The Family Corleone (20 page)

“Son of a bitch got lucky,” Donnie said. “He came back with his whole bloody gang.”

“I put holes in a few of them,” Willie said.

“What happened?” Sean said. “Did you shoot it out?”

Donnie nodded to Willie and said, “Your brother’s a bleedin’ lunatic.”

Willie, grinning, said, “I lost my temper a wee bit.”

Donnie said, “We were already on the roof on our way out of there, and your lunatic of a brother tells me to give him my gun. So I give him my gun and next thing I know he’s gone fuckin’ cowboy on me.”

“I was set on killin’ that son of a bitch,” Willie said.

“Did you get him?” Sean asked.

Willie shook his head and took a long drag on his cigarette. “I saw him come out on the roof after us. I was already on the next rooftop and onto the fire escape out of sight—but a guy that big’s hard to miss.” To Donnie he said, “I’m sure it was him.”

“Too bad,” Sean said.

“I hit at least two of them,” Willie said. “I heard them yowl and hit the ground.”

“You think you killed them?”

“I hope so.” Willie put his cigarette out, grinding it into the tar-paper roof with his shoe. “I hate those bastard dagos, every one of them.”

“So what now?” Sean took his gun out of his jacket and put it down on the ledge beside him. “Luca’s coming after us?”

“No. Not yet, anyway,” Willie said. “I was in the shadows and I had my cap pulled low. He still don’t know what hit him.”

“Not yet?” Sean said. He leaned over his knees, making a smaller target for the wind.

Donnie got up and sat next to Sean, facing Willie. “It’s too bad we missed him,” he said. “Now everything’ll be harder.”

“The hell with it,” Willie said.

Sean said, “You’re going after him again?”

Donnie said, “It’s him or us, Sean.” He twisted around and looked over the ledge and down to the street, where a car was honking its horn at McMahon’s junk wagon. “Pete Murray and the Donnellys are with us,” he said, still looking down to the street. “Little Stevie, Corr Gibson, they’re with us.” He picked up Sean’s gun and examined it. “The wops will learn they can’t deal us dirt the way they’ve been doing—starting with Luca Brasi.” He handed Sean his pistol.

Sean put the gun back in his jacket pocket. “I’m with you,” he said. “That son of a bitch Brasi needs killing.”

Donnie lit another cigarette. He turned his back to the wind and cupped the match in his hand. Willie and Sean both took out cigarettes and lit them off Donnie’s match, and then each of them drifted into their own thoughts, sitting huddled together on the roof while the wind whistled and moaned around them.

T
omasino Cinquemani rode the elevator down from his midtown apartment with his arms crossed and his feet spread wide, as if he were blocking someone from passing, while Nicky Crea and Jimmy Grizzeo faced each other to the right and left of him. It was early and Nicky and Grizz looked sleepy. Grizz had pulled the brim of his hat down over his forehead and appeared to be taking a brief nap while the elevator rattled and made its slow way down to the lobby. Nicky had a brown paper bag in his left hand and his right hand in his jacket pocket. Tomasino’s eyes were fixed on the elevator gate and the walls and doors sliding past. The fourth man with them, seated on a stool alongside the controls, wore a uniform with a V-shaped row of buttons on the shirtfront. His pillbox hat was a size too small and the way it sat on his head made him look like an organ grinder’s monkey. He was a kid with an old man’s tired eyes and he seemed to be working hard at being invisible. When the elevator reached the lobby, he leveled it with the floor and pulled open the gate and the doors. Tomasino exited first, followed by Grizz. Nicky put a quarter in the kid’s hand, and the kid thanked him.

On the street, the city was bustling. Cars and taxis raced along the avenue, and crowds of citizens hurried by on the sidewalks. Tomasino lived in midtown, on the twenty-eighth floor of a high-rise apartment building. He felt safer amid the crowds, in an apartment where
no one was climbing up some fire escape to put a bullet between his eyes. He liked the clamor and he didn’t mind the noise—but he had to send somebody downtown to get good sausage or pastry, and that was a pain in the ass. Grizz had disappeared into a nearby Automat upon exiting the lobby, and now he returned with coffees, which he handed out to Nicky and Tomasino.

“Did you get three sugars in mine?” Tomasino asked.

Grizz said, “That’s what I told the broad.”

Tomasino nodded and put both hands around his coffee cup, which looked like a child’s toy in his meaty paws. To Nicky he said, “Give me one of those
sfogliatell’
.”

Nicky handed Tomasino a cone-shaped pastry from a brown paper bag, and then the three of them stood with their backs to the wall drinking coffee and waiting for their driver, Vic Piazza, who had called when they were on their way out the door to say he was having trouble with the car and he’d be a few minutes late.

