could do this and there would be silence once I was gone. That was why it had to be me.
Don Calligaris reached out and took my hand in his. ‘You understand what this means to me?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Don Calligaris,’ I replied. ‘I understand what this means.’
‘You will have to prepare yourself in every way. Once this matter is dealt with you will have to leave without delay. It would be wise of course to send Victor on before you, perhaps some reason you could give him, somewhere he would be happy to go, and then you could join him afterwards.’
‘I will see to all the details,’ I said. ‘I won’t speak of them to you, nor to Ten Cent, and therefore you will never be in a situation where you are required to give information you do not wish to. You can have the money ready for me?’
Don Calligaris smiled. ‘The money is already available for whenever you want it.’
I tilted my head and frowned. ‘You were so certain I would do this?’
Don Calligaris nodded. He placed his hand on my shoulder. ‘Ernesto, you and I have been brothers for the better part of thirty years. I know you as well as any man, and I know that once you give your word there is nothing that can sway you from it. Who else could I trust with half a million dollars and my life’s reputation?’
I rose from the table. I walked around it with my arms wide. Don Calligaris rose also and we hugged.
‘We have had some life together,’ he said when he released me.
I stepped back. A tight fist of emotion lodged in my chest and I found it hard to speak. I looked at an old man facing me, an old man who had once been brash and arrogant and believed he would one day rule the world, and I realized that in some way he’d been more of a father to me than anyone else.
‘Don Calligaris-’ I started, but I could not continue.
He smiled and nodded his head. ‘I understand,’ he said, ‘and there is no need to speak. We have lived this life, you and I, and wherever we might find ourselves we will not be among those who will ask themselves what would have happened if they had sought such adventures. We sought them, we lived them, and now we are old we must look after ourselves, eh? There are people now dead because of us… but there are people who would not be alive had we not protected them. This thing of ours, eh? This thing of ours…’
I reached out my hand and took his arm. I held it tight and closed my eyes.
Don Calligaris closed his hand over mine. ‘For the rest of your life,’ he whispered, ‘I bless you and your son.’
I was released, and then I turned and hugged Ten Cent. He said nothing, but in his eyes I could see that he would remember this day as something important and meaningful.
I stayed a few minutes longer. Don Calligaris told me to let him know when the money was needed and it would be delivered to the Baxter Street house.
I stood for a moment on the porch stoop, the smell of spring in the air, a cool breeze making its way down Mulberry Street, a street where once upon an age ago I had walked hand in hand with Angelina Maria Tiacoli, and then I turned and looked towards the sky.
‘For your son, Angelina,’ I whispered, ‘and for your brother, Lucia… for you I will do this thing so he can begin his own life free from the past.’
And then I pulled my collar up around my throat and started walking home.
That night I made my decision. To return to Cuba would have been madness. Chicago was out of the question also, for what was there in Chicago but the memory of a life I had chosen to leave? Los Angeles, Las Vegas, even Miami – all of them carried their own ghosts. It was when I thought of something Don Giancarlo Ceriano had told me so many years before that it came to me.
And I made my decision.
My life would end where it had begun: New Orleans, state of Louisiana.
It was the end of March, April would be upon us in days, and I broached the subject of a trip with Victor who seemed at once enthused.
‘The Mardi Gras?’ he said. ‘But why?’
I smiled. ‘We are here in America, Victor. You said you wanted to see the things I had seen. I was in New Orleans for some years when I was a very small boy and I saw the Mardi Gras. It is like seeing the Pope address the people in St Peter’s Square, like being in Times Square when the New Year turns… it is one of those things that you must witness to believe it can happen.’
‘And when would we go?’ he asked excitedly.
‘Almost at once… a couple of days perhaps. I have planned for you to go ahead without me-’
Victor frowned. ‘You’re not coming?’
I laughed. ‘Of course I will come. It will be a family holiday. But there is something I have to do that will take me a few days and then I will come down after you. We will meet there and stay for a week or so and then we will come back. Besides, there are so many things to do and see, so many places to go, I don’t think I would find the energy to keep up with you.’
Victor was nodding enthusiastically.
‘So you are pleased with this idea?’
‘Pleased? I think it’s a fantastic idea. Let me go tell the Martinellis.’
I shook my head. ‘Let me make arrangements,’ I said. ‘Until the arrangements are made I would ask you to say nothing of this to anyone, not even your friends the Martinellis.’
‘But-’
I raised my hand. ‘Remember the terrible trouble you caused for me in Havana when you wanted to come here?’
Victor smiled, looked a little embarrassed.
‘Well, we did as you wished. We came here. I did that for you even though I did not want to come, and now I am asking something of you. I do not want you to tell anyone where you are going, okay?’
Victor looked confused. ‘Are we in some trouble?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘We are not in trouble, but there is a reason I want this to be only between you and me, and I want you to give me your word you will keep it a secret.’
Victor opened his mouth to say something.
‘Your word, Victor?’
He nodded. ‘I don’t understand, but if that’s the way you want it-’
‘I do, Victor.’
‘Then you have my word.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Now go and prepare some things for your journey.’
And so it was done. On the third day of April I saw Victor board a train bound for New Orleans. He took with him clothes and money, one and a half thousand dollars in cash, and I had called ahead and made a hotel reservation for him in the center of the city. He would be there to see the beginning of the Mardi Gras. I prayed to a God in whom I did not believe that I would be there also.
I stood on the platform until the train had vanished from sight, and then I turned and walked back to my car. I drove to the Baxter Street house to collect my things, among them a suitcase containing half a million dollars in hundred-dollar bills. I carried my things to the car, stowed them in the trunk, and then I drove up through SoHo to the West Village, where I took a room in a cheap hotel, the fee paid in cash, a false name registered in the book.
I sat in the dank-smelling room for a little more than two hours. I waited until it was dark, and then retraced my journey back to the Bowery district.
At seventeen minutes past nine that evening, outside a small and fashionable Italian trattoria on Chrystie Street, eyewitnesses would say they saw a middle-aged man, graying hair, a long overcoat, step from the alleyway beside the building and open fire with two handguns. In a relentless hail of bullets three men would go down – James O’Neill, a second called Liam Flaherty, a third called Lonnie Duggan. Flaherty and Duggan were well-known boxing celebrities from the Lower East Side circuit. O’Neill was a multi-millionaire construction heavyweight on his way to the theater.
The man, he of the graying hair and long overcoat, did not so much as run from the scene as expertly dodge between the passing cars and disappear down a facing alleyway on the other side of the road. No-one could give a clear description, some said he looked Italian, others said he seemed more Greek or Cypriot. The guns were never
