There it goes. The unmistakable sound of gunfire erupting. Let's see Masseria survive that one. It won't be like it was in 1922. How he managed to survive a point blank gunshot attack on him, with slight deafness in the left ear from the closeness of the weapon fire, Charlie will never know. But this time it's unavoidable.
He begins to think back to when he grew dissatisfied with Masseria's character. It was most likely after Arnold had been killed. The embarrassment of having to go back with difficult to take but at the same time nothing he could do about it. And Masseria never let him forget it. That didn't mean that he didn't keep him busy running around with securing the gangs that surrounded him, before Maranzano's arrival from Sicily, before Masseria attempted to grab the Castellammarese faction.
He thinks about the meeting he had in '22 with Valenti and Morello. Masseria had kept him out the outs of what he and Morello had talked about. The only instruction given to him from Masseria had been to take out Valenti but let Morello lead. Because those instructions hadn't been embarrassing. The small talk in the restaurant had gone on longer than originally thought. Valenti wasn't that bright until nearly an hour had passed and it had been then he realised Masseria wasn't coming. A deal had been struck and that meant that Valenti was the odd man out.
Chaos erupted, everyone reaching for their guns until the two men Valenti brought with him went down, Valenti fled and they had to chase him into the streets. He hadn't be able to get a good shot since the others were firing blindly into the streets like idiots, drawing more attention to themselves. For fuck sake they had struck an eight-year-old girl! She had died by the time he had made it back to her; the others had to pull him back so they could hide. Those fuckers had hit her with their bullets and then left her in the street. It wasn't fucking right.
That's when he had been pissed off enough, as he had been watching Valenti jump onto the running board of a passing taxi when he had taken careful aim and shot. Valenti dropped to the street. When he told Masseria about how botched it had gone, the two civilians they had hit and killed all Masseria had wanted to know was if Valenti was dead. He confirmed Valenti was, it had been a lucky shot that he had been able to drop him as he did.
Masseria had laughed and confirmed that's one of the reasons he was called Lucky. No concern for the girl they killed, or the man, nothing like that, as long as he got his aspirations met.
Still no respect from Masseria. When he announced at the Venezia restaurant in East Harlem that night that he was assuming control of the Morello family with Morello as his number two, he had felt slighted. Masseria kept him down near the bottom, where all the dirty work was to be taken care of. Didn't matter if Masseria trusted him enough to get it done, he wanted more and the only obstruction preventing him from advancing further was Masseria.
Frankie Yale's death seems to be the point where he realised Masseria wanted to assume control of all the Mafia gangs in New York City, so 1928? Five years after the Valenti murder and that wasn't enough for Masseria. Then D'Aquilla was killed by Morello because of bad blood between the two gangs or resentment, he thought for sure Masseria would give him a small piece of D'Aquilla's family. But no. Masseria gave it to Alfred Mino and Steve Ferrigno. Soon after, Masseria had gone after Yale's organisation and Anthony Carfano, even though they maintained control of Yale's gambling and bootlegging interests but Masseria shifted control of the Waterfront racket to the D'Aquilla family and Mineo. Still nothing was offered to him by Masseria. The resentment had been growing.
Masseria's power had grown so extensive that other Sicilian gang leaders, like Gaetano Reina, paid homage to him to avoid death. Didn't end up working so well for Reina, though. Pity. He really liked Gaetano.
But he thinks what really pissed him off the most was the fact that even though he had been doing everything Masseria contacted him for, he still turned his fucking gaze on his Broadway Mob. Because Masseria realised that he hadn't been paying tribute. No, course not; he'd just been doing all the fucking work. The lectures he'd gotten from Masseria. Nothing was ever good enough for Masseria.
Even thinking about it now irritates him. Charlie leans against the wall before straightening up and fixing his tie. China is shattering into a million and one pieces, the screams of the restaurant owners and Albert's shouts to the others to finish it up. Yeah, they're taking entirely too long. He reaches into the pocket of his jacket to retrieve his cigarettes and he strikes a light, inhaling deeply. This was risky. He didn't think it'd actually work. Ever since someone told him that he'd been planning on order a hit on him, guilty of course, Masseria hadn't really trusted him. Even as he swore that whoever had told him that had been full of shit Masseria seemed to reluctantly accept that but Charlie could see that the trust didn't return. Masseria never treated him differently but Charlie caught the looks of distrust out of the corner of his eye.
