle your cage. The time’s right. We’re meeting with those pinchers tonight.”
Vincent’s back straightened. “How much do they know?”
“They know I grabbed you from outta town. They know you’re inside Masseria’s operation, and that you’re here to help wheedle him down.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Vincent nodded. “They gonna play nice?”
“Depends on you, I suppose.” Floresta’s eyes searched the street, his grip tightening on the wheel. “Just…remember the long view. Right? Don’t get punchy. We’ll be okay.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Floresta pulled alongside a series of U-shaped tenements rising about six stories. The courtyards tucked between the buildings were well manicured—almost gardens. The boughs of elm and maple that hung over hedge rows cast dark shadows along the pathway. The lights from the city barely penetrated these islands of silence. It was the perfect place for a secret meeting.
Or the perfect place to be murdered without a fuss.
Floresta stepped through the hedges, a blue light emanating from a ball of electricity rushing between his fingers. He fanned his hand in front of him like a torch as they proceeded deeper into the courtyard.
A shadow rose from a bench beneath a maple, and Floresta held his position. As a man stepped into the blue light, Vincent cocked his head for a better look. He was barrel-shaped, with thick forearms and a neck that rose from his meaty shoulders like the trunk of an oak tree. A bushy black mustache covered his lip, drooping at the sides. It gave his earthy countenance an air of mirth, though the man’s eyes were sharp, moving back and forth between them.
Floresta nodded. “Pockets.”
The man replied in a velvety baritone, “Heya, Sparks.”
Floresta released the electricity from his hand, gesturing to Vincent in the darkness. “Pockets Polizzi, this here’s Vincent Calendo.”
The man reached out with a bear paw of a hand, his mustache lifting in a grin. “Good to meet ya.”
Vincent shook his hand, bracing for a bone-crushing grip, but Polizzi shook Vincent’s hand with a quick, courteous toss.
“You, uh, you’re here to pull some shit with us?” he asked.
“I’m here to help,” Vincent replied.
“Is Maranzano in the city?” Floresta inquired.
“Yeah. Just got back last night.”
“We’ll need a meet. I know he won’t sign off on this until he meets Vincent.”
Polizzi shrugged. “Get in line. He’s already got a meet tomorrow.”
Floresta stiffened. “That a fact? With who?”
“Some broad from Baltimore. Here to drum up some muscle. Looks like Corbi’s got a problem coming his way.”
Floresta glanced to Vincent, who simply shrugged. He scowled for a second, then turned back to Polizzi. “A woman?”
“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking.” Polizzi chuckled. “But trust me. She’s got talent on her side. Anyways, I can see what we can do about getting you two together. He’s not a spring chicken no more, so he keeps these things short.”
Vincent nodded. “That’ll be fine. I suspect there—”
“What’s her name?” Floresta snapped.
“O’Toole,” Polizzi replied. “Brigid O’Toole.”
Floresta scowled turning to Vincent. “What do you know about this woman?”
Vincent shook his head. “Nothing. Never heard of her.”
“So, she’s lying about being from Baltimore,” Floresta pressed.
Polizzi lifted his chin. “Wait. You’re from Baltimore?”
Vincent said, “I am. I’m Corbi’s pincher.”
Polizzi frowned. “Well, if Corbi’s game to help Maranzano, then I’m brooming her off. Don’t want trouble if we can afford it.”
Vincent stepped forward. “I wouldn’t worry. Corbi’s not here to help Maranzano.” Floresta reached for Vincent’s arm, but Vincent pulled away. “Truth is, Corbi’s thrown in with Masseria.”
Polizzi stepped back.
Vincent continued, “Now if this dame’s what she says she is, then you’d do best to roll out the red carpet for her because Vito’s looking for an alliance with Masser
ia.”
“Then what’re you doing here?” Polizzi asked.
“I’m here because Corbi is weak. Why do you think he wants to shake hands with Masseria in the first place? If this jumped-up dame with a pincher or two has a shot at taking Corbi down, that oughta show you how severe the situation is.”
Polizzi chuckled. “I guess. She’s taking credit for offing O’Donnell. You know that?”
Floresta grumbled, “Bushwa. That was my man, here.”
Vincent stiffened as Floresta thumped his arm. Clearly Hattie had already taken enormous strides to set up her con with Maranzano. And here he and Floresta had nearly dismantled it. He had to keep her relevant and in the game.
“Actually,” Vincent muttered, “there’s a thing or two you don’t know about how that went down.”
Floresta scowled. “That a fact?”
“Truth is we were pinned down at Vito’s vineyard. They were pressing in hard, and I was damn near tapped out of magic. Then outta nowhere come these pinchers.” Vincent rolled the dice on how Hattie had sold her bill of goods to Polizzi. “They had this earth pincher with them. Shook the ground. Sent cars flying.”
Polizzi bobbed up and down on his feet. “Yessir! That’s the one!”
Floresta glared at Polizzi. “The one what?”
“That O’Toole broad had a pincher with her. Somewhere. Watching. I take it she’s the cautious type. Her pincher shook the whole city block. It was a thing to see.”
Vincent shrugged. “Vito’s got me so close these days, I can’t sniff around like I used to. I know there used to be a woman who was running Richmond. Maybe it’s the same one?”
Floresta cocked a brow at Polizzi. “Speaking of which, where’s your partner? I thought this was all hands on deck?”
Polizzi shook his head. “You know her, Sparks. No one can control her. She’s just as likely to blow this off as she is to make it.”
A woman’s voice slithered from behind Polizzi. “I figured I’d show up tonight.”
Vincent stiffened, stepping to the side to peer through the shadows at Maranzano’s second pincher. That voice. He knew that voice.
“Just had a waiter for dessert. He was…gifted.”
Finally she stepped close enough for Vincent to see. “Now. Who’s this pigeon you brought in for us, Sparks?”
