by William Wolf
Rel i shook his head.
“It’s sort of like Motown.”
“Motown,” Rel i said. There was a name he knew. In Detroit it was widely rumored that the Tucci Family had been behind Berry Gordy’s sudden decision to relocate his company to California. Even Bobby had heard those stories. “That record business is a tough business. Before you sign any papers you talk to me.”
“I’m not planning to make a career of it,” said Bobby.
“I’m not planning to make a career of it,” said Bobby.
“But thanks for the of er.”
There was a long silence, and then Rel i said, “Me and your mom have got en pret y close lately. She mention that?”
Bobby shook his head.
“She’s a great girl, your mom. Maybe that sounds funny to you, somebody cal ing her a girl, but that’s how she seems to me. Understand what I’m saying?”
Bobby nodded, not trusting his voice.
“I mean it as a compliment,” Rel i said.
“Right.”
“I got al the respect in the world for your mother. I just want you to know that.”
“I’m sure it’s mutual,” said Bobby. Rel i shot him a look, trying to gure out if the kid was being snot y, but Bobby had a straight face.
There was another silence, and then Rel i said, “You a sports fan? I got a box at Tiger Stadium you wanna go to a bal game sometime.”
“Sure,” said Bobby. “That’d be good.”
“I played a lit le bal when I was a kid,” said Rel i. “The Tigers wanted to give me a contract, send me to Toledo.
But I went to work for your grandfather instead. I mean, why go down to Triple A when you can start out in the majors. Am I right?”
“Absolutely,” said Bobby.
“I was a lefty,” said Rel i, making a bat ing gesture with
“I was a lefty,” said Rel i, making a bat ing gesture with his hands. “What about you?”
“Only in politics,” said Bobby. It slipped out, and he regret ed it immediately. The way to play this game was to agree with everything and say nothing; provocative remarks only prolonged the agony.
“Yeah, I noticed you got long hair,” said Rel i. “Not that it means that much these days. Hel , I seen a Bonanno but on with a ponytail last time I was in Vegas, and he ain’t no homo, I guarantee you that. So you, what, voted for McGovern?”
“I was too young to vote.”
“I’m a Nixon guy al the way. That Watergate thing, that was a frame-up. Same as they done to Agnew.”
Bobby shrugged. “I didn’t fol ow it.”
“Yeah, what for? When I was your age al I cared about was money and pussy.” Rel i caught himself and glanced with alarm in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m talkin’
years ago,” he said.
Bobby nodded and watched Rel i run a blunt nger around his shirt col ar. Although the house was air-conditioned, he looked hot and uncomfortable. “Your mom tel s me you just finished school.”
“Right.”
“That’s good. You got a get your education when you’re young. Then you can learn the rest on the streets, so to speak. Like, you can study music in school, but you got a go into the clubs to get your chops. Am I right?”
go into the clubs to get your chops. Am I right?”
Bobby nodded. He was glad this moron was with his mother. She deserved him.
“Nixon was like that. He got there the hard way. But you know the thing I like most about him? He stood up.
He never rat ed anybody out. In my book, that’s the worst thing you can do.” There was a long pause; Bobby was aware that Rel i was scrutinizing him. “You feel the same way, Bob?”
“I haven’t thought much about it.”
“Yeah, wel you should. Squealing is the lowest thing a guy can do, especial y when it’s on his friends.”
Bobby nodded.
“I mean, let’s be realistic here. Let’s be fair. You got a guy, he’s maybe a made man or he’s connected, the point is, he’s doing business. And then he gets his bal s in a ringer and the rst thing you know he’s fucking Tony Bennet . Perry Como. See what I’m saying? A guy who sings on his friends …” Rel i pounded his right fist into the palm of his left hand. “You mind if I take another drink?”
“Help yourself,” said Bobby.
Rel i went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a Chivas re l . Then he set led back on the couch and said,
“You’d be shocked at who turns rat. When you get to be my age, that’s one of the things that’s gonna disil usion you about your fel ow human beings. Joe Valachi, for example. Or Jimmy Hof a.”
