Tragic (5 page)

That night after he watched the old sedan with its three odd passengers roll away, he frowned and closed the door, locking it and throwing the heavy deadbolt. Only then had he relaxed his grip on the .380 semiautomatic he had in his pants pocket.

The next day he told his attorney, Mahlon Gorman, about the visit when they were discussing filing a formal complaint with the
Labor Department now that the union management, as expected, had decided his elections violations complaint was without merit. “I don’t know what they were up to but they sure as hell weren’t dockworkers,” Vince said.

“How do you know that?” Gorman asked.

“I shook the one guy’s hand, and it was as soft as yours,” Vince explained. “If he’s a dockworker, I’m Elvis.”

“You couldn’t handle ‘Love Me Tender,’ ” Gorman said with a laugh. “What did these fine fellows look like?”

Vince shrugged. “The guy who did all the talking had blue eyes, kind of a wide face, a mustache, and a shaved head. He spoke with a pretty heavy accent, Russian or something like that. Late twenties, thirty maybe. The other guy who got out of the car looked Eyetie or maybe Greek—one of us Med types, anyway. I didn’t get a good look at the driver; he parked at the curb and kept his head turned. But he had red hair, seemed young.”

Gorman, a tough young Jewish kid from the Bronx, thought about it for a minute. “Think it was some of Vitteli’s boys?” he asked at last.

“I don’t know,” Vince replied, wagging his hand. “Maybe. Maybe sending a message. You know like, ‘I know where you live and so do my thugs.’ Something subtle like that.”

They both laughed. Charlie Vitteli was about as subtle as a bull elephant in must. “It’s probably nothing,” Vince continued. “Just three guys trying to get a break finding work by pretending they’re longshoremen from Frisco.”

“And maybe it’s something,” Gorman countered. “A cornered animal is always more dangerous and Charlie knows he’s cornered. We’re going to be able to prove to the Labor Department that he bought that election, which will force them to take action. He’s looking at prison time, stiff fines, and he’ll get booted from the union. He’s not going to let that happen without a fight. I wish you’d let me get some security to watch your back. At least until Charlie’s put away. These three clowns who came to your door make me nervous.”

Vince shook his head. “I’m fine with your guys watching out for Antonia and Little Vince,” he said. “But I’m not going to let Charlie Vitteli have the satisfaction of seeing me with bodyguards. Besides, I got all the protection I need.” He pulled the .380 from his drawer and placed it on the desk.

“Jesus, where’d you get that thing?” Gorman swore. “May I remind you, you are not Elliot fucking Ness, nor are you untouchable. I know you’re a tough guy and all, but if you feel the need to carry a gun, you definitely need security.”

“It’s only insurance,” Vince replied. “And I’m being careful. No frickin’ bodyguards.”

Turning at Eighth Avenue onto 34th Street toward Hell’s Kitchen, Vince glanced at the heavy overcoat lying on the seat next to him. He could see the bulge of the “insurance” in a side pocket and knew his wife would have freaked out if she knew he felt it necessary to carry a gun to his meeting with Charlie Vitteli. He’d meant what he said to Antonia about Charlie not risking his neck over the union presidency. But he’d lied about Barros’s bark being worse than his bite. He’d seen the cold-blooded thug carve a man’s face into slivers in the blink of an eye with the long straight razor he carried. The man could definitely bite, and his master was cornered and dangerous.

The conversation with Gorman had been several days earlier, and Vince had all but forgotten about the three visitors. Then Charlie called and asked if he’d meet with him at Marlon’s. “I think it’s time we put this thing behind us,” his rival said. “I’m willing to make some important concessions and moves, if you will, in exchange for some concessions from you. But let’s talk about it over beer, like the old man would have wanted.”

McMahon parked around the corner from Marlon’s and they got out to walk. As they approached an alley around the corner from the pub, they came upon three women warming themselves around a fire they’d started in a fifty-five-gallon drum. Two broke away from the third, a large black woman who seemed otherwise
preoccupied with the flames, and approached with their hands out. They were filthy, wretched creatures, and Vince felt sorry for them, reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out all the cash he had.

“Here’s thirty bucks,” he said. “I wish I had more. I know it’s cold out.” He took a second look at one of the women and his face fell. “I haven’t seen you since the funeral, but aren’t you Anne Devulder, Sean’s wife?”

