by William Wolf
“He was right there when Rel i got it,” said Catel o. “On
“He was right there when Rel i got it,” said Catel o. “On the walk-through for the Ho a job. Maybe he didn’t want to worry you.”
Annet e snorted. “The day that lit le prick thinks about anyone but himself, that’l be the day. Who whacked Rel i?”
Catel o noted the “Rel i.” No more Big Al. He almost felt sorry for the guy. “Bertoia. And Rel i did him back before he croaked. What gets me is, why? Those two, they were like brothers. They were blood.”
“Blood doesn’t always mean so much,” said Annet e.
“It’s thicker than water, big deal. You ever hear anybody say blood’s thicker than money?”
Catel o shook his head. “You and me, we got a pie here,” he said. “We divide it up into two, we each get a nice big piece. We ght over it, it could wind up on the floor. You with me so far?”
Annet e nodded and tapped her ngers impatiently.
“You want to cut the pie.”
Catel o said, “Look, I’m going to play with my cards face up. We got a be straight with each other, hard as that might be. Otherwise this whole deal”—he gestured around the study—“is gonna eat us up, just like it did Rel i.”
“You said Bertoia did Rel i.”
“Yeah, but why? I got a come to just one conclusion.
Bobby.”
“Bobby? Get serious.”
“You know who he’s been hangin’ out with?” Catel o
“You know who he’s been hangin’ out with?” Catel o asked.
“Yeah, Blind Wil ie somebody and Deaf Rufus somebody else and every other old spade with a guitar and a pair of shades in the metro area.”
“You ever hear of Mendy Pearlstein?”
“Sure, he was a friend of Roberto’s and the old man’s,”
said Annet e. “Mendy the Pearl. He used to be some kind of second-rater.”
“He was at the funeral today.”
“So? I just got done saying he was a friend of the old man’s.”
“With Bobby’s girlfriend. They rode out to the cemetery together.”
“Yeah?”
“Her and Bobby have been hanging around with the Pearl for months now. They went clubbing together, even, at the Riverboat.”
“Bobby and the Pearl?”
“From what I can see, the don put them together. The question is, why? I couldn’t gure it until Rel i got hit.
See, Rel i goes down, you go down with him. I’m next in line. Then I go down, who’s left?”
“Bobby? You’re crazy. He’s a lit le boy, afraid of his shadow. He can’t even swal ow his food in front of me.”
“Pearlstein’s not a lit le boy,” said Catel o.
“Pearlstein’s a nothing. Where does he get the bal s to go up against a guy like Rel i? And anyway, what business go up against a guy like Rel i? And anyway, what business is it of his?”
Catel o opened the don’s top desk drawer, extracted a piece of paper, and slid it across the desk. “Tomorrow Judge Barbera’s reading the wil . Here’s who’s invited.”
Annet e squinted at the names: Roberto Tucci, Jr., Annet e Niccola Tucci, Monsignor Frank DeLucca (representing the Archdiocese of Detroit), Luigi Catel o, Alberto Rel i, and Mendy Pearlstein.
“The old man probably left him a gold watch or something,” said Annet e.
“There’s a power play going on right here, in front of our eyes,” said Catel o. “Pearlstein’s helping Bobby take over the Family. That’s why the don told the Commission that whoever whacked Ho a’s the new boss. Bobby’s the only one who knows the plan. Pearlstein does the job, gives the credit to him, and bingo, you got the old Jew sit ing next to the throne whispering in Don Bobby’s ear.”
Annet e bit her lip in concentration. “Let’s say you’re right. Bobby takes over, you’re out, I see that. But I’m not out, I’m in. I’m his mother. So fuck you.”
“Uh-uh,” said Catel o. “I drop a dime to Ho a, the hit’s o . Maybe he even goes after Bobby. Either way, the Commission’s got a send in their own guys to do the job.
Once they get their nose in here, Detroit ain’t gonna be Tucci territory no more … Mrs. Tucci.”
“Maybe,” said Annet e.
“Hey, don’t take my word for it, go ask Carmine Pat i.”
“Hey, don’t take my word for it, go ask Carmine Pat i.”
