“How do we know this will really be it?” Rocco asked.
“We don’t.”
Rocco looked at his wife out of the corner of his eye, realizing she was holding something back, but he was too debilitated by this process to ask questions. “But we don’t have the money. Lorenzo’s given us everything he has,” said Rocco, frustrated. “And no matter how much we work between now and then, we couldn’t earn it.”
“Maybe my parents have money left from what I sent them,” offered Giovanna.
“Even if they did, it would never get here in time.”
“I could ask Lucrezia.” Giovanna couldn’t believe she suggested it, but she meant it.
“Are you crazy? If she went to the police now, all this would be for nothing. If we ask someone outside the family, it has got to be someone who won’t be suspicious of why we need the money.”
Impressed with Rocco’s thinking, Giovanna said, “That rules out Signore DeCegli.” In her mind she was going through the possibilities. Were she to ask Mariano again, it would raise suspicions or questions.
“I’ll get the money,” resolved Rocco. “I’ll get it.”
Rocco saw in his wife’s eyes how grateful she was, but for the first time, he also thought he saw love.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 1909
“Some of the guys at the station said you kept asking for me down here,” greeted Detective Fiaschetti, throwing a ball at Domenico.
“Detective! You came!” Domenico hadn’t spent so much time playing ball since he was a little boy.
“Why did you want me to come? There’s other guys around,” commented Fiaschetti, pointing to the handful of cops who were playing with the kids.
“Well, you’re Italian. There’s not many Italians and, besides, you knew the great Petrosino!”
“Your name is Domenico, right?”
“That’s right, detective. I was hoping you could tell me stories about Lupo.”
“Why do you want to know about him?” Fiaschetti asked suspiciously.
“He’s a famous crook. And didn’t Petrosino want to catch him, and now you have him in jail?”
Fiaschetti looked hard at Domenico. “You’re the one who wants to be the detective, right?”
“That’s me,” answered Domenico.
“Come on, sit down over here,” directed Fiaschetti. They leaned against the gym wall. “Lupo is being brought to court on Monday for blackhanding a shopkeeper named Manzella. If you’re so interested, why don’t you come?”
“I will!”
“Domenico, I have a few questions for you.”
“Okay.” Domenico put on his most innocent face.
“Some of the detectives have noticed that things aren’t so normal around your aunt’s house.”
“What do you mean, detective?”
“One of your cousins is missing, the others were taken out of school—and your aunt seems to be walking all over the city.”
“It’s nothing, detective. Angelina is in Italy with her grandparents. My aunt was having a hard time with the new baby so they sent her there. And my uncle, he thinks everyone should work,” explained Domenico dismissively.
“Good job, Domenico. You just might become a detective.”
Domenico looked down to hide his smile.
“Look, son, you tell your aunt that I’m here for her if she needs me.”
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1909
Hours before she expected him, Domenico burst through the door. “Zia! Manzella didn’t show! It was a mistrial.”
Giovanna shook her head, understanding Manzella’s fear and hoping that it was fear, not death, that had kept him from the courthouse.
“Lupo got up from the defendant’s seat the moment the judge said, ‘You’re free to go,’ with a huge smile on his face. Then Lupo is surrounded by cops, including Detective Fiaschetti, and they walk him away in handcuffs. The reporters told me he was arrested again on counterfeiting charges.”
Domenico’s tone changed. “But, Zia, this reporter started asking questions about Angelina. He said, ‘I heard your cousin is missing.’”
“How does he know?” Giovanna gasped, gripping Domenico’s arm.
Domenico let out a yelp and rubbed his arm. “When I told him it wasn’t true he said a librarian told him you were looking for articles on kidnapping.”
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 1909
“Come, Giovanna. Teresa is making an American turkey; you need to get out,” pleaded Lorenzo.
“No thank you, Lorenzo. I’ll stay here.”
“Giovanna, I wish there was a way to help you.”
“You’ve done what you can.”
Lorenzo rubbed his face as he often did when he was nervous. “Sometimes I think I should have found a way to send you back.” He paced the tiny kitchen. “We forced you to stay here with Rocco.”
“Go back? So I could have been killed in the earthquake? So I could scratch plaster from the walls to add to the flour? It’s not your fault, Lorenzo. And besides, I wouldn’t have had Angelina and Anthony.”
Lorenzo shuffled around awkwardly. Giovanna tried to ease his guilt.
“It was the money I sent to Scilla. Someone told them. But even so, they blackmail people with nothing. There is no understanding evil.”
“Are you sure you won’t come? Please?”
“No, no. Lorenzo, how many pounds is the turkey?”
“I don’t know, I think fifteen,” answered Lorenzo, puzzled.
Giovanna calculated. Turkey was expensive this year, thirty-two cents a pound. That was nearly five dollars that could have been ransom money.
“I’ll send Rocco and the children,” replied Giovanna, thinking she would at least save money on their own supper and her family would eat a little meat.
“Va bene, but I wish you would come,” said Lorenzo, kissing his sister and the top of the baby’s head good-bye.
