Bloodline (66 page)

“Yes,” Sofia said.

“Deliver the message.”

*   *   *

T
HE PEACE CONFERENCE WAS HELD
in Mangini’s Restaurant, which was closed for the occasion. Crosby Street outside the restaurant was lined with cars, and the sidewalks were lined with men who made no attempt to conceal the fact that they were all carrying weapons.

Wearing a champagne-colored silk suit and looking like a prosperous Florida banker, Maranzano arrived with only Nilo accompanying him. Representing the old Masseria interests were Luciano, Frank Costello, and Meyer Lansky.

Maranzano declined food. “Dinner is for dinner,” he said. “Meetings are for business.” The business lasted only thirty minutes. It was agreed that every gang leader in the city would keep what he already had and that infringing on another’s territory or business would not be tolerated. The inevitable problems that would arise would be resolved by discussion between Maranzano and Luciano. Above all, the violence would end. Both Luciano and Maranzano would be responsible for the behavior of the men they represented. Buster from Chicago, in particular, would be called off.

“There are too many people in this city already investigating too many things,” Maranzano said. “What we cannot tolerate is a situation like Chicago, where that crazy fat man is shooting up the streets and calling everybody’s attention to his business. Mark my words, it will bring him down and it will happen soon. We should profit from his mistakes and get on with our lives in as quiet and reasonable a manner as possible.”

And the structure of the new crime organization? How would it be managed? Lansky wondered.

“I have some ideas about that,” Maranzano said, “but I would like to think about them further. We will talk about it again. Soon.”

Throughout the entire meeting, Nilo said not a word. When the business was done, Maranzano again declined dinner, although he did join the rest in a ceremonial glass of wine and made a toast “to the great tomorrow which awaits us all.”

Then, with Nilo in tow, he left. A few minutes later, his caravan of cars, filled with bodyguards and gunmen, raced down the street.

Back in Mangini’s, Luciano looked at Lansky and Costello.

“So?” he said.

Noncommittal as usual, Costello shrugged.

Lansky said, “He’ll have to go, too.”

*   *   *

I
N THE CAR SPEEDING BACK UPTOWN,
Nilo said, “Should I send Buster back to Chicago?”

Maranzano shook his head. “Pay him to stay around. But tell him we have no more work for him. At least for now. And keep in touch with your friend, the crazy dog.” It took Nilo a moment to realize that Maranzano meant Mad Dog Coll, gangdom’s most demented killer.

*   *   *

S
OFIA PRESSED
N
ILO
to tell her what had happened at the peace conference, and he repeated the details of the agreement between Luciano and Maranzano as if reading a shopping list. When he was done and started to turn away, Sofia grabbed his arm.

“What did they mean by this agreement?”

“They meant what they said. Isn’t it clear?”

“No, it isn’t. How did they act? Did you believe both were telling the truth?”

“Why would they lie?”

“No reason, I guess.” Sofia fixed a broad smile on her face. “Oh, Nilo, it’s wonderful news. Peace. And soon you will be boss.”

Nilo did not seem excited. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I was just thinking I’ve come a long way from Sicily. I wonder what my father would think of me now. I wonder what he would think if he knew I am considering treachery against Don Salvatore.”

Sofia laughed.

“What about my father is so funny?” Nilo asked through gritted teeth.

“Sit down, Nilo. There’s something you ought to know.”

Nilo sat reluctantly, perched on the edge of the sofa as if ready to run off.

“Your mother told me when I visited her,” Sofia said. “When she was young, she was wronged by a young thug from the village. She went for justice to Don Salvatore. Three months later, when everyone had forgotten the incident, he had the young man killed. But when your mother came to Maranzano to thank him, he treated her no differently than the thug had. She became pregnant with you, and Maranzano arranged her marriage to the man you always believed was your father. But you are Don Salvatore’s son. The product of his rape.”

Nilo fell back onto the couch and closed his eyes.

“Have you nothing to say? Or do you doubt me?”

“No,” Nilo said softly, his eyes still closed. “It explains why he has always taken such an interest in me, even when there was no reason for it.”