Rel i’s intense stare was disconcerting. Bobby cleared his Rel i’s intense stare was disconcerting. Bobby cleared his throat and waited.
“I see you’re surprised I mentioned Ho a,” said Rel i. “I guess you haven’t heard.”
Bobby shook his head.
“Jimmy’s gone nuts. He’s pissed of about not get ing his old job back, so he’s threatening to talk to the feds. He does that, a lot of good people get hurt.” Rel i lowered his voice for emphasis and said, “Including your own family.
Over the years the Tuccis have done a lot of business with the Teamsters. What Ho a knows could put the don in trouble. I’d hate to see him spend his last days on earth get in’ dicked around by the fuckin’ FBI.”
“Yeah, that would be too bad,” said Bobby
“Fuckin’ right,” said Rel i. He stil couldn’t decide if this Bobby was a ake, like his mother said, or just a cold-blooded lit le bastard. Either way, he had made a promise to Annet e. “It’s not just the don, either. Ho a talks, your mom’s gonna get dragged in. They always go after the women, those federal creeps. They know that’s where the weak link is.”
Bobby couldn’t resist. “My mother ought to come as quite a shock to them, then,” he said. When Rel i scowled, he added, “I mean, I don’t think you could describe her as weak, do you?”
“She’s a stand-up lady,” said Rel i. “But she’s got a mother’s heart. She’s worried about you.”
“Me?”
“Me?”
“Sure, you. Once the feds get going, you think they’re gonna let the don’s only grandson of the hook?”
Bobby laughed. “I’ve never met Jimmy Ho a in my life.”
“There’s such a thing as a frame-up,” said Rel i darkly.
“They could use you to get the don to talk, or your mom.
It happens al the time.”
Bobby felt a flash of fear. Then he remembered what his grandfather had told him: Believe no one. “I guess I’l just have to take my chances,” he said.
Rel i leaned forward and said, “It ain’t gonna come to that. Hof a ain’t gonna talk to nobody.”
“I thought you just said he was.”
“I said he intends to. The powers that be got other plans.”
Bobby shifted uncomfortably. “Why are you tel ing me this?”
This was Rel i’s moment. He had danced the kid around enough; it was time to make his pitch. “You know, me and your dad was very close,” he said. “I was right there with him when he keeled over at the hockey game. You know what his last words to me were? He said, ‘Keep an eye on my son.’ ” Rel i stole a peek at the kid’s face. His expression was hard to read, but Rel i could tel he was moved. “That’s what he said, swear to God. So now, here comes this no-good fuck Ho a, out to destroy your grampa and your mom and you, and I got a ask myself, grampa and your mom and you, and I got a ask myself, what would Roberto want me to do?” He paused, waiting for Bobby’s response.
Bobby was tempted to say, “You don’t get an answer to a rhetorical question, you dumbass.” Instead he merely said, “What?”
“I think you already know the answer to that, Bob,” said Rel i. “You’re a Tucci, it’s in your blood. Your dad would want me to help you save your mom and your grampa.
He’d say, ‘Al, when you do what you got a do, take my boy with
you. Give him the chance to do the right thing for his family’ ”
Bobby gulped. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to kil Jimmy Hof a, and you want me to help?”
Rel i winced at the boy’s cal ow stupidity. “I don’t need your help, Bob, that’s not the point. You know how many guys would kil for the chance to get in on this? We’re not talking about doin’ the job on some eggplant dope man.
This is a fuckin’ historical hit, like Kennedy or Bugsy Siegel. The guys who do this are gonna be made for life.”
He spread his hands, palms up, and said, “That’s what Roberto woulda wanted for you.”
“How about my mother?” asked Bobby. “Is this what she wants, too?”
“Is what what she wants?” asked Annet e. She had come out of the kitchen wearing a burnt-orange leisure suit and matching lipstick, mules with five-inch stil eto heels, and a Cut y Sark-induced grin.
Cut y Sark-induced grin.
“I was just tel ing Bobby about the Ho a deal,” said Rel i.
“It sounds kind of cool,” Bobby said, automatical y slipping into his agreeable-fool persona. “I mean, just being able to say I took part in something like that.”
