Lullaby Town (1992) (30 page)

"What the fuck is this?"

"Transaction records of your money-laundering operation through the First Chelam Bank. You remember Karen Lloyd?"

Sal nodded again.

I glanced at Vito and Angle. "You want to do this alone?"

Sal said, "You're not from New York. Where you from?"

"California."

He made a little head move, like that explained it. "This is my brother Vito. This is my cousin Angie. We're family here. You understand family?"

"Yes."

"Say what you came to say."

I walked them through the eight accounts. I showed them how the deposits in Charlie's private account went from nickel and dime to the mid-five figures starting about five months ago, when Charlie had met Gloria Uribe and through her fell in with Jesus Santiago. I told them that Charlie had turned a Gamboza hype named Richie Sealy and that the hype fed information to Charlie about incoming Gamboza dope shipments and that Charlie then sold the information to the Jamaicans so that they could hijack the dope. I told them about following Charlie to Queens and the meeting that I had witnessed between Charlie and the Jamaicans and the cop from Kennedy airport. I told him about Peter and Dani and what had happened in Brooklyn under the Manhattan Bridge. I spoke slowly and carefully and I gave them names and addresses and times of day.

When I was finished, nobody said anything. Angie was chewing at his upper lip and Vito was staring att he fireplace. It was a long time before Sal moved or spoke, and when he did it wasn't to me. "Vito, we hear anything about the Gambozas getting ripped off?"

Vito shrugged, not wanting to commit himself. "Something about maybe some niggers took down a load of Gamboza dope. Who listens? We got no financial interest in dope anymore. We gave that up to the Gambozas."

Sal shook his head. "We traded with them, Vito. We gave them our piece of the dope for their piece of the labor."

Angie said, "Hey, Sal, this mook's talking about your kid, for chrissake. I think he's fulla shit."

Sal went over to the fireplace and stared at the dead coals, already knowing it was true. He said, "We got somebody in the coroner's over in Queens?"

"Yeah."

"Check it out."

"Jesus Christ, Sal. It's Charlie."

"Check it out. Who's running the nigger whores for the Gambinos?"

"Marty Rotolo."

"Call'm. Find out about this Gloria Uribe."

Vito picked up the phone and punched in a number and spoke in a voice that was difficult to hear. He spoke for a few seconds, then hung up, but he stood with his hand on the receiver, not moving for maybe five minutes. Sal moved less than Vito. The Rock. When the phone rang, Vito picked it up and listened without saying anything. When he finished with that call, he made two more and then put down the phone and turned back to Sal. "They found a woman's body when they found Carmine. Under the Manhattan Bridge."

"Dani," I said. "Her name was Dani."

"Stevie says Charlie's catting around with the Uribe woman. He said the Gambinos don't know anything about her because she's Jamaican. She's mixed up with some other Jamaican named Jesus Santiago."

Sal made a soft hissing sound, steady and high-pitched, as if some core of deep pressure within him had been tapped. Angie said, "Jesus Christ, Sal."

Sal went to the door and told Freddie to come in. "Find Charlie and tell him I want to see him."

Freddie glanced at me. "Sure, Sal."

"Don't tell him anything else, Freddie."

"Sure, Sal." Freddie left.

Sal went back to the dead fireplace and looked at me. Calm. Like I hadn't just told him these things about his son. The Dan Wesson was almost hidden by his thick left hand. "Okay. So maybe you're not full of shit What do you want?"

"Karen Lloyd."

"And if I don't want to give her up?"

"I give Charlie to the Gambozas."

Angie gave with, "So what? So we give a shit about the fuckin' Gambozas."

I shrugged. "Play it out that way. The Gambozas will kill Charlie for showing them up and then they'll move on you, and probably the rest of the families will, too. Everybody had an agreement and the DeLuca family broke it."

Angie said, "Bullshit," and threw up his hands.

Vito didn't throw up his hands. Vito stood slow and easy, and went over to Sal. "Not bullshit, Angie. He's right." Vito stared at Sal when he said it and Sal stared back at him. "Charlie's selling out another family to do business with an outsider. The fuckin' Jamaicans, for Christ's sake. Our word won't be shit. The families will turn their backs on us."