Which he had been right to do. He had been planning his murder. Ever since he and Vito came to the desperate conclusion that they were on the losing team. The ship was sinking and it had been time to bail. Contacting Maranzano had been his idea; Vito had been vehemently against it. Charlie had to work on Vito to get him on his side, promising him that Maranzano said this was the only way to end the feuding, restore some impression of peace to the gangs and, even though Maranzano was a Moustache Pete, he was actually in favour of modernising the Mafia. He was willing to open the doors to other gangs. Other nationalities. Which is something he's been lobbying for since he started working for Masseria. There is always enough money to go around. Vito had reluctantly agreed only if he could be apart of the hit team. Settle some grievances with Masseria. Years in the making.
The fact that they didn't want to work with other non-Italians surprised him. Even worse when they found out that his sources and preferred contacts like Ben and Meyer, who are Jewish, and Costello, who is Calabrian, they had heaped lectures on him about who he was supposed to associate with and it wasn't those guys. Imagine that, he, in his twenties back then, and he was still getting lectured about who he was supposed to hang around. It took everything in him not to tell them to fuck off. Had he, he'd probably be in a shallow grave.
When the negotiations began, he supposed he knew it would come to this. It was unavoidable. Masseria wasn't likely to just 'retire,' no he knew the only way to end this was death, and Maranzano had no qualms about murdering another boss to do it. Neither did he, apparently because he wasn't sad to see Masseria go, after all, what had he done for him, really? He had worked his way up to the top, without help, it was his talents and taste for violence that got him noticed by Masseria first but Masseria didn't do anything, it was just work. Go, collect money, etc, etc. No, the only allegiance he owed anyone was Arnold. Arnold provided all the education he needed. How to run rackets like a business, and how to move through high society with ease. Yeah, back then, he did lack the knowledge to do that, he was just a street thug in those days.
Imagine his humiliation when he had to go crawling back to Masseria after Arnold's murder. Still, the best thing Arnold could have given him gave him the means to make it on his own. That was invaluable.
Charlie exhales, a cloud of smoke stretches in front of him. It's quiet now. He'll wait a few more seconds just to ensure that Masseria's actually dead before he ventures out. He goes over his story a few more times in his head. Who does he know on the police force on Coney Island? Hm, no name comes to his mind. Still, easy enough to talk his way out, just because he planned this didn't mean he was there. Well, it wasn't as if he witnessed everything. The story practically writes itself. They're in the middle of a war, the police will think Maranzano hired the gunmen, it's solid. Then again given his reputation, he'll be hauled off for questioning nonetheless. Yeah, he didn't see it but he did plan it. Two very different things.
He can't help but wonder how things are going to be different now. He also doesn't know why there is still a lingering shadow of doubt in his mind about the future, now as he pushes the door open to survey the damage. Since it hardly seems to matter now, the debris is everywhere; Charlie flicks the ash from his cigarette onto the floor. He walks towards the table he shared with Masseria moments ago, glass crunches audibly under his feet. Bullet holes riddle the surrounding walls; flecks of plaster and wood lie scattered around the table and floor. The table they had been sitting at lies on its side, the cards from some game he can't remember have deposited themselves on the floor and a few lie close to Masseria's body.
Masseria lies on his back staring up at the ceiling and so Charlie crouches down for a closer look.
Bullet holes have punctured Masseria's midsection so many times it's hard to tell the dress shirt underneath the jacket had, at one point, been white. He would have been dead seconds after hitting the ground however just for good measure, one of them had put a bullet in his head, a clear sign it the underworld. Problem is the four that had been put up to the task, Albert, Ben, Vito and Joey, all four of them had a penchant for sending grisly messages it was hard to tell which one delivered the final shot. Hell, Vito's murder of Reina had been rather nasty, but then again shot gun blasts to the back of one's head tend to do that.
Masseria's blank stare at the ceiling tells Charlie he should've struck first. But he hesitated and now look at him. Dead on a restaurant floor on Coney Island.
