Chicago Confidential

Charley Fischetti…there would be no repercussions from certain circles. You know, when you might expect there to be.”

“…And just how would I find Charley Fischetti?”

“At a hotel in Mexico.”

I blinked. “What hotel in Mexico?”

Giancana reached inside his coat, almost as if he were going for a gun; but I wasn’t nervous, anymore. He just handed me a small piece of paper with quite a bit of writing on it.

“That hotel in Mexico,” he said.

I slipped the piece of paper in my pocket without looking at it. “I saw Bas go down.”

Giancana’s eyes flared; this really was news to him. “No kidding?”

“No kidding…. Obviously, not in time to stop it. I got a shot off at the torpedoes—cracked their windshield. Got a good look at the bastards.”

“Anyone you know?”

“No.” I described the mustached pair. “Anybody you know?”

His expression gave away nothing. “Maybe…. Maybe.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Sam?”

With his folded arms, and his tiny smile, Giancana seemed guarded, to say the least. “Heller, like you, I have to be discreet. I’m limited in what I can say. But I will say this— those two gunmen are almost certainly from out of town…just not very far out of town.”

“Jesus, Sam—what does that mean?”

Another tiny shrug. “That’s all I can say. That slip of paper I give you?”

“Yeah?”

“The number at the bottom—that’s a local number. You have any problems—need any…assistance…you call that number. If I don’t answer, somebody will, who can get me in a hurry.”

“You’re not going to Florida?”

“Not right away.”

“You, uh—mentioned Kefauver going after the wives of Outfit guys. Where did you hear that, Sam?”

“I just heard it, is all.”

“You have somebody on Kefauver’s staff, don’t you?”

“Now you’re asking too many questions, Heller.”

“Just tell me—is it Halley?”

“Fuck no! That vicious, slandering son of a bitch. If he was ours, would he make so many lives miserable?”

I kept pressing, though my tone seemed casual. “You know Rocco married that girl—from the Chez, Jackie Payne? Married her the other day so she couldn’t testify against him.”

Giancana smirked. “Yeah—little Miss Chicago. But word now is, Rocky was wrong…that canary can be made to sing, or sent to the slam for contempt. And you know what’s gonna happen then, don’t you?”

“What, Sam?”

“She’ll talk. She’ll sing her lungs out. I mean, shit, she’s a junkie…. The feds will own the keys to her.” He shook his head. “Fucking Rocco—he’s a chowderhead, anyway, a real shit-for-brains. And he put her on the junk!”

“Maybe you wouldn’t mind if something bad happened to him,” I said.

His face was blandly expressionless again. “I’d get over it.”

Feeling like I was trying to put the pin back in a grenade, I ventured, “Sam—the girl. Miss Chicago?”

“Yeah?”

“She’s a friend of mine. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

He frowned—almost scowled. “Listen up, damn it: my friends and I are not trying to attract attention, right now. Drury and Bas getting splattered is the worst fucking thing that could have happened—bumping off a beauty queen, recently married to a Fischetti, is just as bad. Gimme a little credit, Heller, for Christsake!”

“Sorry, Sam.”

Smiling, he sat forward and patted my arm. “Hey—you and me, we have no problems. You need somebody like me, in my circles, to be your guardian angel. Like Nitti used to be. We aren’t in the same exact racket, but we can be helpful to each other. Do each other favors.”

Like have me bump off your fellow gangsters, when they’ve rubbed you the wrong way? is what I thought…but sure as hell didn’t say it.

“For example, a favor you could do me, Heller…”

“Yeah?”