Vinnie’s nickname since junior high school was “the Prince.” He’d been considered a handsome fellow whom the neighborhood girls had found quite attractive. His features were full but well sculpted. Favoring a tailored look, he heavily moussed his dark hair and brushed it straight back from his forehead. He looked considerably younger than his forty years and, unlike most of his contemporaries, he prided himself on his physical prowess. A high school basketball star, he’d kept his game over the years, playing three nights a week at St. Mary’s gym.
Entering the restaurant, Vinnie scanned the room. Freddie and Richie crowded in behind him. Vinnie quickly spotted whom he was looking for: Paul Cerino. The restaurant still had a few diners since its kitchen stayed open until eleven, but most of its clientele had already departed. It was a good location and time for a meeting.
Vinnie walked to Paul’s table with the confidence of one meeting an old, good friend. Freddie and Richie followed several steps behind. When Vinnie reached the table, the two men sitting with Paul stood. Vinnie recognized them as Angelo Facciolo and Tony Ruggerio.
“How are you, Paul?” Vinnie asked.
“Can’t complain,” Paul said. He stuck out a hand for Vinnie to shake.
“Sit down, Vinnie,” Paul said. “Have some wine. Angelo, pour the man some wine.”
As Vinnie sat down, Angelo picked up an open bottle of Brunello from the table and filled the glass in front of Vinnie.
“I want to thank you for agreeing to see me,” Vinnie said. “After what happened last time, I consider it a special favor.”
“When you said it was important and involved family, how could I turn you down?”
“First I want to tell you how much I sympathize with your eye problem,” Vinnie said. “It was a terrible tragedy and it never should have happened. And right now in front of these other people I want to swear on my mother’s grave I knew nothing about it. The punks did it on their own.”
There was a pause. For a moment no one said anything. Finally Cerino spoke. “What else is on your mind?”
“I know that your people whacked Frankie and Bruno,” Vinnie said. “And even though we know this we have not retaliated. And we’re not going to retaliate. Why? Because Frankie and Bruno got what they deserved. They were acting on their own. They were out of step. And we’re also not going to retaliate because it is important for you and me to get along. I don’t want a war. It gets the authorities up in arms. It makes for bad business for us both.”
“And how do I know I can trust this gesture of peace?” Cerino asked.
“By my good faith,” Vinnie answered. “Would I ask for a meeting like this at a place of your choosing if I wasn’t serious? Furthermore, as another token of my desire to settle the matter, I’m willing to tell you where Jimmy Lanso, the fourth and final guy, is hiding out.”
“Really?” Cerino asked. For the first time in the conversation he was genuinely surprised. “And where might that be?”
“His cousin’s funeral parlor. Spoletto Funeral Home in Ozone Park.”
“I appreciate your openness in all of this,” Paul said. “But I have the feeling that there is more.”
“I have a favor to ask of you,” Vinnie said. “I want to ask you as a colleague to show some good faith to me. I want to ask you to spare Jimmy Lanso. He’s family. He’s a nephew of my wife’s sister’s husband. I’ll see to it that the punk is punished, but I’d like to ask you as a friend not to whack him.”
“I’ll certainly give it serious thought,” Paul said.
“Thank you,” Vinnie said. “After all, we are civilized people. Kids can make mistakes. You and I have had our differences, but we respect each other and understand our common interests. I’m sure that you will take all this into account.” Vinnie stood up.
“I’ll take everything into consideration,” Paul said.
Vinnie turned around and walked out of the restaurant.
Paul lifted his wineglass and took a sip. “Angelo,” he called over his shoulder. “Did Vinnie touch his wine?”
“No,” Angelo said.
“I didn’t think so,” Paul said. “And he calls himself civilized?”
“What about Jimmy Lanso?” Angelo asked.
“Kill him,” Cerino said. “Take me home, then do it.”
“What if it is a setup?” Angelo asked.
Paul took another sip of his wine. “I seriously doubt it,” he said. “Vinnie wouldn’t lie about family.”
Angelo did not like the situation at all. The idea of a funeral home gave him the creeps. Besides, he didn’t trust Vinnie Dominick to tell the truth whether it was about family or business. In Angelo’s opinion there was a good chance this was a setup, despite Cerino’s thoughts to the contrary. And if it was a setup, it was going to be very dangerous to go breaking into the Spoletto Funeral Home. Angelo decided this was a good occasion to let Tony take the lead. And Tony was so eager, he’d no doubt be pleased. He’d been crying for a year that he was never able to do something on his own.
“So what’s your take?” Angelo asked once he and Tony were parked across the street from the funeral parlor. It was a rather large, white clapboard building with Greek columns supporting a small front porch.
“I think it’s perfect,” Tony said. His eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Don’t you feel it’s a little creepy?” Angelo asked.
“Nah,” Tony said. “My uncle’s cousin had a home. I even worked there for a summer when I needed a job for the parole board. The work is definitely not your usual nine to five, but for what we have in mind, I think it’s convenient. We whack him, they embalm him. It’s all done in-house.” Tony laughed.
“You get it?”
“Of course I get it,” Angelo snapped.
“Well, let’s do it,” Tony said. “I can see a light on in the back. Must be the embalming room. That must be where Lanso’s hiding out.”
“You say you worked in a funeral home?” Angelo asked as he scanned the neighborhood for signs of trouble.
“For about two months,” Tony said.
“Since you’re familiar with this kind of place maybe you should go in first.” He hoped it would sound as if the idea had just occurred to him. “Once you get Lanso cornered, you can flip the light on and off. Meanwhile I’ll hang out here and make sure it isn’t a setup.”
“Sounds great,” Tony said. With that, he was off.
Getting up from the cot, Jimmy Lanso stepped over to the tiny TV and turned down the sound. He thought he’d heard a noise again, just like he had the last couple of nights. He listened intently but he didn’t hear anything except his own heart thumping in his chest and a slight ringing in his ears from all the aspirin he’d been taking. Not having slept for sixty or so hours except short snatches, he was a nervous, exhausted wreck. He’d been hiding out in the funeral home ever since he and Bruno abandoned their pad in Woodside after Frankie didn’t return or call.
The last month had been a nightmare for Jimmy. Ever since the stupid acid episode, he’d been living in constant fear. Up until the dirty deed actually went down, he’d been convinced that his part in it would “make” his career. Instead, he seemed to have guaranteed his own death. The first terrible shock was Terry Manso’s getting killed trying to get into the car. And now he’d heard that both Frankie and Bruno had ended up floating in the East River. It couldn’t be long before they got him, too.
Jimmy’s only hope was that his uncle had talked to Vinnie Dominick, his brother-in-law by marriage, and Vinnie had promised to take care of things. But until Jimmy heard that everything was copacetic, he couldn’t relax, not for a second.
Jimmy heard a slight thump in the embalming room. It was not his imagination. With the TV turned down it had been as clear as day. He froze, wondering if he’d hear the sound again. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. When all remained quiet, he mustered the courage to check it out by stepping over to the door of the utility room he was using to hide out.