Sicilian Defense

by John Nicholas Iannuzzi

  Bobby Matteawan rose and walked toward the bedroom. “Sure, just a minute and I’ll get my wallet.”

  “Hello, officers,” a woman’s voice said. Bobby Matteawan was inside the bedroom and couldn’t see her, but he could hear her voice. It meant trouble.

  “Yes, ma’am? Can we help you?” he heard the cops asking her.

  “I live across the hall. I’m the one who called you.”

  “Madam, come in here please,” one of the cops said. His voice was strong and cutting.

  “Come on out here, mister,” demanded the other cop.

  Bobby Matteawan came out, a sheepish smile on his face. The cops’ pistols were directly trained on him. He wanted to bull his way out now—to tell Joey this was the right apartment. But the cops were spread apart, ready to grab him.

  “Is this the man who lives here, lady?” one of the cops asked the woman.

  “Him? Of course he doesn’t live here. It’s a colored girl lives here. A beautiful girl, not a criminal like that.”

  “You’re sure, lady?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I’ve been living here 25 years and I should know who my neighbors are.”

  The cops looked at Bobby Matteawan, anger flushing their necks and faces.

  “Okay lady, that’s fine. Thank you,” said one cop. “We’ll take care of this now.” He motioned for her to leave.

  “You can go now, lady,” said the other cop. “We’ll be over to see you when we finish here.”

  “All right, officer. Thank you very much. You won’t let this criminal go?” The woman was frightened.

  “Not on a bet, lady,” one of the cops assured her.

  The cops waited, listening to the woman’s fading footsteps. Then they turned toward Bobby Matteawan. The first cop strode across the room and grabbed the front of Bobby Matteawan’s shirt. The shirt ripped down the front as he pulled Bobby Matteawan toward him.

  “You lousy punk,” the cop said, as his fist cracked into the side of Bobby Matteawan’s head.

  Bobby Matteawan lunged at him.

  “Hold it, punk,” the second cop warned, his gun trained on Bobby Matteawan’s belly.

  The first cop stuffed his fist into Bobby Matteawan’s stomach. As Bobby Matteawan bent forward, the cop cuffed him on the back of the head.

  “Don’t overdo it, Frank,” the cop with the gun advised. “Let’s get him down to the station house.”

  “I’d like to stuff this punk through the keyhole,” said the first cop.

  Bobby Matteawan was bleeding from the mouth. “Fuck you, cop,” he said.

  “When I get you down the station house, punk, I’m going to knock your brains out,” the cop said.

  “If you tell your buddy with the gun to put it down, I’ll kick the shit out of the both of you. I’ll stuff that gun—”

  Another punch in the stomach kept Bobby Matteawan from talking as the cops led him out of the house.

  4:30 P.M.

  “Send somebody to bail Bobby out,” Gianni said to Frankie the Pig.

  “I’ve taken care of it,” Frankie the Pig assured him. “I got our regular bondsman to call one of his friends in Queens. He’ll have him bailed out as soon as he’s arraigned.”

  “When will that be?”

  “He didn’t think it’d be before seven or seven-thirty tonight. They have to go to court to be arraigned and have bail set.”

  Gianni frowned. He turned to Joey, who was sitting beside the desk in the garage office. Tony was standing in the background. “Then what happened?”

  “When they took Bobby Matteawan downstairs, he had the cuffs behind his back,” said Joey. “I couldn’t stay too close. I was thinking the cops might bring down the people from that first apartment to identify him. And if they saw me, I’d be in the can too.”

  “You did exactly the right thing,” Gianni assured him. “I can’t have two men out of action—we need everyone we have. Did he get to say anything, did he get any word to you about whether it was the right apartment or not?”

  “I’m not sure,” Joey said. “He was making a racket, though. I mean, you don’t know Bobby Matteawan too well. But he doesn’t like being arrested. It usually takes about six cops to get him to the station house. I was away down the street pretty much but I could hear that one of the things he was screaming was ‘yes, yes.’ Now I don’t know if he meant the apartment or not; I think so, but I’m just not sure.”

  Gianni looked at Frankie the Pig. “I don’t know either. But I’d guess that we should assume it was.”