Rel i squirmed himself into a corkscrew. “What are you, nuts? You do this, you can’t say shit to anybody. Ever.”
“Then how wil people know?” asked Bobby. “I mean, you said whoever does it wil be made for life. How wil he be made for life if nobody knows it was him?”
“Don’t worry, the right people are gonna know without being told,” said Rel i.
“I don’t see how that could be,” Bobby said. “Anybody could take the credit.”
“Christ, look at this kid,” said Rel i. “He’s got a question for everything.”
Annet e xed her son with a maternal glare and said,
“Al has al my con dence. He’s going out of his way for you, here. The least you can do is give him the respect.”
“Sorry,” Bobby said contritely. “Is it okay if I think it over?”
“Think during dinner,” said Annet e, motioning them to the dining room. “I got something special for you tonight.”
Rel i brightened instantly; al the talk had made him hungry. “Your mom’s a sensational cook,” he told Bobby.
“She’s got me eating things I never even knew about. You ever heard of greathead?”
ever heard of greathead?”
A joke sprang to mind, but Bobby sti ed it and shook his head.
“It’s a fish. Delicious.”
“Tonight we’re having kodai no shioyaki,” said Annet e.
“That means ‘salt-broiled porgy’ in Japanese.”
“Like Porgy and Bess,” said Rel i. Now that he was nished talking to Bobby he was in a jol y mood. He’d made good on his promise to Annet e; what the kid decided didn’t real y make much dif erence to him.
“It looks like it’s swimming,” said Bobby.
“That’s ’cause the skewers force it into a curve,” said Annet e. “Johnny Baldini showed me how to do it.”
“Baldini’s a fruit y.” said Rel i, digging into his sh. “I don’t know why you bother with him.”
“He’s a great goddamn chef, that’s why. We’re thinking about opening a Japanese restaurant. Right now we’re experimenting, put ing a menu together.”
“Hey, Bobby, looks like we’re just a couple of guinea pigs,” said Rel i. He took a slug of Sapporo straight from the bot le and laughed. “Baby, this Jap sh is fantastic.
You can experiment on me anytime.”
“Don’t worry,” said Annet e, “I got a few more recipes I plan to try out on you. You big Guinea pig.”
Chapter
Chapter
Fifteen
AFTER DINNER BOBBY stopped at a Sunoco station and cal ed Til ie. “How was it?” she asked.
“Just a typical evening with Annet e Tucci, al -American mom,” said Bobby.
“Seriously.”
“I’l tel you about it when I get there. Meantime, I need Mendy’s number. It’s in the book next to the phone in the kitchen.”
“He’s not home.”
“How do you know?”
“He cal ed just after you left to nd out what my mother’s favorite ower is. He wanted to buy her a corsage.”
“A corsage? You’re shit ing me.”
“They went dancing. I wouldn’t wait up for him tonight.”
“In that case I think I’l stay down here, get over to the deli first thing in the morning.”
“Sure, stay out al night,” said Til ie. She lowered the receiver and yel ed, “Hey, Ramón, x me another brandy Alexander. Don’t worry, Bobby’s not coming back.”
“Very funny. Listen, I should be up there by ten, ten-
“Very funny. Listen, I should be up there by ten, ten-thirty tomorrow morning. Wait for me at home, okay?”
“You al right? You sound freaked out.”
“I am, a lit le. Actual y, more than a lit le. I’l tel you tomorrow.”
“You sure? I could drive down.”
“Let me talk to Mendy rst,” said Bobby. “And tel Ramón he bet er be careful, I know a guy who’l give him a pair of cement cha-cha boots for the price of a Japanese fish dinner.”
Bobby spent the night at the Holiday Inn o Michigan Avenue. He arose at six, took a quick shower, smoked a joint to calm his nerves, and drove the few blocks to the Bul Pen. When he got there he saw a patrol car out front and a smal curious crowd peering into the deli. He felt a ash of fear, but when he pushed his way in Mendy was sit ing calmly at the counter, sipping co ee and chat ing with a cop. A nun and a dozen or so wel -behaved kindergarten kids sat nearby, eating cereal from plastic bowls.
