Gangster (12 page)

    Angelo stopped in front of the fruit stand, selected two fresh peaches and handed them to the vendor. He watched as the small, muscular young man in a long-sleeved white shirt wrapped the peaches inside a single sheet of newspaper. Angelo handed him a five-dollar bill.

    The change is yours to keep, Angelo said, if you can tell me the name of the girl waiting in the doorway.

    The vendor held the five in his right hand and turned to look at the tenement. He came back to Angelo and smiled. Isabella, he said, sliding the bill into the front pocket of his work pants.

    Do you know her family? Angelo asked.

    You only asked for her name, the vendor said.

    Angelo stepped up closer. And now I'm asking about her family.

    Her father is a macellaio, the vendor said, lowering his head and voice. You know, how do you say it in English?

    A butcher, Angelo said.

    That's it, butcher, the vendor said, snapping his fingers and smiling. He works downtown in the place where they kill the animals.

    What about her mother? Angelo asked.

    She died, maybe five years ago, the vendor said. She was sick for a very long time.

    She have anybody else? Angelo took the peaches from the vendor.

    A brother, the vendor said. Three, maybe four years younger. Nice boy and a hard worker. I use him sometimes to help clean up the store. Now you know all that I know and you have your peaches.

    What's your name? Angelo asked, putting out his hand.

    Franco, the vendor said, meeting Angelo's firm grip with one of his own. Franco Rasti.

    Thank you, Franco, Angelo said. He looked at the wet and gleaming racks of fruits and vegetables. You have a good business here. I will buy from you again.

    Two peaches for five dollars, Franco said with a wide grin. At those prices, I will bring the fruit to you.

     *     *     *

WOULD YOU LIKE a peach, Isabella? Angelo stood in front of her, the rain getting stronger, slapping at his back and shoulders.

    How do you know my name? she asked in a voice soft as a cloud.

    Up close, Isabella's beauty was even more striking and the look of suspicion etched across her face only added to its allure.

    I paid Franco five dollars for these peaches, Angelo said, ignoring the question. Have you ever eaten a fruit which cost so much?

    No. She watched Angelo undo the newspaper wrapping and hand her a peach. That's because I have never met a man stupid enough to pay such a price.

    Angelo smiled as Isabella took the peach from his hand. The stupid man is the one who keeps you waiting in the rain, he said.

    My father would not like a stranger calling him stupid, Isabella said. Especially a young stranger who pays so much money for fruit.

    And he would be right, Angelo said. I apologize. To you and to your father.

    Isabella smiled and tilted her head to one side. It would be easier for me to accept an apology if I knew who it was from.

    The wet fool before you is Angelo Vestieri, he said.

    The rain was coming down now in hard sheets, soaking through the back of Angelo's jacket and pants. He lowered his head against its force, but kept his eyes locked on Isabella. He watched as she split the peach in half and pulled the pit from the core. They both smiled when she took a small bite, a pearl of juice hanging off her lower lip.

    And why are you here, Angelo Vestieri? she asked, her early caution wiped away by the rain and Angelo's warmth.

    I love the rain, Angelo told her. And I hate for a good piece of fruit to go to waste.

    But when the rain stops and you have eaten your fruit, what will you do then? Isabella's face gleamed from the splashes of water bouncing off her cheeks and neck and Angelo thought her bright smile could melt a demon's heart.

    I will still be hungry. So I will go and look for a place to eat.

    Why not at home with your family? Isabella bit off another chunk of the peach.

    I like to eat alone, Angelo said. In quiet restaurants.

    My father and I are going to my aunt Nunzia's for dinner, Isabella said. You can come with us if you like.

    I would need to ask your father for permission.

    That's a good idea. Isabella finished the last of the peach and broke out into a schoolgirl's laugh. That way, you'll have something to say when my stupid father sees you and asks why a young man is standing in the rain talking to his daughter.

    Where is he now? Angelo asked, the cold wetness seeping through his jacket and shirt onto his skin.

    Right behind you, Isabella said, pointing a finger past Angelo's shoulder.