  “Could we get Sandro Luca to go out to the police station and talk to him? Then we wouldn’t have to waste too much time if we’re wrong.”

  “That’s a good idea, Frankie,” said Gianni. “Now all we have to do is track down Luca.”

  “Did he say where he was when he called?” Frankie asked.

  “I know where he was, but I don’t know the exact location,” Gianni said, knowing Frankie the Pig would neither understand nor approve of Sandro’s present occupation. “He said he’d be around this afternoon.”

  “When he comes, should I send him out to Queens?” asked Frankie the Pig.

  “When he comes in, we’ll ask him if he’d mind going out there,” said Gianni. “One of the boys can drive him.”

  Frankie the Pig nodded. “What do you want done in the meantime, Gianni?”

  “Well, if we assume that this was the chocolate bunny’s apartment, we’ve got to figure out where her friends are—the guys who did the kidnaping. They’re apparently not holding Sal in that apartment.”

  “Why do you say that?” Tony asked.

  “They’d never have let Bobby out alive,” said Gianni.

  “I guess that’s right,” said Frankie the Pig.

  “How do we find her friends?” Tony continued.

  “First, we’ve got to find her. If that’s her apartment, she wasn’t there either,” said Gianni.

  “Why not?”

  “Because Joey would have seen her. She’d have gone down to the station house with the cops, or right after them in one of the squad cars. So the first thing we have to do is find that girl,” said Gianni. “We know she doesn’t work in the Playboy Club any more.”

  “Sandro tell you that?” asked Frankie the Pig.

  Gianni nodded. “I think Big Diamond might be able to help us on this. He knows the colored parts of the Bronx and Manhattan like the back of his hand. Maybe he’d know where this girl operates.”

  “You want me to call him?”

  “Yes. Ask him if he knows something about a girl who used to be a Playboy bunny. Maybe she’s working in some other place he knows about. Those girls usually stay in the same line—they get too used to the fast, easy tips and the action.”

  Frankie the Pig went to the wall phone.

  “On second thought, let Tony speak to Big Diamond,” Gianni said. “No sense confusing him with too many new people. Big Diamond knows Tony already.”

  Frankie the Pig shrugged.

  “I hope the cops don’t figure out who Bobby Matteawan is,” said Frankie the Pig, looking at Gianni.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you said there’s a tap on the restaurant phone line we’ve got here. That means the cops know what’s going on. If the cops in Queens figure out that he’s with us, and they let the cops here know about it, they might rough him up trying to get the information they couldn’t get out of you this morning.”

  “That’s a very real possibility,” Gianni said.

  “Big Diamond says he’ll come down,” said Tony, holding his hand over the mouthpiece. “He says he wants to see his man, Gianni.”

  Gianni smiled. “Tell him I don’t want to put him to all that trouble.”

  “He insists on coming.” Tony said a few more words, then hung up.

  Gianni turned back to Frankie: “Will Bobby stand up?”

  “Bobby Matteawan?” said Frankie the Pig. “They’d have to hit him in the head with an ax, an
d he still wouldn’t give them the sweat off his balls.”

  “Well then, we don’t have to worry about that,” said Gianni.

  Sandro entered the garage, carrying his briefcase. He looked as shiny and fresh as when Gianni had seen him early that morning.

  “Hello, Sandro.” Gianni smiled at him.

  Sandro’s eyes returned the smile. “I found out something else,” he said.

  “I hope you didn’t have to sweat this information out of your informant,” said Gianni.

  Sandro reddened. “I found out that your ex-bunny works in a bar uptown called the Pirate’s Den. She’s a barmaid or a waitress there.”

  “Where is it?” asked Frankie the Pig.

  “On Amsterdam Avenue near 140th Street—somewhere around there.”

  “That’s great, Sandro,” said Gianni.

  “Should we send somebody up there to get this dame?” asked Frankie the Pig.

  “Not yet,” said Gianni. “Big Diamond said he was coming down. We’ll let him figure out how to move on this Pirate’s Den.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Frankie the Pig.