“You always thought it was his love for you. But it isn’t. It is his guilt that drives him. Guilt because he treated your mother like a
puta.
And there is only one thing a son can do about that. That is why you can’t turn back. Seize the power. That glorious power.”

He turned his thick-lashed eyes toward hers. “You want it so much, I wish sometimes I could give it to you.”

“So do I,” Sofia said.

• Joe the Boss lay in state in a funeral home in Little Italy for three days. His body was brought to the ceremony in a cortege of forty Cadillacs and he was buried in a fifteen-thousand-dollar coffin. Among the mourners at graveside was his close friend and associate Lucky Luciano.

• If Al Capone thought his brief voluntary exile in a Pennsylvania jail would take off the police heat in Chicago, he had guessed wrong. He had returned to find a city crawling with federal law-enforcement agents. Soon after Masseria’s death, Capone was indicted on five thousand counts of tax evasion and bootlegging.

*   *   *

A
T THE END OF
M
AY,
gang members all over New York received telephone invitations from Salvatore Maranzano to attend a meeting. Each thought he was going to a small, private conference with Don Salvatore, but as they showed up at a sprawling hall on Washington Avenue in the Bronx, they realized that five hundred men were attending the meeting.

Each man was charged six dollars at the door as a donation. For their money, they received a cardboard container of coffee, a sandwich wrapped in wax paper, and a hard-back chair facing a raised platform at the end of the room on which a large chair, resembling a throne, had been placed. Behind the chair, a huge cross was hanging on the wall.

As they took seats, Luciano said to Adonis, “What is this silly bastard up to now?”

Meyer Lansky looked at the ham sandwich he had been given and said, “For six bucks, I would have thought we’d get chicken.”

At nine o’clock every one of the five hundred seats was filled and Maranzano stepped out onto the stage, escorted by Nilo, who helped him into the throne chair and went to take a seat by the side of the stage. Maranzano was wearing a dark gray suit with a silver watch chain dangling across his vest. As he sat in the throne chair, he waved ceremoniously to the nervous crowd.

“He’s running for pope,” Lansky mumbled.

Slowly the crowd quieted and Maranzano rose. He said a prayer in Latin and gave a florid greeting in Italian. And then in English he said:

“The past is over. We must look to the future. We start tonight.

“We are a great army, but even the greatest army can fail if it has not discipline. We will have such discipline.”

Looking around the room, Maranzano said that Joe Masseria had been a traitor to his own people, extorting money from Italians everywhere and allowing his underlings to run wild, “stealing and looting and killing, without regard for the rights of others.”

“That was Joe Masseria’s thing. This thing of ours—La Cosa Nostra
—
will be different. From now on, everything in this city will be run by five families. Each family will have a boss, a
capo.
Call him a general. Each boss will have an underboss; he will be like a major. And under the majors will be
caporegimes,
lieutenants, and under the
caporegimes
will be groups of ten soldiers.

“You ask, why this system? Because it was the system of Julius Caesar and his triumphant armies. As the children of Julius Caesar, this system will work for us, too, and it will make La Cosa Nostra triumphant also.”

He paced back and forth along the stage.

“As I call out these names, please stand. Joe Profaci. Albert Anastasia. Thomas Gagliano. Joe Bonanno. Charlie Luciano.”

As Luciano rose to his feet, Lansky whispered, “He’s gonna give you your high school diploma.”

“Look at them,” Maranzano commanded. “These are the leaders of the five families of New York. These are the bosses and each of you will be in one of their families.” He looked around again and then said, “You may all sit.

“These five bosses will meet together to plan for the future. They are the generals of our army. You will know them, but all you soldiers, you will never go to your boss without first getting permission of your immediate superior, your
caporegime.
You will be punished for infractions of that rule.

“There are other rules too that may not be broken. You may not violate another member’s wife. You may not talk about La Cosa Nostra. You may not speak of this to your wives. You may not disobey an order from your superior. For violating these rules, the penalty will be death. Ours will be a disciplined army.

“And I will be here to oversee this discipline, because I will be your
capo de tutti capi,
your boss of bosses.”

