The Heart of an Assassin (5 page)

“Gee, maybe your mom likes him, and they are
going to get married,” remarked Charlie.

“Oh man, you’re crazy. They just met,” Tyler
answered.

“Yeah, well I heard about marry at first
sight, haven’t you?” asked Charlie.

“You dummy, that is love at first sight,”
responded Tyler. “We’ll see what happens today.”

They sat there for a short time, scanning the
neighborhood. Uncle Ted was in his usual spot, and the Fat Man had
just gotten to his step when Jimmy came down.

“What’s happening, guys?” asked Jimmy.

“The stranger is going to marry Tyler’s mom,”
Charlie shouted.

“Oh man, what you saying?” asked Jimmy.

Tyler immediately responded with the fact
that Charlie was going crazy and imagining stuff. “Everyone knows
Charlie ain’t got any marbles,” Tyler remarked. They all
laughed.

Tyler told the story to Jimmy, who seemed to
take it all in without any notice. “Hope it works out for you,
Tyler. What’s the stranger like?” Jimmy asked.

“He seems okay,” replied Tyler.

“What’s he do?” Charlie inquired.

“He shows people how to spend their money,”
Tyler responded.

“Wow, he must be rich,” remarked Jimmy.

“Then why did he move in here?” asked
Charlie.

“Because he doesn’t want to spend all of his
money,” answered Tyler.

“Yeah, he’s real smart,” Jimmy added.

A few minutes later, Nick descended from the
apartment house, turned left and started up the block toward the
avenue. As he passed the kids he smiled down at Tyler, and without
saying a word, continued on. Tyler smiled back and nodded. Carrying
a duffle bag and his camera, Nick hastened passed the kids. They
all looked after Nick as he continued up the block.

“Hey, you notice the camera?” Jimmy noted.
“He must be going sightseeing in New York,” Charlie commented.

“Why would he do that?” Jimmy asked.

“Cause that’s what people do with cameras,
dummy!” replied Charlie.

“Yeah,” Tyler added.

Taking the underground A train, running north
to south through most of Manhattan, Nick got off at Times Square
and switched over to the path trains. The ride would take him from
New York City to New Jersey via an underwater tunnel that ran under
the Hudson River, where he would then get off in Newark.

In his hands, he clutched the morning paper,
reading intently as he learned about how Fazio Giordano had been
killed. It seemed that some time during the night a couple of men
broke into his Brooklyn apartment and shot him and several of his
bodyguards. The paper went on to say that one of the assailants was
killed at the scene while another had escaped. It was believed that
Fazio was the head of the Giordano crime family, and that the hit
was ordered by someone in the Costellino family. An unknown source
stated that the long feud between the two families had, as of that
day, ended.

Fazio was survived by a son, Fabio, and
daughter, Felicia, both of whom could not be reached for comment.
Mr. Giordano’s wife had succumbed to cancer two years prior.
Funeral services would be privately held at the family estate in
Long Island. No other comments were made by members of the
family.

July
6, 1964 (Costellino home)

Around 2:00 a.m. they got the call they had
been waiting for.“Marino, we got the broad and her brother. Also we
got De Luca,” Joe said.

“What about Leo Russo?” asked Clemente
Marino.

“Uh . . . he was wounded. Saw blood coming
from his neck. They got Joseph and Tommy, though. I just made it
out of there in time, right before the rest of their people got
there,” Joseph added. “Mr. Marino, I got shot too. Where can I go?”
he asked.

“Okay, you go to our place on Twelfth
Street,” Clemente instructed him.

“Uh . . . okay . . . thanks,” answered
Joseph.

Clemente walked into the study where Bolnaldo
and his sons, Tony and Junior, and Joe Coleto and Malco Lombardi
had been waiting for the news. Bolnaldo was beside himself. “What
about Fazio!” he screamed.

“We haven’t heard anything,” Clemente
answered. Bolnaldo sat there, thinking about what had happened,
worrying about what had occurred. He knew Fazio would spare no
expense to seek revenge for his son and daughter. It would be a
while before the Giordanos could attack, with Romano and Leo
temporarily out of the picture; Bolnaldo had enough time to order
another hit to finish the job. Then the phone rang again.

