Sicilian Defense (17 page)

“That's your problem,” said the voice.

“But how will I know I'm buying a real live body, and not a stiff?” Gianni asked. “That's just as important.”

“You get the money, ready to move, and I'll let you talk to the old man. That good enough?”

“It's good for openers,” said Gianni.

“Openers? Don't try to get cute with me, man, or I'll cut this man's throat myself.”

“Cut his throat and you'll end up with nothing. Why kill him? I'm willing to come up with the money. You get the money, give me the old man. Killing him won't even buy you a tie.”

“How much you going to get up?” asked the voice.

“Eighty thousand.”

“It's got to be ninety,” said the voice.

“Give me one more day and I'll get eighty-five. Not a penny more. I can't get it up. Eighty-five tomorrow night.”

“You can't string it out past this time tomorrow. If I call tomorrow and you start talking trash again, your man is dead.”

“I'll get it,” said Gianni.

“He'll be right here. I'll let you listen while I cut his throat, you start talking trash tomorrow,” warned the voice.

Gianni was wondering if the cops were listening to all of this and what they might try to do about it. He hoped they wouldn't mess things up by trying to help.

“You won't have to cut his throat. I'll get it. Eighty-five, agreed?”

“Cash. We'll count it first. You try and fuck us with some funny stuff, and we cut his throat anyway.”

“Wait a minute. I get him back when you get the money. Same time—it's a trade,” said Gianni.

“Bullshit, man. You think we're crazy? We get the money first, then you get your man.”

“How can I know that?” asked Gianni, concerned now.

“You got to trust us,” said the voice.

“Now don't you fuck with me,” said Gianni, his voice hardening. “I'm not buying any cat in a bag.”

“You going to do it my way, man. This is my show.”

“We'll have to agree on something,” said Gianni. “My mother didn't raise any idiot children.”

“You tell me what you have in mind, I'll tell you if I agree,” said the voice.

“Where's the payoff going to be?” asked Gianni.

“Hey, man, my momma didn't raise no idiots either. You think I'm going to tell you that now so you can go get it rigged?”

“When will I know?” said Gianni.

“You be at the phone tomorrow night, with the bread, and you'll get the instructions. You go where we tell you and you'll get another call there. Then you'll be told where to make the payoff.”

“But there's got to be an exchange. No exchange, no money,” said Gianni.

“Hey, man, you're not in the driver's seat, we are.”

“You're not dealing with children,” said Gianni. “We've been through tough scrapes before; so's that old man you got with you. We don't scare easy either. You want to make a deal, we'll make the deal. Nobody's going to fuck us around though.”

“Ain't nobody's fucking us around either,” said the voice.

“Nobody's trying to.”

“I'll call tomorrow night,” said the voice.

“I'll be ready.”

“It's business or else, tomorrow night. Eight o'clock.”

“Business it'll be, on both sides,” said Gianni.

“I'll think about that,” said the voice.

“No thinking about it. We came through on our end, you come through on yours. We want some assurance we're getting a live man back—we don't want a body. You bury the body. It isn't worth eighty-five thousand to us just to bury it.”

“Tomorrow night, eight o'clock,” said the voice. The phone went dead against Gianni's ear.

8:30 P.M.

“We going to off this old man or they going to pay?” asked Alfred intently, his eyes staring into Bull's.

“They'll pay,” Bull assured him.

“What's this shit about tomorrow night?” Yank asked. He was leaning against the table next to Hartley, who was pouring a drink for himself.

“Yeah, man, what the hell you tell him it was okay for tomorrow?” asked Hartley. “You know it's getting hot around town. There are colored cats looking for us now.”

“Because they didn't have enough money,” answered Bull flatly. “I don't mind pushing them out of our place, man. But that bread is important too. It's what we need to set up our own operations, our own banks.”

“Man, we got a hundred-fifteen thousand already,” said Hartley, “and it's plenty, man, plenty. You know how much that is, five ways? Why didn't you tell the cat we'd take it and get rid of this shit tonight? The longer we in, the tougher it is.”

