Sicilian Defense (7 page)

“Are you in some fashion disparaging the members of this committee?” Stern asked coldly.

“I hadn't intended to,” Sandro answered. “I was referring to other witnesses. However, if any of the committee members happen to be publicity-hungry, unfortunately it refers to them too.”

“All right, I'll not fence with you, Mr. Luca. No photographs will be taken while the witness is in this room. Let's get on with the questioning. Will you rise to be sworn, Mr. Aquilino.”

Gianni rose. He raised his right hand, placed his left upon a Bible, and swore to tell the truth. He sat again.

“Before we begin, Your Honor,” said Sandro, “as I read the applicable statutes regulating these proceedings, when testimony is taken at a closed session—that is, one not open to the public—there can be no dissemination to the public of any matters taking place during the proceedings, unless an order permitting such dissemination has been voted upon by a majority of the committee. This proceeding is a closed session—and yet I note the presence of many newsmen here. Such dissemination would be in violation of law, and even this committee would be guilty of a misdemeanor if it permitted dissemination of matters now transpiring before it, unless such an order exists. I must ask to see such order or ask you to remove all newsmen and other persons not members of the committee from this auditorium.”

“This is not a closed session, Mr. Luca,” replied Stern. “The newsmen may stay.” The committee studied Sandro.

“It
is
a closed session, sir,” Sandro said; “I note that the doors are closed, and your committee assistants are not allowing members of the public other than police or newsmen through that door. A sign on the door indicates, Executive Session—this
is
a closed session.”

Stern studied Sandro, then the doors at the rear. “Well then, I'll open the doors and you can invite in anyone you wish. The closed doors were merely a precaution to protect the previous witness.”

“Since the previous witness' identity is well known,” said Sandro, “and only newsmen and policemen were permitted in here, the black mask seems to have been more melodrama than protection. Moreover, Senator, I'm not interested in inviting anyone to this proceeding. I merely wish to have the letter of the law obeyed, as, I am sure, do you. I wouldn't want any member of this honorable commission to be guilty of a misdemeanor.”

Stern's face creased. “I might retain you—you'd have another client.”

“I'd be delighted, sir.”

“Open the doors and let's proceed,” Stern instructed. The assistants opened the doors. Scanlon was grinning.

“Mr. Aquilino,” Stern said, “before we proceed, two exhibits are being placed on your table. One is the picture of a person; that is Exhibit One. The other, of a house, is Exhibit Two. Now, what is your name?”

“Gianni Aquilino.”

“Where do you reside?”

“Chickapea Road, Pawling, New York.”

“Will you please look at Exhibit One. Who is that pictured there?”

Gianni was looking at a picture of himself as a younger man. “I respectfully decline to answer on the ground of my absolute constitutional right to do so.”

“Is it not a picture of yourself, Mr. Aquilino?”

“I respectfully decline to answer on the ground of my absolute constitutional right to do so.”

“You're not ashamed of your own picture, are you, Mr. Aquilino?”

“I respectfully decline to answer on the ground of my absolute constitutional right to do so.”

“Would you look at Exhibit Number Two, sir.”

Gianni was looking at a picture of a sunlit house, surrounded by huge shade trees. He leaned over to Sandro. “This isn't my house—it's a house about a mile from mine.”

“You don't have to repeat the same thing over and over,” Sandro said, “just say, ‘same answer.'”

“Is that your home, Mr. Aquilino?”

“Same answer.”

Stern's eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you also ashamed of your own house?”

“Same answer,” replied Gianni calmly. He leaned over to Sandro again. “You know, it takes a little twit like that to try to belittle people. I'd really like to take the bastard on.”

“Don't get angry,” Sandro said softly. “That's exactly what he wants you to do.”

“Hell will freeze first,” said Gianni. He sat back, calmly awaiting the next question.

“Are you a member of what is known as the Cosa Nostra?”

“Same answer.”

“Are you a member of the family of Sal Angeletti, formerly the family of Vito Giordano, formerly your own family, you now being the
consigliere
of that family?”

The newsmen were copying every question, just as Stern wanted them to.

