Bloodline (22 page)

“If she sees me like this…” Tommy touched his bandages. “She’s going to be wailing and weeping. They’ll have to send out for extra mops.”

“She’s been wailing and weeping since they came to the house to tell us. Look. You wind up in trouble, you’re going to have to put up with Mama’s hysterics. That’s how it goes. I do. Mario does. Tina does. You do.” He turned suddenly to his partner and said, “Tim, would you go down and see if anybody here knows what they’re doing?” He nodded toward the door.

O’Shaughnessy stood, towering over the bed, and grinned at Tommy. “I’m glad you’re okay, kid.”

“Thanks for coming down,” Tommy said.

“Somebody had to keep him from shooting up the neighborhood,” O’Shaughnessy said, nodding toward Tony. After the door had closed behind him, Tony sat on the edge of the bed.

“So. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

“No, Papa. That’s all of it.”

“You’re sure?”

Tommy nodded. His father stared at him for a long time, his eyes as cold as glass, then stood up. “All right. Mama will be here soon.”

“Try to get this doctor to let me out of here,” Tommy said.

“You go when he says you go.”

“Yes, Papa.”

After Tony left the room, Tommy felt fatigue grip his body. His father had known he was lying about something. But he could not tell him about Nilo. Tony would have arrested him and Tommy did not want on his hands the blood of someone who had probably saved his life.

He closed his eyes. It was bad enough that he had not told his father the whole truth. But even worse was his realization that it was the first time since he had become a policeman that he had gone against the book. His duty had been to tell all of what happened, but instead he covered up a crime because it was personal and close to home. It had been Tommy’s first test and he had failed.

*   *   *

M
AMA AND
T
INA HAD BEEN GONE
a couple of hours—Mama surprisingly all full of brisk efficiency when Tommy had expected a torrent of tears—when the doctor came by and told him that it was all right for Tommy to go home.

“My head’s okay?” Tommy asked.

“As much as any policeman’s head can be,” the doctor said. “But if anything was going to go wrong, it would have happened by now. So you’re a free man.”

Tommy rapidly started dressing in his heavy blue uniform before the doctor had a chance to come back and change his mind.

He was standing, his foot up on the small cabinet next to his bed, lacing up his ankle-high leather shoes, when he heard the door swing open. Before Tommy could even turn around, he felt an arm come across his shoulder and heard Nilo and knew, for sure, that it was the same voice he had heard in the alley.

“I came as soon as I heard you were here. How are you feeling?”

Tommy was surprised at how well Nilo was speaking English. He had not really had a conversation with him in several months, and almost all trace of his Sicilian accent was gone. The lessons Sofia had been giving him obviously had been successful. Tommy squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and wondered idly if Nilo and Sofia were lovers.

He sat back on the bed to finish lacing his shoes. He was a little confused. He had wondered what he would say to Nilo when they met again. “I’m okay,” Tommy said.

“How’d it happen?” Nilo asked.

Tommy looked up, the shoelace still in his hands. “What?”

“The accident. How’d it happen?”

“Nilo, there’s nobody else here but us. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Tommy, my brother, are you sure it’s all right for you to go home? Did the doctors say you could leave?”

“This is stupid,” Tommy said. “Look, Nilo, I didn’t tell anybody that you were there. Nobody but you and me knows what happened, and I’m willing to let it stay that way.”

Nilo smiled his sly happy-child’s smile. “You did not tell the other police this fable of yours?”

“I thought I owed you one for saving my life,” Tommy said.

Nilo stepped forward and took Tommy’s hands in his. “Tommy, if you want me to, I will take credit for saving your life. I would be proud of that.”

Tommy looked into Nilo’s limpid dark eyes, silent, unsure of what to say.

“I have a car outside. Do you want a ride home?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Tommy said.

“Any reason?”

“None in particular.”

“As you will.” Nilo stepped forward and they rather formally shook hands. Tommy sensed that it might be more than just a handshake, that it might be a ceremonial ending to their relationship.

But no words were spoken and Nilo turned to leave the room.

