No One Rides For Free - Larry Beinhart (30 page)

"Maybe, " he said, "we could get
Charles Bronson to do it."

"Then there's Glenda's mother. Nobody can last
more than two or three days with her. There are some sacrifices I
just can't ask Glenda to make. But I don't want to bring her I and
Wayne back if it's not safe."

"That's true."

"This is the time when a guy needs a godfather."

"Oh yeah?" he said.

"There is really only one place to go. That I
can think I of. "

"Oh yeah?" he said.

"Yeah. You know what I'm talking about."

"No. What?" he asked, "What."

"I'm gonna call Uncle Vincent."

"It took you a long time to talk yourself into
that," he said.

"Oh yeah? When did you decide I should do it?"

"The same time you did," he replied. "As
soon as Whelan opened his big fucking mouth."

"Then why didn't you say something?" l

"Because that's the kind of thing you have to
decide for yourself."

I still wasn't ready to call him. I still wanted to
stall. I sat and sipped more coffee.

"What do you know about Vincent?" I asked
Joey. "I mean, I've heard rumors, but I don't know much for a
fact. Maybe I've avoided knowing."

"I know what you know. He's been named in some
hearings. His name has come up on some wiretaps. He's worth a lot of
money, very heavy bread. Construction mostly. If he's not a made guy,
he does a lot of business with them."

"When he and my father quarreled," I said,
"my father ended up in the hospital with high blood pressure.
Eventually, it was a stroke that killed him."

"
I didn't know that, about the hospital."

"You know what, Joey, even if the guy is a
fucking capo, he may not be able to do anything. The old Mob isn't
what it used to be. Nowadays, it's like the Communist Party; half the
dues-paying members are undercover cops and the other half are FBI
informants."

"You got someone else who can deal with this?"

"If it weren't for Glenda and Wayne . . ."

"Sure, Tony."

"I'm responsible for them. I mean we're not
married, but . . . but it's like family. I just don't like the guy
and what he stands for, Joey."

"
Tony, neither do I. But right now, you're lucky
he's family."
 

29
ROCKEFELLER
LOOKOUT

LIKE A BEGGAR
on
horseback, I rode out to the Englewood home of my Uncle Vincent in
the back of his limo. It had the bar, the television, the telephone,
the everything. Like Hencio deVega's Coupe de Ville, it had real
leather upholstery.

Uncle Vincent greeted me effusively at the door.

"You have never been to my home before, let me
show it to you," he said.

"Uncle Vincent, I don't mean to be rude, but we
need to talk."

"I understand," he replied, but sounded
disappointed.

"I can see, just from the outside, just from the
door, that it's a beautiful house." I tried to be gracious.

He led me, walking painfully, toward the back of the
house, to a lovely, light, airy room done in yellow and whites, with
high arched windows. It was a room that Glenda would love, or
Christina. The windows looked out on a long sloping lawn that ended
under the glow of three giant copper beeches. The fences on the sides
were covered with roses, white and yellow. The sun shone bright
though the windows.

When we sat down a middle-aged maid came out to the
sun room with a steaming fresh pot of espresso, a small decanter of
anisette, glass demitasse cups and a plate with garden-fresh tomatoes
and cucumbers in thin delicate slices.

"Telephones, nobody can use the telephone
anymore. Here I have a member of my own family, my brother's only
son, visiting me for the first time in twenty-five years. Twenty-five
years. The first visit, and for all I know there are federal agencies
making notes about it. "

It was a left-handed reprimand. A way of telling me
that I should not have told him my problems on the phone.

"Well, I wouldn't have mentioned it at all, I
would've let 'em come at me and taken my chances, if it weren't for
Glenda and Wayne," I told him, wondering if I were bragging. I
probably was, I decided. When I took the time to think about it, I
was scared shitless, for myself.

"Family feeling. That's good. Do you know, the
thing in my life for which I have the most regret is the quarrel with
my brother. He was my little brother, I never dreamed he would be the
first to go. Never. And now look at us, this stupid argument that
should never have happened, it follows us beyond the grave."

"I have a problem. Can you help me or not?"

"It is almost a good thing that this has
happened. Maybe it was meant to be. I do not believe that God has a
hand that reaches down and guides things, no, no, I don't believe
that. But sometimes . . . This has brought us together and given us
the opportunity to lay to rest the problems of the past."

"
Vincent, you promised to help me, no strings
attached."

"Tony, Antonio, he was my baby brother," he
said and it looked like there were tears in his eyes.

"Have some espresso, a sip of anisette," I
said, pouring for both of us.

We each had some, while he went through the motions
of recovering his self-possession.

"Look, Uncle Vincent, let's not play games. If
you can help me, great. If there's something you want in return,
let's get it out on the table and make whatever deal we gotta make up
front. Can we do that?"

"Am I a monster? You think I am a gangster, a
professional criminal. So you come to me and say, fix this thing.
Then you ask me what the price is, let's make a deal, as if you were
not my family."

"I did not mean to insult you," I lied.
"But if you can't help me with this, then you can't. I'll take
care of it somehow."

"In the course of doing business, I have dealt
with people like that. It is necessary. They control the unions, they
have influence with the government. I do not know what it is that
your father told you, but I am a businessman and nothing more. I am
not a criminal."

"He didn't tell me anything."

"
Your father was an idealist. He wanted to fight
the world. To clean it up and make everyone a saint. He didn't know
what he was, a priest or a communist. I loved him for that, I did.
But a business cannot be run that way."