“Because two hundred thousand is a nice round figure,” said Bull. “Don't we have to set up operations so we can keep in business, keep Harlem for ourselves? Isn't that what we're in this for?”

“Yeah, man,” said Duck, sitting on the couch. “Forty thousand dollars, man, forty thousand dollars,” he exclaimed jubilantly. “Man, I'm going to get me some threads that'll sing when I walk down the street.”

“And man, I'm going to get me a Coupe de Ville, with a heater, and a stereo tape, man, and all that shit they got in them,” said Yank.

“Listen, you two jerk-offs,” said Bull abruptly. “I thought I made it clear, ain't nobody going to spend nothing for three or four months.” He looked at the others. “And ain't nobody getting all his bread. Half goes into a kitty for operations.”

“Man, we ain't spending, we just dreaming,” apologized Duck.

“Dreaming like that leads to trouble,” said Bull. “Just forget even dreaming about that money for three, four months.”

“How come you let that guinea white fuck take you for fifteen thousand?” Alfred asked. “You should have told him to fuck himself. Man, I'd kill that old man for fifteen thousand as soon as I'd walk across the street.”

“He didn't take me for fifteen thousand, man, we took him for eighty-five. You do your thinking with the wrong end of your body,” said Bull.

“Yeah, man, that's the way to look at it,” said Yank. “What the hell's the difference—eighty-five, a hundred.” He poured himself a drink. “I think we ought to have a drink for luck.”

“Tomorrow, while we're counting the money,” said Bull.

“You know, I'm just a little worried about these nigger cats prowling around looking for someone,” said Hartley.

“Let them look—black cats, white cats, don't make no difference. We all still working, normal, just like everyday slaves for the white-master racket guys. We keep working, they keep getting their money, and they keep looking for someone else.”

“But you heard what's traveling around—Big Diamond is on the prowl. And that Lloyd ain't no shitass.”

“Yes he is,” said Alfred. “And I'll cut his ass from one side to the other, that Uncle Tom shit, kissing the ass of that other big motherfucking Tom, Big Diamond. It's time all the shit gets thrown out of our places, nigger and whitey both.”

“Right on,” said Duck. “Them Uncle Toms is next. We ain't working for them neither. They work for whitey, they want to be whitey, well, let them float in the river right next to whitey.”

“Yeah, yeah, but not now, man,” said Bull. “We got to think of a payoff where we ain't going to be caught with our asses sticking out. We got to figure how to arrange the payoff.”

“You can do it, Bull. You done all the others,” said Hartley.

“All the other payoffs been in New York or the Bronx,” said Bull. “Maybe we make this one in Queens. That's it, man, in Queens. There's lots of good places there, and nobody'd think of that. Who the fuck ever thinks of Queens?”

“Cool,” said Duck.

“When you want us to get the old man and bring him in?” asked Yank.

“Not until tomorrow.”

“That was cool, man,” said Hartley. “Hiding this one in Newark. Who the hell would think he was there?”

“Good thing we got girlfriends all over the place,” Bull smiled. “This way they can't find any pattern to follow.”

“Right on,” said Hartley, raising his glass in salute.

“Why don't we all get in your car, Yank. Let's take a ride to Queens. We'll find some big open place where they ain't going to trap us. Ain't no whitey going to trap this here boy.”

Thursday, February 11

9:30 A.M.

Lieutenant Schmidt sat behind his desk, blowing smoke ceilingward. Feigin was pouring a cup of coffee.

“We sure don't have much to work on,” said Feigin.

“We sure don't.”

Quinn entered the office and went directly to the coffee pot. “I got Communications,” he said to the lieutenant.

“And?”

“They'll have men standing by in each of the five boroughs. As soon as the colored guy gives Gianni the place to go to for the additional information, Communications will work fast and wire the place by the time Gianni's people get there.”

“Then what?” asked Feigin.

“Then we'll have to move fast,” said Schmidt. “Did you tell Communications that I want a man on each wire? Once we get the location, we can move men directly to the payoff.”

“I told them,” said Quinn.

