Sicilian Defense (4 page)

Gianni nodded, pursing his mouth.

“We need your help, Gianni. We all sat down and agreed on it. Frankie the Pig, too. Sal needs you.”

“What can I do?”

“Take charge. Help us figure it out. I mean, we haven't a clue. We don't even know where to begin.”

“Tell the others to come in out of the cars,” Gianni said.

Philly the Splash smiled a craggy, gold-flecked smile and reached over and patted Gianni's arm. “That's why we need you, Gianni, because you're sharp.”

Philly the Splash signaled to Joey. Joey walked out to the street. In a few minutes the others entered. Frankie the Pig came in first. Gianni stayed seated. Frankie the Pig looked at the floor, then at the walls, as he walked along the tile floor to the back room. He looked directly at Gianni as he came close to him.

Gianni looked back steadily into the wide face of Frankie the Pig.

“Hello, Gianni,” said Frankie. He was subdued.

“Frankie.” Gianni was motionless.

The others watched.

Frankie the Pig extended his hand. “We've got to work together, so how about shaking,” he said. His hand could almost be heard gliding out, the room was so quiet.

Gianni looked from Frankie's face to the thick hamhock of a hand he offered.

“It's been a long time, Gianni. A lot of things have gone by.”

Gianni reached up slowly and grasped Frankie's hand. “Yes, it's been a long time.”

“This is Tony,” said Philly the Splash, relieved and pleased. Gianni nodded to him. “And this is Gus. You know Bobby Matteawan. And this is Angie the Kid.”

Angie the Kid almost tripped over his own feet as he moved forward so Gianni could see him.

“Okay, come on,” said Frankie the Pig. “Move the tables and chairs together so we can talk.”

The others began to lift upside-down chairs from the tops of the tables, where the sweeper had placed them.

“Things have changed a lot since then,” continued Frankie the Pig, sitting next to Gianni. “You know it was something that had to be done.”

“And when it was all over, everybody found out narcotics were bad news, and I was right,” Gianni said. “But that's ancient history. We have other things to do now.”

“Right.”

The men had taken seats and were watching Gianni and Frankie the Pig.

“Now, who are we dealing with?” asked Gianni. “Any ideas?”

“The only thing we know is that they're niggers,” said Frankie the Pig. “Somebody saw them drop this body in front of the door. And then the guy Tony spoke to on the phone was a
tutzone
.”

“Are you sure of that?” said Gianni.

“He was a nigger all right,” said Tony, his dark eyes unmoving. “When I find him, I'll make him turn white with what I do to him.”

“All right, we don't have time for that now,” said Gianni, looking at them all. “If we're going to accomplish anything, we've got to act constructively, and not worry about the revenge.”

“When we get them, I'm going to chop them into little pieces,” said Bobby Matteawan.

Gianni stilled Matteawan with his eyes. He turned back to Frankie the Pig. “They didn't ask for money, or say anything else?”

“Nothing. They just said they'd call tonight at eight. They wanted to speak to me.”

“They mentioned you by name?” asked Gianni. He nodded thoughtfully. “Where did they call you?” He lit another cigarette, offering his case to the others. Everyone had his own.

“At Mike's restaurant, the Two Steps Down Inn.”

“And they'll call there again tonight?”

“I suppose so—they just said they'd call.”

“How did they grab Sal?”

“On the way to the restaurant I guess,” said Joey. “He sent me on an errand, and said he'd meet me there. He never did.”

“They must have the place and everything else pretty well clocked,” said Gianni. “Anybody see any colored people hanging around?”

They shook their heads.

Gianni thought for a bit. “Do we know someone who works for the telephone company? An installer or a lineman?”

They looked at him blankly.

“Someone who installs phones,” Gianni repeated.

“I know one guy who lives on Mott Street, a couple of doors from my mother,” said Gus.

“Good. Now we have to find a place to put in an extension line so we can get the call without having to be in the restaurant,” said Gianni.

Frankie the Pig's eyes narrowed appreciatively. “How about the garage on Spring Street, right around the corner?”

“Do we know the people who own it?” asked Gianni.

