The Last Testament of Lucky Luciano: The Mafia Story in His Own Words (60 page)

But Luciano was convinced that Genovese would not be deterred by the council’s decision. Not only would Genovese continue his campaign against Costello and Anastasia, Luciano was sure, but he would also direct his fire at Lansky for having attempted to interfere with his plans at the council session. “You know, there’s a very simple difference between the Jews and the Italians; the Jews, they kill
for
each other; and the Italians, they kill each other. But the fuckin’ Neapolitans, they kill each other in the back.”

What Luciano did not know, and what he was never to learn, was that Genovese had already set in motion plans to kill him. Luciano, in fact, had been marked as Genovese’s first major victim
on the road to the top, and a killer had been dispatched from New York in 1956 to accomplish that deed. At Luciano’s funeral in 1962, his cousin Calcedonia Lucanía began to talk to several people near the open coffin, remarking on his own relationship. “One of the men,” he said, “took me aside and we talked. I said to him what a shame it was that Charlie had died so young. The man, he was an Italian-American whose name I did not know, but he was medium-sized with glasses and I could tell he was from America, he said to me, ‘Yes, it is a shame, but then Charlie had more years than some people might realize. He almost died in 1956.’

“I said to him, I was so amazed, ‘No, that isn’t so. He was very well then. He only had a bad back.’ This man answered, ‘I know he wasn’t sick. I came over here in 1956 to kill him. I had orders to kill him. But how could I kill a man who had once saved my life and who had saved me from starvation many times?’

“I was so shocked that I blurted out, ‘Well, if you were ordered to do this thing and you did not do it, how is it possible that you are still alive?’ The man shrugged his shoulders and told me, ‘Well, I managed. I just couldn’t do such a thing, not to Charlie Lucky.’ After the funeral the man went away and I never saw him again.”

Unaware that he himself was a target, Luciano waited to see in what direction Genovese would strike in defiance of the council. The obvious target was Costello. With Adonis and Luciano in Italy, Costello, even in retirement, remained a symbol of the old days and so stood in the way of Genovese’s assumption of absolute control over the Luciano family, central in the underworld. By disposing of this remaining co-custodian of Luciano’s American interests, Genovese would stand supreme.

The council had given Frank Costello his life and a rich retirement. Genovese secretly decreed his death. Luciano later learned that Genovese gave the orders for Costello’s murder to Tommy Eboli, by then so high in the upper echelons that he would not carry it out himself. He turned the contract over to Tony Bender. But Bender was a devious man who always tried to stay on the good side of all bosses and would-be bosses, and he was squeamish about taking on such an assignment that might put him in peril.
He farmed out the contract to a three-hundred-pound former prizefighter and small-time hoodlum whose multiplicity of quivering chins gave him his nickname: Vincent “The Chin” Gigante.

On May 2, 1957, Frank Costello as usual dined out in the evening. He had a few drinks at Peacock Alley with Frank Erickson, his gambling partner, who was also suffering from overexposure by the Kefauver investigation, and Little Augie Carfano, an old-time member of the Luciano outfit. Later in the evening, Costello joined some other friends at an upper East Side restaurant. About eleven, he excused himself, saying he was expecting an important telephone call from one of his Washington lawyers, Edward Bennett Williams. As his cab let him off at his apartment, the Majestic at 115 Central Park West on the corner of Seventy-second Street, a large black Cadillac stopped behind; a huge man got out and hurried into the building. Costello strolled in behind him without haste. When Costello was halfway into the lobby, Vincent Gigante, the fat man, stepped out from behind a pillar, a 38-caliber revolver in his hand. He shouted, perhaps with a last-second nod to the old tradition that a leader deserves to meet death from the front, “This is for you, Frank.” Then he fired one shot.

At the sound of the voice, Costello turned, and that movement saved his life. The bullet creased the right side of his scalp, tearing it open just above the ear. But Gigante assumed that his mission was a success; he raced out to the waiting Cadillac and sped away.

