Stephen Solomita - A Piece of the Action

Joe Faci shook his head and Pat Cohan suddenly felt much better. Now it was finally being spelled out. He was completely alone.

“Unless,” Faci said, his face brightening, “he’s askin’ us to kill Stanley. Is that what ya want, Pat? Ya want we should knock Stanley off? And maybe Sal Patero, too?” He paused for a response, but got none. “Because if somethin’ happens to Stanley, if he should like disappear without a trace, all that shit ya say he’s got is gonna fall on your head. I mean what ya got here is a situation where ya can’t win for losin’.”

Pat Cohan got off the stool. He straightened his tie, then turned to Carmine. “Well, boyo, you’ve made yourself plain. And being as you’re in the clear, I can’t say as I blame you. Would I go out on a limb for Carmine Stettecase? Probably not. But here’s something to put between the meatballs in your dago brain. Just suppose that I do survive. Suppose that a month from now I’m still running the show in southern Manhattan. Do ya think, boyo, that I might be lookin’ to get even? To get even with you ?”

Carmine sighed loudly, spreading his arms. “Pat, whatta ya want us to do?”

“I want you to kill the prick.” Now it was out in the open. “After that, it’s my word against Sal Patero’s.”

Pat Cohan started to walk out, but Carmine stopped him. “All right, ya want that Stanley should disappear. Maybe we could accommodate ya, but it ain’t like turnin’ off the radio. First, we gotta get permission. Then we gotta import the talent. Do ya think ya could hold out for a couple of days?”

“How many days is a ‘couple’?”

“A week, maybe.”

“Too long. And what happens if you don’t get permission?”

“Look, Pat, I ain’t gonna do it myself.” Carmine was angry for the first time. “If that’s what ya want, I’ll loan you a cold piece and you could put it behind Stanley’s ear and personally blow his fuckin’ brains out.”

Cohan, halfway to the door, turned to face the two men at the bar. “No, it has to be handled by a professional. But a week is too long. It’ll be over in a week.”

Joe Faci’s face brightened. “I just thought of a happy ending. Tell me what ya think of this: Stanley finds Jake; Jake kills Stanley; Jake gets the chair; everybody lives happily ever after. Cause I’ll tell ya one thing, Pat. This fuckin’ Jew is as tough as they come. What me and Steppy done is take him too light. It could be that Stanley’ll make the same mistake. I mean who would’a figured a Jew could be that tough?”

Dominick Favara waited until Pat Cohan pulled out of the parking lot before leaving the office to join his partner. Carmine, without asking, went behind the bar and poured Dominick a glass of red wine.

“Ya heard?” Carmine asked.

“Yeah, I heard.”

“Whatta ya think?”

“I think cops are fairies. What they oughta do is a little hard time. That’d toughen ’em up.”

“I don’t know about that,” Carmine said. “There’s always Stanley.”

The two men looked at each other and grinned.

“ Leave Stanley alone ,” they shouted in unison.

“I don’t get it,” Faci said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Favara responded. “Let’s worry about Santo Silesi instead. Santo’s real, if ya take my meaning.”

“I been tryin’ to think of somethin’ all night,” Faci said. “But I keep comin’ up blank. Santo wants to revenge his uncle. I don’t see no way to stop him.”

“He ain’t Sicilian,” Carmine grunted. “What does he know about revenge?”

“That’s the whole point, Carmine. He ain’t Sicilian. Nobody’s gonna give him a job. Uncle Steppy was his only hope in life. His ticket to the big time. Now, he’s got nothin’.”

Dominick Favara handed his empty glass to Carmine. “Do that again.” He waited until his glass was full, then took a sip before speaking. “Santo Silesi’s got nothin’ on us. Ditto for the Jew. Let ’em kill each other off. It ain’t our business. What we gotta do is prepare in case the cops put the heat on. Now, I got an idea for the dope business. The way the bulls make themselves look good is by sweepin’ up the guys on the street, right? I’m talkin’ about the junkies and the dealers. Now, ask yaself why we gotta put Italian kids on streetcorners where the cops can get to ’em when there’s a thousand spics out there who’d suck our dicks for a chance to take the risk. Steppy did a smart thing when he hired them Jews. It didn’t work out, but it was a smart thing. What we gotta do is find the meanest street gang in the projects on Avenue D and teach ’em how to make money. Maybe our profits’ll go down at first, but if things work out the way I think, we could move on every project in the city.”

Favara raised his glass to Joe Faci. “Here’s to a healthy vacation, Joe. You’ll be home in six months. I guarantee it.” He turned to Carmine. “And here’s to the future, Carmine. As the nuns used to say: ‘The Lord works in mysterious ways.’ ”

January 22

“It was pretty amazing, Sarge,” Moodrow said as he filled Allen Epstein’s mug with steaming coffee. “I come walking down the hall, thinkin’ about what I’m gonna do if the uniform gives me any trouble, when I see this old cop sleeping in a chair outside O’Malley’s door. I swear, Sarge, he looks like he’s been dead for twenty years, like somebody unwrapped the mummy and dressed him in a blue uniform. I don’t know how these guys hang on, but this one’s much too old to stay awake at night. So what I do is kick the chair out from under him, jab my shield in his face and start screaming about how he’s endangering the life of a witness and I’m gonna have his pension for a midnight snack. By the time I finish, he’s ready to polish my shoes with his tongue. He doesn’t even ask for my name. Meanwhile, O’Malley turns out to be sharp as a tack. The first thing he wants to know is why he’s being held prisoner.

“ ‘The filthy Brits have been abusing us for a thousand years. Tell me, now, copper, could it be I’ve come all the way to America only to arrive in Belfast? Do ya think maybe the captain had a wee bit of a nip and sailed himself a great circle back to Ireland?’

“What happened was the suits gave him a choice: sit in his apartment or be held as a material witness in the West Street jail.”

Epstein grunted. “They wanted him where they could find him.”

“Which makes sense from a police point of view, because O’Malley, in addition to being a witness to murder, also happens to be in this country illegally. According to him, the British are trying to nail him for a series of bombings and shootings in Belfast. I got his confidence by telling him about Pat Cohan and Steppy Accacio before I showed him Jake’s mug shot.”

“What’d he say?”

“He said, ‘Do ya know of the troubles in Ireland, laddie? Do ya know the history of the poor unfortunates in that sad land? Do ya know how the sons and daughters of old Ireland have been driven to awful deeds in the name of freedom?’ ”

“You’ve got the accent down pat, Stanley, but does it have to be word for word?”

Moodrow stirred a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee. He was feeling too good to take offense. One of the latents found in O’Neill’s office had matched Jake Leibowitz’s left index finger. Add that to O’Malley’s signed statement placing Jake in the hallway just after the O’Neill murders and it added up to a search warrant for Leibowitz’s last known address, his mother’s apartment, and an arrest warrant for Jake himself.