by Taylor Hill
He stared at me—far more intensely than I would have expected from the question. If I’d aimed to put him on the defensive something told me that I might have pushed him further than I’d intended to. I suddenly felt very small beneath his gaze.
“Sure,” he said, “why not.”
“But love is the most important thing,” Lisa said, still staring at Lou, “even more than law, or work or anything like that. Like, even a gang or whatever, right Lou?”
Lou smiled and just shook his head. Suddenly I wanted to be alone and I didn’t know why. I’d give Lisa five, maybe ten minutes tops, and then I was out of there. Romeo was playing with his phone now, apparently having lost whatever tiny modicum of interest he might have had in me in the first place. He probably had some slutty bad-girl-type chick on the other end of the line, offering him something that he would never get here, not in the company of Lou’s boring, down-to-earth sister.
Oh boy, why do I let myself get into these situations, I wondered? You can take the girl out of the Orange Grove, but you can’t keep her people from dragging her back…
The woman, a girl really, and stripping to pay her way through college, strutted seductively around the catwalk, one slender arm gripping the pole as she kicked out a naked leg towards the crowd in one whip-fast, smoothly fluid movement that belied none of the uncertainty or anxiety within. To the men hidden in the red dimness of the crowd, sipping drinks and blinking slowly in the seedy heat of the nightclub, she was a goddess, an unattainable Amazonian—a fantasy. To Salvatore Falcone, sitting at the head of the table on the VIP balcony above the main-floor, smoking a cigar despite the rules of the venue that he himself had set—Salvatore whose eye she would, to no avail, try to catch every few minutes while dancing—she was nothing more than a piece of meat. She was cattle, livestock, as much a part of the apparel of the business as the bottles of booze behind the bar, the illegal slot-machines in the back “member’s only” area, and the suitcases full of pure Columbian cocaine in the secret safe in the office upstairs. One of these nights he would probably sleep with her and then, if she became too attached he might have to let her go, maybe even introduce her to one of the brothel-owners downtown in an attempt at making one last buck from the girl before she passed out of his grip completely. It was only business was all. Nothing personal.
“Ace-high flush,” he smiled, laying down his cards on the table, “hearts again.”
Ferret winced in frustration but even that hot-tempered kid knew better than to let it show in front of Sal. There was a hierarchy that trumped all emotion to this thing. It was surprisingly effective at mood control.
“Wow, nice going Sal,” Ferret said, “you really had me. I thought straight maybe, but I never saw the flush…”
Salvatore chuckled slowly, his eyes self-satisfied slits. Someone with more smarts might have thought he’d been cheating, although if they had smarts they’d still know not to say. Ferret though, he had balls, but he wasn’t so smart. Sal looked beside him to Eyeball. Eyeball stared back and his solemn, cold face rippled with that sickly, strange smile of his.
“Impressive,” he nodded.
“Anybody’d think I was cheating,” Sal said, “but it’s just my luck—it’s been on the up and up all week. Not that I’d say, even if I actually really was cheating. Not to you schmucks anyway.”
It was true, he was playing fair, but only because it was also true that his luck was up and had seemed to be all week now.
“Good one boss,” the rat-faced Ferret grinned and Eyeball laughed strangely. His face was pale and skull-like and his eyes were black—his dark, lank brylcreemed hair slicked back tight against his temple in the usual style. Even to Salvatore, who was his “Capo” and therefore the be-all and end-all authority in the young “soldier’s” life, there was something about him that he found deeply unsettling. Eyeball, as though sensing this thought, let his face crinkle in good humor and then reached out to deal the cards again for his boss.
“Ok, so you all know why I called you here today, yes?” Sal asked, as on the catwalk below, Candy the dancer finished her display with a flourish and then glanced up quickly to the balcony to see if the nightclub owner had noticed, before reaching down to gather her flimsy underwear from the floor and then hurry away to make room for the next exotic performer.
