by William Wolf
“Thanks,” said Johnny shyly.
“You and me are in the same racket. You ever hear of the Bul Pen Deli?”
Baldini shook his head.
“It’s over by the bal park on Michigan Avenue. Stop by anytime, I’l x you somethin’ good. Not that I’m in your league. Vit orio used to say I was the worst cook in Detroit, and that you’re the best.”
“Did he real y say that? About me, I mean?”
“What, I’m gonna make up a thing like that? Hey, I hear you’re cookin’ up a special Japanese fish.”
“It’s cal ed fugu,” said Baldini. “It’s a puf erfish.”
“Jeez, I never even heard of it.”
“They don’t sel it in America,” said Baldini. “I’m serving it two ways, as sushi and then poached.”
“I hate to show my ignorance al over again, but what’s sushi?”
“These,” said Baldini, pointing to a serving plat er of
“These,” said Baldini, pointing to a serving plat er of lit le rice cakes topped with sh. Some were decorated with cucumber, some with avocado.
Mendy eyed the plat er suspiciously and said, “They ain’t raw, right?”
“Actual y, they shouldn’t be cut until just before serving, to keep them total y fresh, but Annet e insisted on preparing the sushi herself, and she wanted to get it done before you arrived.”
“Don’t worry, nobody wil know the di erence,” Mendy said. “That’s my mot o as a cook. What’s that over there?”
“It’s cal ed a microwave oven,” said Baldini, frowning.
“It’s used for heating soup.”
“How does it work?”
Baldini turned to demonstrate. As he did, Mendy quietly slipped two pieces of sushi into the pocket of his yel ow sport jacket.
“Hey, I’m gonna get out a your way,” he said. “I know how I feel when some but insky comes in the kitchen while I’m workin’. Besides, I got a go empty my bladder.”
WHEN MENDY RETURNED to the living room, Tommy looked at his Rolex, scowled, and said, “Whaddya, got prostate trouble?”
Mendy ducked his head and blinked. “My age, what don’t I got? I stopped by the kitchen to pay my respects to Chef Baldini.”
Chef Baldini.”
Annet e frowned. “You know him?”
“Just his rep. He’s a wel -known guy in the food business. He showed me the fuju fish.”
“Fugu,” said Annet e.
“Fugu. Right. Hey, what’d I miss?”
“We’ve been trying to get these two to talk about what they’re going to do after col ege,” said Annet e. “Right, Dad?”
Tommy nodded. It didn’t look to Mendy like he had been trying too hard.
“They’re being so damn secretive,” Annet e said, “I think there’s a wedding in the air.”
“You a Catholic?” Tommy barked at Til ie. He couldn’t have cared less, but he recognized that, as family patriarch, it was his place to interrogate her.
“I’m an atheist.”
“Me, too,” said Bobby.
“Jeez, I never knew that,” said Mendy, stroking Scratch.
“That’s stupid,” said Tommy. “If there’s no God, who invented odds?”
Annet e nodded emphatical y. “Exactly right.”
“Hey, I’m hungry,” said Tommy. “How’s about some of this mil ion-dol ar fish of yours?”
Annet e took a deep breath and ran over her dinner plans. First, the soup, then the sushi, avocado for her and her father, cucumber for Bobby and his friends. Within a few minutes of the rst bite they’d feel a tingling on their few minutes of the rst bite they’d feel a tingling on their tongues and dizziness, their throats would choke shut, and fatal paralysis would quickly set in.
The medics, when they arrived, would be sympathetic to the grieving mother. So would the police. Natural y they would want to know who procured and prepared the poison sh. Reluctantly she would name Johnny Baldini.
Poor Johnny. Ironical y, tragical y, he too would be dead, a victim of his own negligence. A mother’s tears would rol as she told the detectives that Bobby and Til ie were wonderful kids with their whole lives ahead of them. If only Johnny had been more careful. If only she had served perch.
Annet e rose and clapped her hands. “Okay, dinnertime,” she said. She led them into the dining room, seated them, and went to the kitchen. While she was gone Mendy slipped the two smal pieces of fugu from his pocket and of ered them to a grateful Scratch.
In the kitchen Baldini said, “I wish you would have let me bring in a serving girl at least.”
