The Prince (53 page)

“Okay. Where's the merchandise?”

“Follow me.” Ben went to a stack of pallets loaded with cartons. “Drugs and Plasma” was written on all the boxes in large letters. He turned to Saro.

“Here are the fifty pallets. Which one do you want to check?”

Saro pointed at random to a half-hidden container. Ben pulled down the carton Saro had chosen and pushed it toward his feet. Saro broke open the box and verified that the bottles of straw-colored liquid were inside. The labels plainly indicated that it was plasma.

Saro signaled to Mastrangelo that everything was in order. Mastrangelo left the warehouse and lit a windproof match, waving it over his head.

“Now you can bring your friends out,” Saro said.

“All in good time. First we see the money.” Ben Eleazar knew he was convincing in bargaining talks; that's why Tom Bontade had chosen him to conduct this delicate negotiation.

The imposing figure of Prince Ferdinando Licata appeared, silhouetted against the warehouse's sliding door. He had a leather bag in his hand, similar to a doctor's bag.

“Don't move,
patri
!” Saro yelled. Then he turned to Eleazar. “Okay, friend. Either you bring out your gorillas, or this meeting ends here.”

“Easy, everything's okay! We just wanted to be sure you hadn't called in the cops. Okay, guys. You can come out.”

As agreed, only Angelo Bivona and Fabio Zummo came out of their hiding places. Both appeared unarmed.

Seemingly reassured, Prince Licata marched into the warehouse with long strides, heading toward Saro and Ben Eleazar.

Mastrangelo and Mannino let the prince pass, remaining in their places a few yards away from the hangar's sliding door.

When the prince reached Saro and Eleazar, he handed them the bag, saying, “Here it is.” Ben grabbed the leather bag and stepped back.

A voice resounded behind him. “We're not here for the dough.”

Vito Pizzuto emerged from a crate behind Ben. At the same instant, Roy Boccia and Salvatore Di Giovanni sprang out from behind some bales of jute, to the rear of the prince, pointing two Thompson guns at him. Angelo Bivona and Fabio Zummo grabbed the magnums from under their jackets and leveled them at Mastrangelo and Mannino. The two put their hands up, as did Saro Ragusa. Only Licata kept his hands down.

“I'm sorry, Prince, but Tom Bontade sends word that one of you is one too many here in New York.”

“Pizzuto, Pizzuto, you've been looking for trouble ever since I've known you,” the prince replied disinterestedly, as if the situation had nothing to do with him.

“Licata, we're not in the old country here, among peasants. You should adapt to the times.” Staring at Licata, Vito Pizzuto saw a cool, cunning look in his eyes. “These street sweepers replaced sawed-off shotguns years ago here.”

“
Comparuzzo mio
, my dear friend,” Licata addressed him in a tone dripping irony, “our ancestors taught us everything we need to know. You'll see, old sawed-off shotguns are irreplaceable when it comes to certain jobs.”

Meanwhile, Angelo Bivona and Fabio Zummo had moved close to Ben, keeping the men with their hands up in their sights.

Vito Pizzuto ordered Ben, “Cuff them.”

Ben handed the leather bag to Fabio Zummo, but at that instant Vito Pizzuto noticed the prince's eyes flash.

“Wait.” Pizzuto drew his Colt and worriedly said to Zummo: “Check that the money is in there.”

Zummo fumbled with the bag's clasp. Finally, he managed to release it.

If Vito Pizzuto had been an attentive observer, and if the other men hadn't spent too many years away from Sicily, they would have realized that a family boss would never personally carry a bag full of money. The fact that Prince Ferdinando Licata brought the cash for the deal could only mean two things: either there wasn't so much as a dollar in the bag, or it was bait for a trap.

As soon as Zummo snapped open the clasp to show his boss the bundles of money, a primer triggered a detonator that in turn exploded two sticks of dynamite.

Licata, Saro, Mastrangelo, and Mannino dropped to the ground, shielding their heads with their arms. The blast blew away Fabio Zummo and Angelo Bivona, who was standing beside him. Ben Eleazar was saved from the burst of flame thanks to Bivona's body, which shielded him, but the subsequent shock wave flung him against the sacks of jute, knocking him unconscious for several minutes.

