Sicilian Defense (10 page)

“They wanted fifty. I told them I liked my partner, but not that much …”

“What happened?”

“I
hondled
with them. I told them I only had fifteen. Give us forty, they said. Twenty. Thirty-five. I finally told them: look, if my arms fall off, not another penny—even if they kill him and me together, not another penny more than twenty-five. They took it.”

“How long did they let you
hondle
?” asked Tony, putting down his coffee.

“They were anxious, but not so anxious that they'd blow the money. It took a couple days,” said Handleman.

“Were they tough? What was your impression?”

“They killed my partner—I guess they were tough enough for that, no?”

Tony studied the little man. “How many of them were there?”

“I only spoke to one, the same one all the time. A real
schwarze
voice, too. He was hungry for the money, believe me. When it came to the payoff I didn't see them, so I couldn't tell you how many.”

“You deal with niggers—are any of them hustling numbers for you?” Tony pressed.

“Yeah. We work Harlem, 135th-155th. You got to have
schwarzes
work for you there.”

“And you don't know who could be involved in this?”

“If it's any of our boys I don't know it—if I knew it'd be different.”

“How did they arrange to give your partner back?”

“When I got the money together, they called me again. I didn't know where from. I told them I wanted to speak to Mike. They said okay and I spoke to him last night, at about twelve. At least I
thought
I spoke to him.”

“He was already croaked by then,” said Tony.

Handleman nodded. “They must have played a recording so I'd give them the dough.”

“And you have no idea who they can be?”

“If I knew, would I be sitting here while they spend my money? I mean, we got our boys too—especially when they sell me a dead body. All I can tell you is they knew us—they knew the operation. But exactly who they are, I haven't any idea. If you find out, let me know; maybe I can get a little satisfaction for my twenty-five thousand.”

“I'll let you know,” said Tony. “Where did you make the payoff?”

“At the Cloisters—that museum on the hill,” he said, seeing Tony's frown. “There's an old castle up there. They told me to come up the main road so they'd see if anyone was with me. Halfway up, this
schwarze
comes out of the dark and puts his hand up like a traffic cop. Only he's got a black mask like the Lone Ranger. There he was, the black Lone Ranger. So, I stop. He takes the money. Tells me to keep going up the road while they count the money, and if it's all there my partner will be standing in the road when I come back down. I go up, I come down—but there's no one there, no
schwarze
, no partner, nothing.
Drek
. Do you understand
drek
?”

“I know
drek:
shit,” said Tony flatly.

“You got a
yiddishe kopf
.”

“I've got an Italian head,” Tony said. “You didn't recognize anyone? You can't tell me anything else, not even what kind of car they had?”

“What can I tell you? A
schwarze
Lone Ranger comes out of the dark and disappears and that's all I know. Except the son of a bitch killed my partner and kept my twenty-five thousand.”

7:30 P.M.

Gianni sat at the desk in the garage office, smoking a cigarette. Frankie the Pig sat next to him. The other men were ranged about the small office, listening and smoking, leaning against the walls and counters.

“All right, let's see what we have,” Gianni said. “So far, we know there's been one kidnaping and one almost-kidnaping where they were paid off for Gugi's grandson without having to snatch anyone. And we know colored men were involved in both incidents. We also know both victims had something to do with the rackets in Harlem or the black sections of the Bronx. But that's about all we know—not much to go on.”

“Except that they must be real shit,” said Frankie the Pig. “They don't respect anything, even little kids. They'd kill Sal as soon as look at him.” He gazed back at Gianni. “When these guys call tonight, what are we going to do?”

“Talk to them. See what's on their minds. See how much they want.”

“We better give them what they want,” said Frankie the Pig. “These crazy bastards'll get tired of keeping Sal alive, and they'll croak him.”

“Not too fast,” said Gianni. “They'll only think about killing Sal after they're sure we're going to come through with the money. But we're not going to take a recording—we'll need real proof that Sal is alive, and that he's still alive at the payoff. That'll take time to arrange, and it gives us more time to track them down.”

