“I told you not to get the fried calamari. It’s gonna keep you up all night. I’ll take you home.”
“No, no, swing by the club. I wanna check the take for today,” The Don ordered as he cleaned his glasses with his tie.
Making an illegal U-turn, Carmine cut through some side streets and minutes later they arrived at the Mirragio Club. From their vantage point, they could see that the front door was left wide open. “What the fuck’s going on here? Go inside and check it out,” the Don ordered.
Carmine pulled his pistol and stepped out of the car. Cautiously he made his way to the front door and went inside. At first sight of the massacre before him, Carmine dropped his gun from shock. “Jesus fucking Christ!” he shrieked.
Hearing Carmine’s panicked scream, Don Lucho scrambled out of the car and hurried to the front door. Tentatively stepping inside with pistol in hand, Don Lucho took in the butchery that had been perpetrated upon his men. The Don’s body went numb and his weapon fell from his hand. His face was suddenly ashen and he projectile vomited, the force knocking him to one knee.
After a few moments, the Don struggled to his feet and stumbled out of the club bracing himself by clinging to the wall. The Don crawled into the front seat and sat with his head down by his knees, shaking like a frightened child.
Blood stained the walls, ceiling, and covered the floor. Carmine cringed at the sight of the eyes, ears, tongues and hearts that were savagely cut out and placed in neat piles on a card table in the center of the room. Trying not to throw up, Carmine noticed the hand Nicky held in his bloody fingers. “Aces and eights, the dead man’s hand,” he snarled.
Seeing the pile of stubs in the center of the table, Carmine picked up the blood soaked tickets and threw them across the room. Taking several deep angry breaths, Carmine’s face hardened and he hollered, “You’re fucking dead! You hear me, Scalise? You’re a fucking dead man!”
* * * * *
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Johnny Rocks strolled into the No Name Club and was immediately greeted by the usual round of handshakes and hugs. The joint was standing room only and there were a lot of new faces floating around the club. Excitement rippled amongst the crowd, making a lot of the wiseguy’s uneasy. Squeezing into an open spot at the bar, Johnny got the bartender’s attention.
“How you doing, Rocks?” the bartender asked respectfully.
“I’m doing good, Kenny. What the fuck’s going on here? Did somebody die or something?”
“You didn’t hear?”
“Hear what? Hey, lemme get a Stoli, on the ROCKS.” Johnny chuckled briefly. “You know, I never get tired of that fucking joke,” Johnny remarked to a man standing next to him.
The bartender laughed, then poured the drink and placed it on the bar before Johnny. “Hey Rocks, you didn’t hear what happened last night?”
“Nah, I was incommunicado. I was shacked up with one of the finest pieces of ass I ever had. I think I’m in love. Why? What’s going on?”
“Sally Boy and his crew slaughtered everybody at the Mirragio Club last night.
“What? What the fuck are you talking about ‘slaughtered everybody’?”
“It had to be him, Rocks. His old man gets clipped. Then somebody hacks up the whole fucking Mirragio crew. Everybody except for Don Lucho and Carmine, that is.”
“Somebody whacked Peter Scalise?” Johnny whispered with remorse.
“Yeah, they shot him right in his apartment. Carmine’s been calling here all day looking for you.”
“What the fuck does that mutt want?” Johnny shook his head in disbelief. “This shit has gotten way outta control.”
Distracted by the ringing phone behind the bar, the bartender said, “I gotta get this, Rocks. I’ll be right back.”
“Hi Rocks,” an attractive blonde girl sitting on the other stool next to him said warmly.
“Yeah, how you doing, sweetheart,” Johnny replied softly.
“Rocks, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation with Kenny, but I heard Sally Boy cut off just about everything you can cut off a guy.”
“Ming!” Johnny blurted as he cupped his genitals with his hand.
“Hey Rocks, somebody wants to talk to you,” the bartender said urgently.
“I really ain’t in the mood for socializing right now.”
“It’s the Don!”
“Awright, bring me the fucking phone.” Johnny moved to the corner of the bar and the bartender handed him the receiver. “Yeah, this is Rocks.” Listening for several moments, Johnny said, “Okay, I’ll be right over. You got my word.”
