Sicilian Defense (11 page)

Gianni looked around. Tony jumped off the counter, his body tensed, waiting for the word. Frankie the Pig's hand stayed in midair.

“It ain't so much when you figure it's going to buy a friend's life,” said the voice. “That's the price.”

“It'll take time. I don't know how much we can put together,” said Gianni. “After all, this is the first we know of it. We're not in narcotics so we don't have a lot of cash around.”

“We know what you guys are into,” said the voice. “We know for too long. That's over now, baby. You can get the money. And you better get it. We'll call again tomorrow night. Same time, same place. Be ready to move.”

“We don't want back a dead man,” said Gianni. “We've got to be sure our man's alive.”

“You get the bread, you're not going to get a dead man. Cross us, and he'll be deader than dead. And don't think you can string this out. Tomorrow at eight.” The phone on the other end went dead.

8:45 P.M.

Lieutenant Schmidt pulled the earphones away from his ears and slipped them off his head. He looked at Quinn and Feigin. They were standing in the room, their listening post in P.S. 21.

“Well, we got a kidnaping all right,” said Schmidt.

Feigin wound the recorded tape back onto the spool. “But
who
kidnaped Sal?”

“The answer to that'll get you the cigar,” said Quinn.

“The only thing we know for sure is that Sal Angeletti was snatched by a jigaboo,” said Schmidt. “Other than that, we're in the dark.”

“You mean, in the darkie,” said Quinn. He lit the small stub of a cigar that he had been alternately chewing and smoking for the last hour.

“That's very cute,” said Schmidt. “If you were as clever as you're cute, maybe you could find out who's behind this.”

“What do you want us to do, Lou?” asked Feigin.

“We can try questioning those mugs down at the Two Steps Down Inn,” Quinn suggested.

“They'll clam up like nothing happened,” said Feigin.

“Not only that, we'll blow our cover to boot,” said Schmidt. “The minute we show up they'll figure out pretty fast that we have the restaurant tapped.” He thought a moment. “Still, it won't make any difference—they can't very well yank this wire or the colored guys won't be able to call them and they might get Sal killed.”

“That's right on target,” said Feigin.

“I wonder who's on this end of the phone. Either of you recognize his voice?” asked Schmidt.

Quinn shook his head.

Feigin finished installing a new tape in the recorder and put the voice tape in an envelope. “Must be Gianni Aquilino. Didn't Compagna's man Sonny call him today, asking about Matteawan?”

“That's right,” said Schmidt. “This is big now, with Aquilino and Compagna in it. We better stay close.”

“You want us to go down and pull them in, Lou?” asked Quinn.

“Not just yet. I don't want them to start covering their tracks until we have as much information as we can get. First thing I want is for one of you to call Central Intelligence and see if anything else like this has been happening around town. Sounds to me as if they've already made a couple of snatches. The guy fished out of the river this morning might have been one of them.”

“I'll get on that,” said Quinn.

“Jack, you call communications. Have them put a tap on Angeletti's phone.”

“We already got that, Lou.”

“Not at the joint; try one on his house. Maybe we can pick up something coming in or out of there.”

“I don't think the colored guys would be calling there,” said Quinn.

“I don't expect them to,” said Schmidt; “but we've got to follow the victim to get the collar.”

“And if we don't act fast, we'll have a murder on our hands,” said Feigin. “Either the jigs'll murder Sal, or these wops'll start shooting holes in everybody in sight.”

“All right. Let's get on it,” said Schmidt. “Tomorrow morning maybe we'll see what they're willing to tell us by themselves. When they wire Angeletti's apartment, Quinny, have the machine put in here with this one. If you need another, use the one in the office for the time being.”

“Okay, Lou.”

The three men left the room and the custodian let them out of the school.

10:00 P.M.

Angie the Kid and Gus entered the garage. With them was a thin man with a hooked nose and dark, close-set eyes.

“This is Carmelo Bianci,” said Angie, “the guy I told you about.” He was relieved now, his face showing the strain he had been enduring as he had gone to fetch him. Gus entered the office and stood to the side.