“How can we make them give us proof?” asked Tony.

“We'll have to figure that out,” Gianni replied.

“I'm for making the deal as soon as we can—tonight. Let's not chance it,” said Frankie the Pig. “Let's arrange the payoff someplace we can get to first and rig it out so we grab these
tutzone
bastards.”

“I realize we're not dealing with Einsteins,” said Gianni, “but they're not going to get suckered into a trap.”

“Let's do it fast,” said Gus. “Let's try and grab them.”

“Yeah, let's get them,” Bobby Matteawan hissed.

Gianni shook his head. “We have to assume they're not going to let themselves be trapped. We have to figure it their way and beat them at their own game. If we force it, they may kill Sal.”

Frankie the Pig frowned. “What are we going to do?” he said, “let them make suckers out of us?” He looked around.

“I'm not worrying about us right now—only about Sal,” Gianni shot back. He looked directly into Frankie the Pig's eyes.

Frankie the Pig nodded.

“Now, how much money do we have?” asked Gianni.

“We can put together about twenty without any problem,” said Frankie the Pig.

“What will you do with that, give them a down payment?”

“What do you mean?”

“You think they'll let you get away that easy when they got twenty-five for some nickel-and-dime hood uptown, and fifty from a broken-down hobo in the Bronx?”

“That's what we've got and if they don't like it, they can fuck themselves,” said Frankie the Pig quickly.

Gianni kept silent. He puffed his cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke. It lofted up, drifting toward the wall and a calendar picturing a naked girl. The smoke bounced off the calendar softly.

“And that's the final word?” Gianni asked them. “Anything over 20,000 and they can fuck themselves? And Sal?”

The others looked around.

Tony's thin lips pursed, his eyes hot with anger. “If a creep junkie in the Bronx can pay fifty thousand, what are we, pikers?”

“He wasn't a junkie; he was a dealer,” said Gus.

“It's all the same shit to me,” said Tony. “Well?” He glared at them in turn, his steely eyes resting on Frankie the Pig.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” said Frankie.

“Why do you think? You're second man here—what are you boss of, a bunch of pikers?”

Frankie the Pig's jaw muscles flexed. He turned to Gianni. “How much do you figure?”

“Maybe seventy-five.”

“
Seventy-five
? How the hell are we going to come up with that?”

“You mean Sal's not worth it?” said Joey. “Haven't we all made bread for our kids' mouths with Sal? Hasn't he always been a stand-up guy? We're talking about his life, not
a boost
for his daughter's wedding.”

“Sure he's worth it,” said Gus, “but it's still a lot of dough to come up with just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“We've all got our boys in the street,” said Tony; “everybody'll have to dig in. And we've got plenty of other people who owe us—let them kick in too. We're always there when they need something.”

“We don't need any charity,” said Frankie the Pig.

“What charity?” said Tony. “It's our money—we'll get it back in circulation as soon as we get Sal back.”

“That's the idea,” said Gianni. “Sal's men won't let him down. Certainly I won't let him down. Get everybody who owes you money and have them collect in advance, Frankie—make them come up with it right now.”

“Okay. We'll get all the money we need. Otherwise there'll be some broken heads. Now listen,” Frankie said. “Get everybody out there working. We'll take care of the big bosses ourselves; let your boys talk to everybody in the street.

“Okay?” he asked, looking at Gianni.

Gianni nodded. “Once we have that solved, at least we'll know we can make whatever ransom they ask.”

“But we're not going to stand still and be taken like suckers,” said Tony.

“Of course not,” said Gianni. “But right now they have a little edge on us, don't you think? We'll bargain with them. But if they put their foot down at some point we'll have to play it like suckers, or we're going to find Sal thrown in front of the restaurant.”

Their eyes showed they were thinking of the night before.

“We can't get it all together tonight, Gianni,” said Frankie the Pig.