“Where’d you get these
sfogliatell’
?” Tomasino asked. He held the pastry in front of him and examined the layers of flaky crust. “They’re soggy,” he said. “I hate it when they’re soggy.”

“I got ’em on Mott Street,” Grizz said.

“Where on Mott Street?”

Grizz pushed up the brim of his hat and said, “I don’t know where the fuck I got ’em, Tommy. Some bakery on Mott Street.”

“Hey, Grizz,” Tomasino said, and he turned his bulk toward the kid. “Who you talkin’ to?”

Grizz threw his hands open in an apology. “It’s early, Tommy. I’m a pain in the balls in the mornin’, I know. Sorry.”

Tomasino laughed and patted Grizz’s shoulder. “I like you,” he said. “You’re a good kid.” To Nicky he said, “Next time, you get the
sfogliatell’
. Get ’em from Patty’s on Ainslie Street in Williamsburg. Best
sfogliatell’
in the city.” He gestured out to the street with his coffee cup. “Where the hell is Vic?” To Grizz he said, “What’d he say was wrong with the car?”

“Carburetor,” Grizz said. “Said it’d just take him a few minutes.”

“I don’t like this.” Tomasino looked at his wristwatch. “Things
like this—” he said, and he didn’t finish his thought. Tomasino was some twenty-five years older and a couple of inches taller than Nicky and Grizz. “A thing like this,” he said to the boys, “this is when you start lookin’ around. Do you understand what I’m sayin’?”

Nicky nodded and Grizz sipped his coffee. They both appeared bored.

Tomasino said, “What did he say was wrong with the car again?”

“Carburetor,” Grizz said.

Tomasino took a minute to think about that. He looked at his wristwatch again. He asked Nicky, “How many boys we have there?”

“Four in the diner: two at the counter, two in booths. Carmine and Fio outside, in their cars, out of sight but close.”

“And there’s no way Luca will know any of them.”

“No way,” Nicky said. “Carmine rounded up some mugs from Jersey. Luca’s not gonna know them.”

“And everybody knows what to do?”

“Course,” Nicky said. “We did everything like you said.”

“ ’Cause that stupid son of a bitch still thinks it was us tried to rub him out. I told his boy Hooks, ‘I wanted Luca dead, he’d be dead.’ ”

Grizz said, “And he still thinks it was us?”

Tomasino finished off the last of his coffee. “He’d have been more convinced if I could’ve told him who it was.”

“Still no word on that?” Grizz asked.

“Son of a bitch has enough enemies,” Tomasino said. “Could have been anybody. These guys at the diner,” he said, changing the subject, “they got the balls to shoot if we need ’em, right?” He went on without waiting for an answer, “ ’Cause if Brasi still thinks it’s us tried to push him…”

Grizz said, “Tommy, I love you like you were my own old man, but, Jesus, you worry too much.”

Tomasino scowled at Grizz, then smiled, and then laughed. “Where the fuck’s Vic?” he said. “He don’t show in another minute, I’m calling this off.”

“Here he is,” Nicky said, and he pointed to a black Buick sedan that had just turned the corner.

Tomasino waited with his arms crossed over his chest while Nicky and Grizz got into the back and Vic jumped out of the driver’s seat, ran around the car, and opened the door. “Fuckin’ carburetor,” he said. He was a skinny, handsome kid with slicked-back blond hair. He’d already turned twenty but still looked like a fifteen-year-old. “I had to blow it out, and then I lost one of the damn screws—” He stopped talking when he saw that Tomasino wasn’t interested in hearing excuses. “Look,” he said, “Tommy. I’m sorry. I should’ve gotten up early and made sure there were no problems.”

“That’s right,” Tomasino said, and then he got into the passenger’s seat.

As soon as Vic was back in the car and behind the wheel, the kid said, again, “Sorry, Tommy.”

Tomasino said, “You’re a good kid, Vic, but don’t let nothing like this happen again.” To Nicky he said, “Give me another
sfogliatell’
.” To Vic he said, “You want one?”

“Nah,” Vic said. “I don’t eat in the mornin’. Got no interest in food till afternoon sometime.”

“Yeah,” Grizz said from the backseat. “I’m like that too.”

Tomasino looked at his wristwatch. “You know where we’re going?” he asked Vic.

“Yeah, of course,” the kid said. “I got the route mapped out in my head. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Good.” Tomasino leaned across the seat, close enough to Vic that the kid backed away from him.

“What?” Vic said.