  “Meanwhile, Sandro, one of our boys has been arrested out at Crestwood Village while he was trying to find this Johnson girl’s apartment. We don’t know if he found it or not. So, I’d be very grateful if you’d go to the precinct and talk to Bobby—ask him if that was the right place. Gus’ll drive you.”

  Sandro studied Gianni. “If it didn’t have to do with this case, I sure as hell wouldn’t. But how can I turn you down?”

  “Thank you, Sandro,” said Gianni.

  “I’d better get out there before they take him to court.”

  “If you manage to talk to him, call me here,” said Gianni.

  “Right.” Sandro left with Gus trailing behind him.

  Gianni lit a cigarette and looked at his watch. It was only 5: 15—still almost three hours until they would receive the next phone call.

  “We’ve got to make sure that Sal’s still alive,” Gianni said to no one in particular.

  “Those bastards,” said Frankie the Pig. “Those miserable niggers.”

  Just then the door of the garage opened as Big Diamond bent low and entered. He stood tall, a fat cigar in his mouth, his beige fedora at a rakish tilt. He was dressed in a brown suit with a beige shirt and beige silk tie. His shoes were golden brown, and shined to sparkling. Lloyd came in behind Big Diamond. He stood, dark and stern, next to Big Diamond, looking around apprehensively.

  “Did I hear someone complaining about my people, or talking about those worthless niggers who took your friend, Gianni?” he said, a big smile on his face.

  “Ah, you big son of a bitch,” said Gianni. The two men embraced, clapping each other on the back.

  “Son of a bitch yourself,” said Big Diamond. “You getting stronger and handsomer than ever. Lloyd—” he turned, “Gianni, this here is Lloyd, my main man. Lloyd, this is Gianni, the Silver Eagle. Man, he used to turn those silver curls on the broads and they’d be out cold—I mean done, signed, sealed and delivered.” Big Diamond gave out with a big laugh and put his arm around Gianni’s shoulders.

  “And what about you?” said Gianni. “He’d get these little dames, pick them up in the air and dance them all over the floor without their feet touching the ground. They’d feel his muscles and they’d be done for.”

  They both laughed again.

  “Come on into my fancy office,” said Gianni.

  “It’s no worse than some of the places we have to work out of sometimes—right, Lloyd?” said Big Diamond. “Matter of fact, it’s better than some.” He settled back in a chair. “Well now, any news on Sal?”

  “Not yet. We expect a call about eight o’clock,” said Gianni. “Did you pick up any news for us?”

  “Nothing much,” replied Big Diamond. “Lloyd’s been going around, and so have the rest of our guys, but we can’t raise too much noise. We don’t want these people to go underground.”

  “Well, we’ve got a possible lead in your area,” said Gianni. “One of the men involved in this may be going with a girl named Kitty Johnson, who lives in Queens—and I think she’s a barmaid in a joint called the Pirate’s Den.”

  “That’s what it is exactly,” said Big Diamond, “a joint.”

  Lloyd nodded agreement. “A lot of small-time chiselers, punks and junkies hang out there. You picked the right place, all right.”

  “Can we get some information on this girl and her boyfriend?”

  “Oh, we’ll get it all right, Gianni,” said Big Diamond. “We’ll go right back now, and I’ll send over a couple of guys who won’t raise too much notice. What do you want to know?”

  “I want to know if she’s got some special guy; if she’s in tight with any group we might check out on this kidnaping.”

  “Can you do that, Lloyd?” Big Diamond asked.

  “Sure, Big,” replied Lloyd. “You want it, we’ll do it. I’ll send a couple of guys in there. You want me to call them now?”

  “No, we’ll go back. I think we should pick them personally. If we screw it up, there’s one of our friends going to be killed.”

  “I appreciate it,” said Gianni.

  “Now don’t give me that appreciation shit. You’re my man—I owe it to you, you owe it to me. We do it because we’re old-timers from old times. Right, Gianni?”

  “You’re right, Big,” Gianni smiled. “A hundred percent. It’s nice to know there are still a few of us who feel that way.”

  “It’s sweet to be able to do it, Gianni. It really is. Oh, yes,” he said, turning to Lloyd and putting out his hand. Lloyd handed him an envelope. Big Diamond handed it to Gianni.

  “What’s this?” asked Gianni.

