by Fred Galvin
I heard Ken’s voice in my ear. “Ten tomorrow morning? Are you sure? Like I said, I can be here any time for you and Jen.”
“Yeah, sure. Ten tomorrow morning. We’ll be there. Gotta go now.”
I barely heard Ken say that ten would be fine. “Dan, call me at any time if—” I ended the call and put the phone down. I just stared at the table for some time, I had no idea how long. Then I heard faint knocking in the distance. I looked up distractedly and saw Ronnie at the window of the interrogation room door tapping the glass. She mouthed, “You okay?”
I could only stare blankly at her. She disappeared from the window and came into the room. She sat down opposite me and took my hands. “Dan, what is it? Tell me what’s wrong. Who was that on your phone?” I could only sit there, my mind both racing and blank at the same time. Ronnie squeezed my hands tighter. “Dan!” She picked up my phone from the table and swiped the screen. “Dan, that last call was from Ken. What did he say to you? Is Jen okay?” Hearing Jen’s name snapped me back to reality. I looked up at Ronnie as though just noticing she was sitting across from me.
That’s when I started crying.
Chapter 6: Frankie Finacci, Made Man
Let’s change gears …
Francesco “Fast Frankie” Finacci was a Made Man in New York City’s Mariucci crime family.
First, a little background. I find the concept of a Made Man in the Mafia quite entertaining and, in a strange way, amusing. Think of a group of adolescent boys who build a treehouse. They paint a sign on a slab of wood reading “NO GIRLS” (the N and R are backward in true Our Gang style) and nail it to the tree trunk. Each boy swears allegiance to the group. They make and enforce the rules for membership in their club. If a rule is broken, you’re out of the club, shunned by the members, and can’t come back into the treehouse.
The Mafia is much the same, sort of. Of course, the members are not adolescent boys, at least not from the standpoint of age. Besides the unwritten requirement that your name ends in a vowel (preferably a, i, or o), there is a primary difference for rule breakers. Instead of just not being allowed back into the treehouse, you’re physically thrown out of the treehouse with a knife in your back, a bullet in your brain, or a date with a pair of cement shoes and a final dip into the East River.
A Made Man, a.k.a. Wiseguy, Made Guy, or Mafioso, is someone who has been officially inducted into the post-adolescent treehouse club: the Sicilian or American Mafia Family, the Cosa Nostra.
So, how does one become a Made Man?
First, to become a Made Man you must be of Italian descent (the end-of-name vowel reference above). If you are not, then you could only ever be an associate of the Mafia, certainly lower on the food chain. You also could not become a Made Man if you have had any connection to the law, whether you were a corrections officer in your past, or a police officer, or have any close family connected to law enforcement. Essentially, you have to be purebred mobster.
Given your breeding credentials meet the above criteria, you would first have to be sponsored by a Made Man in the Family. This is kind of like having a Big Brother or Big Sister in a fraternity or sorority. The sponsor must know you and vouch for your reliability, talents, and abilities. This is taken very seriously because if he were to make a bad choice, it would be his neck, quite literally, that was on the line. And he wouldn’t go alone. He undoubtedly would take you along with him. So you need to get to know some of the “guys” so that one can recommend you with the backing of the Family. You must also be a moneymaker for them and you have to have a confirmed “whack.” That is, before being inducted, you will be required to carry out a contract killing which is referred to as “making your bones.” While actually whacking someone was preferable, there could be exceptions. A candidate could be a part of a contracted hit, but not necessarily the guy who pulled the trigger, held the garrote or, well, you get the picture.
If the Family is accepting new members it is said to be “opening the books.” Only then will you be invited. You will get a call asking you to get dressed in your best and to prepare to be picked up and taken to a ceremony room with other candidates, if there are any. The room is guarded by armed Wiseguys.
This is where it really gets freaky.
You sit down at a table with the others. The Made Man conducting the ceremony (either the boss or a high-ranking underboss of the Family) pricks your trigger finger. The blood drips down onto a picture of a saint, such as the Virgin Mary, or Saint Francis of Assisi. The picture is then put in your hands and set alight by a match. The picture continues to burn until the oath of loyalty to the Family has been completed.
“As this card burns may my soul burn in Hell if I betray the Oath of Omertà.”
This is the Oath of Omertà, the code of silence. The code of Omertà simply means that a Made Man will avoid talking to or informing authorities about any criminal activity under any circumstances. It literally means “manhood” and refers to the idea of a man dealing with his own problems without the help of any law body, but the term has also become synonymous with the Mafia’s code of silence. If caught breaking the code, the result would be death, usually at the hands of the code breaker’s sponsor. No mercy.
And as with the boys in the treehouse club, there are rules for being a Made Man:
Be loyal to members of the organization or “Family.” Do not interfere with each other’s interests.
Do not be an informer.
Do not take from the Family.
Be rational.
Be a member of the team.
Don’t engage in battle if you can’t win.
The directive extends to personal life. Be a man of honor. Respect womanhood and your elders.
Be a stand-up guy. Keep your eyes and ears open and your mouth shut. Don’t sell out. The stand-up guy shows courage and heart. He does not whine or complain in the face of adversity, including punishment, because “if you can’t pay, don’t play.”