“Same answer.”

“What answer is that, Mr. Aquilino?”

“Same answer,” Gianni said coolly.

“I asked you to which answer you were referring, Mr. Aquilino?”

“Same answer.”

Stern's complexion flushed slightly with anger. Gianni saw it and felt somewhat pleased to be having some fun too.

“Are you also known, sir, as the Silver Eagle?”

“Same answer.”

“And you have also been known as Johnny Quill?”

“Same answer.”

“And in a book by Joseph A. Lockwood, known as
Valachi Speaks
, on page 276 it says that Gianni Aquilino, also known as the Silver Eagle, has been arrested three times, was convicted only once of illegal possession of a weapon, is now the
consigliere
of Sal Angeletti's family, and in semiretirement from the Cosa Nostra. In 1959, an attempted execution of Aquilino took place in the lobby of his plush apartment building, after which Aquilino stepped down as the head of the family now headed by Sal Angeletti. Although retired, he is still an important and very active force in the Cosa Nostra. Is that true?”

Before Gianni had a chance to say anything, Sandro reached for the microphone. “Are you asking, Sir, whether it is true that Joseph A. Lockwood wrote the book, or whether it is true that the book is called
Valachi Speaks
, or whether it is true that such statement appears on page 276?”

“I want to know if the facts stated therein are correct,” Stern said impatiently.

“Same answer,” said Gianni.

“Are you retired from the Cosa Nostra, Mr. Aquilino?”

“I object to the question,” Sandro cut in, “since you have not first established that the witness has ever been a member of such an organization—or even that such an organization exists.”

“Assuming, Mr. Aquilino,” said one of the other members of the committee, seated to Stern's left, “that you had been a member of this organization, are you now retired?”

“The assumption is improper and totally meaningless, Your Honor,” said Sandro.

“The witness may answer it.”

“Same answer.”

“Mr. Aquilino, if we continue to ask you questions, are you going to continue to give the same answer?” Stern realized with a slight wince that he had repeated Gianni's own words.

“Same answer.”

“You will not answer any questions?”

“Same answer.”

“We'll adjourn this witness at this time, until the committee decides whether or not it wishes to grant Mr. Aquilino immunity. If immunity is granted, Mr. Aquilino, you know of course that you will be bound to testify or face being held in contempt, with a possible jail sentence?”

“Same answer.”

“Mr. Luca, will you kindly advise your client of the implications of our granting immunity.”

“Yes sir, I shall.”

“Adjourned until February ll,” said Stern. “Return then.”

“That's two days from now. I need more time,” Gianni said to Sandro.

“Your Honor,” said Sandro, “I will need some additional time—”

“Thursday the eleventh,” Stern was pleased to command. “No delays.”

“Very well, sir,” said Sandro.

Gianni and Sandro made their way toward the rear doors, the reporters backing from the room before them. Gianni walked out calmly, putting on his overcoat.

“You don't have to be in the pictures if you don't want to, Sandro,” said Gianni. “It may be bad publicity for you.”

“I haven't done anything wrong either,” said Sandro.

Gianni smiled at him. They walked down the stairs amidst the flashing lights. Reporters thrust microphones in Gianni's face; movie cameras were whirring; voices and bodies surrounded them. Gianni kept smiling, moving silently through the crowd. They reached the cold air outside. It was still raining.

1:00 P.M.

Tony sat in the passenger seat as the car crossed Park Avenue at 125th Street in Harlem. Louie the Animal was driving. The cold rain was still fierce as they passed the big discount stores, the furniture stores, the pawnshops, the spare-rib counters, the bars, all with their windows battened.

“Well, at least they've got good weather for the splashdown,” said Tony.

“What the hell splashdown?” said Louie the Animal. “Hey, you stupid nigger!” he shouted as a woman dodged in front of them to catch a bus.

“The men on the moon,” said Tony. “Don't you read the papers?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. I forgot,” said Louie. “Do you think it had anything to do with the earthquake in California this morning?”

Tony glanced impatiently at him. “Of course not. They've been sliding into the ocean for years—people are crazy to live out there.”

