Sicilian Defense (15 page)

“That this is all that's left of their daughter. She was only sixteen. Christ.”

“
What
?” Bobby Matteawan turned quickly toward Joey.

“Their daughter died when she was sixteen years old. They cree-mated her.”

“Holy shit!” said Bobby Matteawan. “That box's worse than a
mal-occhia
—throw the goddamn thing out the window.”

“No,” Joey said firmly. “Take me back there.”

“Hey, I'm supposed to be crazy, not you.”

“We got to bust the other apartment anyway,” said Joey.

“The cops'll be all over the place,” Bobby Matteawan protested.

“You'll keep look-out. I'll go in. Take me back,” Joey repeated.

Bobby Matteawan saw the determination on Joey's face. Bobby Matteawan knew how determined Joey could be. He made a U-turn and drove back to the house, stopping at the corner. An empty police car stood at the curb, its red light revolving.

“They must be upstairs,” said Joey. “You wait here. I'll be right back.” He entered the building and pressed a random bell, again announcing himself as parcel post. The buzzer sounded and Joey entered, heading toward the emergency stairway. He put the gold box in a corner, and walked back to the bell panel. He buzzed apartment 3F.

“Who is it?” asked a female voice.

“Your gold box is in the corner of the emergency stairway on the ground floor.”

There was silence for a moment. “
What
? Who is it?”

Joey repeated his curt message and walked out of the building and made his way back to the car.

They drove around for about a half hour, then returned to Crestwood Village. There were no police visible now. They went to the first building. “Let's get going,” said Joey. “I'll stay down here and keep an eye on things outside. You go ahead in and bust the apartment. If the cops come, I'll get in and ring the bell three times. You come right down.”

“Okay,” said Bobby Matteawan.

Separately, the two men crossed the walks. Bobby entered the building and rang the bell marked
C. JOHNSON
, 6F. There was no answer. Using the parcel post dodge on a random bell, Bobby Matteawan entered the building. He went directly to apartment 6F and rang the bell. There was no answer. Quickly he took out his picks, and with lightning speed opened the apartment and disappeared inside. He took off his hat and coat and began his search. He saw several photographs of a colored bunny with some other girls and men. He wanted to be sure. He was searching the bedroom when he heard the bell ring three times. He had to move quickly. This must be the place. He moved toward the wall to grab a picture to take with him. He heard footsteps pounding in the hallway outside. Bobby Matteawan turned in a panic—there was no place to hide. The police pushed open the door, their guns drawn.

A split second before the police entered, Bobby Matteawan switched on the lights and lit a cigarette.

“Okay, hoist them,” said one of the cops.

“What? Are you talking to me?” Bobby Matteawan sounded totally surprised.

“Listen, punk,” said the other cop, bearing down on Bobby Matteawan with his pistol drawn.

“Are you policemen crazy?” Bobby Matteawan asked incredulously.

“What do you mean, are we crazy?” the first cop said. They looked at each other quickly.

“This is my apartment. What are
you
doing here?” Bobby Matteawan said calmly. He sat on the sofa, flicking his ashes in an ashtray on a side table.

“Your apartment?” the second cop asked.

“Of course it's my apartment. What do you think I'm doing here? Sit down, officers. And please, your guns aren't necessary.”

The cops stared at Bobby Matteawan. “We've got a report of a burglary in progress and we find you in the apartment. That's good enough for us.”

“I sure appreciate your responding so quickly. Usually you can't find a cop when you need one. But I really live here.” Bobby Matteawan rose and walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “Would you fellows like a beer?”

“What's your name?” the police demanded, unconvinced.

“Johnson. Charles Johnson,” Bobby Matteawan replied. “Look at the bell outside.” He took out a can of beer and opened it. He took a glass from the sink, and poured the beer into it. He walked back to the living room and sat down.

The cops watched him wordlessly, their drawn pistols beginning to drop.

“I think you fellows are doing a fabulous job. Really terrific. Except that I really do live here. I appreciate your coming over, though.”

“Let me see some identification,” demanded the second cop.