Have class. Be independent. Know your way around the world.
~~~
Twenty-five-year-old Frank Finacci took becoming a Made Man in New York’s Mariucci Family very seriously. The boss of the Family, Mario Mariucci himself, presided over the ceremony, pricked Frank’s finger, set the card alight. While he had not yet personally whacked anyone, Frankie did accompany his sponsor, Paulo “Papa” Papalini on a job which qualified Frankie to be eligible to become a Made Man.
The job in question entailed bringing about the demise of Antonio “Jinx” Gianni. Jinx was a driver for the Mariucci Family and was on duty one night about a week earlier to drive midlevel underboss Johnny “Fingers” Fiorino to and from a high stakes card game on Manhattan’s Lower East Side.
Just before it came time to drive Fingers home at about two a.m., Jinx had excused himself to take a leak, saying he’d meet Fingers at the car. While Fingers was walking toward his Town Car (black, of course) looking around for Jinx, another Town Car (black, of course) screeched around a corner, slowed, and two men inside lit up the night by emptying the clips of their Glock 19s into Fingers, killing him instantly.
Within the Mariucci Family it was believed the shooting was retaliation for an incident two months prior when Fingers had thrown a suspected cheating card player (whose name was simply Snake) off a seventeenth-floor balcony. That wasn’t exactly the cause of the revenge, however. You see, gravity, being what it is, brought Snake down headfirst atop Venico “Big Babe” Balboni who happened to be exiting a restaurant seventeen floors below. Big Babe was a Caporegime in a branch of the Bonacci Family which shared a piece of lower Manhattan with the Mariucci Family. A capo is fairly high up on a Mafia family’s organization chart. As big as Big Babe was, he was no match for the plummeting Snake who had attained close to terminal velocity when he landed on Big Babe.
As an aside, you would think that Big Babe probably never saw it coming. But actually, he did. Naturally, the falling Snake was screaming loudly on his way down and since the speed of sou
nd is considerably faster than the speed of a freefalling card cheat, the screams reached Big Babe’s ears first and got his attention just soon enough for him to look up into the wide eyes of the fast-approaching Snake one second before impact. So Babe actually did see it coming. So did Snake.
While it was never outright proven, it was believed that Fingers’s driver Jinx had somehow been compromised by the Bonacci Family and had set up Fingers for the hit. Jinx had actually just appeared at the scene in time to get winged by a round that had missed Fingers.
Jinx had played it up as being “wounded in the line of duty trying to protect Fingers” but the Mariucci Wiseguys weren’t buying it. Hence Papa was assigned the task of making Jinx answer for Fingers and had decided to bring his protégé, young Frankie Finacci (he wasn’t yet “Fast Frankie”) along to see how it was done.
The plan was to have Jinx drive Papa and his bodyguard Frankie to the same recurring weekly card game Fingers had attended on that fateful night. If he had even half a brain, Jinx would have been suspicious of the coincidence. But alas, Jinx had considerably less than half a brain and, unlike Big Babe and Snake, he never saw it coming. It was all prearranged between Papa and Frankie. In a scene reminiscent of The Godfather, Frankie asked Jinx to pull into an alley so he could relieve himself. Jinx protested, “We’re almost there. Can’t you wait?” But Babe told Jinx to do as he was told. One shot to the back of the head and five minutes later, Frankie and Babe were hailing a cab from a block away. The only things missing were the lines “Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.”
Chapter 7: I felt very small
As I sat heaving huge convulsive sobs, Ronnie came around the table and put her arm across my shoulders, bending down to put her face inches from mine.
“Dan … oh, Dan. Go ahead and let it loose. Get it all out then you can tell me what has happened. I’m here. You’re not alone. Go ahead.”
I knew Ronnie was there and I looked up and made eye contact but I could barely hear what she was saying. Tears ran down my cheeks. I was totally overwhelmed by many emotions: fear, panic, despair, a feeling of total helplessness. Suddenly my clothes felt too big for me. I just kind of collapsed into her arms, which kept me from falling off the chair onto the floor of the interrogation room. She held me to her and rocked me gently as one would a child. Her voice was soothing.
“It’s okay, Dan. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Take your time.”
Eventually, I had no idea how long, nor did I care, I began to settle down. Reality slowly began to push its way into my consciousness. My sobs ebbed in frequency and I was able to sit myself up. I was aware of Ronnie supporting me and then letting me support myself. She produced a tissue out of nowhere, as women are miraculously prone to do (where do they keep these phantom appear-on-command tissues, anyway? Up their sleeves with the rabbit?) and wiped the tears streaming down my face. Then another tissue materialized and she handed it to me. “Blow.” I put it to my nose and blew, again as a child would when being comforted by a parent. “There, that’s better. Now, are you able to tell me what happened? What that call was about? How can I help you? Is Jen okay?”
Again, the mention of Jen’s name had a sobering effect on me and I was finally able to gain full control. I sighed heavily.
“That … that was Ken Garner on the phone. He’s … he’s Jen’s OB/GYN.”
