by Tony Bertot
A few years ago, Fazio met Tami Gates, a woman who worked at the local supermarket he frequented. He had seen her dozens of times before and over a period of three months began to court her. They hit it off instantly, first becoming good friends and then lovers. He would visit her at her place, which was only a few miles from where they lived. Fazio was nervous about bringing her home to meet his kids. They had been together all their lives and now he was going to bring in an outsider. “How would they feel?” he thought to himself. Unknown to Fazio, however both had already met her, a couple of days before, when they visited the supermarket and introduced themselves. They liked her immediately and treated her to lunch. They laughed and joked as they enjoyed their lunch on Fazio’s credit card. Therefore, when Fazio brought her home both Fabio and Felicia pretended to have a fit.
“Dad, what are you doing? She is way too skinny for you,” said Felicia.
“Come on, Dad. You can’t bring this stranger into our lives! Look at her. She isn’t even your kind,” Fabio shouted.
Fazio was shocked at their behavior.
Both Felicia and Fabio walked over to Tami and gave her a big hug, turned to Fazio and started laughing.
“What the...” was all Fazio could say as he stood there confused.
“Dad, we met a few days ago. In fact we kind of like her more than you,” said Fabio.
“Yeah, sorry Pop,” said Felicia.
Then they all started to laugh.
Tami made up for what was missing in their lives and they were better for it. She would also become the reason why Fazio and his kids would eventually become the leading force behind the Giordano crime family.
Unknown to Fazio, both Ricardo Gallo and Sal Manetti had advised their lieutenants Fazio was the head of the organization but that he maintained his distance out of concern for his family.
It was not the policy for Italian syndicates to allow outsiders into their business and both Ricardo and Sal knew this was the only way to justify their relationship with Fazio Giordano. Since Fazio’s grandfather had been the capo of the family until he died, there was no reason for anyone to think otherwise.
Down Memory Lane
South Wabash Street/Chicago
“Number 27,” Calito shouted out.
“Here, Calito,” responded an elderly woman.
“Mrs. Livingston, I presume,” Calito shouted back to her. A joke only he thought was amusing.
Mrs. Livingston has been a steady customer for over eight years and she had become accustomed to his antics. Unfortunately, she didn’t get it but always met him with a smile, especially when he gave the 80 year old a break on the quantity or price.
The butcher shop was a flurry of activity. As Calito was serving one customer, his father was at the other end working with another while the three persons between them took the orders as they came in. Three small tables lined the wall, each with three chairs and all filled with either waiting customers or those who were having a sandwich with a free cup of coffee. Against the back wall was a coffee pot with a stack of plastic cups alongside. Some customers were accustomed to coming in, ordering a sandwich and getting a free cup of coffee and having it there in the shop or on warmer days, sitting outside.
It was Calito, who happened to look up and see the young man standing in the far corner of the shop looking out towards the street. There was something about him, something familiar. Nevertheless, Calito did not miss a beat as he continued to serve the customers, while occasionally eyeing the young man. The young man appeared to be in a daze. Then he turned and caught Calito’s eye. Though it was a brief stare it stopped Calito in his tracks. It was a cold stare, followed with a warm smile.
I know him but from where, Calito thought to himself.
As the young man turned, once again to stare out the storefront window, Calito noticed a black box sticking out of the backpack, a black box he had seen before. Calito walked over to his father and said,
“Pop, who is that?” he asked his father nodding towards the young man.
His father immediately looked up and stared at the boy standing in the corner looking out the window.
“Santo Christopher,” Benito Randazzo said making the sign of the cross, as a chill ran up his arms.
“He looks like his father,” Benito added.
“You go back to what you were doing and I’ll take care of this,” Benito told his son.
After finishing the order he was working on Benito took off his apron and came out from behind the counter and walked up to the young man.
“Theo,” Benito said softly.
Theo did not turn and kept staring out onto the street.
“Nothing much has changed,” Theo commented before turning and acknowledging Mr. Randazzo.
Benito Randazzo gave the young man a hug as a tear escaped.
Grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket, Benito wiped his eyes.
“Unless you have other plans, we have a couple of spare rooms. Please stay with us as long as you want,” Benito told Theo.
“I have no other plans, at this time. It is you and your family that I came to see,” Theo responded.
“Good! Wait here and I will get your old friend Calito to take you up to the room,” Benito told him.
With that said, Benito, walked back behind the counter, grabbed his apron, and walked over to Calito and gave him his instructions. Calito almost jumped with excitement when he heard who the young man was.
After completing his order, Calito came out from behind the counter and tapped Theo on the shoulder.
“Follow me, young man,” Calito ordered smiling at Theo.
Theo smiled back and not saying a word, followed his old friend.
Less than a minute later they were walking up an adjacent six-story apartment building, one of two owned by Benito Randazzo.
“And here is the executive suite,” said Calito as he inserted a key into the third door they passed on their left with the lettering 1C on the door.