When he reached the door, Tommy called out.

“Hey, Kid.”

Nilo turned at the familiar nickname, then smiled almost sheepishly.

Tommy said, “Take care of yourself. The streets can be dangerous.”

*   *   *

A
S
N
ILO DROVE DOWNTOWN,
he thought over Tommy’s last words. Was it a hint that the identity of Kid Trouble might soon no longer be a secret? Tommy, he had come to believe, was dumb and would be no problem. But his father was a different case. If Tony knew who Nilo was, he would be after him like a bulldog.

No matter.
It is time to retire Kid Trouble and his gang anyway.

Tommy had clearly tried to pay him back for sparing Tommy’s life, first by saying nothing to the other police and then by passing a warning to Nilo. It was so like Tommy, he thought.
Good-hearted and weak. Like he was the day we went to see old man Mangini at the restaurant.

He wished Tommy had more spine. Nilo could have found a good spot for him in Maranzano’s business, but Tommy would always prefer the other path of being a policeman, then a lawyer.
My blood brother is a good man, but he has no nerve. I suppose it’s in his blood.

As he always did, Nilo parked a block away from the warehouse and walked to it, just so he could make sure there were no suspicious—and dangerous—people hanging around the area.

When he was satisfied that everything was still secure, he went inside, where Rico and the other young man, whose name was Angelo, were waiting.

“How’s Vinnie?” Nilo asked.

Angelo said sadly, “He didn’t make it, Kid. He bled to death before we could get him to the doc.”

“I’m sorry,” Nilo said. “He was a good guy.”
And so, now Tommy has killed, too. Too bad he will never know it.
Nilo nodded once, ending that conversation, then waved at the two liquor trucks. “Masseria must be going nuts. A quarter of a million in booze swiped right out from under his nose.”

The two men grinned. Nilo said, “After dark, I’ll have small trucks coming up here. You help load everything out of these, and we’ll move it up to our warehouse in the Bronx. Then dump these trucks somewhere. And be careful. Masseria’s probably got men looking all over for them. So don’t take chances.”

As he turned to leave, Angelo said, “When’s our next job, Kid?”

“I’ll let you know,” Nilo answered. “But in the meantime, if you’d like to go away on vacation for a while and get some sun, make plans. I’ll be back to pay you later.”

Driving away, Nilo thought long and hard. Kid Trouble had had a good run, but it was over. And now, any remnant of that operation could bring him nothing but trouble.
It is the way it goes,
he thought.
This is a tough business, and it is always a good idea to work with people no one will miss.

After midnight, when the last of the imported Scotch had been transferred to a small panel truck, Nilo returned to the warehouse. He was there only a few minutes. When he left, Angelo and Rico lay dead with bullets in their heads. When their bodies were found next to the hijacked Masseria trucks, everyone would think they had been found and killed by Joe the Boss’s men.

And so, Kid Trouble is no more,
Nilo thought, driving away.
But there will be many more adventures.

*   *   *

T
OMMY WENT TO
O
UR
L
ADY
of Mount Carmel Church in Greenwich Village to talk to Mario, but his brother was busy hearing confessions, so Tommy stood last in line, waiting his turn to enter the small booth on the side of the church.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“Tommy?”

“Yes, Peppino, it’s me.” Tommy spoke softly, his face close to the thin screen that separated him from his brother, Mario, on the other side of the confessional booth.

“Is this business or pleasure?” Mario asked.

“I’ve come to confess. Do you grill all your parishioners this way?”

“Only the ones who haven’t been around for a few weeks. I like to know if they still belong to the church or if they’re spies for the devil.”

“Ever since you people terrorized poor Galileo, you’ve been insufferable.”

“All right, then get to it. You can skip missing Mass. What else is on your excuse for a mind?”

“It’s Papa. I think I’ve lied to him and I don’t know what to do.”

“You only
think
you’ve lied?”

For the first time since it had happened a month before, Tommy told the full story of what had happened in the alley that February night. And how, since that time, it seemed that his every waking hour was filled with guilt and recriminations aimed at himself.