“Sure,” said Tony. “That's where Joey and I sell the swag clothes.”

“Swag? We can't have anything to give the police an excuse to come in and arrest us,” Gianni said.

“It isn't really swag,” Tony explained. “The women love to buy clothes they think they're getting for a steal—you know what I mean? We used to have swag when we were kids. But for years now we've been going up to the garment center and buying this stuff—it's legit, but we can't tell our customers, because they wouldn't think they were getting such a steal.”

Gianni laughed. “But for as long as this takes, we can't have women coming in and out of the place.”

“That's easy,” said Tony. “We'll tell them we're out of stock—our boys got caught highjacking a truck. They'll get a thrill out of that. It'll be even better for business.”

“All right,” said Gianni. “Now Gus, you know this telephone man?”

“A little, Gianni. Not real well.”

“I want an extension line from Mike's phone booth installed in the garage. And have Mike put a sign inside his booth saying that it's out of order—I don't want anybody in a passing car to be able to see the sign.”

“Okay, I'll get the guy first thing in the morning,” said Gus.

“What do you mean, in the morning?” Frankie the Pig cut in. “Go and wake him up now. Tell him it's an emergency. It is, in case you don't know it.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Gus, tell him we need a favor and we'll appreciate it,” said Gianni. “We'll owe him a favor in return. Tell him we want it in before morning, if possible,” he added.

Gus left the restaurant.

“And we know nothing else about these people?” Gianni resumed.

“That's the problem,” said Frankie the Pig.

Gianni put his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands, staring straight ahead. “They must know something about you. They know the make-up of the group, who's the boss and underboss. They didn't find that out reading comic books. They must be on the in.”

“They might have gotten it from the newspapers, you know,” said Philly the Splash. “Or from one of those bullshit charts they put together for the hearings.”

“It's possible, I guess,” said Gianni. “But it doesn't figure that somebody'd just read papers and get the idea to do something like this. After all, they're dealing with death, or so they'd figure.”

“They sure are,” said Bobby Matteawan.

“It'd have to be some tough guys,” Gianni said. “Men with balls enough to come right into Mike's restaurant and get the number from the phone booth.”

“Right,” said Frankie the Pig. “Mike's regular number is listed, but not the booth number.”

“Someone had to come straight into the lion's den to get it,” Gianni continued. “No, they're not just people reading a newspaper.”

“Maybe they're runners or something like that,” said Tony, “working for somebody in the colored neighborhoods.”

“That's a direct hit, Tony,” said Gianni. “I was thinking somewhere in that area myself. How about Big Diamond Walker up in Harlem?” he asked Frankie the Pig.

“What about him?” Tony cut in. “He's one of my accounts.”

“He may be able to give us something on this,” said Gianni. “If not, he can get information faster than we could. Go up to Harlem and find him. Tell him what's what and see what he comes up with.”

“But if colored guys are involved in this thing, why would Big Diamond help us?” asked Joey. “He could be in on it himself.”

“He'll help because Big Diamond is an old-timer and rebels are enemies of all old-timers,” said Gianni. “I doubt he'd be in on this. Everybody always treated him square, helped him make plenty in Harlem. Why would he want to upset the apple cart? And if he did want to take over, why grab Sal Angeletti? Sal's only the money man. He'd grab a numbers man first. No, this smells like some punks trying to make a score. Big Diamond doesn't need a score. But just in case, Tony, go over and look right into his eyes.”

“I'll look, all right,” said Tony. “He won't fool me.”

“Take it easy, though, even if his eyes don't look good,” said Gianni, “remember, somebody still has Sal. We have plenty of time to get them later.” Gianni stared around the table. “Remember this: we want Sal back alive. Then we'll get whoever grabbed him and teach them a lesson.”

Gianni reflected silently on his own words. It suddenly dawned on him that he didn't want to kill anyone, or have anyone killed. He realized he was speaking only to placate the others and urge them on. But what lesson would he condone? Violence was not his game any longer.
I've really gotten soft
, he thought. He pushed it aside. For the moment the only important thing was to find Sal.

Tony stood up.

