Standing at the Scratch Line (25 page)

“You kept him alive a long time anyway. I just don’t see how you can do that kind of thing.” Big Ed shook his head.

“He died in pain because he had a hand in them killin’ Professor!” King declared. “I’d kept him alive longer if I could! Anyway, his information led to the whole setup at Lefty’s apartment on Saturday.”

“You knows I’m talkin’ about torturin’!” Big Ed hissed. “You knows you tortured that man long after he told you everythin’ he knew. You don’t want to be like Cap!”

“The biggest difference between me and Cap is that he likes it and I do it ’cause I have to or for revenge. We didn’t have no time to find out what we know now another way! I ain’t got no love to hear people scream, but if I need to know somethin’ I’m gon’ find it out. We ain’t talkin’ about no innocent citizens here now! Let me tell you, ain’t no mercy for the enemy. They got every advantage on us. They gots the police and the politicians! We got to be smart and ruthless just to break even ’cause we ain’t gon’ win. I only plans to fight people one time. After that there should be less of them ’cause I ain’t fightin’ to play!”

“It just don’t seem right to me. Even enemies, it just don’t seem right to me.”

“Ain’t nobody gon’ ask you to do somethin’ you don’t want to do neither,” King asserted. “I ain’t sayin’ it’s right. I’m just sayin’ I’m gon’ do what’s necessary.” King saw Smitty walk into the hotel and waved him over. “Here’s Smitty. Let’s find out if torturin’ done brought us some new information.”

After greeting both King and Big Ed, Smitty sat down in one of the adjoining easy chairs. “I got big news! It’s confirmed! Tyrone was right: the Minettis have planned a big meetin’ in Lefty’s apartment on Saturday, May ninth. They gon’ have the new Don, Tony the Tiger, there meetin’ with Pascarella.”

“You sho about this?” King asked suspiciously. “It don’t seem right that Tyrone would overhear information like this. You sho it ain’t a trap?”

“We picked up one of their boys and ran him through Cap’s place. The fella was actually spyin’ for the Cuomo Family, which is one of the Minettis’ allies. He told us that the Minettis are planning to hit all of the Milanos’ supporters on the same day as Pascarella and Tony the Tiger are meetin’. He even had info on where the Minettis’ gangsters will be. So now we know where everybody’s gon’ be. We could just let the Minettis wipe out the Milanos and then do them ourselves. Damn, we could make them afraid to come into Harlem.”

“We don’t want that,” King corrected. “You’s forgettin’ that all these people is white. If we was to come out in the open, the Mafia and the police would get together and come after us. They ain’t gon’ allow no independent colored action to stare in the face of white society.” King smiled. The army had taught him a great deal about strategy and the value of stealth. He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “What we need is two more sharpshooters. There may be a couple in the men we assembled.”

His two companions leaned forward to hear more clearly the plan that King was revealing. Anyone looking on would have seen three colored men talking intimately in the lobby of the Theresa Hotel, a most unusual place to plan the assassinations of the heads of two different crime families.

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The black limousine rolled quietly through Manhattan’s early afternoon traffic. With the windows rolled up, all the street sounds were muffled. Marco Volante stared out at the passing cars and meandering pedestrians and wondered if this was going to be the last day he would see such sights. He stared at the back of Turo’s head as the big man guided the car through a busy intersection and wondered whether he would be the man assigned. It was a windless, gray, overcast day with no hint of either sun or rain. It was an insignificant day on which to die.

By the time the car entered the Bronx, Marco had developed an explanation that had the potential of saving his life. His heart was somewhat lighter when they pulled up in front of Don Pascarella’s building. The door was opened for the Don and he slid in next to Marco without a nod. The Don’s bodyguard, Ricky Osso, got into the front passenger seat. The car eased into the traffic and continued on to the meeting place.

After they had been driving for several minutes, the Don favored Marco with an angry glance. “My hands are tied. You fucked up royally! I told you no explosions, no car bombs! All I wanted was colored bodies. And what do I get? A car bomb and a massacre! Two white women were shot along with the district attorney’s brother! We have more heat on us now than we’ve ever experienced before. All the families are clamoring against us for this stupidity! You may have done what the Milanos have tried and failed to do, and that is to isolate us from the rest of the families!

“Now, Don Minetti has called a meeting and you’re the main topic. He wants to know what we’ve been doing in Harlem that we didn’t clear through him and he’s got a right to know. After all, in wartime, everything must be approved by the head of the family.” Don Pascarella paused and gave Marco a long, silent look before continuing. “He may want your life for this and I’ll have no choice. I may even be forced to have one of my men do it. Your father, God rest his soul, must be turning over in his grave.”

After several minutes, Marco asked, “Don Pascarella, may I speak?”

The Don nodded his head and said, “As if it could make a difference.”

“The men I sent into Harlem didn’t have any explosives. Someone threw a hand grenade into their car,” Marco declared, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. “Those niggers must have done it. We didn’t know that they would be so well armed.”

“That still doesn’t explain why the DA’s brother and two white women were shot,” the Don rasped out impatiently.

Marco looked down at his hands. “I can’t explain that. All I know is that I used the people that you suggested and gave them orders as clearly as I could.”