Bleeding and groggy, Costello was rushed to a hospital for emergency treatment. Unfortunately for him, while the doctors worked over him, New York City police went through his coat pockets and discovered eight hundred dollars in cash and a slip of paper that read: “Gross casino win as of 4-26-57 — $651,284. Casino win less markers [IOU’s] — $434,695. Slot wins — $62,844. Markers — $153,745.” Costello refused to discuss that slip of paper and said he had no idea how it had gotten into his pocket. But the totals, an investigation revealed, matched exactly the officially reported gambling revenues of the Tropicana Hotel in Las Vegas, in which Costello had an interest. As a result of this discovery and Costello’s refusal to talk about it, he was given a short prison term for contempt of court and for income tax evasion.

Costello also would not identify his would-be assassin, saying he had not seen or recognized him. The doorman at the Majestic, however, did describe the fat man and police began a search for Gigante. A couple of months later, Gigante reappeared, blandly saying he had only just discovered that the law was looking for him. During those months he had slimmed down, and by the time he was put on trial, the doorman could no longer positively identify him. When Costello continued to maintain his silence, Gigante went free.

For Genovese, whose repudiation of the council’s ruling was now in the open, the aborted attempt on Costello was a dangerous moment. He sealed himself inside his palatial home in Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey, protected by more than forty armed men, and proceeded to summon all the lieutenants in the Luciano family for a show of support for his actions. He could use such unanimity before the council to lend legitimacy to his action and avoid retribution. All but one of those lieutenants answered the summons, though some still loyal to Luciano did so out of fear for their lives. The only absentee was Little Augie Carfano; within two years he would be shot to death on orders of Genovese.

And from outside the Luciano family, another voice was raised in protest, that of Frank Scalise, second in command to Albert Anastasia in that Brooklyn family. A month later, Scalise was killed. (Mafia informer Joe Valachi would later say that Scalise had been shot by Vincent Squillante, who within three months also cut the throat and dismembered the body of Scalise’s brother, Joseph. Valachi claimed the deaths of the Scalises had been ordered by Albert Anastasia. But according to Luciano, Anastasia had nothing to do with them. The orders had come from Vito Genovese, who saw the death of Frank Scalise as the removal of a major rival within the Anastasia organization.)

“After Gigante blew the hit on Costello, Genovese and Costello had a private meet at Longie Zwillman’s house in Jersey. Frank sent me word about it later. Vito proposed a compromise because they had each other over a barrel after what happened. He told Frank, ‘Don’t do nothin’. Don’t complain to nobody. And most of all, don’t go to Charlie Lucky with this thing, because if you do, you’re gonna start a war. In that case, I promise that you’ll be the
first guy dead’ So they made a deal. What choice did Frank have? He said he would drop the whole thing and Vito agreed to let him retire like he wanted, with all his gamblin’ and real estate. Of course, about that time, Frank was convicted on income tax evasion and had to do a couple years in the can. But after he got out, he went out to his place in Sands Point and started to clip coupons.”

The attempt on Costello, the first open use of guns against an underworld leader since the early thirties, was a shock to Luciano. “I was up at a health spa in Montecatini with Igea. I had somethin’ wrong with my back and the baths up there was very good for it. It was the mornin’ of May 3 when the Guardia and the Mobile picked me up and took me in. One of the inspectors at the barracks asked me why I tried to have Frank Costello killed. I’m sure they must’ve believed me because my reaction was absolutely straight. I told ’em I didn’t know nothin’ about it until that minute. One of the inspectors said, ‘But, Signor Lucanía, you must know what happened?’ I said to him, ‘All I know from what you tell me is that the guy who done it must’ve been a lousy shot.’

“Of course it was all over the newspapers, with pictures showin’ Frank bein’ attended by the doctors in the hospital. From that minute on, Igea wouldn’t let me outa her sight. As for me, I was so fuckin’ pissed off that if Florita hadn’t lifted my passport, I’d’ve been on the next fuckin’ plane to Switzerland or someplace where I could set things up to get back into the States in secret and straighten out that little bastard Vito. But without a passport, with the cops watchin’ me so close, and with Igea hangin’ on my neck twenty-four hours a day, it wasn’t possible.