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 1909
“Release Lupo,” ordered the lieutenant.
Fiaschetti rolled his eyes. “Why?”
“There’s not enough evidence. It was a flimsy arrest in the first place.”
“Then why did we do it?”
“Look, we know Lupo’s involved in counterfeiting, so the police chief wanted to prove he was doing something about it to impress the feds. But his friends in City Hall said to let him go.”
“He’s a wolf, but he’s slippery as an eel. We’ll never keep him more than a couple weeks,” moaned Fiaschetti.
“I don’t know,” reasoned the lieutenant, “it seems different now. The chief announced today that any cop who uncovers evidence of Lupo’s counterfeiting will be made a first-grade detective.”
Fiaschetti whistled. “Murder, extortion, that’s one thing, but when you start messing with the money, that’s serious.”
“Come on, get Lupo out of here.”
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1909
“I got the money,” said Rocco, coming in the door.
Two weeks before, when Rocco said he would get the money, Giovanna believed him, and something in their relationship changed. He finally became her partner, and she found herself looking at him in an entirely new light. Had he failed, she would have been crushed, not only because they wouldn’t have the final ransom payment, but because she would lose the new warmth she felt for him.
“Rocco, from where? You don’t have to tell me if you can’t.”
Rocco sat down beside her. “From Dr. Bellantoni.”
Giovanna kissed Rocco with tenderness. She knew that asking another man for money was, for him, the greatest sacrifice.
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 28, 1909
“The baby is so strong, Giovanna!” exclaimed Lucrezia, examining him. “But I’m surprised you didn’t name him Nunzio.”
“You must need to get back for Sunday dinner,” remarked Giovanna, changing the subject.
“No, I have time. I want to take a look at you, and besides, my husband is away at another conference.”
“Did you see the papers today?” commented Lucrezia, filling the awkward silence.
“No.” Giovanna wished she had so she could have more of an answer, but Lucrezia good-naturedly continued on while Giovanna said a prayer of thanks that Lucrezia had the kind heart not to be meddlesome.
“Last night at the Metropolitan, Caruso sang La Traviata with Toscanini conducting. Two Italians snuck up the fire escape and got into the balcony to hear the concert. I suppose that isn’t uncommon. But what was funny was that an Irish policeman discovered them, and instead of arresting them on the spot, he locked them in a closet so he could hear the rest of the performance!”
“I hope they heard it, too!” responded Giovanna with a forced laugh. “Did you go?”
“No. My husband left on Friday.”
“So why didn’t you go alone?”
“Ah.” Lucrezia shrugged her shoulders. For a split second Giovanna wanted to follow up the shrug and comfort her, but once again she stopped herself.
“I’ll be going. You’re doing well.”
“Thank you, Lucrezia. I’ll come visit when the weather is better.”
“You do that,” answered Lucrezia with resignation, knowing full well that she wouldn’t see her friend anytime soon.
FORTY-TWO
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 1909
This is it. Here’s the final payment. I want my daughter returned immediately. If you delay, next it is your coglioni. They’ll start to itch, blister, and fall off.
Giovanna allowed Rocco to take the final payment to the arranged spot in the dumbwaiter at 304 Elizabeth Street.
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1909
A loud rap at the door startled Giovanna. It was them. It had to be them. She flung the door open. Instead, she looked into the faces of two even more startled settlement workers.
“Buon giorno, signora. Many people in this area are getting consumption and we have come to teach your family how to avoid becoming ill…”
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 1, 1909
When Giovanna returned home from buying bread, there was another booklet about consumption in front of the door. She picked it up with difficulty because Anthony was in the sling at her chest. Inside, as she tossed it into a pile of papers to be burned, a note fell out.
In seconds, Giovanna was in Inzerillo’s cafe, the gun in her waistband at the ready.
“We need to talk!” ordered Giovanna, walking into the back room without stopping.
Closing the door, Inzerillo hissed, “What do you mean coming in here this way for all to see!”
Giovanna grabbed the gun and put it to Inzerillo’s head. “Is it better they see you dead?”
“Signora! Put that away.”
“Not until you sit down and listen,” she said, locking the door.
“Okay, I will listen.”
“Read this,” she ordered, thrusting the note in his hands.
Inzerillo read it. “I agree this is most unfortunate.”
“It’s more than unfortunate, you crook. It’s suicide. I know now they are playing with me, and I am done playing. Here’s your message, disgraziato.” Giovanna felt liberated by dropping all pretense with Inzerillo. “My daughter is to be delivered safe and unharmed to me immediately. If not, letters will be sent to the police and newspapers. These letters will give evidence that Lupo and his gang were involved in the Bank Pati bombing and the kidnapping and murder of Mario Palermo. They will tell how Leo took money from Edwin Reese for the elections, and, finally, they will have evidence of Lupo’s counterfeiting. If anything happens to my daughter, to me, or to anyone in my family, people unknown to you have been told to deliver the letters.”
Inzerillo remained seated and silent. The only sound was Giovanna’s labored breathing. Eventually, Inzerillo said, “That is quite a message, signora.”
