Who is Lou Sciortino? (10 page)

“It's nice,” he says as Lou examines the merchandise, “to see a young guy like you still interested in grafting knives. Most young guys today just want knives with points. Try telling them you don't need a point. I always say there's nothing you can do with a knife that's got a point that you can't do with a knife that don't got a point. You just gotta think about it to see it's true: you don't need a point.”

Lou, with a knife in his hand, looks up questioningly.

“I mean, let's say you're hunting. What fucking use is a knife that's got a point? You want to kill a rabbit, you use a rifle, right? The only thing you need a knife for is to skin it, and if you skin a rabbit with a knife that's got a point you're gonna prick yourself, right? You may say, ‘A knife that's got a point can be useful for finishing the rabbit off,' but that's where you'd be wrong! When did you ever see anyone with any
intelligence
kill a rabbit with a knife? Those rabbits can really bite, you know. So let's say you don't kill the rabbit and it turns around and bites you. Rabbit bites are dangerous … No, you want to kill a rabbit, you take a rifle and blow its brains out. Knives are for other things. For those things you don't need a point.”

Lou looks at him. “I understand,” he says, and goes back to examining the knives.

Scarface gives a flashy smile, like he's saying,
Of course you understand.
Then he goes on, “But young guys today, they don't know these things, there's nobody to explain it to them. They go hunting and they fuck up big-time. There used to be people who could explain things to you,” he says, rubbing his cheek.

“I'll take this, don't bother wrapping it up for me.”

It's a knife with a mother-of-pearl handle as white and shiny as his grandfather's hair.

“Listen,” Lou says as he pays, “I could use some shaving foam, you know anywhere around here I can buy some?”

“Sure! Next door, at Uncle Mimmo's. The entrance is just a hole in the wall and there's no sign, but you'll find shaving foam there, he's got every brand!”

*   *   *

When Lou steps out onto the street again, there's a weak yellow light coming out of Uncle Mimmo's general store. The entrance is a small wood and glass door wedged in between the knife shop and the perfume shop.

Lou enters, resolute.

Mimmo hasn't got time to say, “Please wait outside and I'll…” Lou is already inside, standing in front of the counter with his hands in the pockets of his raincoat, looking straight at him.

“He must need Band-Aids, that's why he's in a hurry,” a voice says behind him. Lou turns in surprise and sees Tano sitting on the stepladder, huddled against a metal shelf full of detergents.

“I told you to wait outside, can't you see there's people here?”

“No, it's okay, don't worry, I'm fine,” Tano says politely.

“No, wait,” Uncle Mimmo says, being a stickler for order in his store. “It's a matter of principle. If I say wait in line, I say it for a reason, right? So please, do me the courtesy of going outside, and then, when I tell you, you can come in. We finish our business calmly here, and then … then we attend to you.”

Lou passes a hand over his face. Then he goes out.

The owner of the knife shop is standing in the doorway smoking a cigarette. When he sees Lou, he bows slightly in greeting and goes on smoking.

Lou blinks.

From Uncle Mimmo's general store there's a noise like a subway train passing. Then the sound of Uncle Mimmo shouting, “
Minchia,
I knew it!”

The owner of the knife shop opens his arms wide. Then he continues smoking.

Lou blinks and clenches his lower jaw.

Uncle Mimmo appears in the doorway and says, “Come in, I put Tano in the men's toiletries section.”

The owner of the knife shop turns to Uncle Mimmo and bows in greeting.

Uncle Mimmo reciprocates. “You know, the section of the late lamented,” he says with a resigned expression.

The owner of the knife shop opens his arms wide, like he's saying,
What can you do?

Uncle Mimmo nods, like he's saying,
You're right.
Then he follows Lou into the store.

Tano pokes his head out of the men's toiletries section and says, “Good evening,” to Lou, like he hasn't seen him before.

Uncle Mimmo silences him with a look. Tano starts looking casually at the aftershaves.

“So, what kind of Band-Aid do you need?” Uncle Mimmo asks, putting on his glasses.

Tano nods, looking at an aftershave.

Lou takes the grafting knife out of his pocket and puts it on the counter. Then he takes out the photo and places it next to the knife.