“I thought the newspapers said that this Kid Trouble was found dead.”

“Papers get things wrong,” Tommy said.

“Nilo says he wasn’t in that alley?”

“He didn’t say he was, he didn’t say he wasn’t.”

“But you’re sure he was there?” Mario asked.

“Yes.”

“One hundred percent positive?”

“I don’t know, I’m just sure he was there. And I should have told Papa.”

“Ah, see, you’re not one hundred percent sure. So you don’t
know
anything for sure; you only think. And if you had told Papa, what would he do?”

“Pick Nilo up for questioning, I guess.”

“And maybe arrest him and maybe have him deported. All because of something that you are not sure of. Would you destroy his life on just the possibility that he did something wrong?”

Tommy was silent for a moment. Put that way, it made sense. He was not sure. Why cause problems when he wasn’t sure? When juries weren’t sure, they were supposed to acquit. As a policeman, could he hold himself to any other standard?

“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Are you sure you’re not a Jesuit?”

“It’s not a matter for the church or this confessional,” Mario said. “Whatever you decide to do will be the right thing.”

It was very like Mario, Tommy thought, to steer him in a direction and then let him think that he had chosen that path himself. He had always done that. Maybe that’s what big brothers were supposed to do. Maybe, he thought sadly, he should have been that kind of big brother to Nilo, to help him choose his life’s path more wisely. But who was he to give anyone advice?

He moved on the hard wooden seat, ready to get up.

“Thanks, Mouse,” he said.

“Not so fast,” Mario said through the curtain. “As long as you’re here, let’s try confession. And don’t leave anything out. Not even the waitress.”

“Does everybody know all my secrets? You people are like spies.”

“Papa knows. And because Papa knows, Mama knows. And anything Mama knows, she spends all her time worrying about. She thinks this divorced woman is going to trick you into marriage. Is she?”

“She’s single and I’m single. I plan to stay that way.”

“Just fornicating your little heart out. Let’s hear it all.”

As he had when he was a child, going to confession with other parish priests, Tommy thought the penance was too much. Six Hail Marys and six Our Fathers and a meaningless promise to go and sin no more. But he knelt dutifully in the back of the church, reciting the prayers it seemed he had known all his life, then went out into the sunshine, feeling curiously refreshed and relieved.

Mario came to the steps of the church in his black cassock and watched him walk away down the street. He wondered if Tommy’s story had something to do with Nilo’s visit to Mario just a week earlier.

Nilo had visited him in the rectory and given him an envelope.

“What’s in here?” Mario asked.

“There’s two hundred dollars. I thought maybe you could buy some equipment for your boxers—gloves and stuff.”

When Mario asked him why he wanted to make the donation, Nilo had said, “Because God has been good to me.”

Mario had already heard his father’s complaints over and over about Nilo being the bad seed of the family, only twenty-one years old and already a full-fledged mobster, so he left the envelope lying on his desk, untouched. “God would be even better to you if you would come to Mass on occasion,” he said.

“Mario, I won’t lie to you. I hang around with some rough people. Once in a while I do something maybe that you can’t wash away with Our Fathers and Hail Marys. When I get the chance, I go to a church where they don’t know me, where they don’t ask any questions. In the meantime, that little donation might score me a point or two in heaven, if I need it.” Nilo flashed his most seductive smile, and in the end, Mario took the money and thanked him for it, but after his cousin had left, Mario wondered if he had done right. The thing that bothered Mario most was that he seemed to be on his way to becoming a politician—able, on request, to find two sides to every question.

It had always been his weakness, always being able to empathize with someone else’s position, even in the boxing ring. He had had a chance to move up in the professional ranks, but it never happened, largely because Mario lacked the killer instinct. He knew when he had another fighter beaten, but instead of ending it swiftly as he should have, he would carry beaten fighters for the full four or six rounds of the fight, rather than inflict unnecessary shame or punishment upon them. A couple of times, he had lost the decisions in fights in which he had just been coasting, letting an opponent finish the bout on his feet instead of on his back.