“You’re sweatin’,” Tomasino said. “How come you’re sweatin’, Vic? Nobody else is sweatin’.”

Nicky said, “He thinks you’re gonna plug him for being late.”

Vic said, “Hey, I’ve never been late before, right? I’m a professional about my job. I’m gonna be late, I get nervous.”

“Forget it,” Tomasino said, and he patted Vic’s shoulder. “You’re a good kid,” he said. “I like you.”

Grizz leaned into the front seat. He was wiry, with a round, angelic face, and he was wearing a gray fedora with a black band. His hat
was tilted back on his head. “What are you going this way for?” he asked Vic. They were driving slowly down a quiet side street. “Wouldn’t it be faster—”

Before Grizz could finish his question, Vic pulled the car onto the sidewalk and jumped out as Luca Brasi and his men poured out of a hallway. Luca had a gun pointed at Tomasino’s head before anyone in the car figured out what was going on.

“Don’t be stupid,” Luca said to everyone. To Tomasino he said, “I’m not here to kill you.”

Tomasino took his hand out of his jacket.

Once Hooks and JoJo were in the backseat with Tomasino’s boys and had taken their guns, Luca slid into the front seat, pulled a pistol from Tomasino’s shoulder holster, and handed it back to JoJo. Vic, who had been watching from the hallway, got back in the car and started driving again. He turned the car around and headed downtown.

“Where we going?” Tomasino asked.

“Chelsea Piers,” Luca said. “Someplace quiet where we can have that talk you wanted to have.”

“
V’fancul’
,” Tomasino said. “We can’t talk like civilized human beings over a cup of coffee?”

“Who’s civilized here?” Luca asked. “You always looked to me like a big, dumb, dressed-up monkey, Tommy. You still pullin’ people’s teeth?”

“When the occasion calls for it.” Tomasino shifted around in his seat so that he was looking forward, with Luca between him and Vic. He folded his hands over his belly. “Vic,” he said, looking straight ahead. “I never figured you to be this stupid.”

“You can’t blame the kid,” Luca said. He slipped his gun into his shoulder holster and put his arm around Vic’s shoulder. “I got both his brothers tied up at his girlfriend’s place with a couple of my boys—and he still made me give him my word I wouldn’t bump you off.”

Tomasino looked disgusted. He continued staring out the front window.

Tears were rolling down Vic’s cheeks.

“Look at this,” Luca said. “The kid’s crying.”

“He shot my little brother in the leg,” Vic said. “He said the next one’d be in his head.”

Luca said, “You cooperated, didn’t you?”

Tomasino picked up the half-eaten
sfogliatell’
that had fallen into his lap. He showed it to Luca. “Mind if I eat?”

“Enjoy yourself,” Luca said.

“It wasn’t us tried to rub you out,” Tomasino said, with his mouth full. “If that’s what you’re thinkin’, you got that wrong.”

Luca said, “Somebody tried to rub me out? What are you talking about, Tommy? I thought we were meeting to discuss my buying and selling Joe’s hijacked hooch.”

“Luca,” Tomasino said. “Everybody knows somebody took a shot at you. I told your boy—”

“But it wasn’t you?”

“It wasn’t me or Joe or anybody we have anything to do with.”

“But you know who it was,” Luca said.

“No,” Tomasino said. He finished his pastry and brushed crumbs off his jacket. “That’s not what I meant. We don’t know who it was, and we haven’t heard anything yet.”

Luca looked into the backseat. “Hey, Grizz,” he said. “How you been?” When Grizz didn’t answer, he said, “And you don’t know who it was tried to push me either, is that right?”

“I have no idea,” Grizz said. “All I know is like Tommy said, it wasn’t us.”

“Yeah, all right,” Luca said, as if he didn’t believe Grizz but it made no difference. They were by the water, at the Chelsea Piers, and Luca pointed to an alleyway between a pair of warehouses. “Turn in there,” he said to Vic.

Vic followed the alley till it dead-ended at the water and a line of empty boat slips. He stopped the car and looked to Luca for instructions.

“All right,” Luca said, “everybody out.”

Tomasino said, “Why can’t we talk right where we are?”

“It’s beautiful out there,” Luca said. “We’ll get a little fresh air.” He pulled his pistol from his shoulder holster and pointed it at Tomasino’s face. “I think we should talk by the water.”

Tomasino shook his head in disgust and got out of the car.

Hooks got out of the backseat, followed by JoJo, who had a gun in each hand. They lined up Tomasino and his boys with their backs to the water. Luca turned to Vic, who was leaning against the front fender of the Buick. “What are you doing?” he said. “Get over there with the rest of them.”