Sins of the Father Read online

  “Doyle. You there?”

  “It’s me. What is it?”

  “You need to go to Lucchese’s office in the Brokaw Building on Broadway.”

  “Where?”

  “California Dry Fruit Importers.”

  Vico scribbled down the info.

  “Alright, sure.”

  “There’s a package for you. Take care of it for me.” Vico finally discerned the voice as Gagliano’s.

  “Done.”

  “You sober?” Gagliano asked.

  “Yeah,” Vico lied. The rumors of his drinking had been spreading, and he was anxious to dispel the theory.

  “You sound fried. Put down the hooch, grab some coffee, and sober up. You’re gonna need your wits.” Gagliano hung up.

  Despite orders, Vico took one last pull of the whiskey and hurried to his car.

  Traffic was heavy, as it tended to be on the night of a Yankees game. The bright lights kept Vico’s head hurting, but the cars buzzing past him kept him alert.

  He arrived at the building and checked for the third time that his revolver was loaded. Six shots. He slid it into his jacket, and pulled his fedora over his eyes. If this was a setup, he would be prepared.

  Vico noticed a man standing by the front door. He was adorned in nice threads and was puffing on a long cigar. A bodyguard, Vico decided.

  He walked past the building, trying to get a glimpse of the man without raising his suspicion. The face was unrecognizable.

  Could be nothing.

  Regardless, Vico took an alley beside the building and jimmied the lock to enter through a back door.

  He stopped and listened before moving forward, more concerned than relieved when he heard nothing. The office had been closed for a few hours. Whatever was awaiting him wasn’t pleasant.

  The light bulb in the hallway flickered. He stuck to the walls and moved only when the light darkened. Vico reached into his coat and kept his revolver in hand. He scaled a single flight of stairs to the floor with the 1000 suit numbers, and followed signs for the California Dry Fruit Importers.

  As Vico entered, he made out the image of a lone man across the room. The shadowy figure looked up but didn’t seem surprised to see him.

  “You the guy?” the man asked, his face slightly illuminated by the cherry of his cigar.

  “I’m the guy.” Vico strained his eyes. The man before him was an old man, a greaseball, as Gagliano would have described him. He matched the description. It was Pinzolo.

  “Where is the H? Lucchese told me you’d have a briefcase full,” Pinzolo said, noticing that Vico was empty-handed. If Pinzolo thought this was a drug deal, he was wrong.

  “I got it tucked away,” Vico said, pulling out his pistol. He shot once, and Pinzolo tumbled back onto the floor, his cheekbone shattered. Vico hurried over to him. Pinzolo looked on in dismay, as if he were simply confused and appalled at what was happening. He reached into his coat pocket, fumbling for a pistol, but Vico crouched over him and stepped on his hand.

  “This is for Tommy Reina.” Vico put the barrel against Pinzolo’s chest. He could feel the man’s heart beat through the tip of his revolver. He looked into Pinzolo’s eyes as he pulled the trigger, and watched them roll back as the last breath escaped him.

  Enzo

  Coney Island, Brooklyn—September 16, 1930

  “Don’t say nothin’ to nobody,” Gagliano had instructed Vico, Enzo, and Cargo before they entered the restaurant in Coney Island. The entire family had been called for a meeting to discuss who had killed their newly elected leader, Joseph Pinzolo.

  They found their seats at a table near the Gap and waited for the meeting to commence. The restaurant had been closed early for the evening, no outsiders allowed.

  “As many of you know, Joseph Pinzolo was found dead this morning,” Steve Rondelli said, the lone man to be standing at his table. “We need to determine who made this hit, and why.” He played his part well, Enzo thought. From what he understood, Rondelli had been behind Gagliano since day one. “Our friend Tommy Lucchese has been arrested because Pinzolo was found dead in an office leased by him, but it couldn’t have been Tommy. He was with me all yesterday evening.”

  At the other end of the room, Enzo caught a glimpse of Gagliano, who was puffing on a cigar without a care in the world.

  “Could it have been someone from outside the family?” one man asked, who Enzo identified as Sally Shillitani.

  “We all know there were plenty of men in this room who wanted him dead,” the Gap said, “so no reason to think it came from somewhere else.”

  “Someone needs to be held responsible. If we don’t do something about it, Joe the Boss is going to think we were all in on it,” said a man named Frank Callace, who Cargo referred to as “Chick 99.”

  “Lucchese could have ordered the hit?” another asked.

  “Not likely. Lucchese had no reason to have Pinzolo whacked. He doesn’t want to be the boss,” Rondelli said, and suddenly all eyes fell on Gagliano. It was unspoken, but Enzo thought the room had already made up its mind.

  “I did it.” Vico stood up. Enzo looked down and away, feeling like he might throw up as he watched his brother forfeit his life.

  Enzo tried to analyze Gagliano’s response, but the man only squinted his eyes and watched curiously.

  “Yeah, I took him out. I didn’t have any orders. No one told me to. But we all know that old bastard needed to die, and I was the only one who was going to do it,” Vico said. The room collectively silenced.

  “Who are you, young man?” one member finally said, appalled.

