Say Goodbye and Goodnight

by David Ruggerio

  *****

  The news on Friday morning rocked an already injured neighborhood; Jessica D’Angelo, my chemistry classmate, had been severely beaten and raped. Here was another young and beautiful girl that we all knew and loved. Before anyone heard who, what, where, or when, a mob formed that was prepared to ride up to the Bronx and burn it down to the ground--enough was enough.

  The police waited around Maimonides Hospital till they could get a statement from her. Thinking back, I recalled how Dr. Cohen salivated after her, and I couldn’t get that creepy image out of my head. Either could the rest of my classmates.

  Jessica illustrated to the police how she was grabbed from behind, with a hood thrown over her head. Though much of the noises was muffled, she described a deep voice with a southern accent. He instructed her to remain still, or he would suffocate her. He dragged her behind a restaurant and pulled her shorts down. He then went about raping her again and again. Her sobbing during the attack began to anger her attacker; he repeatedly ordered her to stop. The more he demanded, the more she became despondent. Her sobs caused him to beat her again and again till she lost consciousness. Her naked body, strewn amongst the rubbish, was discovered by the overnight garbage trucks that serviced the restaurant. The news scorched the neighborhood.

  I’m no rat, but I loved Jessica, and I felt it was better suited if the police handled this. I went down to the precinct and told a detective how our chemistry teacher lusted after her, “Look, most of the male teachers have a thing for one girl or another, but this was plain creepy.” A few hours later, Dr. Cohen was removed from the suspect list; he was away in Europe for the summer vacation.

  My mind scoured the remaining list of suspects, and then it hit me like a ton of bricks; it had to be the janitor, Jon Keaton Lee. The school kept him on during the summer to paint and make general repairs. I saw him around at night; he always looked like he was up to no good.

  I returned to the same detective and told him. He appeared skeptical, “Wait a minute; a few hours ago, you were sure it was your chemistry teacher, now it’s the janitor? What kind of school do you go to?”

  “I’m telling you; it must be him. I can feel it.” I thought for another second, “Didn’t she say he had a southern accent?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, this guys from Kentucky.” The detective’s eyes widened.

  “Ok, son, thanks for the tip.”

  “Detective, do me a favor, don’t tell anyone it was me who told you.” No one in the neighborhood would ever forgive me for cooperating with the police; it just wasn’t in our DNA. We policed our own, and guys like Gallo would be judge, jury, and executioner before the bumbling cops could get a single warrant.

  The following day, the detectives found Lee holed up in his apartment. What they discovered shocked even a hardened cop. His single room had piles of newspaper nearly seven feet high, all teetering and ready to fall over one another. There were tunnels amongst the papers for Lee to move around in. In the bathroom, he had dead cats strung up, hanging by their necks in the shower. The odor overcame a few of the responders. The detective I spoke with had taken charge of the case. He hauled Lee in and grilled him at his desk for two hours.

  Lee then shocked the police, calling in William Kunstler, one of the most prominent criminal attorneys in the city. Lee made a habit of hoarding, and that included money, he was loaded!

  With Kunstler at his side, Lee became evasive and offered little in the way of an alibi. When the detective went to get Keaton coffee, Lee took those few moments to scour the detective’s desk. It didn’t take much searching for Keaton to find a piece of paper with my name and home phone number. Lee sat back in his chair and seethed with anger. He knew it was I who pointed the finger at him. My accusation alone would not be enough to hold him. But the police had their suspicions, and for now on, they would watch his every move as he watched mine.

  *****

  Vito and Sonny already had a booth at Lenny’s when I arrived. A round steel pan with only crumbs signaled that that one pizza had already been polished off, “Shit, couldn’t you wait for me?”

  Joey Boots, the daytime manager, brought over another bubbling pie. “Now that’s more like it.”

  The fluttering lights and boisterous racket of the Circus pinball machine in the back disrupted the quiet pizzeria as two excited kids, stood side-by-side. They were slamming their fists on the side of the machine as the snaps of the flippers and the dinging bells got the attention of Boots, “Oh! Take it easy! You two mamelukes are going to break the goddamn machine!”

