The Dame Did It (9 page)

Fido cleared his throat. “Yes, it all went
down just like Ira said it did. And yes, Gia did save my life, and
Papa Gino was everything to me, so… they got my support, for
whatever that’s worth.”

Just then, an enforcer named Jack Morristi
made a point to express his opinion in audible fashion. “Heh! Of
course that bug is gonna support the dame taking over a man’s job.
He’s got lots to gain considerin’ how he would be boffing the new
boss.”

Overhearing the remark, Ira became incensed
and pointed his Colt in Jack’s direction. “What the hell did you
just say, Morristi? Say that again, why don’t you!”

“C’mon, we all know how sweet on this girl
you are, Ira,” Jack stood up and said. “And I’m not sure how much
respect any of the boys should have for a guard who needs a skirt
to save him.”

Ira’s grip on the trigger tightened. “You
son of a—”

Gia stepped in and motioned for her lover
and bodyguard to stand down. “Now, now, Ira, no need for you do
anything like that.”

“But—”

She then grabbed the Colt out of Ira’s hand,
and in a blur of motion shot Jack directly in the throat. His
adam’s apple exploded in a shower of crimson, and every man sitting
in his near-vicinity were sprayed with his blood, along with pieces
of his larynx and esophagus.

“Jee-zus,” Al said, too stunned to react any
further.

Gia then pointed the gun in the general
direction of the assembled men. “Let’s all get something straight
here. I totally am a skirt, but I’m a skirt who’s
in charge
!
Did ya’ll enjoy that red shower I gave you? Would some of the rest
of you like to contribute the blood for one of those, like Mr.
Morristi did? No? Then
shut up
and don’t give me no more
back talk!”

The assembly remained completely quiet,
their attention respectfully focused on Gia. The sole exception was
Jack, who was too dead to give attention to anyone in this world
any longer; his wide-open eyes glared unblinking at the ceiling, as
blood continued to pour from what was left of his throat.

When Gia looked at Al for a response, he
simply clasped his hands together and nodded in abeyance.

“All right, good,” Gia said, cautiously
lowering her gun. “Now that that’s out of the way, we can discuss
business.”

* * *

Florence Gates ran at a hurried pace down a darkly
lit area of Buffalo known as “the Hooks.” Close to the city’s
harbor in the Erie County Canal, it provided an ideal shipping area
for illegal liquor and other types of contraband; hence, as one
might expect, it attracted more than its share of mob-related
activity. The young woman traipsed quickly down Dante Place, to a
large church that had long been a secret hideout for Buffalo’s
Gambino Family in the midst of Provenzo territory.

Making her way to the back entrance where
she knew the meetings took place, she began frantically pounding on
the door.

“Vito, darling!” she shouted. “Are you
there? I need you! Please help me!”

A known Gambino enforcer opened the door to
let her in. She saw that five men were present, none of whom,
unfortunately, were her lover Vito. She did recognize Vito’s much
feared right-hand man, Ricky Lopresti, however.

“Hey, look at the sweet patootie that came
knocking!” one of the men squealed in delight. “Come to party with
the big boys, doll?”

“Shaddup, Ramus,” Lopresti hollered. “This
dame is Vito’s main squeeze… at least, as of a few days ago.” He
looked her over. “Has that changed, Florence?”

“Not that I know of!” she stammered. “I
mean, no. No! I guess you heard what happened, right?”

“Who in the city hasn’t, Flo?” Lopresti
asked rhetorically. “Where have you been, and what are you doing
here?”

“I’ve been in hiding since that awful lady
went all ‘Chicago’ on us at the diner,” she explained. “I came here
to be with Vito, so he can keep me safe. Is he here?”

“No, he ain’t,” Lopresti replied. “And I’m
not about to tell anyone, even you, where he is. If he wants you to
be with him, he’ll find
you
first.”

“Oh,” she said with a crestfallen tone.

“But you can stay here in the meantime,”
Ramus stated with a grin. “And we’ll give ya all the protection
you’ll need. Right, Ricky”?

“Shut your hole, Ramus!” the
dark-complexioned lieutenant repeated. “Don’t make me have to tell
you a third time!”

Suddenly, three figures entered the door,
the first of them shoving Florence aside with a casual push. As
they walked further into the illumination provided by the array of
lit candles, the trench-coat-and-pub-cap-wearing figure of Gia
Provenzo was revealed. Fido and Ira were directly behind her.