“You know they've already pinched looters cleaning out houses of people who left because of the flood,” said Louie the Animal. He turned the car onto Lenox Avenue, heading uptown.

“Probably niggers,” Tony said, studying the street ahead. “Who else'd make a score on people running for their lives?”

Louie pulled up to the curb near 134th Street.

Tony opened his door. “Come on,” he said.

Louie the Animal looked at him. “Do I bring something with me?”

“Yes.”

Louie the Animal slid the .38 revolver from beneath the dashboard and stuck it under his belt. They got out of the car and started across the sidewalk.

“In all the time I've been coming here, this is the first time I've been inside with you,” said Louie the Animal.

Tony studied the street. Overhead was a huge neon sign, unlit now in midday:
THE KINGS INN
—
DINING-COCKTAIL-LOUNGE
. Louie the Animal opened the front door; Tony followed him in.

Inside it was almost as dark as night. The bar was long, sheathed in shiny red tufted vinyl, with mirrors behind the bottles. Toward the back was a dance floor, and many tables covered with red cloths.

The bartender was wiping the bar before setting a drink in front of an early customer. He looked up, hesitating just long enough to show apprehension; he saw the deadly earnestness on Tony's face. He glanced at Louie the Animal. The man the bartender was serving was very dark, almost the African blue-black, with bright piercing eyes. He examined the two white men. At the far end of the bar two other men were talking. They too stopped, studying the white men peering into the back. They resumed a subdued conversation, but were continually aware of the newcomers.

Tony ignored them, pulling Louie's sleeve and walking toward the back. He had learned early in life that in the street you never show fear or hesitation. Those emotions had smells all their own, and if someone caught scent of them you were already on the way down for the count.

The very dark man with the piercing eyes got off his stool and followed them slowly. Tony, who was casing the room as he walked, caught sight of him in the mirror along the bar. He watched the mirrored image's hands and kept walking. Big Diamond Walker was seated at his usual table with another man. The other tables were empty. He was large, rotund and dark-skinned, his graying hair neatly combed. He wore a well-fitting suit, and in the center of his tie a gold stickpin held a good-sized diamond. On the pinky of his right hand was a ring with an even bigger diamond. The man with him was medium dark and had a thin mustache. He wore a dark suit, dark gray shirt and white tie.

“Hello, Big,” said Tony.

“Hey, Tony,” said Big Diamond with a wide smile. “What are you doing here? Don't tell me I shortchanged you?” He too recognized the look on Tony's face but was playing it light.

“I've got some trouble I'd like to see you about,” said Tony.

Big Diamond looked at Louie the Animal, then again at Tony. “Say hello to Lloyd, Tony. I don't think you've ever met.”

Tony stepped forward and shook Lloyd's hand. It was powerful and he let you know it.

“This is Louie,” said Tony. Louie nodded.

“Come on—sit down, sit down,” said Big Diamond. He lit a long, fat cigar, turning to the dark-skinned man who had followed them from the bar. “Junior, go up front and tell Saul to bring us a bottle of Chivas.” As Junior hesitated, he said, “Go ahead, Junior, these people are our friends.”

“Wait outside, Louie,” said Tony.

Louie nodded and made his way toward the door.

Saul the bartender brought the bottle of Chivas and set down glasses with ice in them. He poured a drink into the half-full glass in front of Big Diamond and set the open bottle in the center of the table. “Come on, Saul, take care of Tony—I said friend, didn't I?”

Saul poured Tony a drink and freshened Lloyd's.

“And buy a drink for Louie at the bar,” said Big Diamond. “Good times,” he said to Tony, raising his glass.

Tony just nodded as he sipped his drink.

Big Diamond put down his glass and puffed his cigar. “I'm sure this isn't a social call, Tony. What's up? How can I help?”

Tony studied Lloyd, then looked to Big Diamond.

“Lloyd's my main man, Tony. He's my main man,” said Big Diamond, putting his arm on Lloyd's shoulder. “You talk to me, you talk to Lloyd, it's just the same.”