    Angelo turned and faced a middle-aged man about his height, but carrying a hundred pounds more in weight and muscle. He was wearing a black striped shirt, its front turned dark by the rain, and a white bloodstained butcher's smock. Angelo offered him the remaining peach.

    You won't believe what I paid for it, Angelo said.

    Was it worth it? Giovanni Conforti asked, taking the piece of fruit. Every penny, Angelo said.

6

_____________________________

Fall, 1925

THE OVERWEIGHT MAN in the soiled white shirt sat with his back pressed against the thick pillows of the cigar-colored couch. The room was small and sparsely furnished, littered with the remains of half-eaten meals and empty pints of back-door whiskey. Angelo, his hands inside his pants pockets, looked out the open window and stared down at a young couple walking into Charley Sutton's East Side restaurant. Pudge was across the room, his fists resting on his hips, standing directly over the overweight man.

    I was gonna bring you the money, Ralph Barcelli said, his voice a series of heavy rasps. You know, save you guys a trip over here.

    Barcelli was a forty-year-old low-level drug dealer and numbers runner. He earned just enough to feed his hunger for whiskey, horses and underage girls. What he couldn't earn he borrowed at exorbitant street rates, putting himself forever behind the financial eight ball.

    But you didn't, Pudge said. You made us come and get it.

    I had to go and make a run for Tony Faso, Ralph said, a slight trembling of his lower lip betraying his fear. If it weren't for that bit of business, I would have done like I said. But I couldn't be in two spots at the same time. You understand my position, right?

    I don't care where you went before we got here and I don't care where you're going after we leave, Pudge said. What I care about is seeing the money you owe me while I'm here.

    You got no worries on that count, Ralph said, scratching at a patch of gray-tinged stubble. I got it all wrapped up for you, you know, like a birthday present. It's in the little room in the back.

    Angelo looked away from the window. I'll get it, he said, walking with his head down into the narrow corridor.

    You need for me to do anything, just ask, Ralph said. He was blinking nervously as his sleepy brown eyes followed Angelo, bubbles of perspiration forming in circular patterns on top of his bald head.

    Sit there and shut up ought to cover your end, Pudge said.

     *     *     *

ANGELO OPENED THE door leading into the small back room and took a step back, thrown by the stench of dry urine and the sight of a young girl curled up under a soiled white sheet. Resting next to her, in a corner of the rumpled bed, was a shoe box with a nylon cord tied around it. Streaks of sunlight filtered in on long strings of dust lines through the glass of a closed window, its grimy shade rolled to the top.

    Angelo walked into the room, stepped over to the bed and removed the sheet, tossing it to the floor. The girl didn't flinch. She was naked except for a cream-colored blouse covering her rail-thin upper body. She stared up at him with eyes that were as clear as they were distant.

    What's your name? Angelo asked.

    Lisa, the girl said in a fuller voice than the one he expected.

    Angelo placed her at somewhere between fourteen and seventeen, the clear-skinned, soft-glazed brilliance of her years chewed up during the time she spent in the sour embrace of Ralph Barcelli. She was bone-frail, her long brown hair hanging over her shoulders like thin strands of straw. Her sunken cheeks were ash-white.

    How old are you, Lisa? Angelo asked, briefly distracted by the two empty pints of whiskey on the nightstand.

    How old I am depends on who you are, Lisa said as she propped herself up on one elbow, her small breasts resting flat against her chest.

    Angelo pulled a black pocket knife from his vest pocket, snapped it open and held it against his thigh. He sat down on the edge of the bed and cupped one hand across Lisa's face.

    What is he to you? Angelo asked, tilting his head toward the open door behind him.

    Who do you mean? Lisa asked, her eyes moving from Angelo's face to the six-inch knife he held in his hand. Ralph? He's just a friend. He gave me a place to stay when I needed one.

    This place? Angelo asked.

    I guess it ain't much to the likes of you, Lisa said. But it's a lot nicer than where I come from and a whole lot better than being on the street.

    Do you have any family? Angelo asked, removing his hand from the girl's face.

    Family's not what I would call them, Lisa said with a shrug. And living with Ralph may not be heaven, but it ain't hell neither.

