Gangster (39 page)

    Who's there to teach me? I asked, watching an old woman kneel in front of a statue of St. Anthony, her head bowed in prayer.

    You'll stay with a family on a small island just off the coast of Naples, Angelo said. I've been doing business with them since before the Second World War. They'll treat you as one of their own. All you have to do is listen to what they say.

    Why don't you come with me?

    Because vacations are bad for business. But you won't be going alone. I'm sending Nico. He'll make sure you don't run off with the first girl who smiles your way.

    Who's going to be there to keep an eye on him?

    He's old enough to call his life his own, Angelo said with a slight shrug.

    The sun came down on us in warm slants, leaving half our bodies buried in shadows as the flickering glow from the candles danced on the walls of the large church. I watched the women dressed in black whisper their daily prayers for the dead, the color of their clothes reflecting their mood. Up at the main altar, a young priest began to prepare for the last mass of the afternoon.

    Angelo tapped me on the leg and nodded. Let's get out of here before they pass around the basket. I've lived this long without giving them any of my money. Not looking to start the habit now.

    There are things I want to say to you but I can never figure out how, I said, looking over at him. I've practiced them hundreds of times when I'm alone, but I just can't seem to get the words to come out straight when I'm with you.

    It's easier to talk to Pudge. He's got a way about him that makes people tell him things. With me, they tend to stay quiet. Maybe because I encourage it.

    I don't ever want to do anything to disappoint you, I said, my words coming out slow and measured. I want you to be proud of me and to never regret the choice you made in taking me into your home.

    Angelo stared at me with warm, dark eyes, but he didn't speak, the sunlight bouncing off the hard lines of his face, and he kept his hands still and folded across his lap. I knew this was the kind of talk he liked the least, but it was important for me to finally tell him. There was so much more I wanted to say, but I didn't know if it would draw him closer to me or force him to take a careful step back. He was not a man who made a show of his emotions, and he understood that such reticence only added to his mystique. He also had an inbred mistrust for those who were quick to open up to others and reveal their innermost thoughts. If you know what I think, then you know how I think, and that could be enough to give my enemy the edge he needs, I once overheard him telling Pudge. Besides, there should be a private place in your heart that no one should know about, no matter how close you are. A place no one should ever be allowed to see.

    Pudge was always quick to laugh off such talk, preferring to let you know how he felt and what he believed even before you had the time to ask. While such an attitude made Pudge an easier man to be around, there was a magic to Angelo's silence. I felt that simply by being allowed in his company he was handing me entry into a very dark but very special world.

    I don't love easy, he finally said. And I don't disappoint easy. It has helped keep me alive, even on days when I didn't care if I died. That's a part of me that won't ever change. But I know you won't do anything to disappoint me. You haven't yet and I don't think you're ever going to start.

    I don't know what it would have been like for me, I blurted out, tears unwillingly falling down the sides of my face, if you and Pudge hadn't come along. I feel like I have a place where I belong. And I know that I'll do anything not to lose it. Or to lose you.

    Angelo leaned over and for the first time in my life kissed me on the cheek and forehead. Let's get out of here, he said, before they sign us up as priests.

    I wiped at my tears with the sleeve of my shirt. Wouldn't be such a bad thing, I said. Pudge says wearing the collar is the perfect cover. He says you'd make money hand over fist if you planned it right.

    Don't kid yourself. We stood and eased our way out of the pew and turned our backs to the center altar. The church bosses would never let Pope Pudge past the front doors. They'd eat him up. That's a crew that could give us lessons.

     *     *     *

PABLITO MUNESTRO SAT in a center booth of the crowded restaurant, one hand wrapped around a large glass of rum and the other resting on the thigh of a tall brunette in a black maxi skirt and high heels. His older brother, Carlos, was wedged in next to him on his left, edgy and nervous, anxious for the meeting to begin.