  “It’s some long green,” Big Diamond said, “in case you need a little extra. There’s ten large there.”

  “No, no,” Gianni said. “I can’t take this.”

  “You bet your ass you can. If you don’t need it, you give it back. But if you need it, I want you to use it.” He pressed the envelope in Gianni’s hand. “I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing it for me. ’Cause when I get snatched, I want to know my boys have someplace to come and put the touch.” Big Diamond laughed.

  The phone rang. Tony picked it up. “It’s for you, Gianni.”

  It was Sandro. “Wait a minute, Big,” Gianni said. “I may have something else.”

  Big Diamond and Lloyd stood by the door, watching Gianni on the phone. He hung up and looked at them. “One of our boys got arrested in this Kitty Johnson’s apartment. The lawyer just spoke to him,” said Gianni. “She’s the right girl all right. Now when we find out who her friends are, we’re going to be breathing on their necks.”

  “Man, if anybody can breathe hot on their necks, it’s me and Lloyd: right, Lloyd?”

  Lloyd nodded, his face stern, his lips drawn tight. “We’ll find them.”

  Tony, who was watching from the doorway, liked Lloyd, he liked the way he worked. “You need any help breathing, just give me a ring: I breathe pretty good too,” said Tony.

  “I’ll find them, and you take it from there,” said Lloyd.

  “That’s a deal,” said Tony.

  “Come on, now, let’s go,” said Big Diamond. “We’ll call you as soon as we get the information.”

  “As fast as you can, Big,” said Gianni.

  “Even faster than that,” said Big Diamond, waving as he and Lloyd walked out of the garage.

  7:50 P.M.

  “Fifty-five, sixty. Sixty thousand here,” said Frankie the Pig, counting packages of hundred dollar bills in five-thousand-dollar wrappers. The packages were piled on the office desk. Gianni watched him count. Tony and Gus were standing by the door. Outside in the garage Angie the Kid and Bobby Matteawan were sitting on a bench, watching TV.

  “And here’s the other ten from Big Diamond,” said Gianni, handing over the envelope.

  “That makes seventy,” said Frankie the Pig.

&nb
sp; “That big nigger’s all right,” allowed Tony.

  “He sure is,” said Gianni, taking an envelope from his inside jacket pocket. “Here’s twenty-five more.”

  Frankie the Pig looked at Gianni as he took the envelope from him, adding it to the pile on the table. “Now we have what we need.”

  “We have to have it all,” said Gianni. “But I’ll try to bargain them down.”

  “Will we pay them tonight?” Tony asked.

  “I’m going to try to stall them. See if we can get another day out of it,” said Gianni, “now that we’re making some progress.”

  “Right,” said Tony; “if we can track down this dame, we can track down her boyfriend.”

  Bobby Matteawan came in the door. “Yeah, we’ll get his name out of her.” A satanic look of pleasure gleamed in his eyes.

  “And when we get the boyfriend, we’ll get them all,” said Frankie the Pig. “They’ll be sorry they were ever born on this earth.”

  “Come on,” said Gianni, calling them back to the matter at hand. “I’m more interested in getting Sal back alive than in tortures and killing.”

  The others looked at him.

  “That’s right,” Gianni repeated firmly, looking at them each in turn. “I want Sal. I want them, too, but I’m not licking my chops over their blood.” Gianni fell silent, drawing back from what had been gnawing at him for two days.

  “I’ll take your share, Gianni,” said Bobby Matteawan.

  “I’m not in this for blood,” Gianni repeated. “I’m in it for Sal.”

  “So are we, so are we,” said Frankie the Pig. “But these bastards and all their friends have to be taught a lesson they won’t ever forget. How are you going to handle them once we get hold of them, Gianni?”

  “I’m not worrying about that yet,” Gianni said carefully. “After I get Sal back, I’ll see. Right now, I’ve got more important things on my mind. Or don’t you agree?”

  They looked sheepish, wilting before Gianni’s strength.

  “We better be sure we do get Sal back,” said Frankie the Pig.

  “And get him alive,” added Gianni.

  The thought brought them up short.

  “You think they’d kill Sal?” asked Gus.

  “The slimy bastards,” said Tony.