“Who?”
“He’s here to oversee the job for the Commission. Ask him what happens if the Tuccis don’t ful l the terms of the contract.”
“Since when did the Commission get so powerful?”
asked Annet e.
“Since we got weak. We get strong again, they go away.
But we don’t get strong if we ght each other. You ever hear of Benjamin Franklin?”
“What’s he got to do with anything?”
“He said, ‘We got a hang together, otherwise we hang separate.’ In other words, cooperate.”
Annet e said, “What kind of cooperation are you looking for?”
Catel o paused, let ing the gravity of the moment ripen.
“I’m ready to split with you,” he said. “The legal stu , the street business, the whole shot.”
“Fifty-fifty?”
Catel o shook his head. “Seventy-thirty. I know where everything is, which means I can do without you. You can’t do without me. That’s why I get the biggest piece.”
“If you could do without me, we wouldn’t be having this talk,” said Annet e. “What do you want?”
“You got a promise to keep Chicago out of Detroit. And I need some information from Bobby. He’s the only one who knows the whole plan for the Ho a hit. I get that, I can do the job. You ask Bobby, he’l tel you.”
can do the job. You ask Bobby, he’l tel you.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“I shake it out of him.” Catel o said. “I won’t use more muscle than I need, that I guarantee.”
Annet e said, “How much money are we talking about here?”
“The street action alone is around a hundred mil ion a year, and that’s during the recession. The legal stu is maybe half that. Your share would come to maybe forty-five mil ion a year.”
“I want sixty,” said Annet e.
“That’s—”
“Forty percent.”
Catel o shook his head. “Forty points is too much.”
Annet e leaned forward and said, “You’re asking me to maybe give up my own kid, you lit le cockroach. You think I’d do that for a lousy third?”
“When it’s over, I want Bobby out of town, for good,”
said Catel o. “You can make whatever nancial arrangements for him you want, but he can’t be hanging around Detroit. Agreed?”
Annet e nodded. “Yeah, agreed.”
“And Mendy the Pearl gets whacked.”
Annet e shrugged. Mendy Pearlstein was of no interest to her.
Catel o sat back in the don’s chair. This had been easier than he imagined. “Okay, then, we got a deal. You got your forty percent. From now on we’re partners.”
your forty percent. From now on we’re partners.”
“Partners,” said Annet e. Then she surprised Catel o by smiling warmly. “I’l tel you something, since we’re partners. A lot of bad words have passed between us over the years, but I’ve always admired the way you do business. You’re a smart guy, and I like smart.”
“Thanks,” said Catel o. She had never smiled at him before, and he was genuinely pleased. Annet e Tucci was a sexy broad, no two ways.
“We should celebrate,” she said. “Raise a glass. You like fish?”
“Hey, what dago don’t like fish?”
Annet e laughed. “After the Ho a hit, let’s get together at my place and I’l make you a sh dinner you won’t forget.”
Chapter
Chapter
Twenty-two
WHEN BOBBY AND Mendy arrived at Judge Anthony Barbera’s o ce in the Fisher Buil
ding, the others were already waiting. “Sorry we’re late,” said Mendy, do ng his fedora and set ling into one of the padded leather chairs around the long conference table. They were late because Bobby had spent a sleepless night on Mendy’s sofa, nal y dozed o around six, and then refused to wake up. He wore yesterday’s rumpled suit and a dazed, red-eyed expression.
Barbera, a former three-term congressman and retired recorders-court judge, was an impressive man with a mane of white hair, a pair of reading glasses perched on his prominent nose, and a look of absolute probity not matched by his career in the legislature or on the bench.
He had known Mendy for forty years. Bobby he had never seen before.
The judge had a reel of lm and a stack of documents in front of him. “This is the original wil with a copy for each of you,” he said, tapping the papers. “It was drawn by me in May of this year and signed in the presence of my secretary and a notary. Does anyone know of a subsequent wil ?”
subsequent wil ?”
The people around the table—Mendy and Bobby, Annet e, Catel o, and Monsignor DeLucca—al shook their heads.
“I understand Mr. Rel i is away?”
Catel o nodded. “On business.”