“That’s only the half of it. You’ll all be braying at the moon in jail with the curse of the malocchio. Lupo thinks he can cast the evil eye? He’ll learn what a midwife can do!”
“Signora, because you are so upset, I am going to ignore the fact that you keep implicating Lupo and me in this crime. We have not touched your daughter. But because I am a man of honor, I will deliver your message and use my influence to see that your daughter is returned immediately.”
“I want word by tomorrow. If not, the letters will be sent and the curses cast.”
“How much longer do we have to keep her?” nagged the older Gallucci brother’s wife.
“There is nothing out here. We’re going crazy,” chimed in the younger woman.
“Shut up!” yelled the older of the two kidnappers.
“Shhh, someone’s at the door,” whispered his brother.
The older brother drew his gun and motioned their wives and children into the bedroom. The younger brother, gun also drawn, opened the door.
“Lupo! Pietro!” Putting his gun away, the younger brother said, “We didn’t know you were coming.”
The older brother lowered his gun but kept it in his hand, saying skeptically, “It’s dangerous for you to be here.”
“Dangerous? What’s dangerous is trusting you,” growled Lupo, barging through the door.
“Lupo, what are you talking about?” asked the younger brother in a panic.
When Lupo and Inzerillo seated themselves at the table, the brothers calmed down.
“What’s going on?” asked the older brother.
“That’s what we came here to find out,” answered Inzerillo. “It seems that the fruit seller’s wife knows more than she should.”
“We told Leo! After she grabbed me in the church, we told Leo to tell you everything she said, but Leo thought you’d be angry we were followed,” whined the younger brother.
“Grabbed you in the church…” repeated Inzerillo.
“And Lupo, she’s a witch! She gave me the rash that caused these scars. My brother too!”
Seeing Lupo’s disgusted expression, the older brother retrieved Giovanna’s notes. “Every time she sent money, she sent letters. We have them here,” he said, handing them to Lupo, who passed them to Inzerillo without looking at them.
While Inzerillo read the notes, Lupo interrogated the men, ending with, “So, what did you do for Edwin Reese?”
“We don’t know an Edwin Reese. The first time we saw his name was in the witch woman’s letter. We asked Leo, but he said she was crazy.”
“Shit for brains. Shit for brains,” muttered Lupo.
“So what do you want us to do, Lupo?” asked the younger brother. “If she knows so much, do we kill them both right away?”
“You’d have to kill the entire family. Others too.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No, you idiots, that’s not what I want. I just got out of jail. The feds are watching me. It took four hours to get here. I don’t need dead bodies and letters pointing to me.”
“Lupo, this has been going on a while,” reported Inzerillo, handing Lupo the notes from Giovanna.
Standing up to face the brothers, Lupo ordered, “The kid is going back. Don’t shave, and wait for instructions.”
Angelina, hearing the men call someone Lupo, decided that the wolf had come for her. She was too tired to be afraid, and instead, unconsciously, she scratched an L on her leg over and over till it bled. Seeing the blood-red L, she wished she knew how to spell because then, when they found her, they would know who had killed her.
“Leo, I give you a job, and it’s not enough that you fuck it up so bad. Who’s Edwin Reese, Leo?
“Lupo, I got your share right here!” sputtered Leo, trying to break free of Tommaso the Bull’s grip on him.
“Leo, you do a couple of kidnappi
ngs and you think you’re a big man. You move in on election money.”
“I told you, Lupo, I got the money for you.”
“I don’t like not knowing things, Leo.”
“Lupo, I was doing you a favor…”
“You’re trading on my name, Leo. Do you think those politicians would have anything to do with you if you weren’t working for Lupo?”
“Of course not, Lupo. Lupo, tell Tommaso to let me go and I’ll show you the money.”
Lupo nodded to Tommaso, who kept his eye on Leo as he went to his jacket.
Pulling out an envelope, he handed it to Lupo. “Here. There’s sixteen hundred dollars in ransom money. And Lupo, that family didn’t have a stack of money somewhere. I found out they’re waiting for another payment. Because of me, we got that much,” bragged Leo. “And here,” he continued, taking out another envelope from his jacket, “seven hundred dollars for getting out the vote.”
Lupo took the money from the envelopes and fanned it in front of his face. “You know, Leo, that’s lots of exposure for a little over two grand. Sloppy, very sloppy.”
“Lupo, I know things didn’t go perfect. But you gave me two idiot greenhorns!”
“I want you to return the kid. Deliver a letter right away telling them the girl will be back within the week. After you deliver her, tell the Gallucci brothers to clean the place out. No clues. Give them this,” Lupo peeled off bills totaling three hundred dollars, “and tell them to go to Chicago. I never want to see them again.”
“With pleasure,” smirked Leo.
“I’ll settle with you when the kid is returned. Now get out of here.”
When Leo left, Lupo gave orders to Tommaso. “When the kid’s returned, make sure it’s common knowledge that Leo did the job, and then make him disappear for good.”
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 2, 1909
The note was slipped under their door while they were sleeping.
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 3, 1909
Elizabeth Street Page 34