Sal nodded.

The family comes first."

Sal looked at his brother, and the cold thing was suddenly very bright and alive. "You don't have to tell me what's what, Vito."

Vito spread his hands.

No one said anything more to me. Angie went out and came back with coffee and hard cakes, and the three of them sat on the two couches by the fireplace, drinking the coffee and eating the cakes in silence. I wasn't offered anything and I wasn't spoken to. After a while I went to an overstuffed chair across the room and sat down. Vito made more calls, and a couple of times big men knocked and looked in and would start to say something in English, but when they saw me they would switch to Italian. Angie went out twice and Vito went out once, but Sal didn't go out at all. He sat and stared, and I was glad he wasn't staring at me.

We sat like that in Sal DeLuca's den for almost six hours.

At ten minutes before five the next morning, Freddie came in with Charlie and Ric. Charlie's hair was mussed and his collar was open and he looked anxious, like maybe he had been looking for someone and he hadn't been able to find them. Ric still looked like a vampire, all hard bones and white, leathery flesh. Charlie was saying something about why the hell this couldn't wait until morning when he saw me and you could see the fear jolt through him like a galvanic shock. He scrabbled under his coat for his gun, but Vito slapped the gun out of his hand.

Sal said, "Freddie, close the door."

Charlie said, 'That's the sonofabitch killed Carmine and Dante." Trying to cover, doing a lot of arm waving and loud talking, as if the loud talk might convince Sala nd Vito and Angle that whatever I'd said was lies. "He's trying to force us outta the bank. Jesus Christ, what's he doing here?"

Sal's left hand snapped out and caught Charlie beneath the right eye. It was a hard shot and it caught Charlie by surprise. He yelled, "Hey!"

"Shut up and listen to this."

Charlie shut up. Ric settled back against the bookcases and watched, choreographing the dance in his head, seeing himself move fast and perfect.

Sal looked at me again for the first time since he had sent Freddie away to find Charlie and said, "Tell him."

I went through it for Charlie just like I had for Sal. The more I said, the more Charlie fidgeted, moving from foot to foot and picking at his hands and visibly sweating. The more Charlie moved, the more Sal didn't move. When I finished, Charlie said, "This is bullshit. This is merda. Whattaya listening to this guy for?" He looked at Angie. He looked at Vito. "Uncle Vito. Hey, Angie. Who's family here?" He looked back at his father, "Whattaya listening to this guy for?"

Sal put the blank, frog eyes on his son and said, "I listened because I got no doubt in my heart that you would do this, and watching you now, I know you did."

"Whattaya talking about? That's horseshit."

Sal hit Charlie with the back of his right hand so hard that Charlie staggered backward. Vito looked at Ric, and Ric made a little head move, saying he wasn't in it, and Vito nodded.

Charlie was taller than Sal, and younger, but where there was something flabby and mean about Charlie, in Sal it was hard and vibrant, even at sixty-five. The Rock. "You're a piece of shit, Charlie." What Charlie had said to Joey Putata. Charlie tried to cover up, but Sal slapped him again and again, steady, rhythmic shots. Sal heldm y Dan Wesson in his left hand and slapped with his right. "You double-crossed the fuckin' Gambozas. You made the family into liars, and you ain't even got the balls to admit it. Be a man, Charlie. Face me and tell me that you've done this horrible thing."

I looked at Ric again, but Ric didn't seem to be watching or hearing. His eyes were flagging closed and his head was gently bobbing in time with some dark music.

Charlie stumbled into a chair, trying to get away. His face was purple and ribbons of snot leaked down across his mouth. "It's not true. I dint do nothing. I swear I dint." Like a little kid.

Sal said, "I gave them my word, Charlie. This family made peace with the other families and you've broken it. You understand that? You know what that costs?"

Charlie scrambled away from the chair and covered up against the wall. He said, "Please, Daddy."

Sal grabbed Charlie by the throat and shook him. "I keep hoping you'll come around, but that day is never going to come, is it? I put you in business, I make it easy for you, but you're always gonna be a fuckup."