  Sonny was ecstatic for me, “Man, oh man, can you imagine, one of ours! You’re going to be Columbo’s son-in-law, who's going to be better than you?” I didn’t bother to answer, I knew what he meant, but that’s not what I wanted for my life. That much I knew, but beyond boxing, there was a deep, dark void looming.

  Vito brought up more pressing matters, “Someone has to do something about that sick-fuck Lee.” Someone? We all knew who he meant. Vito reached for the hot pepper flakes and shook it all over the pizza. Sonny grabbed his hand, “Oh, what the fuck! Did you ever think to ask?”

  “Your sister’s ass!”

  Just then, an ominous voice came from the front door, “Your sister’s ass? Lookie what we got here; three tough guys.” I turned and found myself face to face with the distorted, raging mug of Louie Baldassari. “So, Marino, are you keeping that pussy warm for me?” Those vile words were like icy spears. My fists clenched in anger, Vito whispered to me, “Ant, don’t do it.” Another voice echoed from the door, “Yeah! Wait, Ant? What kind of name is Ant? Are you a fucking insect?” It was Jo-Jo Restelli, and he looked disjointed in all the right places.

  Louie grabbed a slice of a pizza off our table and put more hot pepper on it, “You guys eat like a couple of fags. Hey, tell me, do you suck each other off when you're bored?” He then turned to me, “Hey Marino, I hear from my ex that you have a little one.” Sonny grabbed my forearm, preventing me from standing, Louie was amused, “Oh let your little fag friend go, I don’t think he has the balls to do anything?” Vito, on the other hand, couldn’t keep quiet, “You know, you two are so full of shit, your fucking eyeballs are brown.” Jo-Jo snickered. Sure, he was a wiseguy, but he wasn’t acting like one. Although he didn’t smell of alcohol, there was something different this afternoon.

  Louie pressed further, “You know, the last time Gia sucked my cock, she swallowed…she loved every drop.” His vile words were too much; I jumped from the booth, but was met by a razor-sharp blade pressed against my throat! Louie hissed, “Go ahead tough guy, do something.” I glanced at Jo-Jo, who had taken a revolver from his pocket. Joey Boots had seen it all before, “Hey fellas, not in here.” Louie glanced over, “Shut the fuck up Boots, or you’ll be next!”

  At that moment, I half expected they would kill me. That had always been their reputation. Yet if I were going down, it would not be as a frightened lamb, “Louie, you never had a chance with Gia. You’re just a pathetic, little piece of shit.” My words hit a nerve; his shuddering madness made him press the knife, causing a small stream of blood to trickle down my neck.

  Just then, a silky, but ominous voice came from the front door, “Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem here?” Louie and Jo-Jo recognized the tone and dropped their weapons. It was none other than Calò Vizzini.

  Men who made crime their business knew well the dark aura that surrounded this unassuming man. Calò pointed to Restelli, “Can I have a word with you privately?” Restelli nodded to Vizzini, but knew well that Louie left to his own devices could still cause mayhem, “Louie, sit down over there,” motioning to a table on the other side of the pizzeria, “Don’t do or say anything till I get back.”

  The two men stood out on
the sidewalk, face to face, but Calò did all the talking. Ten minutes passed, the pizza sat and got cold; none of us had an appetite any longer. With Jo-Jo and Calò pow-wowing outside, passerby’s were frightened to enter, leaving Boots with little to do. Louie sat brooding alone; his insane, unwavering glare attempted to pierce all at our table. I knew now how crazy this guy was.

  Then the two returned, Calò pointed to me, “Antonino, come and see me tomorrow at the café.” Jo-Jo, on the other hand, appeared dismayed and motioned to his companion, “Louie, come on; let’s go.”

  Sonny couldn’t help himself; he flicked a dried-up piece of crust at him, “Bye-bye dickhead.” That caused Baldassari to lurch at our table, Restelli reined him in, “Louie, stop what the fuck you’re doing, and let’s get out of here. As the two left the pizzeria, Jo-Jo turned to Calò, “Thank you for your understanding.”