At the mention of Rel i’s name Bobby’s mouth twitched.
He looked at Mendy, who pursed his lips and winked reassuringly.
“In that case,” said the judge, “we can begin. Al of you here know that Vit orio Tucci was an extraordinary man.
He liked to run things personal y, and this meeting is no exception. He made this lm”—he held up the reel—“just a week before he entered his fatal coma. In it he explains his bequests in his inimitable style.”
The judge put the lm into the projector, switched it on, and sat back to watch with the others as the ruined face of Vit orio Tucci flashed onto the screen.
“Since you’re watchin’ this, that means I already croaked,” Tucci said in a surprisingly strong voice. “Don’t worry, it’s gonna happen to you, too.
“I got some things to give away, starting with Frank DeLucca. I’m leaving the compound and al the furnishings to the church. Turn it into a convent or a monastery, whatever. The main thing is, I want Catholics crawling al over Grosse Pointe. Also, I’m leaving you my farm in Washtenaw County. Make it a camp for colored kids, see how the hil bil ies up there like that.”
how the hil bil ies up there like that.”
Tucci laughed and coughed violently into his handkerchief, inspected the contents, and said, “Remind the archbishop he promised to get every priest and nun in Detroit praying for me. I can see you from here, so no cheating. Okay, that’s it for you, Frank, you can leave. You don’t wanna hear the rest.”
Barbera stopped the projector, handed DeLucca a copy of the wil , and said, “If you have any questions, feel free to contact me. Now, if you’l excuse us—”
“I can’t wait to tel the archbishop about this,” the priest said. “A movie from purgatory.”
“He should be so lucky,” Annet e mut ered as the priest left.Barbera restarted the projector, and Vit orio Tucci reappeared. “Now we get down to brass tacks,” he said.
“First, I’m asking Judge Barbera to set up the Roberto Tucci Foundation, to which I’m leaving the Tucci Building and al the assets of the Tucci Corporation and the subsidiaries. Barbera’s got the list. The trustees of the foundation wil be him, my grandson, Roberto junior, and Mendy Pearlstein. Do whatever you want with the money.
What do I care? I’m dead.” Tucci burst into a paroxysm of laughter that quickly became violent coughing.
Catel o looked around the room. Annet e was scowling, Mendy blinking back his disbelief. Bobby seemed even paler and more disoriented than before. Only Catel o remained unmoved. As far as he was concerned, the old remained unmoved. As far as he was concerned, the old bastard could divvy things up any way he wanted—it was only a movie. The real division of spoils would take place in this world, not the next one.
On the screen Tucci said, “As far as personal gifts go, Bobby, you already got yours, and I hope you hang on to it. You want my advice, don’t work too hard, that’s what kil ed your old man. Take life easy and be an American.
“Mendy the Pearl don’t get a cent, ’cause he don’t appreciate money. You coulda been rich, you dumb Jew, al you hadda do was talk to Greenberg, we could have xed the ’45 Series.” A brief smile lit Tucci’s face, and Mendy grinned back at the screen. “Go to the house before the archbishop gets his hands on it and grab anything you want from the old days, mementos like. And take one of my cars; that Plymouth of yours is a piece of junk. That’s it, boychick. Zei gezunt.
“I got a few other smal gifts,” Tucci continued. “A hundred thousand each to Carlo Seluchi and to Doc Florio, providing I died with a smile on my face. The same to Chef Baldini plus a let er of recommendation. Fifty grand to each of the sisters and tickets back to Sicily.
“Okay, now we come to the point. Who’s gonna take over the Family? I already informed the National Commission that I’m goin’ with Rel i. Catel o, you’re a good consigliere, but you ain’t cut out to be a don. I never shoulda let you talk me into that Mossi thing.”
Catel o snorted. “Say hel o to Don Alberto Rel i in hel , Catel o snorted. “Say hel o to Don Alberto Rel i in hel , you old bastard,” he thought to himself.
“Rel i, I’m leaving you my Family,” said Tucci. “I got just one piece of advice for you—the future’s in the suburbs.