Anne Devulder smiled. “Hello, Mr. Carlotta. Yes, we met at Sean’s service. I’m surprised you recognized me; I’ve changed a bit.”

“I’m so sorry about Sean,” Vince said. “It should have never happened. I’m trying to see that it doesn’t happen again to someone else.”

The woman smiled sadly and nodded. “I know you are, Mr. Carlotta,” she said. “Sean always said you were a good man.”

“That’s high praise coming from him,” Vince said. He pointed in the direction he’d been walking. “I have a meeting I have to get to, but please stop by the union offices tomorrow. It looks like you could use some help, and maybe there’s something I can do.”

A sad look passed over Anne Devulder’s face. Suddenly she clutched his arm. “Don’t go to this meeting,” she said. “Charlie Vitteli’s in there and I have a bad feeling about it. Turn around and drive home to your beautiful wife and son. It’s not too late.”

Vince clasped the woman’s hand, gave it a squeeze, and gently pried it from his coat. “I’m afraid I have to go,” he said softly. “Thank you for your concern, and believe me, I’d rather go home, but I need to do this . . . for guys like Sean.”

Anne Devulder nodded and stepped back from him. “God bless you, Vince Carlotta,” she said. Then she and the other woman turned and shuffled back to the oil drum where the third woman was shaking her hands above the flames.

As he turned away, Vince shivered. For a moment he considered taking the woman’s advice and going home to Antonia and Vicente.
Let Charlie have the presidency,
he thought.
Walk away,
get another job, maybe with the International Longshoremen’s Association, or better yet, get away from the docks entirely, start a new life.
But then he thought about Anne Devulder and how she’d been widowed because the union had not done its job to keep her husband safe. Somebody needed to be a voice for the guys on the docks, and that wasn’t going to be Charlie Vitteli.

Vince Carlotta sighed and pulled his overcoat around him, felt for the weight of the semiautomatic against his side. “Time to go hear what the bastard and his dogs have to say,” he said to McMahon and strode off for the front door of Marlon’s.

The meeting with Vitteli started off on a bad note. Vince had walked into Marlon’s ignoring Vitteli’s ever-present bodyguard, Sal Amaya, heading directly back to Vitteli’s table. No sooner had they sat down around a table in the back and ordered beers than Charlie started to berate him for “causing dissension in the ranks.”

Vince countered that speaking out against corruption in union management was not only right, but necessary. “You’re a crook, Charlie,” he said. “You bought the election, and I’m going to prove it.”

“Watch who you threaten, Carlotta,” Joey Barros interjected.

“Muzzle your dog,” Vince said to Charlie.

Barros jumped to his feet, his hand sliding inside the leather coat he wore. Vince also stood, his hand reaching inside of his own coat, which he’d yet to take off, for the .380.

Charlie noticed Vince’s movements and his eyes narrowed. But then he laughed. “Sit down, Joey, damn it,” he ordered. “We’re trying to do this like civilized men, not a bunch of wild animals at each other’s throats.” He looked up at Carlotta. “Come on, Vince, have a seat. I apologize. I didn’t ask you to come here to rehash the past. I want us to figure out how to move into the future without ripping the union apart and anybody getting hurt in the process.”

Vince glanced at him but remained standing with his focus on Barros, who slowly sat back down, keeping his eyes on the table
to hide his dark thoughts. “You better listen, Carlotta,” Barros mumbled.

“Or what, Joey? Or you’ll send three jokers to my house? To my house, goddamn you, where my wife and kid are? How about I visit your house, Charlie, and let your wife know about your mistresses? Or you, Joey, maybe I should send some of my boys to your house? Maybe your wife and kids could use a good scare, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied.

“These guys show up at my house in New Rochelle and say they want jobs working on the dock, but they got hands like accountants’,” Vince retorted.

“Look, Vince, I got no idea what those yahoos were up to, but they weren’t my guys,” Charlie replied. “I’ll have Joey check it out. Let’s be fair here. With the old man gone, the International is looking to make a move over here, and the mob is always trying to get a toehold on our docks. They know you’ve been the guy on the front line keeping them in their place. They’re not your friends, but you want to blame me for everything.”

“I’ll deal with them when I need to,” Vince retorted. “You’re the one who bought the election. You’re the problem right now.”