  “Bobby Doyle. I was a loyal associate of Gaetano Reina. Masseria had him killed, so I killed Masseria’s guy. It was justice.”

  “You cannot decide justice by yourself. We have rules!” another shouted.

  Vico only jutted out his chin and extended his chest. He wasn’t going to be intimidated. Enzo thought he may have gone too far this time.

  The restaurant doors burst open. The men around the room stirred, and many of them reached for their weapons.

  It was Lucchese who paced in.

  “Tommy?” Rondelli asked, as if surprised.

  “I got out.” Many of them stood up to congratulate him on getting away from another sentence. “Big news, though.”

  “What is it?” Gagliano asked, playing his role.

  “I heard some of the bulls talking down at the 23rd Precinct. They’re keeping it under wraps for now, but they found Giuseppe Morello dead, his body shot up pretty good.”

  Everyone in the room stirred.

  “Somebody else has it out for Joe the Boss,” Gagliano said. Together, he and his associates had acted out their parts perfectly. Even Vico had played a roll, even if Enzo hadn’t known it at first. It was now established that there were men in their own ranks who wanted Pinzolo dead, even at the cost of a war with Masseria. And now that they knew Masseria had other enemies, maybe, just maybe, they could actually win the war.

  Enzo finished the remainder of his whiskey. Time to go to war.

  Sonny

  Upper East Side, Manhattan—September 19, 1930

  After the Hook Hand’s death, Maranzano ordered that the entire family lay low. Masseria was howling for revenge, and the police were hunting for suspects. Sonny was moved along with the rest of Bonanno’s crew to a new safe house in the Upper East Side, where none of them had been spotted before. Maranzano stayed there most of the time as well, and he sat by the window with a cautious eye to the street.

  They ate bread and onions, and drank little. Maranzano said this was a war, and they had to give up certain luxuries if they wanted to be victorious.

  Maranzano never stopped cleaning his weapons, and the rest of them followed his example. Even after they went to sleep, Maranzano would stay in the living room, disassembling his weapons completely and inspecting the chamber for any obstructions.

  Sonny had arranged for a truckload of ammunition from Chicago to arrive in New York,
and they kept it in their new safe house. Maranzano thoroughly inspected each bullet and shell, but even after they passed the test, he liked to deconstruct the shells and load them with his own ingredients. He would weigh out the gunpowder meticulously on a small scale, and ensure that each shell was filled with the same number of pellets.

  “Mr. Maranzano?” Sonny asked one evening after they had finished their meager dinners and were cleaning their weapons.

  “What is it, Vincente?” he asked, scrubbing the barrel of his shotgun with a small brush.

  “When I killed Morello…he said that he didn’t kill my father.”

  Maranzano sat the gun down across his lap and leaned back against the window.

  “Of course, he did. He feared for his life. Even a brave individual like Morello would lie if it meant a chance at survival.”

  “Yeah,” Sonny said, and looked down. Maranzano resumed his cleaning ritual. “Is there any chance you were wrong, though? Is there any chance it was someone else?”

  Maranzano looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment. “It’s possible. I only know what I am told. But do you actually think it was someone else? Or do you wish it was someone else, so that you could exact revenge again?”

  Sonny thought about it, and shrugged. “I just want to make sure I got the right guy,” he said, and then returned his attention to the cleaning of his own pistol, anxious to end the conversation.

  Buster began to snore. Charlie Buffalo laughed at the sight and made his away across the room. He licked his finger and gave Buster a wet willy.

  Charlie laughed as Buster jolted and slapped his hand away. Maranzano shook his head, smiling like a father does at his children’s playfulness.

  “Like a couple of schoolboys, these two,” Bonanno said, and pointed at them.

  “Yeah, and he’s the schoolyard bully.” Buster wiped the sleep from his eyes.

  As they jested, Maranzano turned his attention to the street.

  “Someone is coming,” he said, and he hastened to put his shotgun back together.

  “Who?” Charlie asked. “No one knows we’re here.”

  “We’ve been here for over a month, Calogero. Someone was bound to find us eventually.” Maranzano stood and shut the curtains, leaving only enough room to allow a vantage point of the road.

  Headlights passed through the sheer curtains and came to a halt. They all sat silently and tried to calculate the number of vehicles approaching.

  “Sebastiano, do you have your weapon ready?” Maranzano asked.

  “Yes, I do.” Buster stood and grabbed the weapon, slapping a drum of ammo into place.

  “Stay inside, Don Maranzano,” Bonanno said, moving to the door. “We can handle this.”

  “That is not how I conduct my business, Joseph, and that isn’t how I lead this family.” He loaded his shotgun and took one last glance out the door. “I see four cars. There are perhaps more. They’ll have the numbers.”

  “But we have Don Maranzano,” Charlie said, spinning the chamber of his revolver and locking it into place.

  “Let us go, and let us return,” Maranzano said.

  The don was the first one to exit the building. He held his shotgun out in front of him, but his disposition was calm. Bonanno, Buster, Sonny, and Charlie poured out the door behind him, weapons pointed at the intruders.

  Car doors opened and shut, and men in three-piece suits appeared from everywhere. It was a wonder that all these men could have squeezed into just four cars.