Annet e kissed him passionately and said, “If you had, we couldn’t do this between courses.” Then she carried the soup to the dining room.
Tommy was the rst to comment on the miso. “Your cook forgot the meat and vegetables,” he said.
“It’s supposed to be a light broth,” said Annet e.
“What’s this stuf floating around?”
“It’s cal ed tofu.”
“It’s cal ed tofu.”
“I think it’s delicious,” said Til ie.
“Me too,” said Bobby, to annoy his grandfather.
“Atheist soup,” Tommy grumbled.
“They just opened a Japanese restaurant in Ann Arbor,”
said Til ie.
“Yeah, they’re springin’ up,” Mendy said. “It’s gonna be popular I bet.”
“Never catch on,” Tommy said. “Not with crappy soup like this.”
“There’s a saying my mother had,” Mendy said. “About food and smel , you can’t argue.” The others looked at him blankly, and he shrugged. “In Yiddish it rhymes.”
Bobby grinned. “That what you tel your customers when they complain?”
“I’ve used it once or twice,” said Mendy.
Annet e began col ecting the empty bowls. “Now for the sushi,” she announced gaily.
Johnny Baldini greeted her with a needy expression.
Once again she kissed him passionately. Then slowly, teasingly, she slid a piece of fugu-and-cucumber sushi into his helpless mouth and whispered, “We’l have some fun when they leave.”
Suddenly they heard a high-pitched choking sound.
Annet e rushed into the dining room and saw Mendy Pearlstein kneeling next to Scratch, who was lying motionless on the oor. Frantical y she placed her ear against the cat’s chest. When she looked up at Mendy against the cat’s chest. When she looked up at Mendy there were tears in her eyes. “He’s gone,” she said.
“He was fine a minute ago,” said Bobby.
“What, he’s dead now so he shoulda been dead a minute ago?” said Tommy. “That makes a lot a sense.”
“Could be something he ate,” said Til ie.
“That’s impossible,” said Annet e. “Nobody feeds him but me.”
There was a pause and then Mendy said, “Wel …”
Annet e saw the look on his face and snarled, “What did you do, you crazy old bastard?”
“I just gave him a piece of the fugu,” said Mendy. “I mean, how often does a cat get to eat a high-class sh like that?”
“You did what?” she shrieked.
“Jeez,” said Mendy. “It was dinner. I didn’t know it was poison.”
Bobby and Til ie exchanged a look. Bobby said, “You did, though. You knew, didn’t you, Mom?”
“Hey,” said Tommy. “That’s your mother you’re talking to.”Bobby ignored him. “How about it, Mom? Cook some poison fish for your nearest and dearest?”
Tommy jumped up, grabbed Bobby with one hand, and swung with the other, a short, powerful right to the face.
Blood spurted from Bobby’s nose. “Don’t you ever talk to your mother that way,” he said. “Where’s that fuckin’
cook?”
cook?”
“It’s not Baldini’s fault,” said Annet e. “Scratch was al ergic to fish.”
“Bul shit,” said Bobby. “He ate fish al the time.”
Tommy shot Bobby a
murderous look. “Curse your mother again, and I’l break your back,” he said. Then he charged into the kitchen. There on the oor, a horrible grimace on his face, lay Johnny Baldini.
“Him I didn’t feed,” said Mendy.
“Maybe he’s al ergic to fish too,” said Bobby.
Tommy started for Bobby, but Mendy seized his arm in an intentional y painful grip. “He’s your grandson, Don Tomás,” he said with soft reproach. “You don’t want to hit him again.”
“You don’t see what’s going on?” Bobby yel ed at Tommy. “Are you that fucking stupid?”
“He’s crazy,” Annet e said. “Baldini made the sushi.
What did he do, poison himself?”
“Hey,” said Mendy, “he told me you xed it.” Annet e glared at him, and he put his gnarled hand on his heart.
“Honest.”
“Is that right?” asked Tommy.
“The sushi’s ne,” said Annet e. “Here, look.” She grabbed a piece from the cut ing board and gobbled it down.
“Try one with the cucumber,” said Mendy.
“Fuck you,” said Annet e. “I don’t have to prove anything to you. Get the hel out of my house. And take anything to you. Get the hel out of my house. And take my son and his atheist whore with you.”