Charlie's look darkens when he thinks about the constant shit that's been going on between him, Masseria, his gang and the others. For eight years. He and the others moved seamlessly through the high society types, conducted themselves in a professional manner, and dressed the part but not Masseria. They were constantly apologising for Masseria's constant lack of manners and poor etiquette, he was a poor reflection on them and they had to work doubly hard to prove to people that they were not him. The more Charlie stares at him, the more incensed he becomes. All the times Masseria had refused to listen to him, shouting that he was nothing but a thug and he should be on his knees thanking him for making him a capo because he'd never be anything else. Charlie stubs the cigarette out of the floor close to Masseria's stunned, empty gaze. Masseria would never know because he never even bothered to see how talented he actually was. Fatal mistake.
Charlie gets to a standing position. 'Fuck you. You had it coming.'
He goes towards the massive window, picking up and setting a chair aside from when the three gunmen burst in and notices something rather…nerve wracking. The getaway vehicle is still parked outside. While they had pulled the tag off, slightly reassuring, they're still fucking sitting there! Why? Why the fuck haven't they moved?! And then he realises why. Terranova is just sitting at the wheel staring at the restaurant. Every once and awhile he'll glance down to what Charlie assumes to be the gearbox before locking stares with the restaurant again with a stunned expression, mouth agape. Ben is beside him, gesturing wildly to the restaurant before Albert leans forward and wraps his arm around Terranova's neck, breaking his stare with the restaurant as he grabs a hold of Albert's forearm trying to pull it away. He watches Vito lean forward and attempt to pull Albert off of Terranova.
Joey appears out of the window at the back to sit on the lip to check the street for impending cop cars. So far nothing but the sirens have started faint. They're coming.
When Joey and Charlie meet one another's gazes, Joey shrugs, knowing what Charlie is pissed about and he merely points to Terranova's inability to drive. Charlie shakes his head and Joey slides back in the car, shoving Albert aside so he can talk to Ben while Terranova gasps for air. Ben says something to Albert and Albert leans forward practically pulling Terranova out of the driver's seat as Ben slides over and the car jerks forward. In a rush, Ben's gear changes are sometimes premature. The last thing Charlie sees is Albert giving Terranova a much-deserved beating. Vito hops into the front seat with Ben and they begin talking.
The whole thing could have been royally screwed because that fucking idiot can't slip a car into gear. Joey leans out the back window again and holds his arm up in acknowledgement. Charlie couldn't care; just get the fuck off of Coney Island.
'Sono … sono andati?' An older woman appears in the doorway that leads to the alleyway. She's the mother in law of the owner, their home is right across from their restaurant.
'Sì, ma è meglio chiamare la polizia.' Charlie replies and reaches in to grab another cigarette. He strikes a light with the matches and shakes the match out. Dropping it on the floor runs the risk of igniting this entire building because of all the spilt alcohol. Well, he never conceded that they had good aim.
'Perché?' She wonders and Charlie merely smiles at her, stepping aside so she can see the bullet-ridden body of his former boss.
'Questo.'
He watches the woman's hands fly to her mouth to stifle her scream and she backs away towards the door, her face as white as a sheet. She turns towards the door and dashes out, shrilling calling for her husband to call for the police.
Charlie merely listens as the sirens draw closer and closer. He isn't really wanting to waste away the night hours going over the same basic story over again for however many cops will question him. They'll tell him he's lying and he is but he can't corroborate something he didn't actually see. He audibly sighs.
The crunching sounds of glass alerts his attention to the back of the restaurant again. This time it's the husband of the woman come out to investigate. When the shooting started they must have ducked out and into the alleyway. He really needs to lean their names. He watches the owner turn around in small circles surveying the damage. When he spots one man standing and the other dead on the floor in a pool of blood he glances from the dead one to the living one.
'cosa, cosa è successo?' He wonders but his voice is strained. Clearly not the way he wanted to be spending his night. Yeah, him either.
'omicidio.' Charlie replies simply and the sirens of the impending cop cars continue to draw ever closer. Dread builds within him. At the prospect of all the hours he's going to waste.
'Come ha fatto … stai …? Non stavi male? Struck?' The man wonders, struggling to have his words form correctly. The first Model A screeches to a halt outside the restaurant. And it begins.
Charlie turns to the owner still glancing around the to the mess. 'No, perdere l'intero spettacolo.' He doesn't repress his smirk well enough but the owner isn't really listening.
The first cop rushes in, followed by another. Their eyes are immediately drawn to the body of Masseria still on the floor. Charlie is nearly certain a groan escapes the one cop while the younger one, compared to the veteran, pushes his hat off his face.