Sal scrutinized the two younger men with a steady gaze and wrinkled brow. He was, at 32, still quite handsome and youthful in his dark Mediterranean looks, a fact of which he was only too well aware, and something that he used to his best advantage when moving among the harem of dancers in the pit-floor below.
“Sure,” Ferret said, “it’s about the college right, CCU? About getting some action up there, like you was saying.”
“Right,” Sal nodded, “and why not? There’s a whole community of people around that campus, most of em young and impressionable and—even better—with tons of spare cash to spend. My only problem is I can’t figure out why no other crew ever moved in up there sooner.”
“Who knows boss? Maybe it’s like you say, you’re just a…” Ferret paused to sound out the words, foreign to his crude lips, “innovative thinker.”
Sal nodded grimly. “That’s right.”
Actually, he didn’t want to admit that he thought maybe the reason no other Mafia cell in Chicago, a city seeped in years of Mafia culture and history, had ever moved in on the university community was because even the Mafia was an institution founded on certain ground-rules and ethical guidelines. Or at least it used to be. Now, things were different. Honor was dead. Good riddance, Sal thought.
“Yeah, all we need’s somewhere to get started, a base of operations if you will, a hub for our little back-to-school adventure.”
“That’s right,” Eyeball said, speaking up for the first time in detail since he’d entered the club. Even Sal, his superior, knew to pay attention when the notoriously reticent Eyeball said anything more than a few words. “I was thinking about that and you know who works up at that campus bar up there—Chips’ or Chuck’s or something they call it?—Louie the Mouth. I hear he’s even doing a number on some little minx who goes to school up there. Joe Sacrimoni the baker’s girl I think.”
Sal raised an eyebrow. For a kid of 20 years old, Eyeball really had a way of talking like one of the old timers, you’d swear he’d lived on the Orange Grove for a hundred years or more. “Who?” Sal said.
Eyeball smiled. “Louie the Mouth. Louis Guilianno. Junior Lou…”
Sal stared. Ferret furtively glanced between his best friend and his boss, gauging their reactions.
Finally Sal nodded grimly. “That little pissant? You don’t say…”
Eyeball began setting the deck again. “He did that little job for us last week, you know, the thing with the thing?”
“The liquor-store,” Ferret clarified and both Eyeball and Sal shot him an irritated glance that even he knew was a sign that he should just shut right up and let the other two do the talking from here on out.
“Yeah,” Sal nodded, “he actually surprised me with that. Didn’t think he had it in him. Still, I wouldn’t have used him for that if we had anybody else to get. Not with that damn coward of a father he had, that deadbeat asshole, I want nothing to do with the kid.”
“So,” Eyeball shrugged, “then you have nothing to do with him. Meet him once, weigh him up and then pass him on to me and Ferret. We’ve known Lou since we was boys. We get on well with him, right Ferret?”
“Yeah,” Ferret sniggered, “we like the prick. Sure we do. Hell, he buys us drinks all night when we hang out together.”
“What you doing hanging out with him?” Sal asked.
“Eh… keeping our ears to the ground is all, boss.”
Sal sat back and sighed. “What about this other guy he did the job with, what you call him again?”
Eyeball smiled slowly. “Romeo Mancini,” he said.
“Romeo?” Sal blinked, “what kind
of name is that?”
Eyeball shrugged.
“Never heard of him,” Sal said. “Where’d this kid come from anyway?”
“He’s a New Yorker,” Ferret said, “moody asshole, thinks he’s a real tough guy. Friend of Chuckles Bonanno no less.”
“Chuckles Senior?” Sal asked, leaning forward.
“Nah, Chuckles Junior,” Ferret said, “the cousin.”
“Yeah but still,” Sal sighed, “that’s quite a connection. What’s he like?”
Eyeball shrugged. “I’d need a little more time to get a closer look, but he seems solid, not as flakey as Lou, maybe even make good membership material someday.”
Sal narrowed his eyes. “You don’t think about things like that. I think about things like that. You just think about what I tell you to think about.”
“Sure boss,” Eyeball shrugged.