Bobby Matteawan rose and walked toward the bedroom. “Sure, just a minute and I'll get my wallet.”

“Hello, officers,” a woman's voice said. Bobby Matteawan was inside the bedroom and couldn't see her, but he could hear her voice. It meant trouble.

“Yes, ma'am? Can we help you?” he heard the cops asking her.

“I live across the hall. I'm the one who called you.”

“Madam, come in here please,” one of the cops said. His voice was strong and cutting.

“Come on out here, mister,” demanded the other cop.

Bobby Matteawan came out, a sheepish smile on his face. The cops' pistols were directly trained on him. He wanted to bull his way out now—to tell Joey this was the right apartment. But the cops were spread apart, ready to grab him.

“Is this the man who lives here, lady?” one of the cops asked the woman.

“
Him
? Of course he doesn't live here. It's a colored girl lives here. A beautiful girl, not a criminal like that.”

“You're sure, lady?”

“Of course I'm sure. I've been living here 25 years and I should know who my neighbors are.”

The cops looked at Bobby Matteawan, anger flushing their necks and faces.

“Okay lady, that's fine. Thank you,” said one cop. “We'll take care of this now.” He motioned for her to leave.

“You can go now, lady,” said the other cop. “We'll be over to see you when we finish here.”

“All right, officer. Thank you very much. You won't let this criminal go?” The woman was frightened.

“Not on a bet, lady,” one of the cops assured her.

The cops waited, listening to the woman's fading footsteps. Then they turned toward Bobby Matteawan. The first cop strode across the room and grabbed the front of Bobby Matteawan's shirt. The shirt ripped down the front as he pulled Bobby Matteawan toward him.

“You lousy punk,” the cop said, as his fist cracked into the side of Bobby Matteawan's head.

Bobby Matteawan lunged at him.

“Hold it, punk,” the second cop warned, his gun trained on Bobby Matteawan's belly.

The first cop stuffed his fist into Bobby Matteawan's stomach. As Bobby Matteawan bent forward, the cop cuffed him on the back of the head.

“Don't overdo it, Frank,” the cop with the gun advised. “Let's get him down to the station house.”

“I'd like to stuff this punk through the keyhole,” said the first cop.

Bobby Matteawan was bleeding from the mouth. “Fuck you, cop,” he said.

“When I get you down the station house, punk, I'm going to knock your brains out,” the cop said.

“If you tell your buddy with the gun to put it down, I'll kick the shit out of the both of you. I'll stuff that gun—”

Another punch in the stomach kept Bobby Matteawan from talking as the cops led him out of the house.

4:30 P.M.

“Send somebody to bail Bobby out,” Gianni said to Frankie the Pig.

“I've taken care of it,” Frankie the Pig assured him. “I got our regular bondsman to call one of his friends in Queens. He'll have him bailed out as soon as he's arraigned.”

“When will that be?”

“He didn't think it'd be before seven or seven-thirty tonight. They have to go to court to be arraigned and have bail set.”

Gianni frowned. He turned to Joey, who was sitting beside the desk in the garage office. Tony was standing in the background. “Then what happened?”

“When they took Bobby Matteawan downstairs, he had the cuffs behind his back,” said Joey. “I couldn't stay too close. I was thinking the cops might bring down the people from that first apartment to identify him. And if they saw me, I'd be in the can too.”

“You did exactly the right thing,” Gianni assured him. “I can't have two men out of action—we need everyone we have. Did he get to say anything, did he get any word to you about whether it was the right apartment or not?”

“I'm not sure,” Joey said. “He was making a racket, though. I mean, you don't know Bobby Matteawan too well. But he doesn't like being arrested. It usually takes about six cops to get him to the station house. I was away down the street pretty much but I could hear that one of the things he was screaming was ‘
yes, yes
.' Now I don't know if he meant the apartment or not; I think so, but I'm just not sure.”

Gianni looked at Frankie the Pig. “I don't know either. But I'd guess that we should assume it was.”

“Could we get Sandro Luca to go out to the police station and talk to him? Then we wouldn't have to waste too much time if we're wrong.”