    This doesn't seem the kind of place that serves pizza and meatball wedges, Carlos said, looking around at the oak-wood walls and thick leather booths. Tum-of-the-century crystal lamps lined the sides of the large room and candles in Venetian-glass holders rested in the middle of each well-adorned table. The diners surrounding the booth were well-dressed, well-mannered and rich, old money blending in with the new millions being made on Wall Street.

    It's a neutral, Pablito said, his eyes on the brunette as he leaned in and kissed her gently on the neck. We can talk without having to worry about anybody trying to pull any shit.

    It'd be nice to see the Italians do something other than talk, Carlos said with a disgusted wave. We've been walking all over their crew and they haven't raised a hand up to push us back. The cops are giving us more problems. Now that's a day I thought I'd never live to see.

    We agree to whatever they ask, Pablito said, looking away from the brunette and taking a long swig from his drink. Especially if they come in looking to make peace. From our end, it's nothing but empty words. By the time you put up your Christmas tree, we'll have full control of their outfit.

    Carlos paused as a waiter placed a large plate filled with a New York strip steak and grilled vegetables in front of him, then threw a glance to the wine steward, who rushed over to fill the three empty glasses with a Mouton Cadet. The young Munestro cut into the medium-rare meat, shoved a hunk into the corner of his mouth and looked at his watch. He's already ten minutes late, he said. I should shoot him just for that.

    Don't get agitated, Pablito said, placing a hand on his brother's arm. It hurts the digestion. Eat your meal and worry about the Italians when they're sitting down across from you.

    Pudge walked in alone, shook hands with the maitre d', whispered a few words into his ear and was then led over to the center booth. He nodded at both brothers, smiled at the brunette and slid into his seat across from them. He was wearing a dark blue sports jacket over a pale blue polo shirt and dark slacks and rested his arms on top of the starched white tablecloth.

    You were late and I was hungry, Carlos said, pointing the sharp end of his knife at the remains of his meal. But don't worry, I'll make sure it goes on your tab.

    I know you and I know your brother, Pudge said, looking at Pablito and nudging his head toward the brunette. But her, I don't know.

    It's not important for you to know her, Pablito said. Whatever you came here to say, I got no trouble with her hearing it. But if you find you got a problem with that, order a drink, finish it and get the hell out.

    Pudge turned to look at the brunette, giving her a smile and a nod. I've never asked a woman to leave a table in my life, he said. I'm too old and she's too beautiful for me to start now.

    A waiter walked over to the table and put a scotch straight up in front of Pudge, a sparkling glass of mineral water alongside it. Pudge lifted the glass and held it out across the table. To your health, he said.

    Screw that, Pablito Munestro said, ignoring the toast. I want to know what you're ready to hand over to me. Once that's made clear, I'll let you know how we stand with it.

    The way I see it, anything I put on the table is not going to be enough, Pudge said, resting his glass next to the candle. The two of you came into this looking to take it all. Anything less is a walkaway.

    A live man with empty pockets always comes out ahead of a dead one, Carlos said.

    These last three months, your crew has taken control of almost twenty-five percent of my weekly business, Pudge told him. And you did it without asking anyone's permission. You just reached out and grabbed.

    Fuck permission. Where are we, in school? Got to raise our hand to get what we want? Don't waste my time, Grandpa. Take Carlos's offer and get out while your eyes are open and you can breathe without pain.

    I can't go back to Angelo with that, Pudge said. It would put him in a really bad mood and I'd have to hear him piss and moan for weeks. Trust me, that's not something I want to have to do.

    We're taking it all. Pablito leaned against the edge of the table, his voice lower, his eyes on Pudge. We're not even leaving a crumb on the floor for the two of you to fight over. The entire operation, from numbers to trucking, is gonna be run by my crew. If you're smart, go home, pack and leave.

    Pudge sat back in the thick leather booth and took a slow sip of his scotch, put it down and picked up the glass of mineral water. He drank the water down in long, thirsty gulps, looking past the two Colombians over to the booth behind them where two young men in business suits were enjoying a quiet meal, their table littered with stock tabulations and legal pads. I got two first-class tickets to Miami in my jacket pocket, Pudge said. Take them and go back to where you came from. Make sure your crew leaves the same day as you. If you say no to my offer, then there's nothing I can do to keep either one of you alive.