"So you do business with some people who might
be able to help me, " I prompted.

"Yes, yes, I do. We will have to go see
somebody. If that is all right with you, if it will not stain your
soul."

"It won't be the first stain."

"Good, you understand that when you live in the
real world you must come to terms with the people in it. You
understand that, you are more of a realist than he was."

"When do we go see this guy?" I asked.

"Soon. We only have to wait a little longer, but
that gives us some time to talk."

"Yes, I guess it does."

"Do you ever think about settling down,
Antonio?"

"I sort of think I have."

"This so-called business of yours . . . what is
it? You live from hand to mouth. When something happens, you are
hurt, you die, who will care for the woman and the child? You are not
even married to her and the child is not yours. What is that about?"

What it was about was none of his business, most
emphatically because he was right and because I didn't know the
answers and didn't like to think about the questions.

"Do you know what I am worth? Do you?"

"No, Uncle Vincent, I don't."

"More than you have ever dreamed of. My cash
worth is five million dollars, without this house. All of it
legitimate. All of it clean."

"That's wonderful, very impressive."

"And what is it worth? My brother died before
me. My baby brother. He would have been my partner, except for that
stupid quarrel. Then you would have already inherited half of it. But
no. Now it is worth nothing to me. Who should I give it to? You?"

Normally I keep the wounds and resentments of not
having money buried deep. The wait for the subway after an
eighteen-hour day, too stinking and bone-weary to resent the people
pushing me around. The apartment that was too small for three people.
The one vacation in four years. The clothes I pretend to like.
Telling myself that there are other measures of a man's worth in a
world that doles out respect in direct ratio to cash and property.

The wonder and power of money. Ivy league for Wayne
if he wanted it. A permanent muscle relaxer for the sense of
financial tension that intermittently knotted Glenda's back. Getting
my adrenaline rushes from skiing or skin-diving, like a normal
person, instead getting oif by looking down the barrel of a gun. And
if it didn't buy me Christina Wood, I could rent or lease something
that looked a lot like her, because women like that always seemed to
end up alongside a major financial statement.

"I am going to die
soon. You are intelligent enough to run the business. I just don't
know if you are smart enough."

* * *

"Rockefeller Lookout" is not a political
slogan or a communist threat, it is a spot to pull off the Palisades
Parkway and look out from the high bluffs across the wide, wide river
to the construction industry s single greatest monument, Manhattan.
It's also a fine place to chat, relatively certain you will be
microphone-free.

"Do you know how blessed we are to be here? In
America?" Uncle Vincent said to the view.

"America, the greatest country in the world. We
are very lucky," added Michael Paley, a.k.a. Michael Pollazzio,
a.k.a. Mikey Fix.

Uncle Vincent had warned me, in very emphatic and
paternal tones, not to be a wise-ass with Mr. Paley. I didn't even
snicker.

"This is your nephew."

"Yes, a good boy. Smart," Vincent replied.

"You look like you coulda been a fighter. Ever
been in the ring, kid?"

"Just PAL when I was a kid."

"Yeah? Any good?"

"Yeah, if I was only quicker, a bit stronger,
had better hands and was a lot meaner, I might have been a fair
Italian middle-weight."

He laughed. "Hey, you seen that Boom-Boom
Mancini fight? A disappointment, but the kid had heart, a lotta
heart. You shoulda seen Marciano, wasn't one of these coloreds could
have taken him. Kids, they grow up these days with money, they grow
up soft .... How about you, you soft?"

"Compared to what?" I said.

"I hear you're pretty tough," he said.
"That's good. I like the way you took care of John Straightman's
problem. That was smart. Coming to your uncle with this problem. That
was smart too."

Vincent nodded sagely.

"Wel1, I know your Uncle Vincent from way, way
back. I know how much you mean to him. I'll put a stop to this thing,
as much as I can."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," he said, "that the
contract is canceled."

"That simple? If you want me to cover the five
grand, I can. I wouldn't want anyone to take a loss," I said.
And I could too, another three or four years without a vacation was
worth the price of my life.

Paley laughed again, this time longer and louder.
"Thanks for the offer, but I don't need that kinda bread.
Besides, it's nonrefundable." Vincent chuckled with him. Even I
smiled. "Who wanted me hit?" I asked.

"That's something you're gonna have to figure
out. But that should be easy, detective. "

"Mr. Paley, if I don't know, what's to stop the
guy from trying again, through some other avenue?"

"Nothing," he said.

"And you don't feel like telling me who? How
about it, Uncle Vince?"

"Tony, I would tell you if I knew," Paley
said. "This came to us from the coloreds, and I don't know if
it's their thing, or someone asked them. And it's not like I can go
have a chat with Ricky Sams in his maximum-security cell down in Fort
Hamilton with the U.S. Army all around him."

"If you can't talk to him, how did you get
involved?"

"He can get messages out. Some kinda letter
code, to communicate with his people. But it's mostly a one-way
thing. You understand?"

"Yeah."

"Me and your uncle, we're gonna be watching you
close on this one. You handle it right, you can go a long way."

"Terrific," I said.

"Hey, hey, kid. Nothing like that. Don't get the
wrong idea. I'm talking strictly legit. I got lots of things need
security contracts. Construction sites, shopping centers, factories.
I got union work. All kinds of stuff. It's not easy to find good
people no more. Smart, tough. Too many of the kids have gone soft."