Uncle Mimmo looks at the knife. Then he looks at the photo, then at Lou. Then he takes out the crossbow.

Lou blinks. He passes a hand over his face.

Tano drops the aftershave.

“The Commander says that officially this is used to kill rats,” Uncle Mimmo says. “But that's hard to believe, because to kill rats with this first you gotta corner them, and that's the hardest thing with rats.”

“Do you know the guy in the photo?” Lou asks, pretending he hasn't seen the crossbow.

Uncle Mimmo looks at him. Then, without putting down the crossbow, he glances at the photo. “Sure, it's Tony, the hairdresser.”

“Oh, yes, Tony, the hairdresser, I know him, too,” Tano says.

Uncle Mimmo gives him a dirty look.

“Tony…” Tano says, and then doesn't know what else to say, so he looks around.

“Not him, the other one,” Lou says.

Uncle Mimmo raises his eyebrows. He permits himself another glance. “No,” he says, “I don't know that one. But who the fuck are you?”

“Good question,” Lou says. “Let's just say I'm somebody who's here to give you a piece of advice.”

“Let me see, maybe I know him…” Tano says.

“Shut up, you don't know him, either,” Uncle Mimmo says.

Tano looks around.

“What … advice would that be?” Uncle Mimmo says.

“If anybody else asks you the same question, give the same answer. Do we understand each other?”

“Hmmm,” Uncle Mimmo says, screwing up his eyes. “But what if I suddenly realize I
have
seen this guy?”

“You'd be wrong.”

“Why?”

Lou thinks about it. Then he says, “Because at the time of the robbery this guy here was at Tony's barbecue, so you didn't see him.”

“Oh, right,” Uncle Mimmo says.

“Precisely,” Lou says.

“Precisely,” Tano says.

“Do we understand each other?” Lou says.

“Oh, yes, we understand each other,” Uncle Mimmo says, putting away the crossbow. “But that's not the point.”

“No?” Lou says.

“No,” Uncle Mimmo says. Calmly, he sits down on the stool, folds his arms, and says, “Listen … how about we stop talking in code?”

Tano nods.

“In code?” Lou says.

“I mean, why don't we talk clearly?” Uncle Mimmo says.

“Okay, let's talk clearly.”

“Right. First,” Uncle Mimmo says, raising his thumb, “I don't understand the way you guys work these days. In the old days, we all understood and we got along fine. Now everything's fucked up.
Minchia,
first you don't want to ask for protection, then you rob me, and now you come and threaten me! Look at me, I got white hair! I'm a quiet guy who minds his own business. Besides, excuse me, but don't you still got your arrangement with the police?
Minchia,
you used to be better organized, and with all due respect you didn't used to fuck up quite so much. Don't you know that when the police guy wanted to do an Identi-Kit picture I made him draw a baking pan?”

“A baking pan?”

“Right, that's what I told him. From all I could see, with a shovelful of the sergeant's brains all over my face, the murderer was the spitting image of a baking pan. Apart from the fact that even if I did see him, do you people think I'd cough up the name of somebody who blows a sergeant's face off?”

Tano shakes his head,
Absolutely not.

“Secondly.” Uncle Mimmo raises his thumb again. And with the same thumb, he presses the button that opens the cash register, jumping at the TA-TANG as usual.

“Who the fuck makes these registers?” he says. “They give you a brain hemorrhage every time you wanna make change!” Then he sighs, calmly takes out a wad of banknotes, moistens his thumb and index finger with his tongue, and starts counting. One, two, three, four … fifteen.

“Here, here's a hundred and fifty euros. Taking into consideration goodwill, position, neighborhood, clientele, and any other fucking thing you want to consider, I think the price is right. Now just do me the pleasure of taking these euros and giving them to whoever sent you. Then next month on the dot, come back and I'll do what you want. And tell whoever sent you that Uncle Mimmo is perfectly happy to pay protection. As long as he's left alone. Do we understand each other?”

Tano coughs.

“So, do we understand each other?”

Tano coughs.

Uncle Mimmo looks at him.

“Cosimo…” Tano says.

“Oh, yes,
minchia,
right.” He starts counting again, and puts down another fifteen ten-euro bills. “Same thing for the bar opposite, Cosimo, remember that, Co-si-mo. Next month you can go directly to him, I'll warn him in advance.”

