“Yes?” he said.
“Mr. Azzecca, this is Hymie on the door. I got a package for you.”
“Send it right up,” Azzecca said.
“Fellow who delivered it said it was important, so I didn’t know whether I should wait till morning...”
“Yes, yes, send it right up,” Azzecca said.
“... or buzz you now in the middle of the night. Should I send it up?”
“Please,” Azzecca said.
The elevator operator knocked on the door five minutes later and handed Azzecca an A & P shopping bag. Azzecca thanked him, closed and locked the door, and then went into the living room, wondering how come the money had been transferred to a shopping bag from a plain white envelope with a rubber band around it. He turned the bag over, dumped its contents onto the coffee table, and wondered how come the fifty thousand dollars had been in hundred-dollar denominations when it left this apartment, whereas it now seemed to be in various denominations — tens, twenties, singles, and century notes.
He began counting the money.
And then he began wondering why Lieutenant Bozzaris, after his long song and dance on the telephone, had not bothered after all to deduct the two-thousand-dollar contribution to his squad’s pension and retirement fund.
The bills on Azzecca’s living room coffee table added up to exactly fifty thousand dollars, the identical amount that Freddie Corriere had carried out of here at 9:45 P.M. Bozzaris had deducted the ticket to Naples, but that was all. Maybe he was planning on taking a little trip.
Azzecca shrugged.
Tomorrow, he would have to send another messenger to Benny Napkins. By then, he figured he would have heard from the good lieutenant again, correcting his oversight. Azzecca belched, finished his glass of milk, and went to bed with his ulcer growling nonetheless.
13: Bloomingdales
Benny Napkins was asleep when his doorbell sounded at ten o’clock Friday morning. He got out of bed, being very careful not to disturb Jeanette Kay, and then went through the apartment to the front door.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Freddie Corriere.”
Benny lifted the peephole flap and peered into the hallway. It was indeed Freddie Corriere, looking wan and exhausted and skinnier than usual, but Freddie Corriere nonetheless. Benny unlocked both Segal locks, slipped the Fox lock bar to the floor, undid the night chain, and opened the door.
“Okay to come in?” Freddie asked.
“Yes, sure, but please be very quiet as Jeanette Kay is still asleep.”
“Yeah?” Freddie said.
“Yeah,” Benny said.
“I was supposed to bring this to you last night,” Freddie said, “but I kept trying here, and nobody was home.”
“I was at a card game,” Benny said, “and Jeanette Kay went to the movies.”
“Yeah?” Freddie said. “Did you win?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Benny said, and sighed.
“I had a very interesting time last night,” Freddie said, anxious to tell someone, if only Benny Napkins, of the marvelous things he and Sarah had done together.
“I had a very interesting time too,” Benny said, “but I haven’t got time to discuss it right now. I got to get dressed and go up to Harlem for the work, and also there’s some other pressing matters I have to attend to.”
“Oh, sure,” Freddie said. “Maybe some other time.”
“What’s this?” Benny said, and looked at the bulging envelope in his hands.
“It’s from Mario Azzecca,” Freddie said. “There’s instructions inside.”
“Did you read the instructions?”
“Would I read something marked personal to you?”
“I guess not,” Benny said.
“Also, I can’t read,” Freddie said, and shrugged.
“Well, thank you for bringing it over,” Benny said. “I’d offer you a cup of coffee, but Jeanette Kay is still asleep, and I like her to sleep herself out.”
“Oh, sure,” Freddie said. “Some other time, maybe. Then maybe we can also discuss this girl I had last night who...”
“Some other time,” Benny said.
“Yeah,” Freddie said, and left the apartment.
Benny sighed and went into the kitchen. He put down the bulging envelope, afraid to open it because he was certain that anything from Mario Azzecca would only be some new calamity. He put the coffeepot on the stove, sat down at the kitchen table, and stared at the envelope. He was surprised that The Jackass had not contacted him after last night’s stickup, but maybe The Jackass had decided to take a plane to India or someplace. If there was one thing you could never trust it was a crook, especially if he happened to be a dumb one. The Jackass had probably never seen that kind of money in his entire life; it was easy to imagine it going to his head. Benny could visualize him taking off all his clothes, except the stocking, and then laying down naked on his bed and rubbing himself all over with those crisp green bills. And then he had probably got on a plane to India.
Benny wished he was on a plane to India.
He had been that close, that close, to getting the ransom money legitimately, if only The Jackass hadn’t been such a jackass. But then again, he himself was the one who’d figured out the heist, so he couldn’t very well blame the poor soul, who’d only followed instructions — except that the poor soul was a very larcenous bastard who had probably decided to keep all the marbles for himself. Well, we all make mistakes, Benny thought. Like that time in Chicago, he thought, and looked at the envelope again, and wondered what kind of trouble Azzecca was sending him on a nice Friday morning.
The coffeepot was perking. Benny got a cup and saucer from the cabinet and set it on the kitchen table. He kept stealing sidelong glances at the envelope each time he passed it, as though by constantly referring to it, it might miraculously disappear.
The time in Chicago was a very natural mistake, Benny thought. Why can’t they ever let a man forget things? He poured coffee from the pot and looked at the envelope again. How was he supposed to know that the man who was opening Domizio’s Italian Restaurant was none other than Carmine Ganucci’s brother? Benny had followed the same routine he always did when a new restaurant was opening in Chicago. He had paid a visit to the establishment and casually mentioned that several interested parties would like to collect the garbage and supply the linen. Domizio had said, “Get the hell out of here, Dummy.” So that night some of Benny’s friends had inadvertently thrown a garbage can through the new plate-glass window of Domizio’s splendid establishment. It really served Domizio right, because if a man’s name was Domizio Ganucci, he shouldn’t go changing it to Domizio Galsworthy, what the hell kind of a name was that for a man running an Italian restaurant? And with a fabulous heritage like his? A member of the Ganucci family? Sometimes Benny simply couldn’t understand people’s motivations. What’s in a name? he quoted silently, That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, and then shrugged and thought, Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose, no? and tried to consider the more fortunate aspects of the episode, the most felicitous of which had been the fact that he hadn’t woken up in the Chicago Sanitary and Ship Canal the next morning.
Instead, Carmine Ganucci had arrived personally from New York to report that he understood the mistake, of course, it was an honest mistake, but the plate-glass window had cost his dear brother Domizio one thousand two hundred and fifty dollars, and this amount would be deducted from the money due Benny as his percentage of the garbage and linen business. In the future, however, Benny would no longer be getting a percentage from that profession. Instead, Benny was being asked to transfer to New York, where there was an excellent opening for a salaried pickup man in East Harlem, if Benny was interested in the job. The position would not pay as much as he was accustomed to earning, but Benny had to understand that plate-glass windows did not grow on trees. And whereas the entire incident had certainly been highly amusing, it was also pretty damn stupid to try to shake down the brother of Carmine Ganucci, did Benny think he understood that?