Calito turned on the light as they entered the apartment. As they walked down a narrow corridor, a kitchen appeared on their left followed by a bathroom. The corridor opened into a fifteen by fifteen living room with an attached large bedroom of equal size, separated by pocket doors. The entire apartment was well furnished and neatly kept.
Walking into the living room Theo dropped his backpack on the floor and turned to Calito.
“How have you been, Calito?” Theo asked him.
Calito looked at the young man and the two hugged.
“I missed seeing you running up and down the streets or knocking down garbage cans as you ran through the back alleys,” Calito said.
“Yeah, I remember my shortcuts,” responded Theo smiling.
“Hey, how is your mother?” Calito asked him.
“She was killed during the war,” Theo responded abruptly.
“Oh, my god, I didn’t know. I am so sorry,” Calito said with deep sorrow while at the same time wishing he had never asked.
Feeling awkward, they both fell into silence.
“It’s ok, it happened a long time ago,” Theo added.
With that, Theo picked up his backpack and walked into the bedroom.
“You still got that camera,” Calito said seeing it sticking out of the backpack.
“Yeah, haven’t used it since I was here last, though,” replied Theo.
“Wow, that long ago. What over fifteen years?” Calito said.
“More like twelve,” Theo corrected him.
“Is that what it’s been. Still a long time and yet it feels as if it was only yesterday,” Calito said, almost to himself.
Theo tuned to Calito and nodded.
“Yeah, it does. Doesn’t it?”
“Well I imagine you are tired and I got to get back downstairs. I’ll leave you for now. Of course, you’re going to have dinner at Pops so I’ll see you there,” Calito said as he headed toward the door.
“Calito, what happened to your mother? Why is
she in a wheelchair,” Theo asked him.
Surprised by the question Calito responded with,
“She was in an accident. She can never walk again, but you wouldn’t know it the way she gets around town. She goes everywhere and gives Dad an earful whenever he screws up.”
“Ok, I’ll see you later, say around 6:30,” Calito asked.
“Ok. See you,” Theo responded half-waving at Calito as he watched him exit down the narrow apartment hallway leading to the front door.
Davino Carmine, after serving over 15 years in the military, was forced to take an early retirement when they discovered he had developed a problem with his hearing. Because of his outstanding service, (two purple hearts and one silver star), the United States Armed Services provided him with a generous retirement package. From time to time, he would lend a hand at his cousin’s butcher shop and was there on this occasion when a young stranger appeared. He saw Benito walk up to the young man and say a few words and noticed when Calito took him outside. About twenty minutes later, Calito returned alone.
“Hey, Calito, who was that guy?” Davino asked him.
“That, my dear cousin is little Theo, son of Sergio and Lucia Gresco. His parents owned the store on the corner?” Calito said.
At first Davino did not make the connection. He continued about his business, chopping up slabs of meat and placing them on the counter for the customers to view.
Slowly it came back to him. The camera boy was a nickname he once gave him. He was the son of the man killed in the bombing that day; the boy whose father died because of his indiscretion. He had seen his share of death and had on occasion been part of the killing. But, this one event continues to haunt him. Though others have told him repeatedly there was nothing he could have done, he never forgave himself. Realizing who that young man was brought it all back as if it only happened yesterday. He wanted to talk to this boy, tell him how sorry he was. Ask for his forgiveness. These thoughts raced through his mind.
“Hey, Davino, snap out of it,” Calito called out to him.
“Huh. Oh, sorry,” Davino responded as he realized he had been consumed with his thoughts and had frozen in place like a mannequin in a store window.
Carmine Davino decided to make things right.
What Davino did not realize is once more, because of his indiscretion, he will put into motion events that will bring he and his family added tragedy.
Reconciliation
Wabash Pub/Chicago
The black Cadillac Coup De Ville pulled up in front of the Wabash Pub and two men rushed out to greet its occupant.
“Welcome back, Mr. Giovanna,” one of the men said as Al Giovanna stepped out of the backseat of the car.
Mr. Giovanna nodded at him and continued as men walked on both sides of him. They had no illusions that someone might try to take him out. There were people out there with more than enough reason to want him dead.
As he stepped into the pub, he was met with a huge cheer and clapping.
They started singing,
“For he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly good fellowwww,”
Giovanna raised both his hands gesturing them to stop, while smiling all the time.
“Enough, enough already; I’m a jolly good convict, you idiots,” he screamed out.
They all laughed.
He was shaking hands and giving hugs as he worked his way to the back of the bar.
Finally, they settled down at a table in the back of the room where the Sabrisio brothers and other members of their organization were waiting.
“Welcome home, Mr. Giovanna,” Emilio Sabrisio said standing up and giving him a hearty handshake.
Frank was already standing when Al Giovanna had approached the table and met him with an old fashioned Italian hug. Both men smiled at each other and nodded.
The room was a frenzy of people, music and food. Occasionally someone would raise a drink and shout out “salute” towards Al Giovanna who would smile and raise his glass in response.
