A Piece of the Action

inside the walls. How many cons could ya really trust? I know what I’m asking ain’t easy, but it’s gotta be done. Accacio thinks he can control us, because we’re weak. Just a couple of kikes on a string. What we’re gonna do is put together an organization that can stand by itself. That don’t gotta go beggin’ for crumbs. The dope business is the coming thing. It’s gonna be bigger than Prohibition. Once I get my hands on a chunk of it, I don’t have no intention of letting go.”

Izzy managed a grin. “You shoulda been a lawyer.”

“Then it’s settled?”

“I’ll get on it startin’ tomorrow.”

“Great, now I hope ya didn’t tell Santo what we’re doin’ tonight.”

“I didn’t have to tell him. He already heard it from Joe Faci.”

“Yeah? Well hearin’ is one thing, but seein’ is something else. He ain’t comin’ with us. I got a little surprise for young Santo.”

Fifteen minutes later, young Santo knocked on Izzy’s door. He came into the room with his habitual grin firmly in place.

“Whatta ya say, Iz? How’s it hangin’?”

“Long and low, Sandy. How’s by you?”

“Everything’s everything. Whatta ya say, Jake? We workin’ tonight?”

“You ain’t.” Jake was beginning to hate everything about Santo Silesi, especially his easy grin and his refusal to take offense, no matter how hard Jake pushed him.

“Whatta ya mean?”

“What I mean is I got a special job for ya. A job ya could be in charge of all by yourself. I’m sure ya relatives already told ya what we’re gonna be doin’ with the dope. Right?”

Silesi nodded. “They said somethin’ about it.”

“Yeah? Well here’s what I got to say about it. I need someone to go in there regular. Somebody to take care of the customers. That’s you, Santo. You’re gonna have regular places to be and regular times to be there. According to ya relatives, we could dump between a hundred and two hundred bags a day. For starters. What you’re gonna do is come to me every morning and every afternoon. I give you the dope and you give me the money. Any problems?”

“You want me to go in there alone, right? You’re not worried that I’ll get ripped off.”

Jake laughed. “You tryin’ to tell me ya scared of the Puerto Ricans? I thought you wops were supposed to be so tough?” He watched the blood rise into Santo Silesi’s cheeks and ears. “Here’s the thing, Santo. This is what I need ya to do. For now, anyway. You got a problem with it, you could always quit and go back to ya relatives.”

“Why do you have such a hard-on for me, Jake?” Santo spoke quietly. “I’ve done whatever you asked me to do.”

Jake walked across the room, stopping three feet away from the younger man. “People who work for me do what I say. And what I say is take a fuckin’ hike. Ya don’t like that? Well, there’s nothin’ between us, but air.”

Santo Silesi broke for a moment. His friendly eyes turned to stone. The anger in them was cold and implacable, the icy glitter of sunlight reflecting off the face of a glacier. Jake grinned and braced himself. Twelve years in Leavenworth? A Jew in Leavenworth? If Santo Silesi came forward, Jake fully intended to kill him.

“Hey, guys,” Izzy said. “This don’t make no sense. It’s stupid.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Silesi said, struggling to manage a smile. “I’ll play it whatever way you want, Jake. As long as I get my piece.”

“I don’t welsh,” Jake said. “So that ain’t a problem for you. Now, take off. I’ll see ya tomorrow morning.”

Once Santo was out the door, Jake turned to Izzy. “Ya see that, Izzy? Ya see that?”

“I seen it,” Izzy replied, calmly. “The wop’s colder than he looks. So what?”

“One day, when Steppy Accacio don’t need us anymore, this is the guy who’s gonna try to kill us. That’s ‘so what.’ ” He paused to allow Izzy to reply, but Izzy kept his mouth shut. “Somethin’ else I found out from Joe Faci last night. He says he’s gonna feed us information on what the narcs are doin’. He says he’s got a lieutenant from the Seventh in his pocket and this lieutenant’s got connections higher up. If there’s heat, we’re gonna see it comin’.”

“Ya wanna hear somethin’ funny, Jake. It seems like this guy Faci’s spendin’ a lotta time lookin’ out for us. I mean considering how you keep insistin’ that he’s gonna kill us.”

Jake put his hands on Izzy’s shoulders. “Listen, Izzy. We ain’t family to Joe Faci. We ain’t Sicilians or even Italians. We’re Jews. When Steppy Accacio puts us on the line, he’s only takin’ a step back to protect himself. If protectin’ himself means we gotta go, he’ll put us down without thinkin’ twice. Now, whatta ya say we get to work?”

Izzy shrugged into a black turtleneck sweater. He pulled a wool Eisenhower jacket over the sweater, then added a heavy watchcap and leather gloves.

“Is it cold out, Jake?”

Jake strolled over to the window. “For once, it ain’t cold. But it’s rainin’.”

“Should we take an umbrella?”

“Sure, and don’t forget to put on ya rubbers.”

“Why, we gettin’ laid?”

Jake put his arm around Izzy’s shoulders. “Izzy, you’re a riot. You oughta be on television.”

They strolled out the door and down the stairs. The whores were still in the lobby. They’d probably stay there until their pimps forced them out into the rain. Several called out to Izzy and he acknowledged them with a nod and a tight smile.

“Hey, Izzy,” Jake whispered, “maybe you’re gonna need them rubbers after all.”

They pushed through the doors and stepped out into a cold, steady rain. Jake turned up the collar of his peacoat. It was the only concession either of them made to the weather. The rain slowly worked through their jackets as they walked back to get the Packard. Jake knew that he should have driven the car over to Izzy’s. He half expected Izzy to make some comment, but Izzy just kept walking. He didn’t even hurry his pace when the car came into view.

Jake felt proud to have an associate like Izzy Stein. And happy to be rid of an asshole like Abe Weinberg. That was a lucky stroke, he realized as he started the car. If it wasn’t for Joe Faci’s demand, he, Jake, would still be dealing with that rock-and-roll moron.

“Here, take this.” Jake handed a clean handkerchief to Izzy. “The defroster ain’t workin’ right. Ya gotta use the snot rag to clean the windows.”

They drove over to a small playground on the north side of Houston Street between Avenue D and the river. There were no kids in the playground, only adults on business.

“You see our boy, Izzy?” Jake pointed at a tall man in a trench coat. “Name’s Rocco Insalaco. Cute, huh? Like a rhyme.”

Izzy peered through the small circle of clean glass. “You sure he don’t have a partner watchin’ out?”

“Faci says he works alone. He’s connected, but his people don’t approve of dope. Nobody’s gonna come back on us for what we’re doin’.”

“I tell ya what I don’t like, Jake. I don’t like usin’ this car. If some schmuck picks up the license plate, it’d come right back on us.”

“Well, that’s the fucking problem we were talkin’ about. We need more guys. We need guys who can get into cars, guys who can do locks and safes. We gotta get organized, instead of takin’ chances all the time. The way it is right now, we don’t have no choices. Not that I’m expectin’ problems. It’s rainin’ and the streets are empty. Besides which the people livin’ here know the deal: you get in bed with the cops, you wake up in a swamp. Keep in mind that we ain’t a couple of assholes workin’ on our own no more. We’re connected.”

One by one, the men in the playground, their business conducted, moved off to find a quiet place to enjoy their purchases. When the man in the trench coat was alone, Jake reached into the back seat of the Packard and grabbed two baseball bats. He handed both of them over to Izzy and grunted. “Ya know what to do.” Without waiting for an answer, he climbed out of the Packard and walked into the playground.

Jake kept his right hand in his pocket. Gunshots weren’t part of the plan, but if Rocco Insalaco picked up on