The Vendetta Defense

truck, and Frank helped Pigeon Tony to the curb. “See that guy on the corner?” Frank asked, and Judy looked over. A heavyset man sat in a black Cadillac at the far end of the street, apparently reading a newspaper. “That’s Fat Jimmy Bello, works for the Coluzzis.” “So?” “So I told you, I don’t like it. He’s watching the clubhouse. You sure you gotta go in there?” “Yes,” Judy said. “I have to see it.” “We can’t come back another time?” “No, I have the D.A.’s permission to do it now, and it’s best to see the crime scene as soon as possible.” Frank glanced again at the corner. The man was still sitting in the driver’s seat, reading a newspaper. “That means you have five minutes in there.” “Why?” “Because I’m not taking any chances. Hurry. I’ll wait here. Go!” NO BEER OUTSIDE, read a handmade sign on the wall of the small room, which would have been the living room of the original rowhouse. The floors were of lime green and white linoleum, and the walls were lined with chicken wire cages, twelve on a side, their doors double-fastened with plastic clothespins. A makeshift wooden bar sat against the far wall, stocked with cases of beer and soda, with forks and spoons stuck in a chipped mug. Steel folding chairs sat in rows facing a table at the front of the room, as if for a meeting. On all of the walls, like a border atop the cages, hung a line of framed black-and-white photographs, one of men in suits and women in fancy dresses, seated at a roomful of banquet tables, and others in groups. Judy caught one of the handwritten captions as they hurried by. South Philly Pigeon Racing Club, June 14, 1948.

She went into the back room, with Pigeon Tony ahead of her. She glanced around and realized it had once been the dining room of the rowhouse. “Where was he when you came into the room?”she asked when they were inside.

“There.” Pigeon Tony pointed. “Near shelf.”

Judy looked where the bookshelves were leaning against the plywood wall and at the supplies and vitamin jugs scattered on the floor. She knew how they’d look in crime-lab photos and blown up as Exhibit B. “Okay, he was standing in front of the bookshelves?”

“Si, si.”

“You open the door and you see him. What happens next?”

“I kill him.”

Judy winced. “Slow down. Remember the fight you told me about. How exactly did it start? Who spoke first?”

“He.”

“How loud was his voice?”

“I say you, no loud. Whisper.”

Judy nodded. “Okay, what did he say, exactly?”

“He laugh. He say, in Italian, ‘Look who come in. A buffoon. A weakling. A coward.’”

“Why did he say that? What did he mean?”

“I no avenge Silvana. I run away, to America.”

Judy didn’t understand. “That was wrong?”

“Si, si.” Pigeon Tony’s face reddened, even under his fresh sunburn. “If I honor vendetta, my son be alive.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know. Coluzzi know.”

“But if you had killed Coluzzi, his son would have come after your son. Isn’t that how it works? An eye for an eye?”

Pigeon Tony paused. “No matter. I must honor vendetta, like man. Coluzzi come after my son alla way. He come after Frankie.”

Judy didn’t want to get into it. She had an idea. “Now tell me. He says this to you and what do you do? Besides hate him.”

“I hate him and I make a fight.”

“Show me.”

Pigeon Tony’s eyes widened. “You want me to make a fight with you? A woman?”

“Si, si,” she said, a close-to-perfect impression, and he smiled.

“Okay,” he began, his impression not as good as hers, to her ear. Suddenly his face darkened, as it had back at the oak grove. “I say to Coluzzi, ‘You are pig. You are scum. You are worse coward than me, for you kill defenseless woman.’”

Judy wondered how Silvana had died but said nothing. She didn’t want to interrupt his story.

“And he laugh, and he say to me, ‘You are a stupid fool, you are too dumb to know I destroy you. I kill your son, too, and his wife. I kill them in truck and soon I kill Frank and you will have nothing.’” Pigeon Tony trembled with pain, and though Judy’s heart went out to him, she had to keep him on track.

“Then what did you say?”

“I no say nothing. I no can believe. My heart, is full with odio. So much hate.”

“Did you do something?”

“Si, si.”

“Show me what you did.”

Pigeon Tony thought a minute. “I run and I push him.”

“Pretend I’m Coluzzi. Push me how you pushed him.”

Pigeon Tony hesitated, then took a step toward her slowly, then another. “I run at him, fast. I no think, I run.”

Judy nodded. “I understand.”

“And I come to him”—at this Pigeon Tony gripped her arms, reaching only to her elbow—“and I push him, I shove at him. I no can believe how hard!”

Judy’s idea took shape. “And then he fell back? Against the shelves?”

“Si, si. And shelf, is metal, is tin, it falls down. And I make noise, I no can believe it come, and alla people come in—Tony, Feet, alla club. I break his neck!”

“How do you know that?”

Pigeon Tony looked at her like she was crazy. “His neck”—he gestured to the floor—“all crazy, all crooked. Alla people say, ‘You broke neck.’”

Judy considered it. This could work. And it was consistent with what the coroner would say. “Then what did you do?”

“I no do nothing. I look at him. I no can believe Coluzzi dead. Tony, Feet, they take me out, they make me go home. Coluzzi’s friend in club, Jimmy, he shout at me. He make a fight to me. He call police. Tony, Feet, they get me, and I go to home. I feed birds and police come.”

“So the one push broke Coluzzi’s neck.” Judy remembered what Dr. Patel, the medical examiner, had said. Pigeon Tony’s story would be consistent with it. “His neck snapped?”

“Si, si.”

“You didn’t touch him again after that?”

“No.”

Judy’s heart lifted. She had a defense, and it was perfect. One last detail. “How long would you say you were in the room?”

“Che? How long?”

“I’m wondering about the time. How many minutes were you in the room before you pushed Coluzzi?”

Pigeon Tony snapped his fingers. “Two, three minute. No time.”

Judy tried out her theory. “So maybe you didn’t mean to kill him. Maybe you just meant to fight with him, or hurt him, and he fell back and broke his neck.”

Pigeon Tony frowned. “No, I want to kill him. I try to kill him.”

“Did you? Are you sure?”

“Si, si! I want to kill him. For Silvana. For Frank. For Frankie. You no capisce?”

Judy capisced just fine, but she was visualizing her opening argument. “But nobody will know that you wanted to kill him, from the way it happened. From the way it happened, from what everybody will say, even the prosecution witnesses, you went in the room and you were only in there a few minutes. All you did was you push him, and he fell back and broke his neck. That’s not murder.”