Lou looks at the money and nods. He takes the cash and the photo and the knife, and puts them all in his pocket.

“So, we done here or what?” Uncle Mimmo says.

Lou nods.

“Could you use a crossbow? I'll give it to you, I don't need it anymore.”

Lou looks at him and says, “Thanks a lot, just wrap it up for me.”

IN THE LOBBY OF THE HOTEL, DON GIORGINO IS SLURPING AN
ORZATA

In the lobby of the hotel, Don Giorgino is slurping an
orzata.
From time to time he adjusts his round sunglasses. Every time he takes a slurp he leans on his cane, and when he puts down the glass his frail hand shakes. His two foot soldiers, his
picciotti,
make sure he doesn't spill the
orzata.

“Where's Vicienzo?” he asks.

The two
picciotti
look at each other. “Don Giorgino, we found out Vicienzo was a rat, don't you remember?”

Don Giorgino Favarotta nods. “Are we taking care of his family?”

The two
picciotti
look at each other. Vicienzo was known as Vicienzo Scannafamigghia, “Vicienzo Who Killed His Family,” because at the age of thirteen he stabbed his father, mother, and brother in the stomach. He never married and in later life was alone in the world. “Of course, Don Giorgino, don't worry.”

Don Giorgino nods, picks up the
orzata,
and slurps it. His hand shakes as he puts down the glass.

The two
picciotti
lean forward, their eyes on the glass. It didn't spill this time, either.

Don Giorgino leans with both his hands on the cane he's holding tight between his legs.

*   *   *

'Nzino parks in front of the Central Palace Hotel on Via Etnea, near the Bellini Gardens. It's a pedestrian zone, but Sal Scali's Mercedes is allowed to park there. He gets out, goes the long way around the car, and opens the door for Uncle Sal.

Uncle Sal gets out, buttons up his jacket, puts on his sunglasses, and walks into the hotel.

When you've got an appointment with a big shot, it's good manners to come alone, without your
picciotti.

And Uncle Sal is indebted to Don Giorgino Favarotta.

*   *   *

It was Don Giorgino Favarotta, who was born in Trapani but moved to Catania when he was a child, who first suggested to Uncle Sal that he decapitate Alfio, and who subsequently supported him as a candidate when the Vaccalluzzos, whom Uncle Sal's predecessor Mimmo Asciolla answered to, demanded an explanation. Don Giorgino intervened and the Vaccalluzzos had to back off. The fact was, Don Giorgino liked Sal Scali. A few years back, in a youthful fit of anger, Don Giorgino had had Natale Impellizzeri from Marzamemi killed because of a supposed slight, without taking into account the Impellizzeris' connections with the Guarreras of Pozzallo, and the Guarreras' connections with the Gullottas of San Vito lo Capo. For this reason, Carmine Gullotta had sentenced Giorgino Favarotta to death.

And it was Sal Scali, still very young at the time, who straightened things out.

In Naples, Uncle Sal had met Ciro La Bruna, who was really a top-class greaseball, being related to the
americani.
Ciro La Bruna sent a message to Carmine Gullotta that the La Brunas had “done away with” Natale Impellizzeri because he was fucking with the Secondigliano Alliance. Carmine Gullotta made inquiries and sent a message to Ciro La Bruna informing him that Natale Impellizzeri didn't even know what the fuck the Secondigliano Alliance was. And Ciro La Bruna, being the top guy he was, sent a message to Carmine Gullotta saying, “Sorry, Don Carmine, we must have made a mistake.”

Carmine Gullotta was left speechless.

In return, every now and again Don Giorgino Favarotta has to cut the La Brunas in on a job being done by some crew up in the north, and every now and again he and Sal Scali have to perform a service for the La Brunas of Forcella and America.

*   *   *

In the hotel bar, Uncle Sal spots the three men and walks toward them deferentially. The meeting is taking place in a hotel because that's what protocol requires. Don Giorgino has to reprimand Uncle Sal in public and tell him to straighten out this sergeant business. To do this, he can't invite Uncle Sal to his house, he can't threaten a guest who's paying a social call,
he
has to go to Sal. And he can't go to his house, because his family and kids are there.