“Still though, I knew that little Guilianno prick didn’t have the balls to pull that job off by himself. Get these guys on the phone. I want to meet Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee.”
Eyeball smiled, leaning forward. “I had a feeling you’d say that,” he said, “so I sent word before we even came up here. Assholes were on a date, you’ll be amused to hear…” He laid out fresh cards to his boss. “Big Blind to you,” he said.
Sal, Eyeball and Ferret all three, had their eyes to the main floor as the two young toughs stopped to ask the bargirl where to find the men in charge. She turned and pointed up to the VIP balcony and Sal smiled and gave a little wave down to his guests, the buzzing little flies flitting into his parlor. The Guilianno kid looked star-struck but the other guy seemed more level-headed and cool about being called to the meeting like this. He smiled wryly back up at them, as if in on the same joke, and nodded slightly. So this was “Romeo Mancini” then, the Bonanno connect from New York? He better have the brains to show the proper respect at least. This was Falcone territory and not only was Sal the local Capo, he was also connected by blood all the way to the top of the “family”.
The young men walked slowly up the spiral steps to the balcony, Romeo leading, with that faint disinterested smile never leaving the handsome youth’s face. “You must be Sal,” he said, reaching out his hand in greeting.
Sal looked him up and down from his place at the table. He didn’t get up. “How the hell you know I’m Sal, huh? How you know he not Sal?” He gestured gruffly to Ferret.
Romeo smiled wider, as if actually amused this time. “That’s Ferret,” he said, “I know Ferret… interesting guy. Dude can drink almost as well as a New Yorker.”
“Get the fuck outta here with that New Yorker shit!” Sal commanded, but even he was laughing now too. This kid was alright. “Hey, you know Chuckles Bonanno? Chuckles Junior? My cousin used to babysit him when he was in diapers, Gracie Falcone, you know her?”
Romeo shook his head slightly. “Nah,” he said, “but you know, some people say Chuckles is still in diapers. She still babysit for him?”
Ferret burst into laughter and even Eyeball smiled, but Salvatore narrowed his eyes. “That’s a made man,” he said, “you watch your mouth. You ain’t in the company, are you?”
“No,” Romeo said, “but Chuckles is a friend of mine, I meant no disrespect. If he was here he’d be laughing too. Trust me.”
“Alright,” Sal shrugged, “you want a drink? Sit down.”
He beckoned to the bargirl down below who always had one eye on the balcony in case they called for her and she hurried up the steps, lest she invite the wrathful words and temper that would follow if she served them even a second too slow.
“How’s that little gal you been running with?” Sal asked, cockeyed, considering Lou.
Lou blinked and swallowed, clearly surprised that Sal knew so much about what he was up to, let alone actually even cared. “Lisa?” he said, “good. She’s good.”
“Yeah? She go up to that CCU right? You work up there too, is that correct?”
“Uh, yeah Sal, just two nights a week. Gives me something to do… of course I’d much rather work for you.”
Sal ignored the comment. “What’s your girl study up there again?”
“Business and commerce mostly,” Lou answered, “stuff like that.”
Sal exchanged glances with Eyeball and Ferret and the three of them sniggered. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, she goes up there with my sister.”
Sal leaned forward, suddenly serious. “Sister?” he said, “Hell, I forgot you had a sister. She must be… how old now?”
“Nineteen,” Lou replied, “Sandy’s nineteen. It’s hard to believe. She grew up so fast.”
“Yes, she did,” Sal smiled. “Sandy Guilianno, nineteen. Imagine that…” he looked to Romeo suddenly. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
Romeo, whose jaw had all of a sudden seemed to tighten to a tense, taut rigidity, shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, “it’s my ulcer.”
“Ulcer,” Sal said, “well what the hell you drinking scotch for?”
Romeo shrugged and then tipped up his glass, drained it and then placed it back on the table, his big dark eyes never leaving Sal’s face, almost as if the little prick was daring him to bust his balls a little harder. Sal decided to let it pass.