    Where would heaven be for you? Angelo asked.

    Lisa smiled for the first time, the thin rays of sun bouncing off her tobacco-stained teeth. A place where there's a lot of pretty mountains, she said. Her vacant eyes looked past Angelo, out toward the closed window. I used to dream about a place like that all the time when I was little. I would see horses running loose and cold water coming down off the rocks. I don't even know if there are places like it anywhere in the world. I just saw it in my dreams.

    Angelo lifted the knife, leaned across the bed and reached for the box. With one quick swipe, he sliced open the cord and jammed the blade back into its slot. He tossed aside the lid, reached inside and pulled out a handful of cash. He put

    the knife back in his vest pocket and began to count the money.

    Jesus Christ! Lisa said. She sat up and stared down at the money in Angelo's hands. I never thought Ralph had that kind of money, she said.

    He doesn't, Angelo said, keeping up his silent count.

    Angelo patted the bills into a neat pile, pealed off three hundred dollars in tens and tossed them back into the shoe box.

    Get dressed, he said. He stood up, looked down at Lisa and handed her the rest of the money. Pack all your clothes. Then take this money. Buy yourself a train ticket and go find those mountains.

    What about Ralph? Lisa barely got the words out. Her mouth had gone dry.

    I'll talk to him, Angelo said.

    Lisa jumped off the bed and threw her arms around Angelo, nearly knocking him off balance.

    I want to thank you so much, she whispered into his ear, holding him close.

    Angelo lifted her head and looked into her eyes. Thank me by forgetting you were ever here, he said. I don't even want it to be a memory.

     *     *     *

WHAT TOOK so long? Pudge asked. He was standing behind Ralph and had one hand on his shoulder. What'd he do? Bury it?

    Angelo walked over to Pudge and handed him the shoe box. He's three hundred short, he said.

    What are you saying? Ralph shouted. He looked from Angelo to Pudge, his mood ricocheting between anger and fright. I don't know what shit your friend's trying to pull on you, Pudge. But I put that money in the box myself. All of it.

    Pudge slapped Ralph on the back of the head with the shoe box and then tossed it to the floor. He held the money in his right hand. All of it ain't in my hand, he said. Giving me half is like giving me nothing.

    Don't scam me on this one, fellas, Ralph pleaded, lines of sweat running down his face. You wanna take my money, do it another time. Not when I'm this far behind on my payments.

    You're still behind, Angelo said. Three hundred dollars.

    Ralph stood and pointed a trembling finger at Angelo. You son of a bitch! he shouted. You know that money was there. It was either you that took it or that little tramp in my bed.

    Box was closed when I got in the room, Angelo said. The girl didn't go near it.

    What are you going to do about this, Pudge? Ralph asked, turning his back on Angelo.

    Pudge stared at Angelo for several minutes and then nodded his head. He folded the money and shoved it into the side pocket of his jacket. I'm going to do you a favor, Pudge said.

    What kind of favor? Ralph asked, looking from Pudge to Angelo.

    You got another week, Pudge told him. That should give you plenty of tune to get the three hundred you still owe. We'll be back then to pick it up.

    And Lisa leaves exactly the way she is right now, Angelo added. Any different and I'll hear about it. Then, I'll be back here a lot sooner. He looked at Ralph, who was trembling furiously. Be smart, Angelo said. Vote to live.

    As they walked out of the drug dealer's foul-smelling room, Pudge turned to his friend and partner. I don't know what went on in there, he said. But she's not gonna use the money for what you think she's gonna use it for.

    All I did was give her a chance, Angelo said. What she does with it is up to her.

    Sometimes I wonder if you're tough enough for this business, Pudge said. Then sometimes I wonder if you're just so damn tough, you don't care what it is I'm wondering.

     *     *     *

I TOOK A deep breath and smiled over at Mary. As she told me her stories about Angelo's early days, she would make a point of looking at him, occasionally reaching out her hand and resting it on top of the bedspread. It was almost as if he were speaking to me through her. She was his anointed messenger and it was a role she gladly accepted.