“H’lo, Ricky,” Gia greeted acerbically.
“Vito may not be here, but you’ll do for now.”

Lopresti began reaching for the roscoe
located in his jacket pocket. “Are you Gino Provenzo’s daughter?
What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to pay a social call and
introduce you to my good friend Tommy,” she said. With another of
her characteristic displays of lightening-like reflexes, she
brandished a Thompson 1928 sub-machine gun from its hiding place in
her trench coat.

Lopresti and his men stood transfixed with
astonishment for a moment. And a moment was all Gia needed.

“Y’see, we heard this rectory here was
infested with cockroaches,” she lamented. “And my trusty
goombah
Tommy is a world-class exterminator!”

Gia then unleashed a spray of deadly hot
lead at close range. The carefully controlled arc of bullets struck
the chest and stomach areas of the men before her, ripping through
flesh and internal organs like a hot knife slicing through a stick
of butter. Within several seconds, as Gia’s clip was emptied into
the room, the walls and tables were soaked in scarlet gore.
Florence fell down on her knees and covered her ears, terrified her
bladder and bowels would empty on the floor.

Gia walked through the blood-stained room,
inspecting the condition of each body. She discovered that Lopresti
was still alive, though he had a hole the size of a baseball in his
lower abdomen, his small intestine jutting out like a glistening
pink snake. He was in a sitting position and desperately attempted
to hold his displaced guts in their proper place.

Barely conscious and in shock, Lopresti
looked up and saw Gia standing above him with a sardonic grin on
her face. “Wow, Ricky, don’t let anyone tell ya that you’re not one
to totally spill your guts for this job! Muah-ha-ha!”

“Geezzzz… Gia-aaa,” was all Ricky could
muster for a response. “Vito is gonna kill you… for this…”

“I think you got things backwards there,
dear,” she said. She brandished a derringer and pointed it directly
between Lopresti’s eyes. “Tell me where your boss is, and I’ll get
you to a hospital. You got my word on that, and you know the
Provenzo code of honor.”

“I’ll… be dead on… arrival, and… you… know
it… so go f…”

Lopresti was cut off—in more ways than
one—when Gia pulled the trigger.

“I’d hate to be the janitor of this place,”
Gia remarked as she re-pocketed her pistol.

“I sure hope Jesus forgives us for all this
violence in his house,” Fido said.

“Of course he does,” Gia retorted. “Jesus
forgives us for anything! He ain’t our personal savior for
nothing.”

“Good point there, Miss Pro,” Fido noted
with a smile.

Gia then walked over to the still trembling
Florence. She grabbed the crouching woman by her brown locks and
pulled her back to her feet.

“Get up, you filthy
puttana
!” the
femme Don demanded as she slammed Florence against the wall. “You
looked so pathetic cowerin’ down there. Haven’t you ever seen any
Chicago-style rub-out before? Anyways, thank you for leading us to
Vito’s little hiding place right under our noses. Not that you had
any other choice after my boys picked you up last night, mind
you.”

“Please…” Florence pleaded. “I did what you
asked. Don’t kill me don’t kill me…”

“Geez Louise, does Vito know how to pick
’em,” Gia noted while shaking her head. “Then again, if he ever
found himself a
real woman
, he wouldn’t be in the top seat
for long, would he? So anyways, do you really want to live that
badly, girlie?”

Florence nodded meekly.

“Okay, then here’s what ya gotta do…” Gia
began explaining.

* * *

BUFFALO NEWS
August 6, 1933
—

QUEEN CITY IN PERIL

By Lissa Rose

The Chief of the Buffalo Police has declared the
Queen City and its nearby environs “a virtual war zone.” This is
due to the rampant increase in homicides and shootings over the
past week. Our sources, who requested the strictest anonymity,
claim that the recent death of respected entrepreneur and
philanthropist Gino Provenzo is the catalyst for this wave of
bedlam. These same sources have long reported Mr. Provenzo to be
head of an Italian organized crime outfit operating in the city,
and having large amounts of capital invested in a variety of
businesses, both legal and illicit. Mayor Dominic Goldwater has
declined any type of clarification along these lines, stating
simply, “Mr. Provenzo has long been a generous donator to many
charitable institutions in need. This includes various programs
that assist City Hall in creating job opportunities, and I, for
one, will not sully his memory by giving credence to unproven
rumors.”