Handing the phone to the bartender, Johnny walked back to his spot at the bar and quickly downed his drink. Dropping a twenty onto the bar, he made a hasty departure. Johnny drove for a while listening to music. He lit a cigarette, and smoked half of it before turning down a tree-lined street. Tossing the cigarette out the window, Johnny then sped up the long driveway of a beautiful, brick, Victorian home nestled on a wooded acre of land near the ocean in the Country Club section of the Bronx. As he made his way to the top of the driveway, Johnny saw an armed guard holding a pump action shotgun. The guard motioned for Johnny to stop and roll down his window. “How you doing, Rocks?” the sizable man asked.
“I’m doing good, Nino. I’m here to see Don Lucho.”
“I know. Go ahead.”
Johnny parked in the circular driveway and then he proceeded up the steps to the big front door and rang the bell. The door slowly opened to reveal Carmine standing in the foyer with a disturbing look on his face.
“Carmine, I just heard about what happened. I can’t believe it. What a fucking shame.” The two men embraced and kissed each other on the cheek.
Still reeling from shock, Carmine grumbled, “Don Lucho is in his bedroom.”
“Jesus Christ! What would make Sal do something like that?” Johnny asked staring directly into Carmine’s eyes, eager to see his reaction.
“He’s fucking gone. His mind is rotted away from the babania. He’s a wild fucking animal that needs to be put outta its misery.”
“Who would be stupid enough to clip Peter Scalise?”
“I don’t know,” Carmine answered coyly. “C’mon, the Don’s waiting for you.”
“Okay,” Johnny responded, now certain Carmine had ordered the hit on Peter.
Leading Johnny down the hall to Don Lucho’s bedroom, Carmine knocked and then opened the door. “Don Lucho, Johnny’s here.”
As they stepped into the bedroom, Johnny was surprised to see the Don lying in bed looking like a frightened child waiting for his mommy’s reassurances.
“Don Lucho, how are you?” Johnny lifted the Don’s hand and kissed it.
“I want you to help us, Johnny.” Wracked by anxiety, Don Lucho’s face was drawn and pale. The Don removed the cold compress from his forehead and struggled to sit up. “You cannot refuse my request. This all must end now!” the once powerful Don declared with a cracking, panicky voice. After coughing several times, he slowly reclined.
“What can I do for you, Don Lucho?” Johnny asked sympathetically.
“I want you to set up a meeting with that maniac traitor so we can put an end to all this bloodshed.”
“Don Lucho, I have great respect for you and the Mirragio Family. You know that. I would do anything to help you, but if you’re asking me to set Sal up to be whacked, that I cannot do. I’m sorry.”
“No! I just wanna put an end to our differences. Jesus Christ! If you coulda saw what he did to my men! There was blood and body parts everywhere for Chrissakes! I want this fucking war over! Understand?”
“That’s it? That’s all you want is to end this?
“Yes!”
“If I can get Sal to sit-down with youse, he’ll walk away untouched?”
“You got the Don’s word.” Carmine slapped Johnny on the back. “Nobody from the Mirragio Family will lay one finger on him. You can promise him that. Tell him the Don himself gives his
guarantee. I know he trusts you, Rocks. All we want you to do is act as a go-between for us, and we’ll make the deal.”
Johnny looked the Don squarely in his eyes. “I got your word on that, Don Lucho?”
Nodding, the Don promised, “No one, and I mean ‘no one,’ from my family will touch him. Nor will they seek revenge on him for what he has done. Ever! And Johnny, your efforts will not go unrecognized.”
Appearing torn, Johnny shook the Don’s hand. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
“That’s all the Don’s asking. I know you can help us, Rocks,” Carmine urged in an unusually appeasing tone.
* * * * *
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Playing pool against himself on a table in the Jolly Tinker, Sal chalked his cue-stick and then lined up a shot. Closing one eye, he drew back the stick and was about to shoot when the phone behind the bar rang. Sal listened as the bartender answered.