“Last but not least, I come to my daughter-in-law, Annet e Niccola Tucci. This is for you.” Tucci ashed a mirthless grin and opened his phlegm-stained hankie for a long close-up. Then the screen went blank.
“Yeah, wel this is for you, you toothless old cocksucker,” said Annet e, extending her middle nger at the screen. “Come on, Bobby, drive me home.”
“I don’t have my car here,” he said.
“We’l take mine,” said Annet e, tossing him her keys.
“You can grab a cab from my place.”
Mendy said, “Go ahead, I’l meet you back at the joint.”
YOU AND PEARLSTEIN are thick as thieves,” said Annet e.
They were heading down Woodward Avenue toward the river. The expressway would have been faster, but Annet e preferred surface streets. It was a thing she had learned from her father; there were no business opportunities on the freeway. “You got a watch out for people like him, they glom on to money. How much did your grandfather leave you?”
“Not much, just some savings bonds and stu ,” said Bobby. His eyes itched.
Bobby. His eyes itched.
Annet e glanced at her son. She wondered how a kid with such good bloodlines could be such a terrible liar. He was his father’s boy, weak and unmanly. She wouldn’t miss him when he was gone.
“I know Al Rel i’s dead,” she said.
Bobby’s ngers tightened around the steering wheel of his mother’s T-Bird.
“And I know you were there when it happened. What’d you think, you were going to keep it a secret from me?”
“Yeah, since when do we have secrets,” Bobby mut ered.
“Open your smart mouth to me and I’l slap it shut,”
said Annet e. “What the hel were you doing in that warehouse?”
“He wanted me to help him pick out a sound system for his car. Something that would do justice to Dean Martin.”
“And then what happened?”
“I dunno. Bertoia just started shooting at him, and he shot back.”
“Nobody said anything?”
“Not that I heard. I was scared shitless, I can tel you that.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Annet e; she didn’t sound sympathetic. “What about the Hof a walk-through?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Bobby. “As far as I’m concerned, I wasn’t there and it never happened. Okay?”
“No, it’s not okay. I want to know the plan.”
“I forget,” said Bobby stubbornly.
“I forget,” said Bobby stubbornly.
“There’s some men in town who’l help you remember,” said Annet e. “Tel ing me wil be a lot easier.”
“You’re real y something,” said Bobby.
“Why? Because I want to save you a beating? You should be grateful, you lit le shit.”
Bobby swerved to the curb in front of the Fox Theater, brought the T-Bird to an abrupt stop, and opened the door. Half a dozen downtown people stood at a nearby bus stop. “Drive yourself home,” he said, stepping out.
“You get back in here,” barked Annet e.
“No,” said Bobby. He had never directly de ed his mother before.
“Get back in here!”
“Fuck you!” Bobby screamed.
A heavyset black woman in a white nurse’s uniform shook her head in dismay.
Annet e sprang from the car. Red-faced with fury, she stalked to the driver’s side and climbed in.
“Fuck you!” Bobby screamed again. The nurse shook her head again, but the rest of the crowd whoo-whooed and knee-slapped.
Suddenly Bobby caught himself, stared at his mother in disbelief, and bolted across Woodward. The crowd exchanged appreciative high ves and broad smiles. Say what you want about downtown Detroit, it was stil a place you could see white folks acting the fool right in the place you could see white folks acting the fool right in the middle of the street on a hot summer day.
IT WAS ABOUT noon when Til ie reached her parents’ house in Bloom eld Hil s. As soon as she arrived she announced that she had a stomachache. Ann Til man poured her a cup of Earl Grey and regarded her with concern.
“I wouldn’t have asked you to come if it weren’t important,” she said. “I have some news I’m afraid may upset you, and I want you to hear it from me, face-to-face.
Your father and I are get ing a divorce.”
Til ie felt the muscles of her stomach relax, and she laughed. “That’s al ? Jesus, Mom, you scared me to death.”
“We’ve been married for twenty-three years.”
“Even murderers get out after twenty.”
“You know, Mendy said something just like that. He said, ‘You’re a lucky broad, you done a life sentence and you’re walkin’ at a young age.’ Not that I’m young, but I feel young, I real y do.”