Clemente picked up the receiver. “Yes, yes .
. . great job,” he said into the phone. Clemente turned and gave
Bolnaldo a huge smile; he did not have to say anything.

“They got him? They got the bastard?”
Bolnaldo shouted at Clemente.

“Yep. Got him in bed. He’s deader than a
doorknob,” Clemente added.

“Deader than a doorknob? What the fuck does
that mean?” Bolnaldo asked, laughing out loud. Clemente only
shrugged his shoulders; he didn’t know either.

Bolnaldo could not contain himself. He jumped
up from his chair and gave Clemente a huge hug. They were all up on
their feet congratulating each other.

“From this day forward, they are going to
remember the Costellino family. People will think twice before they
fuck with us,” Bolnaldo practically shouted it out. “Tomorrow we go
to Little Italy and celebrate,” he commanded.

“Pop, maybe we should keep low just a little
while longer. You know, till things cool down,” Junior said.

Bolnaldo stared at his son for a few seconds,
then at the faces of each one in the room. “No, no, we got to show
our strength. We got to show them we are in charge. In fact, I want
you to send some flowers to the Giordano estate expressing our
sympathy, with an invitation to meet when the opportunity permits.
I want them to know I am not a hard man to deal with, that I am
willing to put things behind us. Of course,” laughing out loud, “I
won’t expect an answer too quickly,” Bolnaldo said.

July
8, 1964

Reaching Newark, Nick grabbed a cab to a
location a few blocks from Jay’s shop. Pretending to enter the
warehouse where he had been dropped off, he waited until the cab
was well out of sight before walking the two blocks to the shop.
Nick watched from across the street, making sure Jay had no
customers, before approaching.

Jay looked up as Nick entered the shop,
smiled but made no reaction to acknowledge him other than nodding
at him to go to the back. Nick moved immediately to the back and
waited for Jay.

A minute later, Jay appeared, drawing the
curtain behind him. Removing the makeshift wall, Jay showed him his
masterpiece. Nick was quite please with Jay’s handiwork.

In addition to the rifle, a tripod to steady
it, and five bullets (all that was needed), Nick had also requested
four boxes of remote-controlled fire crackers. Each two-by-four
inch box contained five firecrackers, which could be ignited
remotely from as much as three blocks away.

Reaching into his duffle bag, Nick handed Jay
the money. During this entire process, no words were exchanged.
Nothing was said. Both Nick and Jay embraced and nodded
good-bye.

As always, Nick exited cautiously, walking
about half a mile before hailing a cab to the Newark train station.
It was now about 10:45 a.m., and his mark would be having his
lunch, as usual, anywhere between 12:30 and 1:00 p.m.

The streets were packed with people. After
all, it was a beautiful Sunday with the temperature hovering around
seventy-five degrees. Nick walked east from Spring Street and
turned south on Mulberry. On the corner of Grand Street and
Mulberry, he discreetly placed one of the small black boxes under a
parked car. Continuing down Mulberry, he placed another box halfway
down the block, and then another one on Hester Street, all the
while looking around, making sure he wasn’t being watched. Next, he
headed north on Mulberry and placed the last box on the other side
of the street. He then entered one of the buildings between Grand
Street and Broome. Racing cautiously up the stairs, he positioned
himself on the east side of the block facing up Mulberry.

At 12 15 p.m., Nick began to take pictures up
Mulberry Street. At twelve forty-five he saw a couple of limousines
pulling up to the west side of Mulberry between Grand and Hester
streets. Using his camera, he zoomed in on the occupants exiting
the limo. They entered the La Ristorante restaurant.

Judging by the number of occupants, it would
be a while before they exited. Looks like they have something to
celebrate, thought Nick.

Inside the restaurant, they were drinking and
having a feast. Drinks were on the house. All tabs would be picked
up by the Costellino family.

July
8, 1964 (3:00 p.m.)

The Twelfth Street and Avenue D Costellino
location, a corner grocery store, would normally have a couple of
Joe Coleto’s boys sitting outside of the place playing dominoes,
but not today; not when the threat from the Giordano family had
been eliminated.