“Eat the one with the cucumbers,” said Tommy.
“What?” said Annet e.
“Eat the one with the cucumbers. Show these jerks how ful of shit they are.”
“No,” said Annet e. “I consider that an insult.”
“What, you think I don’t trust my own daughter? Give me one, I’l eat it.”
Til ie plucked a piece of sushi from the cut ing board and handed it to him, but Annet e snatched it away.
“What’s the mat er with you?” asked Tommy.
“How many times do you have to hear it?” said Bobby.
“She was going to poison us.”
“Not you,” Annet e said to her father. “Bobby and Pearlstein made a deal with the National Commission.
They were going to take over the Family, leave us out in the cold. You would have lost the Center Cut.”
“I’m cal ing the cops,” said Bobby.
“No cops,” snapped Tommy. “What the hel ’s the mat er with you?”
“It ain’t his fault, Don Tomás,” said Mendy. “He don’t know no bet er, he’s a straight kid. You think a kid like him’s gonna make a deal with the National Commission?”
Tommy stared at his grandson. Then he said, “You three, get out a here. Don’t talk to nobody. G’won.”
“I’m not let ing her get away with this,” said Bobby.
Mendy took him by the elbow and said, “Come on, Mendy took him by the elbow and said, “Come on, Bobby, this ain’t between us anymore. Let’s go get some salami and eggs.”
“And smoke a jay,” said Til ie. “Jesus, Bobby. No wonder you didn’t want to introduce me to your family.”
WHEN THEY WERE alone Tommy said, “You were going to kil Bobby.”
“You can’t stand Bobby. You never could.”
“He’s blood,” said Tommy. “My only male heir.”
“So what? You never cared about that Sicilian son-worship crap. You always treated me like an equal. That’s what I love most about you.”
“Good. That means you understand why you got a eat the sushi. I’d say the same thing to a son.”
“What?”
“I hate repeating myself,” said Tommy the Neck.
“Daddy—”
“Don’t Daddy me, Annet e. You did the Ho a job, I give you al the credit. But on this here, you fucked up very bad. We got a dead body in your kitchen and no explanation. The cops start investigating, it opens up a can of worms. It’s got a end with you. Then al we got is a cooking accident.”
“We can ditch the body—”
“You left three witnesses.”
“Don’t worry, I’l take care of them.”
“Don’t worry, I’l take care of them.”
“I can’t a ord a war in Detroit between you and Bobby.
I promised the Commission I’d keep the peace.”
“You what?”
“Yeah,” said Tommy “I cut a deal with Don Polumba. I do Hof a and Detroit comes under me.”
“Under us,” said Annet e. “I’m the one who did Ho a. I did him for you and me, the Niccolas. We’re in this together.”
Tommy shook his head. “You’re a mother who was gonna kil her own son. How can I trust you?”
“So you’re gonna kil me instead?”
“I ain’t a mother,” said Tommy. He reached out and grabbed Annet e by the hair, pul ing her toward him. “Eat the fuckin’ fish, Annet e.”
Annet e slithered out of his grip and grabbed a sashimi knife from the cut ing board. Tommy smashed her hand on the counter, and the knife fel to the oor. With brutal strength he locked her head under his left arm and, as she ailed at him, pried her lips apart with his stubby ngers and forced eight hundred dol ars’ worth of fugu down his daughter’s throat.
Chapter
Chapter
Thirty-one
TEN DAYS AFTER the disappearance of Jimmy Ho a, Annet e Tucci was laid to rest in a private ceremony at ended by Bobby and Til ie, Mendy, Ann Til man, Rudy, and Mouse Campanel a.
Tommy the Neck wasn’t there. The day after he returned to Chicago he was gunned down in the street near Wrigley Field. His bodyguards, Jo-Jo and Ralph, died too, taking the secret of Jimmy Ho a’s nal resting place with them.
Tommy’s funeral was the biggest event in the history of the Il inois oral industry. The single largest wreath came from Carmine Pat i, who was now unhappily instal ed as the National Commission’s caretaker in Detroit. His card read: “Last respects to a man whose reach truly exceeded his grasp.”