In the rear of the deli another policeman was talking to a sul en young guy around Bobby’s age. He was tal , six-two at least, and muscular. His forearms were tat ooed, and there was blood on his white T-shirt.
“Hey, Bobby,” said Mendy brightly. “How about some breakfast? I got flapjacks.”
“No, thanks. What’s happening?”
“It already happened,” said the rst cop, a beefy, red-
“It already happened,” said the rst cop, a beefy, red-faced young guy with a beginner’s mustache. “Mendy cold-cocked Roger over there.”
“Aw, he’s just a junkie from the neighborhood. How about a cup of cof ee at least?”
Bobby shook his head. “What’d he do?”
“He came in and started cursing,” said Mendy. “I asked him to leave, but …” He shrugged his shoulders.
“So you kicked his ass and cal ed the cops,” said Bobby.
Mendy blinked and ducked his head. “Hey, I’d never do that.”
“Would you believe Roger cal ed himself?” said the cop with glee. He had a great station house story, and he was happy to rehearse it. “He reports an assault and bat ery.
When we get here he’s out in the parking lot with blood al over his face. He starts tel ing us what happened, and my partner says, ‘Man, if I was you I’d be too embarrassed to admit I got my ass kicked by a guy that old.’ ”
“I caught him with a sneak punch,” said Mendy. “It’s an old fighter’s trick.”
“You were a professional ghter?” asked Bobby. “I never knew that.”
“Sure. Everybody was a ghter back then,” Mendy said.
“Mostly I just fought smokers against my cousin. His name’s Mendy Pearlstein, too.”
“That must have confused ’em,” said the cop.
“Nah, one of us was always Kid Kennedy. We switched o . It didn’t make no di erence, the ghts was al xed o . It didn’t make no di erence, the ghts was al xed anyhow.”
“Wel , you stil got a hel of a punch,” said the cop.
“Roger lost three teeth, and he’s gonna need stitches.”
“You’re not going to press charges, are you?” asked Bobby.
The cop gave Bobby an incredulous look and said,
“Against Mendy?”
Wh
en the cops were gone, Bobby said, “There’s something we need to talk about.”
“I hope this ain’t about Til ie’s mom,” Mendy said with a guilty grin.
“It’s about my mom. I had dinner with her and a guy named Alberto Rel i last night. You know him?”
“Sure.”
“He’s going to kil Jimmy Ho a, and he invited me to come along for the ride. According to him, it’s a real career opportunity.”
Mendy sat down slowly on one of the plastic-covered counter stools. “Jeez, you knocked the wind out a me,” he said.
“He says Ho a’s going to testify against—wel , I don’t know exactly against who, but the contract’s supposed to be from the National Commission, whatever that is.”
“I know Jimmy since he was a kid bagging groceries at Kroger’s out in Pontiac,” said Mendy. “No way he’d talk, not in a mil ion years.”
“I’m just repeating what I was told. Maybe it’s bogus.
“I’m just repeating what I was told. Maybe it’s bogus.
He’s hot to impress my mother.”
“I bet er cal your grampa,” Mendy said. He poured Bobby a Coke from the fountain, went to the kitchen, dialed Vit orio’s number, and spoke brie y. Then he came back frowning.
“What’s the mat er?” asked Bobby.
“Catel o says he’s not feeling strong enough to talk right now.”
“Catel o? What happened to Carlo Seluchi? He’s the one who usual y answers the phone.”
Mendy shrugged. “He said Seluchi’s out in Vegas.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“Seluchi’s been your grampa’s driver for twenty years. I don’t see him going on vacation at a time like this.”
“How about talking to Catel o, then?” asked Bobby.
“He’s consigliere.”
“Listen, I know two things for sure. One, your grampa wouldn’t want you mixed up in a hit on Jimmy Ho a.
And two, Catel o’s a snake.”
“Okay, but right now Rel i’s the problem. Maybe Catel o could help.”
“Everybody’s the problem,” said Mendy. “What we got a do is keep our eyes open and play dumb until we gure out what’s what.”
“Maybe we should get out of town until things blow over,” said Bobby. “Me and Til ie. Just split.”