  Sonny pointed his revolver at one of them. He hoped he wouldn’t have to pull the trigger. They would be massacred.

  One giant man stepped out in front of the rest. He took off his fedora and munched on the wet tip of a fat cigar. He smiled coyly.

  They stood in silence, appraising each other for a moment. Behind the giant, Sonny spotted two familiar faces he hadn’t seen in quite a while. They noticed him too, and seemed just as surprised.

  “You’re a hard man to find,” the giant said to Maranzano. “My name is Tommy Gagliano.” He let out a billow of smoke.

  “And I am Salvatore Maranzano,” the don said. His voice was friendly, but he kept his shotgun pointed at Gagliano’s chest.

  “I hear we want the same people dead.” Gagliano grinned from ear to ear. Maranzano lowered his gun, followed by men on either side of the porch.

  Maranzano stepped down to Gagliano and embraced him, with a kiss on either cheek.

  Note from the Author

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  Continue for a sneak peak into The Consentino Crime Saga Book 2, “The Boss of Bosses”!

  Boss of Bosses

  Valachi Hearing

  The Chairman: When was it specifically that your outfit aligned with the outfit from Castellamare?

  Mr. Valachi: Sometime in the fall of 1930. When we found out what happened to Peter Morello, and we knew that it wasn’t us who done it, we knew someone else had it out for Joe the Boss.

  The Chairman: Are we getting to the beginning of the war between the gangs of Masseria and Maranzano?

  Mr. Valachi: We are getting to what we called the Castellamare War.

  The Chairman: That was the war I was referring to.

  Mr. Valachi: Yes, this is when the war began. Once Gagliano was in control of our family, we connected with Maranzano and the war began.

  The Chairman: And were you officially in the outfit by this time?

  Mr. Valachi: I was proposed. Bobby Doyle and Enzo the Thief were proposed as well, because we had been working for Gagliano before he was the boss.

  The Chairman: And by Bobby Doyle and Enzo the thief you are referring to Vico and Enzo Consentino?

  Mr. Valachi: Correct, Senator.

  The Chairman: Senator Mundt? You have a question?

  Senator Mundt: Ah, yes. Why would all of you want to be involved in a family that was going to war?

  Mr. Valachi: Well, Senator, we were done stealing. It was getting to be too difficult.

  Senator Mundt: It was becoming too difficult to be a burglar?

  Mr. Valachi: Right. They were starting to put radios in the police cars. Before then, they only had those radio cars in Westchester County. Now they had them everywhere. They also kept the stop lights going all night, whereas before they had turned them off at 3 o’clock in the morning. We knew that if we kept stealing we would wind up dead or in prison.

  Senator Mundt: What did joining the Gagliano outfit give you that made burglary safer?

  Mr. Valachi: Well, they told us we weren’t to steal anymore, which was fine by us. They said we could earn without having to steal.

  Senator Mundt: And this is why you and the Consentino twins joined Gagliano’s outfit? And Maranzano’s through connection?

  Mr. Valachi: It’s why I joined. Probably Enzo too. Doyle wanted answers about his father’s death, although at the time I didn’t know it was Enzo and Doyle’s father. He said he just wanted info about who ordered the hit on a friend of his.

  Senator Mundt: And he was required to be officially brought in to Gagliano’s family before he could find these answers?

  Mr. Valachi: Correct, Senator. Their father had been an important man in Sicily, and he had people looking out for him. However ordered the hit had to go before the General Assembly to receive permission. That means that it wasn’t to ever be spoken of with those who weren’t connected.

  Senator Mundt: Thank you, Chairman.

  The Chairman: So at this point you, Vico Consentino, and Enzo Consentino were proposed to be brought in to the family?

  Mr. Valachi: Right.

  The Chairman: And this mean that you would be required to participate in the upcoming war?

  Mr. Valachi: It was never said like that. But it was understood that we would be i
nvolved.

  The Chairman: What was to be your roll in the war effort?

  Mr. Valachi: After Gagliano and Maranzano met up, they offered contracts to each other.

  The Chairman: Contracts?

  Mr. Valachi: Yes, contracts. That meant that Maranzano’s family would kill someone for Gagliano, and Gagliano’s crew would do the same for Maranzano. After that, we would be together, almost like one family. Me and the others who were being proposed were given the contracts.

  The Chairman: Meaning you were given the name of who to kill, and you eliminated them?

  Mr. Valachi: I didn’t know the names personally. I never knew the names. Bobby Doyle did, though. He was the best shot out of any of us, and he was given the contract. Me and Enzo were given a different task. We were given a place in the Bronx where we bunked with two guys from the Castellamare family, and were set to keep an eye on some of Masseria’s gang.

  The Chairman: Who were the two men from the Castellamare family?

  Mr. Valachi: Buster from Chicago, and Sonny Consentino.

  The Chairman: You four were given the task of surveillance?

  Mr. Valachi: Correct, Senator. And we were given specific instructions to kill if necessary.

  The Chairman: What do you mean by necessary? Do you mean in self defense?

  Mr. Valachi: No. If we saw the right guy and got the right angle, we were supposed to kill.