Vitteli hung his head as if he’d reached some monumental decision. “Look,” he said. “We got this meeting off on the wrong foot, and I’m sorry for that. But like I told you on the phone, I think I may have a compromise that will work for all parties. So come on, sit down and let’s break some bread and talk like we used to when we were young. We didn’t always agree then, either, but we always worked it out for the good of the union.”

When Vince hesitated, Jackie Corcione spoke up. “Come on, Vince,” he pleaded. “I’ve heard Charlie’s compromise, and I think you’ll like it. You know Dad loved both of you, and I think it would break his heart to have you guys at each other’s throats.”

Vince looked at Jackie. He wanted to tell him about the conversations he’d had with the old man in the weeks before his death, when he was talking about stepping down and anointing Vince as
his replacement. Leo Corcione had warned him to watch out for Charlie.

•  •  •

“I had high hopes for him.” The old man shook his head slowly. “I knew he was wild and resorted to force too quickly. But he also loved the union and did a lot of good things. I thought maybe with my influence, and to be honest, yours, we could temper his worst instincts and bring out the good ones.” The old man paused and then sighed. “But Charlie is ambitious and likes power; it overrides and corrupts everything else about him. He wants this job, but not for the right reasons. He doesn’t want to look out for the little guy; he wants to look out for Charlie Vitteli.”

Leo warned him that “when I’m gone,” Vitteli would try to seize the reins of union leadership. “And he’ll do it by whatever means necessary.” The old man also told him to watch out for Barros. “He’s dangerous, though without Charlie he’s just a rabid dog without direction.”

Surprisingly, Leo also told him not to trust his own son, Jackie. “I love the boy,” he said with tears in his eyes. “And yes, I know he’s queer, even though he thinks it’s a big secret. Doesn’t bother me. But what does bother me is he’s weak and has already let Charlie manipulate him into being another one of his dogs. If I didn’t love him so much, I’d fire him. So I’m hoping that when you’re president, you can bring him back into the fold. Make a good man out of him; I seemed to have failed.”

These conversations had obviously been private, and then the old man died before he could name Vince as his successor. Instead, the presidency had gone up for a general vote allowing Charlie Vitteli plenty of time to manipulate and buy his way into power. There was no sense bringing up the old man’s wishes now. So Vince nodded and took a seat.

“Okay, Charlie, spit it out. What’s this compromise?” he asked.

Vitteli looked at him and moved closer so that he could speak
lower. “I ain’t saying you’re right about the election results,” he began. “I ain’t saying you’re wrong. But that’s behind us. I think we both know that getting the Labor Department involved won’t be good for anybody—not the union, not me, not you.”

“So what are you proposing?” Vince asked. He was tired and the black mood he’d been experiencing hovered near the edges of his thoughts.

“Just this,” Charlie said. “I’m going to announce that, for the good of the union, and so everything is on the up-and-up, there will be another election.”

“When?”

“April.”

“You going to cheat and buy that one, too?” Vince scoffed. “You just trying to buy time here?”

“Nah, nothing like that,” Charlie replied. “In fact, I’m going to throw the election. I’ll start having some ‘medical issues,’ make some noises in some circles that maybe I’m not the right guy for the job after all.”

Vince thought about it for a moment. “So what do you want in return?”

Charlie smiled. “You drop the Labor Department complaint, and we hear no more about that shit. It’s in the past. Also, you name me vice president and my boys here work for me, except Jackie, who you will, of course, keep as chief financial officer.”

Vince shook his head. “Sorry, can’t do it. Everything else is good, but you and your lapdogs have to go. I need to be able to trust my right-hand man, and I don’t trust you farther than I can throw you. Jackie, you stay, but you’ll be reporting to Mahlon Gorman, who will be the new union attorney, not that crook Syd Kowalski. We’ll work out some sort of golden parachute for the rest of you so money won’t be an issue. But I don’t want you around me anymore, Charlie, that ship has sailed, and I’d rather have a scorpion in my bed than Joey.”

For a moment rage played across Charlie Vitteli’s face like a storm
across a sea, but then he smiled and nodded. “Sorry you feel that way,” he said. “But to be honest, I wouldn’t have kept you around, either. As long as the financials of my ‘early retirement’ work out, and the Labor Department matter is dropped, I’m good with it. May be time to enjoy my golden years with the old lady and our brats.”