A moment after the explosion, the men Licata had stationed outside burst into the warehouse: Lando Farinella and Bobby Mascellino. They rushed in through the sliding door, through which the prince himself had entered. Meanwhile, Tommaso Sciacca and Alex Pagano came charging through the back door. The four men were armed with shotguns, Colts, and Berettas. They blasted away at Vito Pizzuto, Roy Boccia, and Salvatore Di Giovanni. The fire was so intense and they were so taken aback that Di Giovanni surrendered immediately, but one last shotgun blast hit him squarely in the chest after he'd already put up his hands. In the confusion, Roy Boccia was able to escape from the warehouse. Ben was lying next to the bale of jute, still unconscious, while Vito Pizzuto was hiding, crouched behind a pile of crates, where Alex and Tommy found him.

Mastrangelo raced out to find Boccia. But after looking everywhere, he had to admit sadly that the man had managed to get away. Mastrangelo returned to the warehouse. Now his niece was really in danger. Their plan had only been half successful.

Pizzuto was dragged before Licata. He knew he still had a few more cards to play and was disdainful. “You thought you were smart, right Mastrangelo? Now what are you going to tell your little Aurora? Aldo Martini specializes in sexual sadism.”

“Tell me where you've got her!” Mastrangelo shouted.

“You'll have to torture me, but it will still be too late to get her back untouched.”

Mastrangelo punched him repeatedly in the face, bloodying his nose. Licata motioned to Tommy to stop him. Then he ordered them to tie Vito Pizzuto to the chain of the cargo winch.

Mastrangelo went over to Ben, who was still in shock following the explosion. “Where did you hide her?”

Ben shook his head. “You should have thought of that before. Now it's too late; you can't save her.”

Tommy and Alex made Vito Pizzuto hold out his arms and tied them to an iron pipe so that he couldn't bend them anymore. Then they hooked the cargo winch's chain to the ends of the cable and slowly hoisted the man until the tips of his shoes cleared the ground.

Vito Pizzuto grew serious. “You don't scare me, Licata. Bontade will give you a dose of your own medicine.”

Licata paid no attention to him. He focused on Ben Eleazar, an individual whose calling was not to become a hero. The prince was counting on that. “It will all be over soon, Ben. But it depends on you.”

“I won't talk, you bastards!” Eleazar spat out as Tommy and Alex tied him up like Pizzuto.

“You don't have to talk right away—but in a little while. First you'll see what we have in store for your friend. At least afterward, if you decide not to cooperate, you'll know what to expect.”

The two ends of the chains of the second lift were hooked to the pipe to which Ben had been tied. Tommy hoisted him just enough so that his feet came off the ground.

Ben Eleazar and Vito Pizzuto now swayed side by side in the middle of the warehouse, both with arms outstretched, looking like two men sentenced to be crucified.

Licata asked Farinella, “Lando, did you bring the box?” Then he went over to Pizzuto. “I want to see the terror in your eyes. It will remind me of all your pathetic crimes.”

Farinella soon returned with a cardboard box. Licata pulled a pair of leather gloves from his jacket pocket and put them on, deliberately taking his time.

Ben looked from Licata to Vito Pizzuto to the mysterious box and was genuinely worried.

Licata rose on tiptoe and whispered something in Pizzuto's ear. The man then began struggling and kicking, swinging the chains that held him suspended. Tommy and Alex held his legs still.

Licata opened the cardboard box. Meanwhile, Saro came back with some duct tape. He cut off one piece to gag Ben Eleazar. Then he got another piece ready for Pizzuto.

Ferdinando Licata put his hand in the box and caught one of two rats that were madly scrambling for a way out.

Vito Pizzuto, terrified by what the prince had whispered in his ear, began screaming. Licata took advantage of his open mouth and stuffed the rat down his throat. Pizzuto's scream turned into a grunt. Three of them couldn't hold him still. Tommy and Alex pinned down his legs, while Saro began binding his mouth with the duct tape. Pizzuto snorted, his eyes bulging with the effort to eject the animal writhing in his mouth. Blood began trickling from his nose. The rat's long tail hung out below the tape, whipping the air frantically. Ben Eleazar was more horrified than his pal who was being tortured.

“Take a good look,” the prince said to Eleazar. “In a little while, it will be your turn.” Vito Pizzuto was making sounds that had nothing human about them. He thrashed about as if he were having convulsions. Licata ordered the men to let go of him. The body jerked as if struck by a lightning bolt. The unfortunate victim continued writhing like a man possessed, then they all watched with horror as the tail disappeared into the mouth and the neck swelled as the animal passed through the windpipe and on down to the stomach. Blood flowed from Pizzuto's ears, eyeballs, and even the lower parts of his body, soiling his pants. Several more very long minutes of agony went by until he finally died.