“That's a good idea, Frankie,” said Gianni. “Now all we have to do is track down Luca.”

“Did he say where he was when he called?” Frankie asked.

“I know where he was, but I don't know the exact location,” Gianni said, knowing Frankie the Pig would neither understand nor approve of Sandro's present occupation. “He said he'd be around this afternoon.”

“When he comes, should I send him out to Queens?” asked Frankie the Pig.

“When he comes in, we'll ask him if he'd mind going out there,” said Gianni. “One of the boys can drive him.”

Frankie the Pig nodded. “What do you want done in the meantime, Gianni?”

“Well, if we assume that this was the chocolate bunny's apartment, we've got to figure out where her friends are—the guys who did the kidnaping. They're apparently not holding Sal in that apartment.”

“Why do you say that?” Tony asked.

“They'd never have let Bobby out alive,” said Gianni.

“I guess that's right,” said Frankie the Pig.

“How do we find her friends?” Tony continued.

“First, we've got to find her. If that's her apartment, she wasn't there either,” said Gianni.

“Why not?”

“Because Joey would have seen her. She'd have gone down to the station house with the cops, or right after them in one of the squad cars. So the first thing we have to do is find that girl,” said Gianni. “We know she doesn't work in the Playboy Club any more.”

“Sandro tell you that?” asked Frankie the Pig.

Gianni nodded. “I think Big Diamond might be able to help us on this. He knows the colored parts of the Bronx and Manhattan like the back of his hand. Maybe he'd know where this girl operates.”

“You want me to call him?”

“Yes. Ask him if he knows something about a girl who used to be a Playboy bunny. Maybe she's working in some other place he knows about. Those girls usually stay in the same line—they get too used to the fast, easy tips and the action.”

Frankie the Pig went to the wall phone.

“On second thought, let Tony speak to Big Diamond,” Gianni said. “No sense confusing him with too many new people. Big Diamond knows Tony already.”

Frankie the Pig shrugged.

“I hope the cops don't figure out who Bobby Matteawan is,” said Frankie the Pig, looking at Gianni.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you said there's a tap on the restaurant phone line we've got here. That means the cops know what's going on. If the cops in Queens figure out that he's with us, and they let the cops here know about it, they might rough him up trying to get the information they couldn't get out of you this morning.”

“That's a very real possibility,” Gianni said.

“Big Diamond says he'll come down,” said Tony, holding his hand over the mouthpiece. “He says he wants to see his man, Gianni.”

Gianni smiled. “Tell him I don't want to put him to all that trouble.”

“He insists on coming.” Tony said a few more words, then hung up.

Gianni turned back to Frankie: “Will Bobby stand up?”

“Bobby Matteawan?” said Frankie the Pig. “They'd have to hit him in the head with an ax, and he still wouldn't give them the sweat off his balls.”

“Well then, we don't have to worry about that,” said Gianni.

Sandro entered the garage, carrying his briefcase. He looked as shiny and fresh as when Gianni had seen him early that morning.

“Hello, Sandro.” Gianni smiled at him.

Sandro's eyes returned the smile. “I found out something else,” he said.

“I hope you didn't have to sweat this information out of your informant,” said Gianni.

Sandro reddened. “I found out that your ex-bunny works in a bar uptown called the Pirate's Den. She's a barmaid or a waitress there.”

“Where is it?” asked Frankie the Pig.

“On Amsterdam Avenue near 140th Street—somewhere around there.”

“That's great, Sandro,” said Gianni.

“Should we send somebody up there to get this dame?” asked Frankie the Pig.

“Not yet,” said Gianni. “Big Diamond said he was coming down. We'll let him figure out how to move on this Pirate's Den.”

“That's a good idea,” said Frankie the Pig.

“Meanwhile, Sandro, one of our boys has been arrested out at Crestwood Village while he was trying to find this Johnson girl's apartment. We don't know if he found it or not. So, I'd be very grateful if you'd go to the precinct and talk to Bobby—ask him if that was the right place. Gus'll drive you.”