Say Goodbye and Goodnight

by David Ruggerio

  For the first time in this borough of Kings, a theatre full of its most jaded youth sat quietly and watched the entire movie without incident. By the time the film ended, it had become a religious experience for us all. It validated our existence and brought who we were to the forefront of the country, if not the world!

  That night most of Bensonhurst was riding around in their cars, tops down, with the Bee Gees blasting and making their way to one of the multitudes of discos in the borough to show their moves off. Although we all had known it for our entire lives, now the rest of the world also understood that Brooklyn was the center of the universe!

  Chapter 17

  Insanity

  With his engagement to Angie and his indoctrination into the police department, Sal morphed into a complete person. He became surprisingly outgoing and personable; at times, you might even say charming. He started socializing with other cops, including Peter Boyle, the Irishman who was always mooching slices. They decided to hang out after work at Skinflints, a popular local bar on 4th Avenue. After burgers and a few beers, they both loosened up. “Hey Sal, I have a few dollars, what do you think, should I bet on your brother?”

  Half-serious, Sal inquired, “Pete, I thought gambling was forbidden?”

  “Hahaha, I have a bookie who works for that guinea gangster, you know that lowlife, Danny Gallo.” There was no way Sal would let that slide, “Hey Pete, never use that word guinea again.” Peter knew he crossed a line, he saw the seriousness in my brother’s expression, “I’m sorry, pal, that was wrong of me.” Sal still made a point, “Let me ask you a question if Gallo was Irish, would he still be a low-life?” Boyle contemplated his response, “You know if he was Irish...He’d be a cop!” They both raised their glasses; Sal had to give that one to him; they both laughed any animosity off. Boyle ordered more beers and a few shots of Jägermeister. This put them both over the top, Sal thought about Boyle betting money on his younger brother, “Hey you Irish hoodlum,” Boyle struggled to focus his bloodshot, tired eyes, “If you had a few extra dollars, you should bet every penny on my brother, it’s a sure thing. In fact, mortgage your house and put that down too!”

  “I will do just that.” Boyle threw back another shot of Jägermeister and thought deeply about Anthony, and in a sudden moment of equilibrium, “You know, the night of that girl’s rape, I saw your brother with her.”

  Sal’s ire was raised, “Are you accusing my brother?”

  “No-no-no, not at all. I saw Anthony with that girl Carla, but then your brother left. Come to think of it, I then saw her get in the car with that greasy no-good lawyer.”

  “Greasy lawyer? What greasy lawyer are we speaking of?” Sal leaned back and almost fell off the stool, “I thought they were all greasy?”

  “The one that’s always hanging around Romeo and Juliet’s, you know, that pedophile fuck.” Sal thought for a second or two as they both threw back another shot, “Oh, I know who you’re thinking of; his name is Finkleman.” Boyle pointed crookedly in Sal’s face, “Yes! That’s him!” He tried to focus his thoughts, “I saw her get into the car with him, and the two began to get it on.” Sal was drunk, but not drunk enough to realize the earth-shattering ramifications.

  *****

  “Wow, I never saw you so drunk before.” Our mother dropped a bowl of her steaming apple and cinnamon oatmeal under Sal’s nose, his angered stomach retorted, “Ugh, Ma, I can’t eat right now.”

  I grabbed it away before he changed his mind. “So, who were you hanging out with?”

  “Peter Boyle.”

  “Oh…Petey, the Moocher. You better watch out for that guy.”

  Sal quipped, “Yeah, you say that, but he was watching out for you a few weeks ago.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The night Carla was raped, he saw her leave you and get in the car with Finkleman.”

  “What? Finkleman?” I was stupefied, “Are you sure? She never mentioned that to anyone.”

  “Maybe not, but that night, as she carried on for all to hear; why didn’t she say anything about the lawyer?”