“Who the hell are all these people?” Al asked his son.
“Don’t know. They were here when we got here,” responded Frank Sabrisio.
Al gave them all a stare and they laughed.
“Friends and family,” responded Emilio Sabrisio.
“Where the hell is Bolnaldo? Never thought he would miss a free meal,” Al Giovanna asked.
They all stared at Al Giovanna as if questioning his sanity.
“What? What is wrong? Don’t tell me someone finally clipped him,” Al added.
“Pop, don’t think Bolnaldo Costellino really likes you anymore. Especially when you tried to have him bumped off back in 42”, Anthony said.
“What are you talking about,” Al Giovanna asked him.
Afraid the feds would be watching and listening in, Al Giovanna had few visitors and virtually no communication with the outside. He had no idea what transpired some twelve years ago. It was a time of war and normal legal formalities were dismissed for quick and decisive penalties ruled against anyone deemed an enemy of the country.
Al Giovanna repeated his question.
They explained to Al Giovanna that everyone thought he had ordered a hit on Bolnaldo Costellino. After all, Giovanna’s men tried to kill Bolnaldo outside La Ristorante in Manhattan.
They went on to explain the men that tried to kill Bolnaldo were the same men they hired to follow Ricardo Gallo. That is all they knew. They never tried to communicate with Bolnaldo or any of his men.
“Shit. They must have set him up. How could these men confuse Bolnaldo with Ricardo Gallo?” Al Giovanna asked more to himself then to anyone else.
“We have to set this straight. Call Bolnaldo; tell him I want him to come to Chicago.” Al Giovanna ordered.
A Little History
Palermo/Sicily
For the two years after the Germans were driven out of Sicily, Theo spent his time helping his grandparents in the little bakery. In the afternoon he would go out back and target practice with the various guns and rifles left to him by the German, American and British soldiers he befriended. It was during one of those times he was out back practicing, when a stranger approached him.
“Bravo. Bravo. What a shot. You must be Theodore Gresco,” he said.
“Yes I am,” Theo answered.
“I heard about a boy who could shoot better than anyone around these parts and I wanted to meet him,” he told Theo.
“Why?” asked Theo.
“Well because I fancy myself a good shot as well and I wanted to see if you were better than me,” he responded.
“May I try?” he asked Theo.
“Sure. But you’ll have to pay me for the bullets you use,” Theo told the stranger.
The stranger stared at Theo for a few seconds.
“I tell you what. If you beat me at our little game of target shooting, I will pay for all of the bullets we use. How does that sound?” he asked Theo.
“I don’t want to take all of your money, Mister,” Theo responded.
Laughing the man replied,
“Call me Fredo. I am Mr. Fredo Nicoletta. Perhaps you have heard of me?” he told Theo.
“No, sir. I never heard of you,” Theo responded.
Fredo Nicoletta stood almost six feet and weighed over 200 pounds. His well-groomed black hair and neat blue suit separated him from the town regulars, who for the most part wore dingy work clothes.
Walking up to the nearest rifle he looked down its site and took aim. Gesturing back he told Theo he was going to shoot the bird sitting on top of a fence some 50 meters away.
“No,” shouted Theo.
Fredo turned around and looked at Theo.
“Why not?” Fredo asked Theo.
“Because it’s wrong. The bird has done no wrong to you,” responded Theo.
“I see. Well then what would you have me shoot?” he asked Theo.
Theo moved forward and looked out onto the field in front
of them.
“There, the center of the knob on that old oak tree,” Theo said pointing towards a cluster of trees.
Fredo nodded and took aim and fired.
Theo stared at the tree and then at Fredo.
“You missed,” he said.
Fredo looked down at the tree and turned to Theo.
“No, I did not. I hit it right in the center,” he responded.
Theo took the rifle from Fredo, aimed and fired without so much of a second to spare.
“You hit the wrong tree. That was the tree I meant,” Theo said.
Fredo looked down towards the cluster of trees. The tree he hit was about 400 meters away and the one Theo shot at was 550 meters away.
“You got to be kidding me,” he said.
Fredo took the rifle and took aim once again but did not fire.
“I can hardly see it,” he commented.
Nonetheless, he aimed and held his breath and fired.
Theo smiled and said,
“You missed, again.”
Fredo looked down at Theo.
“How in the world can you tell from this distance?” he asked Theo.
“You were off by at least a foot and half,” Theo replied.
“Come with me,” Theo told him.
Fredo followed Theo as he went down to examine the tree.
Theo had been right. Fredo’s shot was off by at least a foot.
Fredo looked at Theo’s shot and could not believe it. He had hit the knob dead center.
“You have remarkable eyesight,” Fredo told Theo.
“Yes, I do,” replied Theo.
Fredo looked down at this young boy and thought that he was a little too cocky for his taste. But he had to admit to himself he was good, damn good.
“Well, you win young man,” Fredo told Theo.
With that, he went in his wallet, pulled several bills, and handed it to Theo.