“Well,” he said, looking back to Lou, “all this is very interesting to me, because we’ve been thinking about going back to college ourselves, haven’t we boys? Maybe enlisting to teach a class or two—the school of hard knocks, maybe. What do you think, you fellas come to that class if we run it?”
Romeo shrugged, Lou nodded. “Sure.”
“That’s good,” Sal said, “that’s very good. You might just find yourselves a whole hell of a lot richer—if you play your cards right.”
“You know how to play cards boss,” Eyeball said, “that’s for sure.”
“Fuggedabout it!” Sal grinned and then turned to Romeo and Lou, “my luck’s been up all week. A sign from God maybe, I don’t know.”
Romeo and Lou exchanged glances and suddenly Sal decided he’d had enough of them. “Ok,” he said, “get out of here, we’ll be in touch. And tell that hussy at the bar to send Candy up here. I want to talk to her, ok?”
“Candy?” Lou said, “you got it.”
“Good boy,” Sal nodded and the two young men left the table.
“Arrogant little prick,” Sal muttered as he watched them leave, “Lou Guilianno, acting like a big somebody—if only that deadbeat father of his could see him now.”
“New shuffle’s up boss,” Eyeball said, directing Sal’s attention to the deck, “fresh cards on the table.”
“Damn right,” Sal said and reached down to see what the Lord had deemed fit to deal to him this time.
I was still seriously P.O.’d about how the so-called “date” had ended, even though it was now two full days later and despite the fact that it was exactly what I’d been expecting from those guys in the first place. So why then had it felt like I should have gotten something more, if not from Lou then from his new friend—this “Romeo” guy?
I didn’t know, I couldn’t put it into words even to explain it to myself, and that particular fact was only making me even more irritable and frustrated. Why couldn’t I just drop it? So what if the guy was a bull-headed, insensitive jerk? That just went with the territory on the Orange Grove. (And yeah, ok, so Romeo himself was from New York, but he was clearly from the New York version of the Orange Grove, whatever name that went by, so the rule still applied.)
But still I couldn’t put it out of my thoughts. Yes, I had been planning to leave early myself but at least I would have made my exit in a somewhat polite manner. If I’d been given a chance to, that is. Instead, moments after whipping out his phone, Romeo had looked up sharply at Lou who was canoodling with my smitten-kitten BFF and said, simply: “Yo. We got to go.”
Lou had glanced up, eyes glazed from love hormones and said: “what?”
“We’ve got to roll. Right now.”
They looked at each other for a second and Lisa stared from face to face between them, wide-eyed and dazed. I felt my lips curl into a thin smile of distaste and shook my head slightly. Nice, guys, real nice…
“What is it baby?” Lisa had asked, smiling hopefully at her new beau like she’d forgotten to bring her self-respect as an independent woman out with her that day.
Romeo stood up. “Let’s go.”
“Sorry babe, it’s important,” Lou muttered, kissing Lisa’s cheek and rising too.
“But isn’t this important Louis?” Lisa had asked.
“Obviously not,” I muttered and Lou shot me a dirty look.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he said and then the two jerks sauntered out, going straight back into tough guy-swagger mode. I watched Romeo’s muscular back through his leather jacket as he left. The jerk didn’t even look at me, let alone say goodbye.
So now, two days later I was still thinking it over when I came back into Gino’s—this time to work an evening shift and help him out with the dinner rush. I was surprised to find the shutters were down, even though it was five pm and the café was supposed to have been open all day. Gino must have gone out to get something I reasoned, neglecting in my preoccupation to wonder what might have been so important that he couldn’t wait until I’d arrived in for my shift first. In a moment I would find out exactly what that was and then I’d forget all about Romeo Mancini, at least for the moment anyway…
“Gino, you in?” I called as I swung my book-bag up onto the counter. No answer.
“That’s weird,” I muttered, noticing that the linen till-cover was still draped over the old-fashioned cash register on the counter. In fact the whole place looked as though it hadn’t been opened at all that day.
“Gino?” I called again, stepping past the counter and out to the back hallway.