“Hey Sally, it’s for you,” the bartender yelled.
“Who is it?” Sal asked, still frozen in his shooting position
“I don’t know.”
“Well, ask who the fuck it is!”
“It’s Johnny Rocks.”
A big smile broke over Sal’s face as he tossed the stick down onto the pool table. Striding to the bar, he picked up the receiver. “Rocks, how you doing?”
“I’m doing good, Sally. How you doing?”
“I’m doing better than a lotta fucking guys we used to know.”
“Listen, I’m sorry...I’m sorry to hear about your father. He was a great man. And a very close friend of mine.”
“Hey Rocks, is there another reason why you’re fucking calling me or what?”
“Sal, is there any chance we can get together? To talk?”
“We’re talking now.”
“Sal, this shit can’t go on any longer. It’s gotta fucking end. I talked to the Don. The Mirragios wanna make a deal.”
“So now they got you doing their dirty work for ’em, huh. I always thought you was bigger than that, Rocks.”
“I’m doing this outta respect for your father. And I’m trying to protect your ass. Now smarten up and listen to what I gotta tell you.”
“Tell Carmine and the Don I’m coming for ’em next. And what I’m gonna do to ’em is gonna be twice as bad as what I did to their crew! You tell ’em that, errand boy!”
“C’mon Sally, nobody fucking wins if things keep going the way they are. They wanna deal, so fucking deal. It’s the smart thing to do. It’s what your father would do.”
“What kinda deal we talking about?” Sal asked, interested.
“They ain’t calling the shots no more. You are. You really shook ’em up with that bloodbath you left for ’em at their club. What do you want?”
“Lemme think about it. I’ll get back to you.”
“I’ll be at the No Name all night. You got the number?”
“Yeah, I know it. That it?”
“Sal, I want you to know that I loved you father. I would never do any...”
“I said, ‘that it,’ Rocks?”
“Yeah, that’s it. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
Sal slammed the phone down and lit a cigarette. After taking several puffs, he poured himself a glass of scotch and gulped it down. Picking up the receiver, Sal speedily dialed. “Angel, it’s me. Listen up, I’ve got good news. They wanna make a deal.”
“Who? The Italians?”
“C’mon over to the Tinker right now. We need to talk.”
“Awright, I’ll be there in a little bit.”
“It’s time to celebrate, my man.”
“Yeah, awright,” Angel muttered in a distant tone.
“Angel, what the fuck’s wrong with you? We won, man! We’re gonna get everything we deserve. Get here as fast as you can. And don’t forget to bring some H’. My skin feels like it’s gonna fall off.”
“No problem, hermano. I’ll be right over.” Hanging up the phone, Angel clutched a framed picture of himself and Roberto standing in front of a nicely decorated Christmas tree. They each wore Santa hats and were locked in a brotherly embrace as they mugged for the camera. Tears welled in Angel’s eyes as he stared at the photo, running his fingers over the image of his brother. With an agonizing wail, Angel threw the picture across the room. “I’m gonna get you, you motherfucker!”
Dropping down to his knees behind a chair in his living room, Angel used a pocket knife to pry loose a piece of paneling from the lower portion of the wall. He reached into a hole in the sheetrock and retrieved a plastic bag full of a whitish powder. Stuffing the bag into his coat pocket, Angel made his way to the street and got into his beat-up Buick. He drove recklessly, taking several snorts of cocaine from a one hitter. Parking in front of the Jolly Tinker, Angel rushed inside to find Sal still sitting at the bar drinking.
“What’s up, hermano?” Angel asked casually.
“We gotta talk. Let’s go downstairs.” Sal filled a glass with scotch and handed it to Angel. Once downstairs, they each took a seat at the table.
“I knew those motherfuckers would be begging to make a deal with us after they saw what we did.”
“You mean what you did.” Angel lit a cigarette. “That was some fucked up shit, man. Watching you cut up those gringos was the most fucked up shit I ever seen. And I’ve seen some shit.”
“Yeah, yeah, you got blood on your hands, too. So don’t go acting all fucking holier than thou. ’cause I ain’t buying it and neither will the Mirragios.”