Saro stepped up to Ben Eleazar who was about to faint and removed the duct tape from his mouth. All he had the strength to gasp was, “She's in a safe house in Greenpoint. On Nassau Avenue. It's the truth, I swear.”

As they were untying him, police sirens could be heard in the distance. Something they hadn't expected.

Mastrangelo took off with Carmine Mannino and Alex Pagano, dragging Ben Eleazar along with them.

Ferdinando Licata took another way out with Tommy Sciacca, Lando Farinella, and Bobby Mascellino. Saro, meanwhile, took care of planting dynamite in the car that Vito Pizzuto had driven in to come to the meeting. He wanted to leave evidence for the police that the explosions at the port and on the Liberty ships were the Mafia's doing—in particular the Bontade family, and not the work of subversive pro-Nazi cells.

Saro just had time to close the trunk of the car and sprint away from the warehouse, heading for Commerce Street. But police cars coming down Van Brunt Street spotted him and cut him off, pointing a wall of guns at him. Saro put his hands up, with the expression of a peeping Tom who's been caught ogling the girls in a public bathroom.

Fortunately for him, he was many blocks away from the warehouse where Pizzuto's tortured corpse was later found.

No one would be able to incriminate him, except for Roy Boccia and Ben Eleazar. But neither Boccia nor Eleazar would ever testify against him because they knew that sooner or later they would wind up in the Hudson River with their feet stuck in a bucket of cement.

Ferdinando Licata's savagery and extreme brutality, concealed beneath his refined, magnanimous ways, became legend—not only among New York's families but also along the East Coast.

O
nce he'd realized that they had fallen into a trap, Roy Boccia had taken advantage of the confusion to beat it out the back door of the warehouse. He had to reach Aldo Martini right away, to tell him to get the girl out of Greenpoint; it was no longer a safe hideaway. But first he had to inform Tom Bontade.

Roy Boccia knew that Aurora was his life insurance. As long as she was their prisoner, Mastrangelo and the other family members would never risk putting her in jeopardy by attempting anything reckless.

Alex Pagano, driving the Lincoln, was speeding toward Greenpoint. On the seat beside him was Jack Mastrangelo, while Carmine Mannino sat in back with Ben Eleazar.

When they reached Nassau Avenue, Eleazar told them to keep going, almost until Lorimer Street. At 59 Nassau Avenue, he told him to stop. The hideout was in a two-story red-brick building in a state of total neglect. A fire had destroyed it the year before, and the walls were still charred. While waiting to be demolished, it had become a temporary shelter for bums and delinquents. The place where Aurora was kept, Ben told them, was in the basement.

Jack Mastrangelo jumped out of the car with Alex Pagano. Carmine Mannino took out a pair of handcuffs and fastened one end on Eleazar's wrist and the other to a hook specially welded to the floor of the Lincoln near the drive shaft. He closed the doors and locked them, and then followed Mastrangelo and Alex, who had already disappeared behind the partly open door.

The hallway was impassable. Piles of masonry debris, stacked up boards, and jumbles of electrical cables blocked the way to the staircase leading to the basement. Mastrangelo decided to go in through the back door. There the destruction caused by the fire was less visible. Followed by his two companions, Mastrangelo headed for the stairs. He had drawn his Colt and was alert to every sound coming from the building's dark corridors.

He heard voices and saw the gleam of a flame illuminate the shadows at the end of the hall. He signaled the others to watch out. Alex and Carmine had also drawn their automatics. They flanked him, and the three advanced slowly.

Now the voices were distinct. Mastrangelo was ready to jump out into the open. He motioned the others to cover him, and then sprang around the corner of the hallway, yelling “Don't move!” At the same time, Carmine and Alex dropped to the ground with guns drawn. But the scene that met their eyes was not what they expected: two vagrants were boiling water for coffee over a fire that they had made with some wooden slats. In a corner of their makeshift shelter were the remains of two mattresses and a water bucket. On the ground Mastrangelo noticed a small link chain. The bums were frightened by the sudden raid, but then, reassured by Mastrangelo that they weren't cops, they went back to what they were doing. The one with the white hair and beard took the pot of hot water off the fire and set it on a wooden box. Then he opened the lid and poured in some coffee powder. Meanwhile, the other man rigged up a couple of improvised stools. The older man sat down and began stirring the mixture with a chopstick. Mastrangelo went over to him.