  Understanding? What power did this self-effacing man hold? Then my father’s words resonated, and I pondered what lie ahead? I needed to see Vizzini tomorrow, there was comfort within his fold, a compelling ally to help me navigate this minefield. But my father’s caveat still echoed. I would forgo his admonition and make a deal with this tranquil fellow who gave many dangerous men nightmares, but at least he was my demon.

  *****

  That evening, Gia and I snuggled together on a porch swing in her father’s backyard. It was a cool evening for August, the sky was clear. With both our heads tilted back, we gazed off into the heavens, “Ant, it’s amazing, look how many stars we can see tonight.” She glanced over and saw the cut under my chin. She gently touched it, “What happened?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Anthony, I know you by now. If you cut your chin while shaving, you would have told me.” Her cheek rubbed mine, “Now come on, baby, what happened?”

  I turned and upset the evening's serenity, “It was your damn ex-boyfriend.”

  She straightened up, “What? Did you two fight again?”

  “Gia, when I get my chance, I will teach him some manners, now enough said. It’s too beautiful a night to ruin it talking about that mutt.” She reached over and gently caressed my face. Life was too good, too perfect to be ruined by this lunatic. I acted as though it didn’t bother me, but it did. I needed to change the conversation, “Gia, tell me what makes you happy?”

  “You’re silly.”

  “No, I’m serious. What really makes you happy?” She thought quietly for a moment, “Love…a love that grows and changes as I do.’ She then got serious, “I don’t want to be tested; I want my love for you to be unquestioned, I want to know that I am secure. Do you know what I’m saying?” I looked into her eyes, “I think so.”

  “Ant, I don’t need material things, I know every girl says that, but I need security. I need to know that you will be together with me forever.” She then leaned back again and looked far off into the stars, “Do you think the God we know, the one who made all those stars, can guarantee that you will always be with me, Anthony?”

  “Gia, no matter what, I will be with you always.” I then pointed towards the brightest star in the sky, “Look there; that’s me; you can always find me there.”

  “Baby, I hope so, I need nothing else in the universe besides you by my side, living and loving each other forever…”

  Chapter 16

  The Darkside

  I was to meet Vizzini in an hour, so as I strolled down 86th Street. I passed by the golf store. There was a conga line of beach chairs outside with a herd of Gallo’s leg breakers all lying around, sunning themselves while the world passed by.

  It surprised me to see Bobby Gems, the bartender from the club, in their midst. He had a roll of bills he was counting. Suddenly Angelo came sauntering out of the store, a greasy sausage and pepper hero in hand; he struggled to roll his sleeves up so the oil dripping down his arm wouldn’t stain his expensive garb. Bobby took that wad of the bills, tightly folded it, and covertly slipped it to Angelo. Bobby looked to see that no one was watching and scampered off.

  Little interpretation was necessary, Gallo had his hooks in Gems. I felt terrible; Bobby Gems was a guy who had a lifetime of bad breaks to overcome. At an early age, he was parentless, leaving him to raise his two younger sisters on his own. He found salvation when he took a course in bartending, and within months he landed the job at Romeo and Juliet’s. It was a game-changer. Now, what had he done to put himself in such a precarious position?

  It turned my stomach. I wanted to turn and run in the opposite direction, but Angelo saw me, “Hey, it’s the kid! Come on over here, Danny’s inside, he’d love to see you.” I had no choice; I feigned a feeble smile and walked over. Angelo grabbed me in a bear hug as he patted me on the back. “It's good you finally came by, Danny was beginning to get annoyed.” I thought to myself; annoyed? Why?

  The store couldn’t have been over twenty-five feet deep. As far as golf equipment, it had a few of the gang's golf bags hanging around just in case they wanted to wander over to Dyker’s and play a few rounds. If an unknowing schnook wandered in and was looking to get fitted for a new club, he was more likely to get hit by one.

