Jack Higgins - Luciano’s Luck

‘Oh, sure,’ Luciano said, ‘But that Walton kid looks as if he’s slipped in the shower in there. I’d say he needs a doctor bad.’

Franco moved inside without a word and Luciano turned to O’Toole. ‘I’d better get moving or the warden will wonder what’s happened to me. You did say he wanted to see me, didn’t you?’

O’Toole licked dry lips. ‘Oh, sure, Mr Luciano,’ he said feebly. ‘Right away.’

Luciano smiled and moved off across the yard and Franco came out of the showers and leaned against the door, lighting a cigarette.

‘Heh, O’Toole,’ he said softly, a terrible smile on his face. ‘I don’t know what they paid you, but I think maybe you just made the biggest mistake of your life.’

Harry Carter, wearing a dark blue suit in place of his uniform, stood at the window of the Warden’s office and looked down into the yard.

The Warden said, ‘He doesn’t like to be called Lucky. He’s supposed to have got the name because of an incident in 1929 when rival mobsters kidnapped him, took him to a deserted wood in Staten Island, hung him up by his thumbs and tortured him. Left him for dead.’

‘I wonder how he paid them off?’ Carter said.

‘I can imagine.’ The Warden went round his desk and opened a file. ‘Charles Luciano, born Salvatore Lucania in the village of Lercara Friddi near Palermo, 24 November 1897. Arrived in New York in 1907 with his family, who, I might add, are all honest people. You know how Mafia works, Colonel Carter?’

‘Only the Sicilian variety.’

‘It’s pretty much the same in New York. They start them young. First there are the boys, the picciotti, gaining advancement, what they call respect, by acting as executioners when required. Some of them graduate pretty quickly to the next rank. Sicario, the professional assassin who’s a specialist in that line of work.’

‘I know,’ Carter said. ‘In Sicily they prefer the lupara, the sawn-off shotgun, for that kind of thing. You have to get close, but then, that’s really the point.’

‘They say Luciano’s killed at least twenty men himself and that isn’t those he’s put a contract out on.’

‘Just how powerful a figure is he?’ Carter asked. ‘I mean, he is in here, isn’t he? You close a cell door on him every night.’

‘Inside or out, it doesn’t really matter. He’s still the single most important influence in Mafia. Rose to power in the liquor business during Prohibition. What made him different from the others was his brain. He’s a hugely intelligent man with a genius for organization. When Prohibition ended, he diversified into every possible racket that would make a dollar. Even invented a few. In 1936 Governor Dewey, who was then Special Prosecutor, brought him to trial for offences concerned with organized prostitution and succeeded in obtaining a conviction.’

‘Strange,’ Carter said. ‘It’s the one thing that doesn’t seem to fit.’

The Warden smiled. ‘That’s what a lot of people say, but don’t expect any comment from me. This is a state appointment. I know one thing. He can always be relied upon to do the unexpected thing. He was at Dannemora in 1941 just after Pearl Harbor. That was a bad time with Christmas coming up. People’s minds were on other things, so there were no packages for the cons until Luciano put the word out. Christmas Day, three truck-loads of gifts turned up from New York.’

There was a knock on the door. He called, ‘Come in!’ and Luciano entered.

He glanced at Carter casually, then turned to the Warden. ‘You sent for me.’

The Warden stood up. ‘This is Colonel Carter. He’s from the Government and he has full authority to speak with you on a matter of national importance, so I’m going to leave you to it.’

He went out and Carter took out his silver case. ‘Cigarette, Mr Luciano?’

‘Heh, you’re English.’

‘So are the cigarettes.’

Carter gave him a light and Luciano sat down by the window. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I believe you’ve had some visitors in recent months,’ Carter said. ‘From Naval Intelligence. To discuss the Sicilian invasion.’

Luciano said, ‘Not again, for Christ’s sake. Look, I gave them all the information I could. All the right names.’

‘I know,’ Carter said. ‘I hear they’re going to drop flags with an L for Luciano on every village in the Cammarata. Was that your idea?’

Luciano moved to the window and looked down into the yard. ‘You got an ace in your hand, you play it.’

‘I don’t think that’s going to be enough.’

‘You don’t think!’ Luciano laughed. ‘What the hell has it got to do with a limey like you, anyway?’

Carter replied in good Sicilian, ‘Sure, in the Cammarata they still talk about the great Luciano. Salvatore the saviour. But turning out to fight Nazi tanks with shot guns, just because someone drops his flag on their village … I don’t think so.’

Luciano frowned, immediately wary. ‘How come you speak such good Sicilian?’

‘Before the war I was a university professor, ancient history, archaeology. That kind of thing. I used to spend a lot of time in Sicily excavating.’

‘Excavating?’

‘Digging up old ruins.’

‘You mean you’re only a part-time soldier? Just for the duration? A professor, eh? Now that I can respect.’ He passed across his copy of The City of God. ‘Have you ever read this?’

Carter examined it. ‘St Augustine. Oh, yes. You read a lot, do you?’

Luciano nodded. ‘He knew what he was talking about. God and the Devil, they both exist, only these days God’s outnumbered.’

‘I see,’ Carter said. ‘So you’ve settled for reigning in hell?’

‘It’s a point of view. Milton knew what he was talking about.’ Luciano smiled softly. ‘I’ve read him, too.’

‘You know, Mr Luciano, you interest me – both of you.’

‘Both of me?’

‘But of course. There’s Luciano number one, a streetwise hoodlum, who leaves out verbs when he speaks and manages to sound as if he’s had the same script writer as James Cagney.’

‘I’m complimented.’ Luciano was smiling. ‘A great little guy.’

‘And then there’s Luciano number two, who reads Augustine and Milton, speaks discreetly, sounds remarkably upper-class…’

‘So a good actor changes his perfomance according to his audience.’ Luciano shrugged. ‘I mean, who are you playing today, Professore?’

Carter smiled. ‘Point taken. You’re a remarkable man, Mr Luciano.’

‘And you, Professor, are a remarkable judge of character. Tell me, does Tom Dewey know you’re here? When he was special prosecutor he pulled enough strings to get me put away. Look at him now. Governor of New York State. The White House next stop.’

‘You think Dewey was unfair to you?’

‘What’s fair? What’s unfair? There’s only life. Some kid’s born with twisted legs or half a brain. Is that fair?’ He got up and walked to the window. ‘Look, Professor, I don’t give a damn what you think, but this is the way it was. I was boss of the rackets. I had an interest in most things, but never girls. Tom Dewey tried every damn way he could to get me and failed. Finally, they brought me to trial with nine other guys and some of them were in the prostitution business. At the end of the day, the jury couldn’t tell the difference between us. It’s called guilt by association.’

‘A nice turn of phrase,’ Carter said.

Luciano turned to face him. ‘If I needed girls, I rang up Polly Adler. She kept the best house in New York.’

Carter held out his silver case. ‘Have another cigarette.’

‘Okay.’ Luciano took one. ‘Now, what do you want with me?’