“Of course not,” said Gianni. “I don't even want you to. The fact that we have to collect it gives us some time to maneuver and try to locate them meanwhile.”

“When we find them, when we find them …” said Frankie, opening his palms, starting to work up steam.

“Relax, Frankie,” said Gianni. “We have work to do.”

“Well how are we going to find them? You said yourself we have nothing to go on.”

“We haven't
much
to go on,” said Gianni. “We know they must be connected with narcotics or numbers. And they know the setup of a couple of mobs—they knew who'd have money and how to get at them. If we had time we could trace every contact of the people they kidnaped—their suppliers, messengers, runners, customers—and that's where we'd find them.”

Tony nodded. “Let's go out and do it. Let's get all those people in here.”

“We don't have that much time,” said Gianni. “We'll have to do it later. Don't worry—We're narrowing the gap on them right this minute; we just have to keep working at it.”

The garage door opened. It was Angie the Kid, his collar up around his ears, his hat brim pulled down tight. He shook the rain off himself.

“Did you find anything?” asked Gianni.

“Did I! I found that guy in the Bronx that was kidnaped. They took him to an apartment and kept him two days, then let him go after his people paid thirty-five thousand.”

“They kept him two days?” asked Gianni.

“Yeah,” replied Angie the Kid, excited at his own discovery.

“Colored men?”

“Right.”

“Does he know where he was kept?”

“Somewhere in Queens, he figures,” replied Angie, billowing with pride.

“Where is he—did you bring him back with you?”

Angie the Kid gaped at Gianni, his pride subsiding. “No.”

“Why not, you dummy,” said Frankie the Pig.

“Take it easy, Frankie,” said Gianni, “Angie's done fine. He's gotten us closer to this than anyone else. Angie, jump in your car. Go get this man and bring him back as soon as you can. Gus, go with him.”

“Sure, Gianni, sure,” said Angie the Kid. “I'm sorry. I didn't think we'd want him around.”

“You did well, Angie,” said Gianni. “Now go get him.”

“Okay, Gianni.” Angie the Kid pulled his collar up around his ears and went outside again. Gus put on his coat and followed.

Frankie the Pig stared after them angrily.

“He's all right,” said Gianni; “just young. It'll be all right. Besides, we have thinking to do now.”

The phone rang. They looked at it. Gianni let it ring again before his hand went to the receiver.

“Hello?” said a woman's voice on the other end. “How late is your kitchen open tonight?”

Gianni shrugged. “Until about 9:30, madam.”

“Do you have
pasta fazool
on the menu tonight?”

“If we don't we'll make it specially for you.”

Bobby Matteawan began to laugh. Frankie turned; Bobby quieted, glaring back at him.

“How come someone called the booth instead of the listed phone in back?” asked Tony.

“Because Mike has both numbers on his matches,” said Frankie the Pig.

The phone rang again.

“If it's a customer tell him we're closed,” said Bobby Matteawan.

“Hello,” said Gianni.

“We called last night about Sal. Is Frankie the Pig there?” said the voice on the other end.

“I've been waiting for your call,” said Gianni. “Frankie asked me to talk to you.”

“Who are you, man?”

“I'm the one you want to talk to.”

“I want to talk to the man in charge,” said the voice.

“Then start talking,” said Gianni.

“Okay, man, I'll talk business. The business is Sal. You know Sal?”

“I know Sal. What about him?”

“Who are you, man? I mean, I don't want to waste my time with just nobody.”

“I'm the one you want to talk to, so talk. If we've got business, let's do it.” Gianni was cold and precise.

“We want a hundred thousand,” said the voice.

“A hundred's a lot of money,” Gianni said, so the others would know.

Frankie the Pig stood suddenly, his face twitching with anger. He reached out for the phone.

Gianni rose quickly, his eyes burning into Frankie's face. He put his hand over the receiver: “
Sit down, or I swear you'll never walk out of this place alive
.”