  In the back was a small, non-nondescript door, Angelo led the way, his greasy fat finger searching for a hidden buzzer next to it. He pushed the button, and like magic, the door opened. Behind was a much larger, bare room with two desks and a round table along with chairs. On a white marble sideboard was an espresso machine with stacks of cups all neatly arranged. Surrounding the coffee machine were platters of cold cuts, cookies, and cannoli, snacks for the dukes and lords of the neighborhood.

  Danny was sitting at the table, a newspaper in hand, his legs crossed while methodically stirring a piping hot espresso. He looked up and smiled, “Anthony, it's good you stopped by. I began to think you didn’t love me any longer.”

  “No, Mr. Gallo.”

  “Please, its’ Danny! When did we get so formal? What can we get you?”

  “Nothing, I’m good.” He motioned over to a guy sitting in the corner to make two fresh espressos. I sat next to him; his squinting eyes scrutinized me up and down; Gallo was a master when it came to detecting fear. “You know, that kid in Red Hook has a real hard-on for you. What happened? Did you steal his girlfriend?”

  “Steal? No, she was never his girlfriend to begin…” he cut me off in mid-sentence; the fact was he couldn’t care less what I had to say.

  “Fuck’em. Finders’ keepers.” A wicked smile crept across his face, he seemed pleased with himself, “You know we’re all proud of you. A neighborhood kid, one of ours, is going to be the next champion of the world! You know I did something for you.”

  I was hesitant to ask, “What was that?”

  “I put it on record; all of Brooklyn knows that you’re with me now!” He waited for some reaction; I knew better. He looked closer, “Do you understand what that means?” Although I didn’t want to acknowledge, I had to answer, “Well, not exactly.”

  “It means that you’re under my protection, and no one can touch you.”

  I needed to let Danny know I wasn’t an imbecile, “So what does that cost?” My words sent a jolt through his body, “Cost? Don’t insult me like that; I thought we were friends!” He looked incredulously over to Angelo, who was busy stuffing his face with another sandwich, “Angelo, maybe you were wrong about this kid?” Angelo just shrugged indifferently. Gallo then returned to his charades, “All I want is your hand in friendship,” he stretched his hand out, offering his. At that precise moment, I had the utter urge to leap out of the chair and run for my life, but I was trapped. I was in the den of the beast, and there was no escape. I hesitated, leaving his hand hanging for a few moments, causing an angered scowl on his face. I knew better, we shook, not in friendsh
ip, but to acknowledge to all that I was now, somehow, indebted to him. I knew with my fight coming up in February; this wasn’t a mere coincidence.

  *****

  How could two men be so different, Gallo was a pig who nauseated me, while I was attracted to the aura about Vizzini. He walked the streets so meekly that not a single head turned to take notice. But in our neighborhood, along 18th Avenue, he was a crowned prince to be revered.

  As I walked towards my rendezvous with Vizzini, I desperately needed to wash; I felt a stain on my hands from Gallo.

  I entered Calò’s unassuming café. The walls were regally adorned with dark wood; on one side was a small bar that held only a few bottles of alcohol. The bartender was hidden by an enormous, gleaming copper espresso machine crowned by a soaring eagle. Completing the image were neatly stacked espresso cups and saucers at the ready.

  In the rear of the café, hidden from view, alone, was Calò. He slowly stirred an espresso as the oily sounds of Carlo Buti resonated. I hesitated for a moment; he motioned for me to join him. His hand reached out and gently touched the side of my face, “How are you, my friend? The things I witnessed yesterday trouble me.”

  His words were measured but appeared to be genuine with little more than my well-being behind them. Was this his cloak? A devilish approach of drawing me in? In my beloved neighborhood, caution was paramount; perilous webs were spun and hidden in every nook and cranny. I looked deeply into his nefarious eyes, seeking a sign, even the most subtle of clues. Just then, the bartender came over and whispered in Vizzini’s ear, “Don Vizzini, c'è un'importante telefonata per te da Palermo.”

  “Antonino, I need to take this call, I’ll be back shortly.” He stopped, “I have something important to tell you.”