  I sat speechless, trying to make sense of the bomb that just landed on my head. I put that bit of information in the back of my mind, and for now, I would not mention it to anyone. Yet it ate away at me, why would she leave that detail out? I then thought back to the pizzeria, when Finkleman walked up out of nowhere and said Carla had promised him something. She was out of sorts when he said that. Something stunk about the entire situation.

  *****

  It had been a scorcher of a day, and as I stumbled down the stairs of the gym, I didn’t notice the car that was awaiting me. Two plainclothes detectives got out and rushed over, “Anthony Marino? We have a few questions to ask you. Come with us.”

  They took me to the detective’s squad on the second floor of the 62nd precinct. I was sure this concerned Jon Keaton Lee. They placed a paper cup filled with piss-warm water in front of me; the room was so damn hot, rivers of sweat cascaded down my back. A minute or two later, the Irish cop, Boyle, came into the room and whispered something to one of the detectives. Confusion filled my mind, was this about Carla? The older of the two detectives pulled a chair close and leaned over, “Son, do you know why we brought you in?” That question caused a sudden wave of desperation. I wanted to run as fast as I could, “Did anyone tell my brother I was here?”

  “Don’t worry, your brother knows. Now, do you know why you’re sitting here?”

  I wouldn’t give them an inch of satisfaction, “Not a clue.”

  They pulled out a half a dozen large, glossy photos and spread them out in front of me. They were of the gruesome murder scene of Calò Vizzini; the sight of the bloodied remains of my friend made me nauseous. I sat mute. The other detective stood over me, “Marino, we have witnesses who saw you leaving the café just after the murder occurred.”

  I looked up at him, “they're lying. I wasn’t there.”

  “Look, Anthony, this pow-wow here is for your protection. Vizzini was the most powerful Sicilian mob boss in this country. The people who ordered his murder will know as we do, that you witnessed it. How long do you think it’ll be before they come knocking?” The sudden reality frightened me to death. My mind wandered to Gia and my family; would they harm them also? This fear was inescapable. It was the fear of the prey. What were my choices? Go to Gallo? Or trust in Columbo? Should I chance to tell the truth to the cops? These secrets were deadly, and the facts would open the door to many more questions. To be truthful would be treasonous in this kingdom of treachery and deceit.

  My brother rescued me, and as he drove me home, he peppered me with questions, “Ant, what the hell is going on? Where you really in the café when Vizzini was gunned down?” I couldn’t speak, my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth, I just nodded. Sal’s look of apprehension and concern said it all. I was in a perilous realm.

  *****

  Carla did a great job ruining my relationship with Vito. We had been best friends since the second grade. I ran into Sonny at the candy store; he was in the back, looking at the porno magazines. “Hey, Ant, how’s everything?”

  “You tell me, Sonny.”

  “I know, I know…you don’t have to remind me. That Vito’s been nuts since he started in with that putana. She got him so that he doesn’t know if he’s coming or going?” He leaned close to me and whispered, “Are you ready for this? She’s pregnant, but don’t tell anyone.”

  The news floored me; I felt like I got hit with a left hook. For a moment, I was speechless. “Is Vito happy about it?”

  “Happy? Who knows with that sick maniac? I will tell you this; he seems uptight about everything. Come to think of it, since he got into it
with you; he’s been climbing the damn walls.”

  “Do me a favor, Sonny; see if he wants to get together, but mind you, only the three of us. No Carla! Do you understand? Just the way it always has been. I want to talk to him face to face and try and straighten everything out.”

  Sonny smiled, “Thank God, I think that would be the best thing. I can’t deal with his shit anymore. He’s been nuts without you. You know, come to think of it, fuck Carla, he should be going out with you!”

  *****

  It didn’t take more than a few hours for the meeting of the minds to be scheduled. The following afternoon we all met up at the back booth at Lenny’s. This table was behind the bathrooms, entirely out of sight. Sonny and Vito arrived first. Both huddled over and whispered to each other. The moment I walked up, Vito didn’t hesitate; he jumped up and hugged me. Kissing me on the cheek, he whispered into my ear, “I’m sorry bro; it should never have gotten to this!” He was always like a brother to me, “Vito, I’m sorry too!”