I hesitated and felt myself beginning to lose it again. Ronnie sensed this and gripped both my arms, giving me strength. She waited silently. After a moment I continued.
“Jen had a checkup a couple of days ago and the results came back today. They’re not good.”
Ronnie said nothing, but tightened her grip. I was pretty sure she had a general idea what was coming. After all, she’s a woman and a detective. “It’s okay, Dan. Take your time. What did Ken say?”
“He said … ” I hesitated. “Oh, shit.” I hesitated again. Maybe if I didn’t say it aloud, maybe then it wouldn’t be true. Yeah sure, Deckler. I forced out the words that felt like a death sentence for Jen. “He said that the test results showed a tumor on her cervix. It’s aggressive and most likely has advanced into her pelvis and kidneys.”
As an experienced detective, Ronnie was trained to accept just about any kind of news with stoicism. That’s the best way to stay detached enough to glean any possible impact it would have on a case. Most detectives did this by stiffening the back, both figuratively and literally, and focusing on case-specific facts. But upon hearing my words, I both felt—and saw—Ronnie react with shock. Her eyes grew wide and she was fighting to keep her lips from quivering. I knew she was struggling to stay strong or we’d both collapse on the floor. She somehow managed to keep the tone of her voice level and her gaze fixed on my eyes.
“Oh, Dan, I am so sorry to hear that. I’m sure Ken has a treatment plan in mind. When will you be seeing him?”
“Tomorrow morning at ten.” I leaned back in the chair. “Now I have to figure out how to tell Jen.”
“Oh, she doesn’t know?” Then she hit herself in the forehead with her palm. “Of course she doesn’t know. That’s why Ken called you first. Such news has to come from you. He is a professional and a good friend.”
“Yeah, he is.” I was pretty much composed now. I sighed heavily again and stood up. Ronnie stood with me. I gave her a hug. “Thanks, Ronnie. Thanks for being here. You also are a good friend.” I forced a weak smile. “But you have progress to make on the professional part.”
We both laughed and the tension broke somewhat. She punched my shoulder. “I’m the most professional partner you’ll ever have. Dan, I know you would be there for me if I had a crisis. So, now you need to go home. I won’t hear anything to the contrary. I am up to speed on all our cases and I can handle them. You need to be with Jen and get ready for tomorrow morning. Now let’s get you out the door.”
We live in Brooklyn and I usually take the subway across the WB to and from the precinct but Ronnie insisted on signing out a Crown Vic. We walked down to the garage and she opened the passenger door. “Come on DD. I’m your chauffeur and this is your unmarked limo. Let’s take a ride.” We drove the streets of the Lower East Side of Manhattan for fifteen or twenty minutes in silence. She instinctively knew I needed some time to figure out how to break the news to Jen.
Finally, I said, “Okay. I’m ready.”
We crossed the bridge into Brooklyn. Traffic was light by New York’s standards. I absently watched the other cars and looked at the people in them. They were going about their daily business. I doubted any of them were on their way home to tell the loves of their lives that their time together was about to be cut way short of expectations. I felt very small.
Within ten minutes Ronnie double parked in front of my brownstone. She let the engine idle, turned to me, and squeezed my trembling hand.
“Hang in there Dan. Do you want me to let Captain Smart know you need some time?”
“Yeah, thanks. Just tell him I’ve had a sudden personal issue come up and that I’ll call him later today to explain.” I opened the car door and looked up at my apartment building. Then I turned back and leaned into the Crown Vic’s passenger window. “Thanks. You really helped me out back there in the precinct.”
“No charge. Now go up those stairs and love your wife. I know you two will get through this. Give my love to Jen.”
As she drove off I turned and looked up the six steps to the entrance of our building. It took all my courage to start up those six steps. My feet felt very heavy. As I ascended them one by one I thought of my youth and playing stoopball.
~~~
At the top of the steps, I paused and called Jen to tell her I was home. Occasionally I would drop in when Ronnie and I were nearby and had a little break on a case. I always gave her a heads up. Jen never hesitated to welcome Ronnie and ask her to join us for a coffee and a bite to eat. The bank was never the wiser.
She picked up after one ring. “Hi Hon. How’s your day going?”
I took a dee
p breath and tried to sound as normal as possible. “Hi. Just thought I’d stop up for a few minutes. Can you take a break?”
“Oh, wonderful. Of course. I’m at a good break point. Is Ronnie with you?”
“Nope, just me today. I’m outside, on my way up.”
“You’re here already?” I noted a slight change in her tone. She knew me well enough to know something was up. She greeted me at our door with open arms. “What’s wrong?” I couldn’t respond just yet. She didn’t push me and become all dramatic. She held my head in her hands, kissed me, and led me to the bedroom where she silently took my suit coat and sat me down on the bed. Then she smiled at me. “Do you want something cold to drink?” I shook my head. “Okay then, Detective. Tell me what’s going on.”
I think you know by now that my wife is an amazing woman. If you had any doubts, this should clinch it. Here I was, home from work far earlier than usual, a forlorn look on my face, clearly bearing a difficult burden. I looked up at her. “Aren’t you working?”