“Hello,” said Gianni, extending his hand.

Bianci looked at Gianni with eyes that remembered the old days. He stood stiffly, just staring. His hand reached out blindly.

“Sit down,” said Gianni.

Frankie the Pig rose and put out a chair for him directly in front of the desk. He studied Bianci. Angie the Kid leaned against the counter next to Gus.

“Just call me Mickey,” said Bianci, still standing.

“Okay, Mickey,” said Gianni, pointing him to the chair. “I understand you were kidnaped.”

“I sure was,” said Mickey, “by some
mulanyoms
. I'm telling you, they scared the shit out of me. Like I told Angie here, they come and grab me in the place where I hang out, you know?”

“We don't know, Mickey,” said Gianni. “What place is that?”

“I'm at this place, the Fireside, over in the Bronx. It's a bar. Not a bad joint.”

“Go on,” said Gianni.

“Well, like I said,” Mickey continued, smiling a little at them, “I hang out in this joint. I use it like an office.”

“What racket are you in?” asked Frankie the Pig.

“A little of everything,” he shrugged; “wherever I can earn.”

“Are you in drugs?” asked Gianni.

“Some. You know, a lot of guys—girls too, but I don't like to fool around with them—a lot of guys want the stuff. What the hell, you know?”

“You deal with coloreds?” asked Gianni.

“Sure, they buy it. They ain't got much money, though, except Friday and Saturday. But there's volume, so it makes up for it.”

Gianni studied Mickey silently. Frankie the Pig's face was streaked with displeasure.

“You know Gugi?” asked Gianni.

“Sure. He's in the same racket, but he's up further. I'm in the southeast Bronx and he's up around Boston Road.”

“You have any coloreds working for you?”

“Some, sure. Oh, I know what you're getting at—but I haven't come up with anything. I can't link it to nobody I know.”

“All right,” said Gianni. “Tell us about how you were snatched. What happened?”

“It was about a week ago, let's see,” he said, looking at the ceiling. “What's today?”

“Tuesday,” said Angie the Kid.

“Tuesday, right. Well, it was like Friday before last Tuesday. Ten days ago. I was in the joint, ready for a night's work. I was just hanging around. And some guy says there's a call on the phone. So I walk up to the booth, and there's this spook inside—I couldn't hardly even see him. I figured he was using the phone. But he turns to me, and he's got this knife, you know? I seen it shine. I didn't figure it was a snatch or anything. I thought maybe a heist for a bag—and I'd give the guy the bag if he wanted it that bad. So I move back, kind of, and I bunk into this guy standing right behind me. I just turned my head a bit, like this—” Mickey demonstrated.

“Go on,” said Gianni. Tony drifted in and stood opposite Angie the Kid and Gus.

“I didn't even hear this guy get behind me. But I turned my head, and it's another spook. So I know I got trouble now. The bartender's got a gun, at the bar, but he's further down, in the back of the joint. I'm thinking, maybe I'll call the barkeep for help, but then I figure this guy with the knife looks like he knows how to stick it in my gut.”

“What did he say?” Gianni said.

“I was mostly looking at the knife. But the guy behind me says, ‘Come outside.' The other guy moves the knife to my throat. I ain't arguing with him. The guy behind me is almost up my ass, he's so close. We walk outside and there's another guy in a car.”

“What kind of car?” said Gianni.

“Some kind of beat-up job, maybe a Ford or something. It was real beat-up.”

“They probably used some junkbox on purpose so it couldn't be identified,” Gianni said to the others.

“I bet it's their own car. They're not smart enough to think of that,” said Tony.

“Let's not make a mistake and sell them short. Go ahead,” Gianni said, turning back to Mickey.

“I get in this beat-up car and the guy behind me gets into the back seat with me. The guy with the knife gets in the front, hanging the knife down behind the front seat so the people in the street can't see it. But I can see it, you know? The guy in the back ties this rag around my eyes and then stuffs me down on the floor. The bastards, they got me rolled up like I was a ball.”

“What did they look like?” asked Gianni.