“If you live beyond today, maybe next time you’ll be present on the scene to direct your people. The repercussions were too great for you to leave this in a lowly soldier’s hands. I had expected that you would oversee things yourself.”

There was no more discussion until they arrived at the meeting place. The limousine had pulled into an alley behind a row of large tenements. Turo gave Marco a grim smile as he opened the door for him and directed him toward a three-story brick building near the end of the row of buildings. Marco was surprised that the Dons had decided to use Lefty’s old apartment building as the site for their meeting. Once inside the back door he was frisked under the depressing light of a low-wattage bulb by Don Minetti’s driver. Don Pascarella walked up the darkened stairs without pausing. No one dared to check if he was carrying weapons. Marco was followed up the dimly lit stairs by Don Minetti’s driver, who was a solid chunk of a man with a swarthy complexion. Marco knew that this man specialized in the garrote and it made him extremely uncomfortable walking in front of him. He listened to the man’s steps behind him in the shadows all the way up to the second floor.

They entered a small apartment that had been cleared of furniture. All that was left was a table with two chairs and these were located in the living room, which was the largest room in the apartment. The only light came from three large bay windows that had sheer curtains hanging in front. Although Marco recognized they were using Lefty’s old apartment, what captured his attention was that there were only two chairs. This was a statement by Tony the Tiger. It did not look like he, Marco Volante, would leave this apartment alive.

Don Pascarella sat down at the table and asked for a glass of water. He no longer looked at Marco. The water was brought in immediately by Turo, Don Pascarella’s own driver.

After fifteen minutes of silent waiting, Don Minetti’s voice was heard as he ascended the stairs. Don Minetti had disrespected Don Pascarella by keeping him waiting. It was an unnecessary aggravation that showed the pettiness of Antonio Minetti.

Don Minetti entered the room. “Don Fredo, I was delayed. I had to tighten a few loose ends.” He made the gesture of using the garrote. “Bring me some Strega to drink,” he ordered as he sat down across from Pascarella. This too was an insult to Pascarella, for Minetti as the host of the meeting should have had his men offer Pascarella refreshments while he was waiting, as is due a man of respect.

Marco was standing by the windows watching. Minetti didn’t even glance in his direction. The tension in the room had steadily grown. Minetti’s driver walked into the room carrying a tray with a bottle of yellow liquid and two glasses. The sound of his leather shoes moving across the floor was the only noise in the apartment. Marco watched as the driver poured each Don a glass of the liquid and set the bottle on the table.

After his driver had moved a respectable distance away, Minetti leaned forward. “What is this business you’re doing in Harlem?” He had the air of a man talking to his servant. There was no doubt, Tony the Tiger lacked his dead brother’s warmth and charm.

Pascarella answered as if he did not notice Minetti’s tone. “Your brother asked me to follow through and make an example of the owners of this Rockland Palace. They are the only place on the West Side that doesn’t pay its protection. He wanted to leave a message for the rest of Harlem. This was the request that we attempted to fulfill. It was supposed to be a quiet job, but we ran into better-armed adversaries than we planned.”

“What is this shit?” demanded Minetti. “You got the whole of the eastern seaboard on our asses and you’re talking teachin’ niggers a lesson? I don’t have time for this bullshit! Tell it to me straight!” Minetti’s tone was clearly uncalled for, considering Pascarella’s rank. Everyone waited to see how Pascarella would handle this latest insult.

Don Pascarella smiled and waved his hand to his men, signaling them to hold their anger. “No need to speak so harshly, Don Minetti. We need each other. You must remember that we are at war and neither can win without the other’s help. In this time of turmoil we both need someone we can trust, on whom we can turn our backs. But a partnership must also be based upon respect. We both need to keep in mind that without respect there is chaos.” There were nods around the room, even from Minetti’s men, in response to the wisdom of Pascarella’s words. Minetti had overstepped the line and he had been properly and respectfully warned. As important to the soldiers staring across the room at each other was that Don Pascarella had left the door open for Family unity by his mention of partnership. All attention turned to Minetti, waiting for his reaction. It was like a verbal chess match.

There was a moment’s silence as Minetti composed himself. “You’re right! I let my anger speak.” There was an unobtrusive relaxing of tension, but when Minetti continued, his tone was only partially moderated. “I guess I’m mad because most of my operations have been shut down because of this wildcat hit at some nigger-show hangout. I just want to know who set up the hit on the DA’s brother!”

“He wasn’t the target,” Pascarella answered in clipped tones. “The colored owners were the targets. At first, they returned fire. When they were hit, they went down like papier-mâché, exposing the people behind them. We didn’t know that these people would be in attendance. They were hit as spillover.”

Minetti started to say something, but visibly held himself back. He asked in a hoarse voice, “Who planned this job?”

Marco stepped forward. “I did, Don Minetti. It was a tactical mistake. I didn’t know that they would be so well prepared. Don Pascarella told me what he wanted. I failed to follow his directions.”

“If it ain’t the cocky little rooster,” Minetti sneered, staring at Marco. “I knew you were mixed up in this. If you had been working directly for the Milanos, you couldn’t have done us more harm. I still think you’re working for them!” Minetti turned and addressed his men. “Hell, he don’t even follow orders. He was told to do a quiet little job and he had his men loaded for bear. I heard they blew themselves up before they insured the hit was dead!”

“That’s not true!” Marco protested.