“So I drove down to Rome and sent a letter to Meyer through the APO of a friend of mine and told him to send somebody over right away. Before Meyer even got that letter, who shows up in Naples but Tommy Eboli. He didn’t beat around the bush; he tells me he’s comin’ straight from Vito and Vito says there’s gotta be peace and I shouldn’t start nothin’. Then that stupid Eboli throws me a little thought of his own; he advises me to take it easy and everything’s gonna be fine. I told him to go fuck himself with his advice and run back to Vito and tell him the day hasn’t come yet when he can take me in no kind of a fight. Eboli looks at
me with his eyes wide open and he says, a little nervous, ‘Charlie, are you sure you want me to tell that to Vito?’ So I looked at him and laughed. Then I went to the door and held it open for him and told him, ‘Tommy, you ain’t a bad kid, but your trouble is that you’re not like your brother. You’re the one who has to learn to take it easy.’ ”

Now Luciano’s attention was focused solely on what Genovese might do next; he waited anxiously, too, for a reply from Lansky. To protect himself, he avoided most vulnerable public places and went nowhere without Fernando Alotti, Joe Di Giorgio or Momo Salemi, turning away abruptly the advances of any but his closest friends. Finally a message came, from Paul Gambino, brother of Carlo, requesting an urgent, private meeting. Within a few days, the two were together at Luciano’s farm at Santa Marinella.

“Paul told me exactly what happened about Vito’s attempt to eliminate Frank and the deal Vito and Frank made afterwards. Then he tells me that the ways things are goin’, it looks like Anastasia is gonna have ‘serious trouble very soon.’ I was sure he was actin’ in the interest of Albert because his brother was Albert’s solid right hand, or so I thought. So I told him to get back to New York right away and have Albert call the council together — everybody except Vito. Albert was to tell ’em that I approved a hit on Vito. I suggested that in order to keep the meet a secret they should go someplace private, like Atlantic City, where they could look like a bunch of tourists and nobody would know why they was there. I emphasized for Gambino to tell Albert that in this particular case he was actin’ for me and to do it exactly like I said.”

The next day, Paul Gambino was on his way back to New York. “I figured Albert got my message right away and I’m waitin’ to hear that he’s called the council and they’ve okayed what I suggested. I couldn’t see no reason for them not to approve it, because it was the unwritten rule that if any head of a family ever put the rest of us in real danger, he hadda go. But if Albert did get my message, that stupid hotheaded bastard must’ve decided not to follow it, because the next thing I hear is that he’s goin’ after Vito himself, on his own. By that point, Anastasia was really off his rocker and he just wanted to kill anybody who came to his
mind that he got mad about. He was startin’ to see himself like some guy in the old gangster movies, like Jimmy Cagney. For chrissake, he even had that kid Arnold Schuster knocked off because he seen him braggin’ on television about how he spotted that bank robber Willie Sutton and tipped off the cops.”

But Luciano heard something even more unsettling than Anastasia’s apparent decision to ignore his orders and go it alone. “About the beginnin’ of June, I heard that Vito had a contract out on me. At first I couldn’t believe it, but when I started to analyze it, I hadda admit that deep inside I always knew this day was gonna come. I got this word from Longie Zwillman when one of his boys was on a trip to Europe for his ‘health’ and dropped in to see me in Naples first. So at that point, I hadda outmaneuver Vito. Knowin’ that little bastard like the back of my hand, there was one thing I was sure of — he wouldn’t be comin’ at me from the front. It would have to be some kind of angle, some guy sneakin’ up from behind.

“I spent a couple days tryin’ to wear Genovese’s shoes, and then it comes to me, nine chances out of ten, how he’s gonna do it. The son of a bitch knows how much I love cars and that I’m always foolin’ around with motors. So if he’s gonna get me, then the easiest way would be somethin’ connected with my car.”

At the bottom of the Via Tasso escarpment was a service station. Luciano had become friendly with the owner and together the two had periodically worked with meticulous care over Luciano’s Alfa Romeo. “Once I figured out how Vito was gonna come at me, we began goin’ over the car every day, from the front bumper to the rear bumper, real careful, because I thought that some night Vito’s guys would try to plant a bomb in it. If it’d been anybody but Vito, I never would’ve thought to look for a bomb; a shotgun in the back, maybe, but not a blowup. Then I tried to set a regular pattern which anybody who was watchin’ me could’ve fixed their clocks by. At the same time every day, I’d go down to the service station with Salemi and Fernando and the three of us and that mechanic’d go over the car. Then Fernando’d take the car out and drive me wherever I hadda go, and then at night, before we put the car away, the four of us would check it out again in my garage at the rear of my apartment building.