Evan Hunter - Every Little Crook and Nanny

Benny shrugged. It was a nice enough card, well written and informative. Aside from Ganooch’s promise to see Nanny at the end of the month (by which time little Lewis would most certainly have come out of his garbage can or wherever it was he had hidden), Benny could see nothing in it that might have so obviously upset her. Upset she was, no question about it. She stood leaning limply against the entrance door, trembling, one hand to her mouth, her eyes wide in fright. Benny looked at the last envelope in his hand. It was a strange envelope to be finding in the morning mail, primarily because there was neither a stamp nor an address on it. He lifted the flap, pulled out a sheet of writing paper, unfolded it, and read the words pasted to it:

“Oh boy,” Benny said.

On a side street off a piazza in Naples, Carmine Ganucci sat at an outdoor table with two men who were trying to explain a rather complicated business deal to him. One of the men was named Giuseppe Ladruncolo, and the other was named Massimo Truffatore. Ladruncolo was perhaps sixty-five years old, and he sported a handlebar mustache which he swept upwards with the back of his hand each time he took a sip of red wine. He was wearing a pinstripe suit and a white shirt without a tie. Truffatore was more elegantly dressed. He was a man in his forties, Ladruncolo’s nephew on his mother’s side, in fact, and he considered himself one of the sportiest dressers in Naples if not the entire south of Italy. (He had never been to Sicily.) Truffatore was wearing a dark brown sharkskin suit, a pale green shirt, a yellow tie, yellow socks with green clocks, and brown and white shoes. He had dark brown eyes and black hair, as had his uncle. But he was clean-shaven and his manners were meticulous; he used only his thumb and forefinger each time he lifted his wineglass to his lips.

“I’m not sure I understand the deal,” Ganucci said. He did not like the idea of having had to come into Naples when he was supposed to be on vacation. He did not much like Ladruncolo or Truffatore, but he detested Naples. His father had been born in Naples and had had the good sense to get out of here at the age of fourteen. Ladruncolo and Truffatore had been deported from America for various little activities, oh, many years back, but that did not mean they had to choose to live in Naples when there were so many beautiful cities in Italy. To Ganucci’s mind, this qualified them as morons. Moreover, they smelled bad.

“The deal is simple,” Truffatore said.

“Yes, so explain it,” Ganucci said.

“We have ten thousand six hundred and sixty-five silver-plated medallions,” Truffatore said. “Each weighing about three-eighths of an ounce.”

“Fine,” Ganucci said. “So what?”

“With a nice picture of the Virgin Mary stamped on each medallion, with her shawl done in blue enamel,” Truffatore said.

“Very nice,” Ganucci said.

“And we wish to ship these ten thousand six hundred and sixty-five medallions to the New York Novelty & Souvenir Company on Broadway and Forty-seventh Street.”

“So ship them,” Ganucci said. “There’s nothing illegal about shipping silver-plated medallions to a novelty company. Moreover, the duty on such crap is probably very small. It’s an entirely legal operation, so what are you wasting my time?”

“The medallions are gold,” Ladruncolo said, lowering his voice.

“You said they were silver-plated.”

“They are silver-plated, but underneath the silver plate is gold.”

“That is a horse of another color,” Ganucci said. “How much are these ten thousand six hundred and sixty-five medallions worth?”

“The going rate for gold is thirty-five dollars an ounce,” Truffatore said. “Of course, we would have to discount this particular gold.”

“Of course,” Ganucci said. “How much are the medallions worth, after they’ve been discounted?”

“We are figuring that for the four thousand ounces...”

“Yes, yes,” Ganucci said impatiently.

“Forty-nine million six hundred thousand lira, give or take.”

“In American,” Ganucci said. “Give or take.”

“Eighty thousand dollars.”

“Where’d you get this particular gold?” Ganucci asked.

“From the Banco di Napoli a month ago. We went there after twelve thousand dollars in cash, which we also got.” Truffatore shrugged. “But there were ten gold bars laying around on the floor of the vault; so we picked those up, too, before we left.”

“And melted them down,” Ladruncolo said.

“And had the medallions cast,” Truffatore said. “And now we want to send them to New York in payment.”

“For what?”

“For a shipment of paste pearls that the New York Novelty & Souvenir Company ordered for us from Japan.”

“That’s a lot of money for a shipment of paste pearls.”

“Inside the paste pearls, there is three and a half kilos of pure heroin which we plan to ship here and there after we bust them open.”

“Where are the pearls now?”

“They will be arriving in Naples this Saturday. On a ship from Tokyo.”

“So then,” Ganucci said, “if I understand the deal correctly, you wish to ship some silver-plated medallions of the Virgin Mary inside of which...”

“With nice blue enameled shawls, don’t forget,” Truffatore said.

“... inside of which is eighty thousand dollars in melted-down gold bullion you withdrew from the Banco di Napoli, in payment for a shipment of paste pearls which are arriving Saturday on a ship from Tokyo, inside of which is three and a half kilos of pure heroin.”

“That’s the picture,” Ladruncolo said.

“What do you want from me?” Ganucci said.

“We wish to lay this off on you.”

“How?”

“The New York Novelty & Souvenir Company is a little short of capital at the moment and can’t wait for our consignment of medallions to get there. They’re willing to discount the pearls, but they want cold cash or they won’t release the shipment when it gets here.”

“How much cash?”

“Sixty-two thousand dollars.”

“That’s a lot of money,” Ganucci said.

“Yes, but in return for that, we’ll send the shipment of Virgin Mary medallions to you, instead of the New York Novelty & Souvenir Company. You invest sixty-two, and when the medallions arrive in New York, you’ll get back eighty. That’s even better than loan sharking.”

“No, it isn’t,” Ganucci said. “What’s today?”

“Wednesday.”

“And you need sixty-two by Saturday?”

“You could raise that in a minute if you had to.”

“I could raise it in a minute if I was in New York.”

“Gold is very easy to dispose of,” Truffatore said. “Wash off the silver plate, melt the stuff down, and you get rid of it anyplace in the country. There ain’t a soul in the world could tell it was hot.”

“That’s true,” Ganucci said.

“And your profit is eighteen thousand dollars.”

“True,” Ganucci said. “The deal is maybe all right. It’s raising the money that bothers me. I’m not right on the scene, you know. I’m here in Italy.”

“Al Capone used to run things from Alcatraz.”

“There are not many men like Al Capone left,” Ganucci said, and lowered his eyes in respect.