Erin Romano and about eight of his men rushed
inside the store with guns out. Costellino’s men were caught
completely by surprise; no one had to be shot. Bursting into the
back room, Erin and his men found two rows of tables used in the
manufacturing of drugs, and more than a hundred paper bags
containing $50,000. There were about six men and five women, and
though they were heavily armed, the surprise attack caught them off
guard. Not one of them was able to draw a weapon in time.

Erin had Rinaldo Blanchi, the guy in charge,
call Clemente Marino to tell him they were bandaging up some guy
for them. Before the call, Erin warned Rinaldo that he’d better
make it look good, or the gun that was being held to his
twenty-five-year-old son’s head would accidentally go off. This was
to eliminate any suspicion that the Giordano family had actually
caught and eliminated the guy sent to kill them; the same one who
had called in earlier to report the success of the hit.

After the call, Erin turned to the rest of
the people in the room and made them write their names and
addresses before giving them each close to $6,000. Before letting
them go, however, he told them that if he found out they talked to
either the police or the Costellino family, Erin and his men would
be coming for them. Next, Erin turned his attention to Rinaldo and
his son, and shot them both in the head in front of all of these
people, emphasizing their need to stay silent.

July
8, 1964

“Mangiare, eat, enjoy,” Bolnaldo was shouting
to everyone.

Around 3:20 p.m. Clemente advised Bolnaldo
that Twelfth Street called about a guy showing up with a bullet in
his leg and that they were taking care of it.

“Good, good. They should have given him a
trophy or something for killing the bitch, Felicia, and her
brother,” laughed Bolnaldo.

At 6:25 p.m., Bolnaldo signaled his son and
Clemente that he was ready to go. Clemente, Junior, and Tony exited
the restaurant to alert the limo drivers. Bolnaldo’s limo was
across the street, but before Clemente could order the driver to
bring it around, Junior told him not to worry. “Who the hell are
you afraid of?” he asked Clemente. “They’re all fucking dead.”
Clemente nodded, but felt uneasy about it. Turning to the rest of
the men, he ordered them to be vigilant and to stay close to Mr.
Bolnaldo as he exited.

Bolnaldo waved and shouted at the people in
the restaurant as he exited. To his left was Clemente, and to his
right was Malco. In front of him walked Junior, and Tony followed
behind.

Before exiting between the parked cars, they
heard what sounded like gunshots. They all ducked. “What the fuck!”
Bolnaldo screamed. Then again, they heard more shots only this time
it was a little closer.

“They’re shooting fucking firecrackers,”
shouted one of the limo drivers.

They all got up cautiously. Then they started
to laugh. Especially when they noticed that bystanders were looking
at them strangely. Bolnaldo laughed the loudest.

They continued their trek across the street
when there was another burst of firecrackers behind them. Bolnaldo
turned to look up Mulberry Street, still laughing. Clemente caught
the splatter of blood on his cheek as it burst out the back of
Bolnaldo’s head.

Patience was a virtue, thought a lone figure
now racing across the top of several buildings, as the screams of
the people below faded in the background. Within minutes, Nick was
on his way back to his apartment.

July
8, 1964 (3:30 p.m.-7:30 p.m.)

Around 3:30 in the afternoon, the boys were
playing stickball when several gang members of the Black Aces came
down their block. “Hey, you guys, you want some cool stuff?” asked
one of the gang members.

“No,” replied Tyler as they grouped behind
Charlie.

“Get off our block with your stuff,” remarked
Rick.

“We know what that is,” added Tyler.

“They’re drugs,” Jimmy interjected.

Charlie raised the stick they were using as
the bat, ready to swing it.

“What’sa matter, sissies, you afraid of us or
something?” asked Loco.

“Yeah, you come closer and see if my stick is
afraid of you,” Charlie dared.

Before the gang members got any closer, Uncle
Ted was between them. “Get out of here you punks!” he shouted.

There were about six of them, and they stood
their ground laughing, giving him the finger and calling him names.
Then the Fat Man was in their face with a baseball bat and told
them to get the fuck off the block, or he was going to bash their
heads in. “I know where you bastards hang out, and I’ll go over
there with some of my friends, and we’ll kick your asses from here
to hell. So get the fuck out before I lose it!”