    Who the fuck you think you're talking to, you washed up piece of shit! Carlos shouted at Pudge from across the table. You come here to scare me, you old goat? You think your tough talk can scare somebody like me? Somebody like my brother?

    Carlos stood up, stared down at Pudge, raised his right hand and slapped him hard across the face. Pudge took the five-finger blow, ignored the glances from the other patrons, and smiled up at Carlos. I didn't come here to scare you, he said in a calm voice.

    Pablito and Carlos reached into the sides of their jackets, their fingers on the handles of high-caliber revolvers. The brunette next to Pablito pulled a .38 special from behind her back and jammed it against Pablito's temple. The two businessmen in the next booth turned and held two .44s against the back of the Colombians' heads. I won't stay for dinner, Pudge said, sliding up and out of the booth. The food here's too rich for my stomach. Old guy my age has to watch what he eats.

    Pudge smiled at Pablito and Carlos, then nodded at the brunette and the two businessmen with guns. He walked through the main room of the restaurant, never turning to look back, as he heard the gunfire and watched the patrons scatter and scream. When he reached the front door, Pudge shook hands with the maitre d' and patted him on the shoulder. I hope to see you again soon, the maitre d' said to him.

    Not until we do something about the noise in here, Frank, Pudge said, smiling at him. He waited as the maitre d' held the door open, then walked up the three short steps to his waiting car, a brisk breeze from an early fall night blowing against his face.

     *     *     *

THE TWO PLANES taxied down the dark runway, their lights low, rumbling toward an old hangar on the outskirts of a small Long Island airport. I sat next to Nico in a car at the rear of the hangar, Angelo in the backseat, his eyes fixed on the planes coming his way. Alongside us, cars were parked three deep, lights and engines down, each with a driver and a detailed set of instructions. The two-engine prop planes had come in from Canada, each of them weighed down with forty heavily armed men, on loan to Angelo from affiliated crews nationwide. They were on a forty-eight-hour turnaround and would be back on their own streets in less than three days.

    The planes came to a stop, their engines idling as the side doors slid open. A small team of airport personnel placed wooden blocks under the wheels and lodged ladders up against the doors. A long line of men in coats and hats, each one carrying a black leather case, stepped off the planes, walked to the waiting cars and got in. As soon as each car had its full complement of passengers, it kicked into gear and sped out of the airport hangar.

    This was my first exposure to this level of organized crime power. I had not yet grasped the reach that gangsters like Angelo had, the fact that through a series of clandestine phone calls and early morning meetings, they could muster an army from cities throughout the United States, an army determined to eliminate any enemy at their door. It was a power few had and fewer still knew existed. By the time those men re-boarded the waiting planes for the return flight back north, every member of Pablito Munestro's crew would be left for dead. What time remained for the assassins would be spent working to wipe out the renegade Red Barons team, holed up in Queens and Nassau County safe houses since the night Tony Mesh's body had been found.

    Wait five minutes after the last car pulls out, Angelo said to Nico, both of them standing in the rear of the hangar. Then we head back to the bar. Pudge should be waiting for us by the time we walk in.

    This was the danger and the power of Angelo Vestieri that so many feared, and for the only time in my life I felt uncomfortable in his company. I was even more uncomfortable in the knowledge that he would know. A true gangster can smell out a person's strengths and weaknesses in a matter of minutes, but what they can sense most of all, what their bodies are most attuned to, is the scent of fear. I also knew, standing there next to Angelo inside an airport hangar that had been turned into an assault center, that I could never be a great gangster. Angelo was indeed one, any small doubts that I may have had were scraped away by this impressive show of force. He had planned and maneuvered a total elimination of his enemies. He had sacrificed the lives of many of his own men, hiding his coldness and ruthless abilities under the protective cloak of an aging boss. It was a battle plan few would ever be able to match.