“Take a couple of boys along,” Gianni said.

“I don't need anybody just to go see a couple of niggers.”

Gianni gave him a stern look. “Big Diamond is our friend. Remember that. Our business now is to get Sal back. And this is only round one: we're still feeling things out.”

“Yeah, but remember how Tami Mauriello almost knocked Joe Louis on his ass when he came out fighting in the first round?” asked Bobby Matteawan.

“If we do that in this fight, the only prize we'll win is a dead Sal,” Gianni replied.

“Remember that, Tony,” said Frankie the Pig. “That's orders. Just go over and talk, and tell us what Big Diamond has to say, and what's in his eyes.”

“Okay.” Tony turned and walked out of the bar.

“There's another possibility besides the numbers,” Gianni said. “Narcotics.”

“What have we got to do with narcotics?” asked Frankie the Pig. “You know better than anyone that we don't fool around with that—we never did. And if any of our friends did and we found out, they know we'd be the first to kick them in the ass. It's that way all over town.”

“All the big arrests are South Americans,” said Gus. “Even the D.A. and the
Times
say the mobs aren't involved in that business.”

“But there
are
a few tough guys who deal in it on the sly,” said Gianni, “and they must have some pushers. Those pushers would have the knowledge and the balls to do this. We only have until eight o'clock tonight, and there's a lot of ground to cover. Let's start by going to see all the bosses in town—ask around, see what they've heard, just in case there's something in the wind.”

“The big narcotics dealers?” asked Frankie the Pig.

“No,” said Gianni, “I mean our friends. It's worth a shot. We don't have anything else to go on yet.”

“I thought we wanted to keep this among ourselves,” said Gus. “We don't want to let anyone else know—it's embarrassing.”

“You can stop being embarrassed right now,” said Gianni. “You did nothing wrong. It happens. The best people can be suckered out once in a while.” Gianni looked momentarily at Frankie the Pig. “Anyway, if there's something in the wind, our friends may know of it. And if it's something new, they'll want to know about it to protect themselves.”

“But it's late, Gianni,” said Frankie the Pig. “We can't wake up bosses.”

“Yes we can. This is important. Tell them I'm sending out word: I'm taking a special interest in this because it's Sal Angeletti. This time I'm putting myself on the line for Sal.”

The others studied Gianni with new respect.

“Frankie, do you have any money?” asked Gianni.

Frankie fished into his pocket.

“Not pocket money. Ransom money. If they took Sal because they had a revenge or contract, we're not going to get him back at all. But if they took him for money, then we better start getting it together.”

“You hear that?” Frankie the Pig asked the men around the table. “Start collecting money in the street, get it from people who owe us, people we take care of. All the money you can find. Tell them they'll get it back in a couple of weeks.”

“Don't say anything about Sal,” Gianni cautioned.

Gus picked up a newspaper from a nearby table and by habit turned to the horse page. “Look, here's a horse called Ransom running tomorrow, I mean tonight. Boy, that's a good shot.”

“I'll give you a good shot,” said Frankie the Pig. “Forget the horses, we've got work to do.”

“Sal'd tell you it's worth a C note.”

“Sal isn't going to the track or anyplace else unless we get him back.”

“Don't worry, he'll be back,” Gianni said. “He'll have to go to the track to win back all the ransom he's going to cost us.”

3:00 A.M.

Yank parked his white Barracuda at the curb on St. Nicholas Avenue and turned off the engine. The windshield wipers stopped in midcourse and immediately the windswept rain blurred the glass. Even inside the car he felt the cold; he should have had the heater fixed. At least when Nita was with him, that soft package of quiet delight would snuggle against him. Shit, he thought, one day his woman would ride around in a big-ass Cadillac with a big-ass heater, grooving on the stereo. He smiled bitterly. Soon, soon there would be a real change.

Yank got out of the car, locked it, and made his way toward 123rd Street. The lot on the corner still contained the butcher's refrigerated counter from which watermelon, peanuts and vegetables were sold in summer. But now in the cold and wet it was padlocked. Someone had painted
Off the Pig
in red on the white porcelain.