“That's hard for me to say, you know. I mean, I know a lot of
yoms
, I deal with them all the time, them and spics, so I get to know what they look like. They don't really all look alike, you know? They're almost like we are—I mean they all got dark eyes and dark hair. But each guy looks different anyway.”

“I know that, Mickey,” said Gianni. “What did these look like?”

“Like I said, that's kind of tough to say, ‘cause these guys were all wearing real dark shades and hats. A lot of these colored guys wear shades, so that don't look suspicious when they come in the joint, I guess. I couldn't get to see much of them when they grabbed me. During the ride, of course, I couldn't see a thing.”

“How long did they drive you?”

“Maybe half an hour, forty-five minutes. We really had a ride.”

“Do you know where they took you?”

“It must have been Queens. Yeah, it must have been. I mean, we went across a bridge—I could hear the tires making that noise when you go over a bridge. And then, later, while I was in the apartment where they kept me, I heard planes all the time—low, too. I could hear the engines like they were taking off, or coming in for a landing.”

“Fine,” said Gianni. “When you were in this apartment, were you blindfolded?”

“No, but the blinds were pulled down all the time. They wouldn't let me near the windows, so I couldn't see outside.”

“How about the men who snatched you?” said Frankie the Pig. “Could you see them then?”

“They were two different guys. A little guy, his name was Hartfield, or Hartley, or something. They tried not to let me know their names. They'd call each other ‘man,' and kept reminding each other not to use names. But one of them slipped once, he called the other guy Hartfield or Hartley, something like that.”

“And the other?” said Gianni.

“I didn't catch his name. But he was a mean-looking bastard. The other guy, he was small, dark-skinned, with a mustache. The mean-looking bastard had a mustache too, but he was taller. He was pretty dark-skinned too.”

“Did you notice anything about the apartment?” asked Gianni.

“I know it wasn't their apartment,” said Mickey.

“How do you know that?”

“I heard them talking about some dame who was away for the weekend or something. There was pictures on the wall, a lot of pictures. And one dame was in most of them; I think it must have been her apartment.”

“What did she look like? Did you recognize her?”

“No, I didn't recognize her,” said Mickey. “But she must have been one of those bunnies, you know?”

“A what?” said Frankie the Pig.

“A bunny, you know, like in that
Playboy
magazine, with the ears and the thing on her ass,” said Mickey.

“Was she white?” Gianni asked.

“No, she was colored too.”

“A chocolate bunny,” Tony said, caustically.

“She was a good-looking head, this dame. She didn't have them nigger features, you know. She was light, good looking, long hair.”

Gianni's eyes widened. “A bunny from the Playboy Club, colored. There's a piece of real information. You sure it was the Playboy Club?”

“I couldn't tell exactly from the picture, but it looked like it.”

“Was there anything else in the apartment from the Playboy Club?” Gianni pressed him.

Mickey thought for a moment, looking at the ceiling. “Yeah, there was an ashtray. I was smoking a lot.
Minca
, I was nervous. I didn't know if these guys were going to croak me, or what? If it was up to this taller guy, the mean bastard, they would have. But the little guy was all right.”

“The ashtray was from the Playboy Club?” said Gianni.

“Yeah, I'm sure of that,” said Mickey.

“Fine. What else happened?”

“Well, I didn't exactly know. I was in the apartment, and the guys who brought me there must have been talking with my people to get the dough.”

“How much did they get?” asked Frankie.

“They took us for thirty-five large,” he said proudly.

“How did you get back?” said Gianni.

“The same way. In the back of the car, blindfolded. They left me in the parking lot over at La Guardia. It was late at night and the joint was deserted. They just tossed me out, blindfolded still. They took off fast. I didn't even take the mask off. I just stood there for a while. When I didn't hear the car no more, I took the thing off my eyes. I seen some headlights coming at me and I thought the bastards were coming back to run me over. I started to move—you know, this way and that, zigzag like. But it was my own guys. They called to me, ‘Mickey, Mickey, it's us.' And I got in, and that was it.”