However, the Mayor’s words of tribute to the late
Mr. Provenzo conflict with the reports in question, which are
persistent despite their lack of substantiation. A few of his
bodyguards have a record of criminal offenses, and Mr. Provenzo
himself was arrested twice in the past; once for petty theft when
he was 15, and once for suspicion of racketeering at age 28. The
charges were ultimately dropped in the first case for lack of
evidence, and he was acquitted for the latter by a jury of his
peers. Many in the city, however, feel that his generosity has long
spoken for itself.

It’s been reported by many in the “Little Italy”
section of Buffalo that the murder of Mr. Provenzo was a
pre-meditated hit by a rival syndicate, not the random action of a
young marijuana addict, as stated in his obituary. The shooting
spree that erupted in a West Seneca diner is said to provide ample
evidence of this. Strangest of all, this siege on Mr. Provenzo’s
alleged long-time rival, wealthy fruit exporter Vito Gambino, is
said to be led by the former’s 23-year-old daughter Gia, who took
over her father’s business following his demise. As reports of her
purported ruthlessness for vengeance continue to grow, she has been
dubbed the “Damsel of Disaster” by many West Side residents.

* * *

Gia had her arms wrapped comfortably around Ira’s
torso as they relaxed in bed together mere minutes after waking up.
The Queen-sized bed was more than large enough to accommodate two,
and she imagined enjoying many similar hours in the future. This
was one of the rare occasions when she felt at peace with herself;
where she could be a woman rather than a boss or an engine of
mayhem. But Ira didn’t seem to share the sentiment. He appeared
increasingly distant since Gino’s death, and he found himself
glaring at the crystal chandelier on the ceiling rather than Gia’s
mocha brown eyes.

“So, what’s on your mind this morning, man
of mine?” she asked while rubbing his chest. “’Cause it shore
doesn’t seem to be me.”

“It’s nothing, dear,” he replied. “I just
got a touch of a headache, is all.”

“Babe, when someone answers ‘nothing’ to the
question I asked, it always turns out to be
something
,” she
said. “And that headache complaint wasn’t flattering to this girl.
What’s the problem?”

“It’s just that I miss your Papa. You don’t
need to read more into it than that.”

“Actually, I think I do. Now tell me what’s
going on, or—”

The two were interrupted by a knocking on
the closed bedroom door. The voice of Jennings, the Provenzo home’s
butler, made itself heard through the thick oaken door.

“Ma’am, forgive me for the disturbance, but
you told me that you wanted to be informed the moment which the
letter in the red envelope arrived. Well, it has arrived.”

“All right, Jennings, slip it under the
door,” she commanded as she leapt out of bed and began getting
dressed.

“Will do, ma’am,” was Jennings’ expected
response, and she grabbed the scarlet envelope the moment it was
slipped under the crack of the door.

After opening and reading the missive, she
turned to Ira with a stern expression. “We can talk things over
later, babe. Flo finally managed to contact Vito and find out where
he is. This war has been going on for over two weeks now, and it’s
gotta end!”

“So where is he?”

“He’s in the harbor on that fancy yacht of
his. He’s fixin’ to go to Canada to get some new recruits and lay
low for a while. But we’re gonna stop him before he leaves.”

“I hope you know it isn’t going to be easy
to breach the security of that yacht. I suggest—”

“Your suggestion is considered, and
dis-
missed
! Sorry, honey, but I’m the boss, not you, and we
have to end this war yesterday. I ain’t gonna let Buffalo become
like Chicago or New Orleans under
my
watch! I owe that much
to Papa.”

Ira sighed and looked down as he put on his
pants. “Do you want me to gather the usual crew?”

“You shore do read my mind, honey bun. No
wonder I hired you as my chief enforcer. Hah! Now let’s go do this
while we still got the element of surprise.”

* * *

About two hours later, Vito Gambino sat in his
barricaded quarters, located in the bottom floor of his yacht,
From Sicily with Love
. He fumbled with his Colt nervously
amidst his two main bodyguards, Heff and Johnny-Boy, the latter
watching the cabin door. Heff approached and told him what was on
his mind, something he felt necessary.