Maranzano spoke for an hour, outlining the rules that he predicted would bring order and peace to New York’s warring underworld. Finally, he sat back down in the throne chair.

As he did, he said, “Whatever happened in the past is over. We have all suffered terribly, but there is to be no more ill feeling among us. From today on, our only business is business and our only goal is to make each of you rich beyond your wildest dreams. Even if you lost someone in this awful war, it is time to move on. You must forgive and forget. If you seek revenge, you will pay with your life.” He looked around sternly, then said: “Now go in peace.”

The American Mafia was dead; the Cosa Nostra had been born.

*   *   *

N
ILO COULD SENSE
Maranzano’s excitement as they drove back to Manhattan in his limousine, preceded and followed by two cars filled with armed bodyguards.

This may be peace, but he’s sure taking no chances,
Nilo thought.

“You’re very quiet, Nilo. What did you think of the evening?” asked Maranzano.

“I thought it was fine,” Nilo said

“I think the peace will hold for a while,” Maranzano said.

“Just for a while?”

“There are always people with ambitions. For a while, they will be kept busy trying to put together the structure of La Cosa Nostra. After they do that, then they will start scheming again. No organization, no matter how intelligent, can overrule human nature. But that’s not what is on your mind. What is it? Nilo, of all people, you can talk to me.”

“All right, Don Salvatore. You named five to head families. But what of me? What is my role in this new organization?”

“You have none,” Maranzano said. When he saw Nilo’s shocked expression, he said, “You are not Nilo Sesta anymore, remember. You are Danny Neill. I have created this organization for today and for tomorrow. But you are the day after tomorrow. When this country rises up against what those men there tonight represent—and yes, me also—it will all come tumbling down. But people like Danny Neill, secure in honest, legitimate businesses, will go on, rich and powerful and respected, while the rest rot in prison.”

He put his arm around Nilo’s shoulder. “You should not be surprised at this. I have told you so many times, even while I have been discouraging you from your youthful craziness, like that foolish business with that animal from the garment union.”

“You do me too much honor.”

“Should I do less for…” He barked to the driver, “Pull over.” When the driver complied, Maranzano told him, “Go for a walk. We wish to talk privately.”

Nilo saw the trailing car of bodyguards had pulled up behind them. The car in front had also stopped and was now backing up on the road shoulder to take its position in front of Maranzano’s limousine.

When the driver walked away and lit a cigarette, Maranzano said, “Nilo, we must stop having secrets. I received a letter from your mother. She told me about Sofia’s visit and that she told your wife the truth about you. That…” He hesitated.

“That I am your son?” Nilo said.

Maranzano nodded. “It was one of those things that men do, of which I am not proud, but I feel for you like a true son. That is why I want you to do business and not crime. I feel sorry that sometimes I must even ask you to meet with people at your club, but it cannot be helped. It is the only place we have where someone can walk in and be seen and no eyebrow will be raised.” He leaned back in the seat. “And now we’ll talk no more about this. It would not be wise to let anyone know that you are my blood. I am pleased you have gone all this long without even mentioning it.”

“I only found out from Sofia a month ago,” Nilo said, thinking,
This man just admitted raping my mother
.

“And Sofia kept it secret all this time,” Maranzano said. “An interesting woman.”

“Yes,” Nilo agreed. Maranzano signaled the driver to return, and the caravan continued back to New York.

• His brain already showing the ravages of the syphilis that would eventually kill him, Al Capone offered the federal government four hundred thousand dollars to drop the tax charges against him. When U.S. attorneys declined, he appeared before Federal Judge James H. Wilkerson in Chicago on June 16, 1931, and pleaded guilty to all the federal charges against him. But a week later, his lawyers withdrew the plea. Capone would take his chances with a jury.

• In New York City, the gangland ceasefire seemed to be holding. But in his office, Maranzano got word that Louis “Lepke” Buchalter was expanding his union extortion racket into the poultry and motion picture businesses. Don Salvatore knew that Lepke would not have made such a provocative move without the approval of the ambitious Luciano. Maranzano sat at his desk and drew up a list of names.