Robert Tanenbaum - Act of Revenge

“Was she giving it to Eddie Cat?”

Scarpi let out a surprised snorting laugh. “Oh, there’s a fucking theory.”

“What, the Cat wouldn’t have done it?”

“Eddie? Eddie would fuck a Froot Loop rolling down Broadway. But he’d have to be crazy to jump Vivian B. If Sally didn’t whack him, the don would. You know how that shit works, Guma.”

Guma smiled. “I rest my case.”

For an instant Scarpi’s eyes widened and his jaw actually dropped, but then he grinned slyly and shook his head. Laughing, he said, “Eh, Raymond, you old fucker, you almost had me there. Uh-uh, nah, no way, man. No way, if that was what it was.”

“Why not?”

“Because if it was that, it wouldn’t’ve been a couple in the head in a car. It would’ve been down by Sheepshead, out in an ice house, and Sally would’ve used a knife, and it would’ve lasted like three days. You know Sally.”

“Yeah, I do, and that’s why I thought, when this Chinaman came forward, this was like an insult to Eddie Cat; I mean, like they didn’t even think he was worth getting whacked by a white man.”

“Oh, yeah, well let me tell you about that chink fuck,” Scarpi snarled. “No fuckin’ way did Joey P. hire him to whack Eddie. The fucker’s lying through his teeth.”

“Gino, you hide under Joey’s bed? Think about it. But forget that side of it for a second: the fact is you, personally, knew the guy, right? Because he named you specifically. I mean, what’d he do, pick your name out of the air? He read it in the Mob directory?”

“Oh, shit, yeah, I knew him. I even brung him up to Joe’s place a couple times.”

“What for?”

Scarpi dropped his eyes. “You know, like for business.”

“Gino, what did we say?” said Guma, and pinched his lips together. “Off the record. Since when do you associate with those guys?”

Scarpi let out a bitter laugh. “Fuck, man, the way things’re going, those’re the only guys that’ll be left. We’re lucky we got four streets left downtown. No, this guy, Willie the Chink, he had contacts over the other side. You know, for product.”

“Heroin.”

“Yeah, and other stuff. And he could move cash, clean it up. Hey, what do I know about that shit? But Joe was like impressed. He treated the chink with respect.”

“Uh-huh. So, Gino, if Willie’s blowing smoke, who do you think whacked Eddie Cat?”

“Me? Fuck, Guma, I don’t get paid to think shit like that. Like they say, it’s not in my fuckin’ job description. I tell you what, though: you find out who, you let me know.”

Guma stood up, put his jacket back on, and collected his pocket contents from the bed. He smiled and said, “Believe me, Gino, when we find out, you’ll be among the first to know.”

A worried look crossed Scarpi’s face as he said, “Yeah, but, Guma? Seriously, you think you can do me some good? I mean, I can take a jolt upstate but not cripped up like this.”

Guma leaned over and patted Scarpi on the knee. “Hey, paisan , you know I’ll do what I can do.” He winked. “The fix is in.”

“That’s quite a story, Goom,” said Karp later that afternoon when Guma had concluded the tale of his hospital visit. “What’s your take?”

They were in Karp’s office, Guma on the couch, Roland Hrcany on a side chair tilted precariously back against the wall, Karp in the big swivel chair behind the desk.

“What’s my take? You’re gonna laugh, but I think the mutt was leveling with me.”

Hrcany did laugh, forced, hooting, unpleasant and overlong. “You’re losing it, Goom. Too much time with the little birdies and fishies on the TV. You really expected the little fuckhead to tell you the truth ?”

“Well, yeah, Roland, as a matter of fact. I realize he’s just Mafia scum, but I made a living for years out of knowing when these guys are straight and when they’re not, and he wasn’t lying. Why should he? You honestly think he thought I was being cute? That I would double-cross him to make a case?”

Roland sniffed and picked up Karp’s precious Mickey Mantle baseball. He tossed it up and caught it one-handed. “Okay, say you’re right. Where does that put us? If Willie boy is lying, then why? What’s in it for him?”

They thought. After some moments, Karp ventured, “He’s moving smack, and it must be major weight if he’s dealing directly with Joe P. He lied about being a dealer for the Bollanos. In fact, he’s a supplier and a money launderer. And, let’s say he rips them off on some delivery and the boys come after him and he panics and decides to go for protection. He figures that ratting out Joe P. for the Catalano hit. . ah, shit, that doesn’t work.”

“Yeah, ’cause Gino would’ve mentioned that,” said Roland, “and also, your point earlier, he’s a chink. He doesn’t really need protection. A ticket out of town and he’s history as far as the Mob is concerned.”

“Especially since he may not even be Willie Lie,” said Karp. Then he told them what V.T. had told him about the ID from Hong Kong and the triad connection, to the accompaniment of muttered cursing and startled exclamations from the two other men.

“A fucking egg roll,” was Guma’s summation. “Looks simple on the outside, but who the fuck knows what’s in it.”

Gloomy silence for minutes thereafter, into which Karp put, “Okay, we could speculate all day and all night. What have we actually got?” He ticked the points off on his long fingers. “One, Lie’s uncorroborated story about Pigetti. Two, the fact that someone or something is knocking off the big guns of the Bollano family. Three, Eddie Cat was killed in such a manner as to give Joe P. and his whole crew an alibi. Four, Little Sally’s wife left him for a woman’s shelter shortly after Eddie got killed. Five, the uncorroborated testimony comes from a Chinese gangster with possible triad connections who comes in voluntarily, asks for me personally, volunteers to be a grand jury witness, knows all about transactional immunity, and bolts when he doesn’t get it. Okay, six: Willie Lie is for all intents and purposes nobody. He seems to have no money and no drugs we’ve been able to find. Have I left anything out?”

Roland said, “Yeah, Tommy Colombo.”

“What do you mean? What’s he got to do with anything?”

“He’s got Lie. He’s offered him what he wants on the federal side, but he’d love for us to play along, and nail both Joey and the Sals on murder charges. He’ll keep the pressure up on Jack: why isn’t the D.A. letting this little schmo skate in order to get these vicious kingpin killers? And if we put him in front of a grand jury without cutting him the deal he wants, he’ll either clam or perjure himself-and that means that the only way we can hang on to him is on a pissant contempt or perjury charge, which will make Jack look like a prize ass, he’s gumming up the crusade against the big bad Mob. Believe me, Butch, Jack’s ready to roll on this, give the Chinaman his blind deal, anything to make the murder case against Pigetti. If Lie gets that, he’ll give us the shooter, maybe the gun, the details, corroboration up the ass, the whole nine yards. So if that happens, all your points become moot. Joe P. goes down for the hit, case closed.”

“That can’t happen,” said Karp. “Roland, I can feel it: there’s an intelligence behind this, behind Willie, and it’s playing all of us, you, me, the Bollanos, Colombo. Something’s going on here that’s bigger than putting one wise guy in jail for shooting another wise guy. Goom, if Pigetti and Lie were together on the hit like Lie says, would Scarpi necessarily know about it? I mean, could Pigetti keep it secret from the Bollano guys?”