Annet e Tucci’s ceremony was, by contrast, modest to the point of being spartan. Al that was left of her was an urn of ashes. After the cremation, when they al repaired to the Bul Pen for a memorial meal of brisket and mashed potatoes, Bobby placed the urn on the counter.
Ann Til man peered into it and said, “There doesn’t seem to be very much there. She must have been a tiny to be very much there. She must have been a tiny woman.”
“She was on a diet at the time of her death,” said Bobby Ann frowned and said, “What are you going to do with the remains?”
“Donate them to veterinary science. A professor in Ann Arbor is going to turn her into experimental kit y lit er.”
“How awful,” said Ann.
“It’s what she would have wanted,” said Bobby.
Mendy said, “I know you guys are atheists, but I stil think we should have had a clergyman present. Too bad Lips Lipsky ain’t around.”
“Lips Lipsky,” Rudy said, rol ing the name o his tongue with anticipation. “Tel us about Lips Lipsky.”
“Lips was the rabbi of the wiseguys’ shul back during Pro’bition. He only had two rules—never talk to the cops, and never lie to God. Very holy guy.”
“My man,” said Rudy. “Mendy the Pearl, got him a memory for every damn occasion.”
“I suppose I should be shocked,” said Ann Til man.
“After al , I am a mother. But I’m not shocked. In fact, I’m amused. Aren’t I awful?”
“I stil can’t believe you’re going to Rio,” said Til ie.
“It is a cliché, I know, but I’ve always wanted to go to Carnival. Your father was always too busy with his Swiss oozies to take me. But now I’ve taken him, in a manner of speaking.” She squeezed Mendy’s arm a ectionately. “I do wish you’d come with.”
do wish you’d come with.”
“Aw, what am I gonna do down there?” said Mendy. “I don’t even speak Brazilian. Besides, me and Rudy got work to do.”
“Like what?” asked Mouse.
“Education,” said Rudy. “You lookin’ at the president of the Oakland Avenue People’s Academy. And this here is Professor Pearlstein, academic dean.”
&nbs
p; “What’s the scam?” asked Mouse.
“Its no scam, my man. The People’s Academy has been established to convey the experience and skil s of previous generations to the untrained youth of the inner city.”
“Yeah,” said Mendy, a sparkle in his eyes. “It’s a chance to give something to the community besides heartburn and gas.”
“A vocational school for gangsters?” said Til ie. “Cool.”
“We refer to it as practical criminology,” said Rudy. “I got that from the lady at the Ford Foundation. Along with one mil ion, three hundred thousand dol ars.”
“You gonna be turnin’ out your own wiseguys,” said Mouse. “Hey, you planning on taking Italians?”
“Certainly,” said Rudy. “Fostering interethnic relations is a part of our mandate.”
Bobby said, “I’m hurt you guys went to the Ford Foundation. What’s wrong with the Roberto Tucci Foundation? Mendy’s a trustee, after al .”
“Aw, you got bet er things to do with your dough,” said Mendy. “Besides, I’m resigning—I’m gonna be too busy Mendy. “Besides, I’m resigning—I’m gonna be too busy teachin’ school. Til ie, why don’t you take my slot?”
“Me? I don’t know the first thing about being a trustee.”
“Aw, it’s a snap. I done it at Jackson. Al you got a do is not run away.”
Til ie ru ed Bobby’s long hair and said, “I’m not split ing. This is where the action is.”
After lunch Rudy left for a meeting with Delbert, who was chairman of the tenure commit ee; Mouse went to the Tucci Building to tel Carmine Pat i what he had learned; and Til ie drove her mother out to Bloom eld Hil s. When they were alone, Bobby said to Mendy, “How did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That the sh was poisoned. How could you know that?”
“Hey, I’m a chef, don’t forget,” said Mendy. “I know bad fish when I see it.”
Bobby shook his head. “Bad lox, maybe. I’l bet you never even heard of fugu before the other night.”
Mendy grinned. “You’re turning into a shrewdie,” he said. “Your grampa would be proud of you.”
“You didn’t answer my question though,” said Bobby.
“How you knew.”
“I got lucky with a coincidence. This guy I know, Nobody Nussbaum, they cal him that on accounta he’s got a forget able face, he was trailing your mom’s car when Baldini drove it over to Leon Mitsakawa’s place.”