“It wasn’t my idea to cut those motherfuckers up into pieces.”
“Shut the fuck up. I made a list of our demands. Check it out.” Sal handed the list to Angel.
Angel read it over. “We want our own territory and our own people to run our spots. Nobody tells us how to run things, and we don’t pay any percentage on any new business we get on our own. If there’s ever a problem, we only deal with Don Lucho himself.”
“What do you think? I didn’t wanna seem too greedy.”
“It sounds fucking good to me. What else could we ask for?”
“Nothing! That’s everything we could ask for.”
“Then that’s good enough for me.” Angel laughed.
“I gotta make a call and tell ’em we’re ready to deal.” Trotting up the stairs, Sal made his way behind the bar, picked up the phone, and dialed.
“No Name,” the bartender, Kenny, answered.
“Yeah, lemme speak to Rocks.”
“Who’s this?” Kenny asked politely.
“Put Rocks on the fucking phone, asshole!”
Kenny hustled over to where Johnny sat and whispered, “It’s Sally Boy.”
Rising quickly, Johnny went to the phone. “Hello.”
“I got my terms. You wanna hear ’em.”
“They want a sit-down on this.”
“What the fuck, Rocks? Are you fucking kidding me? A ‘sit-down’? What? So they can put a bullet in the backa my head? Fuck you.”
“Sal, I’m guaranteeing your safety. The Don himself gave me his word.”
“Fuck that fat piecea shit.”
“Sal, I’ve known you since you was a little kid. Have you ever known me to break my word? Ever?”
“Rocks, it ain’t you I don’t trust.”
“My hand to God, Sally. No one from the Mirragios is gonna harm one fucking hair on your head. I’d take a bullet before I’d let that happen.”
“No dice, Rocks.”
“Then send your number two. Do you trust him?”
“With my fucking life.”
“Good. I’ll have him back to you after the meeting. You want me to come get him?”
“No! Just tell me where you wanna meet.”
“Have him come here to the No Name after closing tonight. I’ll take him to meet with Carmine and the Don. Then he can make your deal.”
“I’m telling you right now, if anybody tries to pull a double-cross, I’m gonna make ’em wish they wasn�
�t born.”
“I got no problem with that.”
Hanging up the phone, Sal grabbed a bottle of scotch and strolled back downstairs. The moment he saw Sal coming down the steps Angel got excited. “What’s the fucking story, hermano? Did we get what we wanted?”
“I got some good news and some bad news. They want a sit-down.” Sal handed the bottle to Angel.
“What’s the good news?” Angel asked, concerned.
“That is the good news.”
“You ain’t gonna sit-down with those motherfuckers? Is you? They’ll blast your ass as soon as they see you.”
“Probably, but I ain’t the one going to the sit-down.”
“No fucking way, man! I ain’t going.” Angel shook his head.
“That’s the way they wanted it. If you don’t go, we can’t make the deal.”
“I don’t believe this. I’m a fucking dead man.”
“Shut the fuck up, you motherfucking coward! If you had any balls you coulda had your own crew, insteada riding my fucking coattails all this time!” Brandishing his .45, Sal waved it in Angel’s face. “You’re meeting Johnny Rocks at the No Name to make our fucking deal. Understand?”
Angel could tell by the murderous look in Sal’s eyes he had no choice. “Okay, Sal. No fucking problem. I’ll make the deal!”
Reaching under the table, Sal pulled out a sawed-off shotgun and tossed the weapon to Angel. “Take this as a little insurance. Keep it under your overcoat when you walk in. If they’re gonna make a move, it’ll happen then. Okay?”
“What if they don’t make a move?”
“What are you fucking stupid or something? Then you tell ’em our terms.”
“What if they pat me down, man?”
“Just let ’em know you’re strapped. What the fuck, Angel? You’re only there to make our deal. You’d have to be a fucking moron to fuck this up. Just do what I told you to do.”
“Yeah, okay. I can do this. I’m not afraid. But just for old-time’s sake, let’s get fucked up before I go. Okay? You know, to take the edge off.”
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