Charlie slipped out of Sal's grip and fell to the floor, then tried to crawl away. Sal hit him harder, grunting with every blow.

Vito looked embarrassed and Angie looked confused and I wished I wasn't there seeing it. Sal followed his crawling son around the room, hitting him until Charlie ended up on his side, curled into a ball behind a heavy leather chair. Sal stood over him, breathing hard and hitting and saying, "Be a man, be a man," until finally Vito said, 'Jesus Christ, Sal," and went over and pulled him away, lifting Sal DeLuca off his feet and talking to him and calming him down. Moving the Rock.

Then it was over. Sal stood in the center of the room, the Dan Wesson at his side, breathing hard and watching his blubbering adult child for what seemed like forever. Maybe violent insanity ran in the family.

He shook his head^ and seemed to see me again, as if for a time I was gone but had now returned. "Okay," he said. "Karen Lloyd walks. Is that what you want?"

"Part of it. There's something else."

"What?"

"The woman who died in Brooklyn." I looked at Ric. "He pulled the trigger. I want you to give him up to the cops."

Ric moved the steel-girder shoulders and peeled himself away from the bookshelves, the leather jacket falling open.

Sal looked at Ric and then looked back at me. "I ain't never gave one of my people up to the cops and I never would. My guys know that."

Ric made a little smile.

That's the deal, Sal. Take it or leave it."

Sal the Rock DeLuca shook his head. "No cops." He raised the Dan Wesson, aimed it between my eyes, then turned and shot Ric once in the chest.

Ric saw it coming and yelled, "No!" and tried to move, but the slug caught him. It pushed him back into the bookshelves and then his heels slid out from beneath him and he fell to the floor.

Charlie made a gargling sound and whimpered.

Ric tried to get up, but his feet kept slipping.

Sal shot him again.

Ric clawed under his jacket and came out with his gun.

Sal shot him twice more, smoke from the caps rolling across the room like smog spilling through the Glendale Pass into the San Fernando Valley.

There were shouts in another part of the house and the sound of men running and then someone was banging on the door. Freddie came in first.

Sal was as calm as if he had taken out the trash. "Freddie, get a couple of those big plastic bags and take care of this."

Freddie swallowed and stumbled backward out of the room.

Sal looked down at his son and then looked at me, his eyes empty and bottomless. "Good enough?"

I nodded.

"Okay, you got what you want. Now I get what I want. The Gambozas must never know. What we speak of here stays here, buried forever. Will you bury this? Will you keep my kid safe?" Sal and Karen Lloyd, each worried about their children.

I nodded again. "We bury it. We keep everyone safe."

Vito said, "We got loose ends, Sal. Other people know."

Sal said, "We'll take care of the loose ends, Vito." He looked back at me. "You want anything else?"

"No."

"Then it's a done deal. Get the fuck out of my sight."

I walked out of Sal DeLuca's brownstone to a fine powder of snow on the streets and the sidewalks and the cars parked at the curb. The air was cold and the Manhattan skyline to the east was clear and pink in anticipation of the rising sun. To the west and the north, though, the clouds were still heavy and dense and promising more snow. The drunk was gone, but the little cardboard house remained, quiet and white in the early morning light. Cars belched fog-breath out on Fifth and 62nd, and men and women in heavy coats walked fast along the sidewalks, leaving gray trails. Somewhere there was music playing, but I didn't hear the notes clearly and couldn't make out the song. I slipped a twenty-dollar bill intot he little cardboard house and went back to the Taurus.

I drove across Central Park, then up through the city and the Bronx and Yonkers and White Plains. I drove slowly and listened to a pretty good classic rock station that played a lot of John Fogerty and CCR. Run Through the Jungle. Nothing like a little Creedence Clearwater Revival at six in the morning after spending the night with the Godfather. Four miles above White Plains, I pulled into a rest stop overlooking a lake and started to shake. I shook for what seemed like hours but was probably only a couple of minutes. I let the motor run and the Taurus's heater pump on high, but I wasn't shaking from the cold.