The Vendetta Defense

“Evidence is proof against you. Evidence shows you did the crime.”

“Evidence? Take mutandine!”

“What’s mutandine?” Judy asked, and Pigeon Tony went visibly red in the face, his thin skin a dead giveaway. Mutandine must have meant underwear.

“Forget,” he said quickly, looking away, and Judy suppressed a smile. He was so sweet, she couldn’t believe the police had arrested him for murder. Were they nuts? She was starting to no like police.

“I understand they’re charging you with murder.” Judy checked her notes. “The man they say you killed was eighty years old. Named Angelo Coluzzi. Did I say that right? Coluzzi?” She pronounced it like Coa-lootz-see, to make it sound festive and Italian. “Okay?”

“Si, si. Coluzzi.”

“Good. Upstairs they’ll be processing—getting ready—the charge against you. Do you understand?”

“Si.” Pigeon Tony’s face turned grave. “Murder.”

“Yes, murder, and I have to understand the evidence—the proof— they have against you. I’d like to begin by asking you a few—”

“I kill Coluzzi,” Pigeon Tony interrupted, and Judy’s mouth went dry. She hadn’t heard him right. She couldn’t have heard him right. She fumbled for her voice.

“You didn’t say you murdered Coluzzi, did you?” she asked, her tone unprofessionally aghast. She didn’t know what a lawyer was supposed to do when her client volunteered a confession. Probably shut him up, but that wasn’t Judy’s style. If it was true, it was awful, and she wanted to know why. “Did you say you murdered Coluzzi?”

“No.”

Judy sighed with relief. It must have been the language barrier. “Thank God.”

“I no murder Coluzzi.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“I kill him.” Pigeon Tony nodded firmly, his thin lips forming a determined line, confusing Judy completely.

“Let’s try this again, Mr. Lucia. Tony. Did you kill Angelo Coluzzi? Yes or no?”

“Si, si, I kill him. But”—Pigeon Tony held up a finger, like a warning—“no murder. I no murder!”

“What do you mean?” Judy’s mind reeled. Antitrust beckoned. The Sherman Act was a cakewalk compared to an Italian immigrant. “You killed Coluzzi but you didn’t murder him?”

“Si.”

“That means yes, right?” She wanted to make sure. Clarity would be in order right now, since it was the murder part.

“Si, si. He kill my wife, so I kill him. No e murder.”

Judy’s heart lifted. Maybe it was self-defense. “Where was your wife when Coluzzi killed her? Were you trying to protect your wife at the time? Is that why you killed him?”

“No.”

“No?”

“My wife, she dead sixty years. Murder by Coluzzi.”

Baffled, Judy set down her Pilot pen. “Coluzzi killed your wife sixty years ago, so you killed him today?”

“Si.”

It meant yes, but still. “Why did you wait so long?”

“Si! Si!” Pigeon Tony’s face went suddenly red with emotion. “Sixty years, alla same. Occhio per occhio, dente per dente. Coluzzi big, important man.” Suddenly animated, he puffed out his concave chest. “Fascisti! You know, Fascisti?”

“Yes. Fascists?” Judy racked her brain for Italian history but all she could dredge up was The Sopranos. She thought harder. “You mean, like, Mussolini?”

“Si! Il Duce!” Pigeon Tony stuck out his lower lip, in imitation. “A murderer! He! Not me.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Coluzzi murder my Silvana!” Tears welled up in Pigeon Tony’s eyes, a glistening but unmistakable sheen that he blinked away in obvious shame. His pointy Adam’s apple traveled up and down a stringy neck. “So I kill Coluzzi.”

“Are you saying that this Coluzzi killed your wife, in Italy?”

“Si, si! He murder her!”

“Why did he do that?”

“Because he want her and she no want him! So he kill her!” Pigeon Tony trembled at the thought, a shudder that traveled through his face and chin, emphasizing his frailty, and Judy felt her heart go out to him.

“So you got him back?”

“Si, si.”

Judy understood the scenario, but her chest wrenched with conflict. “So Coluzzi got away with murder?”

“Si, si!”

“What did the police do?”

“Coluzzi the police! Fascisti the police! They no care! I tell them, they do nothing! They laugh!” Bitterness curled his thin lips. “The war come, and alla people, they no care about one girl. You think they care? So Pigeon Tony, he get justice! For Silvana! For Frank, my son!” Tony leaned forward, his manacled hands gripping the Formica counter. “We go now. We tell judge!”

Judy put up her hands. “No! We no tell the judge. We no tell nobody. Anybody.” The double negative was throwing her, as usual. “You didn’t tell the police this, did you?”

Pigeon Tony shook his head. “I no like.”

“No like what?”

“Police.”

She had forgotten. “Okay, now, after they arraign you—charge you—they decide if you make bail. Bail means you get to go free, if you pay money. I think you will get bail, considering your age and lack of criminal record.” Judy caught herself. “You never killed anybody before, did you?”

Pigeon Tony appeared to think a minute. “No.”

“Good. Did you ever commit any other crime?”

“No crime.”

“Excellent. If they give you bail, who will bail you out?”

Pigeon Tony frowned again, uncomprehending.

“Who in your family will come for you? Who will pay money for you to be free? Is there anyone, when we go to the judge?”

“Frank. My grandson. He come.” Pigeon Tony stiffened. “I tell judge.”

“No, you no tell the judge.” Judy had a legal duty to protect him and she wanted to get to the bottom of his story before she condemned him, even for murder. “You have to listen to me. Revenge is no defense to murder, outside of Sicily.”

“Com’e’?”

“You can’t tell the judge. If you do, the police will send you to jail for the rest of your life. You don’t want that to happen, do you? You’ll never see Frank again.” Judy watched as Pigeon Tony’s thin lips pursed, the argument seeming to hit home. “Okay, so we agree. Now, let me go upstairs and see when they’re going to arraign you. You have to promise me that you won’t talk to anybody about this. Do you promise?”

“Si, si. Io lo fatto.”

Judy didn’t have time for the translation. She wanted to get upstairs fast, to learn the evidence against him. “Promise me now.”

Pigeon Tony puckered his lower lip in thought.