  Just then, Jimmy Boots brought over a fresh pie, “It’s good to see that you two homos kissed and made up.” The three of us answered in unison, “Fuck you Boots!”

  It was so comforting to see Sonny grabbing the hot pepper and cheese and sprinkling it all over the pie. A warm, fuzzy sense of normalcy had resumed. We all grabbed a slice; it didn’t matter how many times we had eaten it before, the moment that hot cheese and tomato goodness hit our palates, it was like dying and going to heaven. With the aid of such a culinary masterpiece, warm mozzarella replaced chilled animosity!

  Vito continued, “Ant, I got to tell ya, the club is not the same without you.”

  “I just thought it was good for me to stay away for a while.”

  “Good thing, that piece of shit Louie is parked there every Friday and Saturday night looking for you. He sits on the same stool, peering across the dance floor. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s grown roots by now.”

  I had to interject, “I guess he doesn’t give a shit what Gallo or Terranova have to say.”

  Vito shook his head, “No, that fuck doesn’t care for nobody. And now that Vizzini is gone, God rest his soul, Louie thinks he’s free and clear to do whatever he pleases.” He thought for another moment, “In fact, he was at White Castle last night…hovering over the hamburgers like the sentinel of doom!”

  The mere name of the burger joint raised the hackles on the back of my neck. I remained mute; my mind was wildly contemplating the image of Carla and Finkleman in the backseat, her hands and mouth going who knows where? If only Vito knew? But maybe he did? Just then, Carla arrived unexpectedly!

  Vito instantly changed; he jumped up, “Hey Sonny, go to the other side with Ant!” He patted on the bench, “Carla, slide your pretty little ass over here with me.” Vito’s rant began to bubble-up; he was changing back to the monster he had been for the past week. I turned towards Sonny; “this was only supposed to be the three of us,” all he could do was shrug.

  Carla’s hatred towards me was on full display, “So if it’s not Anthony Marino, the piece of shit who left me high and dry when it mattered most.” I had to bite my tongue, I couldn’t divulge what Boyle had conveyed, so I tried to take the high road, “Wow Carla, it’s great to see you too.”

  She dug her talons in, “Have you grown any balls yet?” I couldn’t believe Vito would sit there and not try to rein in his girlfriend, “You know quite well where my balls are, Carla.”

  She dug even deeper, “Balls? They’re more like marbles.” Sonny wouldn’t stay quiet, “Come on, Carla, don’t go there.” That got Vito started, “Hey Sonny, don’t speak to my girlfriend like that.”

  “But Vito, not for nothing, this was supposed to be just the three of us.” Carla pushed further, “No, two and a half. Ant’s not a real man.”

  Enough already, the blood rushed to my head, and I blurted out, “and I suppose that Finkleman is more of a man.” Boots who was coming over with drinks halted dead in his tracks, “Oh boy!”

  Vito became enraged, “Finkleman? What the fuck does this have to do with Finkleman?”

  Carla became silent and cowered in her boyfriend’s strong embrace. I let it slip out, and now with the genie out of the bottle, I couldn’t put it back in, “Why don’t you tell us, Carla?” Anger was her best line of defense. She sat up straight, her hands trembled, with menacing finger-pointing only inches from my face, Carla bellowed, “I don’t know what the fuck he is talking about.”

  Jealousy kicked in, Vito was desperate to know more, “Ant, what are you talking about?”

  “Well, there’s no easy way of saying this.” All eyes and ears, including Boots, were on me, “Someone saw Carla getting into a car with Finkleman that night after she left me in the parking lot of White Castle.”

  Carla became a wild animal, “Who? You’re a lying sack of shit!” Boots dropped the drinks at a table behind us and returned to the safety of his pizza counter. Vito, on the other hand, was desperate to know more; the antagonism within him was boiling over, “I want to know who saw her?”