“Meanwhile, we drive to the first destination, trying to follow Gianni's boys there ourselves,” said Schmidt. “I'm not sure we'll be able to get too close to the payoff scene. That's why we need Communications listening. Other cars can follow by radio. Unless I miss my guess, everything is going to be as much in the open as possible. Those colored guys aren't going to take a chance being trapped.”

“And if Aquilino knows we're tapping the phone, he'll try to ditch us anyway,” added Feigin.

“I'd bet my shield he knows,” said Schmidt. “And I'm sure he'll try to give us the slip. In a way he's right—if the kidnapers see cops, they'll probably kill Sal.”

“Actually kill him? I mean, this isn't just some Bowery bum,” said Quinn, “or some little pusher from uptown.”

Schmidt shrugged. “What the hell do they have to lose? We're not dealing with the same kind of people. The colored guys haven't got anything to begin with. What can happen to them? They'll get killed? The way they probably figure it, so what?

“Either of you got a private car here?”

“I do,” said Quinn.

“Good. I've got mine, too,” said Schmidt. “We better use those. Sal's boys will recognize even unmarked police cars in a minute. We'll take walkie-talkies so we can keep in touch with headquarters and each other. Did Intelligence come up with anything on this?”

“All we know is that there've been two kidnapings,” said Feigin. “One guy is dead. The other guy, who's called Mickey something, we picked up. I think there may have been another, but that's just talk in the street.”

“And the one you picked up knew nothing, right?” said Schmidt.

“That's right, Lou,” said Feigin. “He's from the Bronx and according to him he wasn't even kidnaped. He didn't know what we were talking about.”

“I wonder if Aquilino has anything more than we do?” said Schmidt.

Feigin shrugged as he sipped his coffee.

“You guys better take off, get on the cots upstairs and get some shut-eye. You've been up all night, and we'll probably be up again tonight.”

“Say, what the hell kind of job is this anyway?” said Quinn. “Here we are staying up all night, two nights in a row, on a case where there isn't even a case, and the victim doesn't want us to help.”

“That just makes it more exciting,” Schmidt said, deadpan.

“After twenty years of excitement, it's not so exciting,” Quinn grumbled.

“Get some sleep,” said Schmidt, picking up a file from his desk. “Ask Ryan to come in here for a minute, will you? I've got other cases to worry about.”

10:00 A.M.

Bobby Matteawan was pacing up and down the garage. Angie the Kid was staring at a movie on TV. Tony, Joey, Frankie the Pig and Gus were in the office. They were fidgeting in their chairs, speaking only occasionally. The air seemed charged with electricity.

“Where did you say Gianni went?” asked Frankie the Pig.

“He went up to the Bronx, then out to Brooklyn,” said Tony. “He said he had to see some people.”

“What for?” asked Frankie the Pig.

“How the hell should I know? He didn't tell me,” Tony said curtly.

“Okay, forget it.”

“Maybe he went to get some more money?” said Gus.

“What for?” asked Frankie the Pig. “We've got all we need now.”

“Hey, don't jump down my throat.”

“I think we're all a little jumpy,” said Joey.

“Who'd Gianni go with?” asked Frankie the Pig.

“Nobody,” replied Tony. “I told him he shouldn't go by himself, that maybe he'd get snatched too. But he made some calls and said nobody'd recognize him anyway.”

The garage door opened and a dark colored man entered. Bobby Matteawan stopped his pacing. Angie the Kid stood up, reaching for a tire iron on a work bench. Inside the office, Tony had noticed the action in the outer area. A gun was already in his hand. Frankie the Pig leaped to his feet as he saw the gun being pulled. He saw Tony looking out into the garage and turned, pulling out a pistol of his own.

Another colored man entered. It was Lloyd. He looked around and saw everyone ready for action.

“Okay, okay, this guy's with me,” he said.

“I thought it was those creeps that got Sal coming over here for some action,” said Bobby Matteawan, starting to pace again.

Angie the Kid sat down, the adrenalin slowly draining back.

“Hello, Lloyd,” said Frankie the Pig, coming out of the office. “What's up?”

“We've been moving around all night. I finally found that broad.”