  At that moment, Carla frantically tried to avert her boyfriend from hearing the truth. She struggled to shove Vito out of the booth, “I don’t want to hear his lies any longer; Vito, let’s go!” But Vito wasn’t budging; he knew deep down that I wouldn’t lie to him, “Ant, please, who saw her?”

  “It was Boyle, the cop. He saw her cross the parking lot after I left and got into Finkleman’s car.”

  Vito’s incredulous look unnerved her, Carla blurted out, “If you’re going to believe these lies, then I’m leaving!” She pushed Vito aside, “I hope you have fun with your two homo friends.” She stormed off in a huff. Vito let her go; he got back in the booth and wanted to know more. “Ant, are you sure?”

  “Look, he told my brother he saw her and Finkleman in the car together. He was on duty that night; he couldn’t sit around, he got a call and drove off. But to be honest with you, Vito, she’s gone around and questioned not only my courage but why I left her alone that night.” I conveniently left out the part that Carla and I were intimate; I hoped that Boyle would do the same. Yet I needed to remind Vito of one fact, “Let’s not forget that you and Sonny were in that White Castle that night too.”

  “Yeah, but we left when she went into the parking lot with you.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Vito, but why wouldn’t she mention Finkleman?”

  Vito appeared dazed. I pressed further, “This is serious shit, two guys were beaten to death over this, and Carla’s father along with Albert Columbo’s life and liberty were put in jeopardy.”

  Vito couldn’t seem able to come to terms; it was all too much for him, “I’m going to strangle this bitch.”

  Sonny interjected, “Maybe the better thing to do is to ask Finkleman.” Vito’s eyes cleared, “Yeah! That’s it! Let’s go over to his office.” I agreed with them both there was no better time than the present.

  *****

  Finkleman’s office was on the second floor over a knish joint on the corner of Flatbush Avenue and Kings Highway. Painted on the door in fine gold lettering was;

  Finkleman and Finkleman

  Attorneys at Law

  In reality, there was only one Finkleman. He thought people would be impressed if they concluded it was a family affair. As we barged through the glass doors, a very plump looking young girl who acted as both Ari’s receptionist, and drug courier (along with being a side piece of ass) (when he couldn’t find anything else), halted us in our tracks, “Mr. Finkleman is busy right now. Do you have an appointment?” Vito was too angry to mess around; as she tried to bar the door, he pushed past her, “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.”

 
She panicked, “I’m going to call the police!”

  Vito raged, “Police? Why don’t you go downstairs and stick a knish up your ass!” He then turned back to her, “and don’t forget the mustard!”

  As we barged into his office, Finkleman was alone. Hunched over his desk, he had a residue of the white powder he just snorted that made a perfect mustache. Without mincing words, Vito grabbed him by the collar, “So Finkleman, have you been boning my girlfriend?”

  Even through a haze of cocaine and who knows what other drugs, Ari knew what Vito was referring to, “Your girlfriend? My friend, you got it all wrong. Carla and I have been sleeping together for months!” Then Finkelman drove the dagger deeper, “Come to think of it; it’s almost a year!”

  Vito couldn’t handle the imaginary scene bouncing around his head. His girlfriend on all fours, her breast swinging back and forth like giant pendulums as Finkleman rammed her from behind. Vito went wild, “I’ll fucken kill you!”

  Sonny and I grabbed Vito and forced him down to the ground to stop him from pummeling Ari. Finkleman then delivered the coup de grâce, “I guess I might as well tell you guys; she’s carrying our baby!” That bit of news shook the three of us to the core. Bewildered, I asked, “Ari, it’s your baby?”

  Vito fumed, “Bullshit, you’re a lying fuck!” Yet the blade had hit its mark. Vito struggled to keep from harming Finkleman. His reaction was a cocktail of disgust, jealousy, sadness, but ultimately, deep hurt. It was the type of pain that provoked people to do ungodly things. Vito was wounded, “Let me up; I just want to get the fuck out of here.” The truth was too much to bear. He pulled away from our grasp and stormed out alone, Sonny and I stayed behind.