'Well, no need to ask why we're here,' The veteran cop glances over his shoulder to the second Model A that has pulled up. He waves them in. His tired green eyes fall on Charlie and the emotions drain from his face. 'Shoulda known, with you here, Lucky, that's never a good thing. What the fuck happened?'
'A murder.'
'Thank you. Smart ass,' The veteran replies without missing a beat. 'In here fellas. But the antics aside, Lucky, what actually happened. And don't go smarting off, either.'
Charlie simply gives him an impatient look. 'Already told you. A murder. Right there. On the floor.'
'I have eyes, I can see. I want to know how it happened.' The cop replies with just the same amount of impatience.
'He was shot to death, by my guess. See, four bullet holes in the back and one to the head. Course I don't wanna do your job for you,' Charlie answers and the cop sighs audibly. 'I didn't see anything.'
'I don't believe you. You're somewhere else and the sound of gunshots ringing out doesn't cause you to come back and see what's going on?' The cop questions and Charlie tilts his head. It's so hard to not answer with a smart comment.
'No, I hear gunshots I'm not running towards it, I'm gonna go another way.' Charlie states, semi seriously, and the cop stares at him. Charlie can see he's slowly aggravating him and he has to suppress the urge to smirk.
The cop sniffs and points his men around the restaurant floor. They slowly start to fan out, watching the tension building between their boss and a gangster. 'Guess that means it separates the brave from the cowards.' Everyone is silent, even the cops combing through the scene while Charlie strikes up another cigarette. He exhales thoughtfully and concedes with a small nod.
'Or the stupid from the smart.'
Snickers are heard from the cops as they continue to piece together Masseria's last moments. The veteran cop isn't amused and his face reddens slightly, but from embarrassment or anger, Charlie isn't sure. He just stops himself from smirking.
'You know you'll have to come down to the station with us so we can get a full account of what happened here tonight, right?'
'I'm aware, yes.'
'Good. Hope you've cleared your schedule of plans.' The cop replies and Charlie folds his arms.
'I'll give you my statement and that's it. It shouldn't take long.' Charlie answers firmly and he can see the cop entertaining the thought of placing him in cuffs, as he fingers the set on his hip. He lets his hand fall to his side.
'You'll go when I say you can.' The cop states darkly and again thinks about the cuffs. Charlie keeps his gaze locked with the cop until the cop blinks and looks away. Only then does Charlie move to collect his hat from the ground and bushes the glass off of it with his sleeve.
'Right, so, shall we?' Charlie questions and puts on the hat. The cop glances to the others putting down the flags. Out comes number eight. He nods his head. It's gonna be a long night.
'Carry on, fellas. I'll send Holden down in my stead,' The cop informs them and some groan. That sound the cop chooses to ignore. 'You. In the car.' He points to Charlie and Charlie merely walks out the door, the cop following him.
On his way out he takes one last look at the body of Masseria. He pulls the hat further down to hide his smirk. Victory, it seems, belongs to the Castellammarese faction. Maranzano better understand the gravity of this victory for them. Now things would be on the up. And they could finally start to get themselves on the same level as the Irish and Jewish gangs. Had they let this war continue on any longer, they'd be on the fringes of the underworld. This war nearly destroyed them. It's left them weak and it's gonna take a hell of a lot of work to begin to repair the damage done so they can start claiming the power once again.
'I don't know how else to say it. It's been five hours. I've said it every which way I can imagine. It hasn't changed. Would you like me to tell you in Italian, maybe then you'll get it?' Charlie states impatiently and the two cops in the room with him exchange looks. Charlie leans back in the chair and folds his arms.
'Just seems a bit too convenient, you know?' One cop, McKnight wonders. The one that had been on scene first at the restaurant.
'No, I don't.'
'Word on the street has been there's a bit of a territory feud going on. A power grab.' McKnight questions and leans forward to rest his forearms on the table. Charlie nearly curses. That's the problem with the streets. They're never wrong. He can feel himself getting agitated. It's the lack of sleep and the lack of nicotine. Since they confiscated everything he had on him.
'That so? I wouldn't know.'
'Come on, give us something. You mean to tell me you're in the company of a man and you don't know he's involved in a territory dispute?' The other cop replies, Charlie forgets his name. Mills, he thinks. Doesn't really care.
'You think he tells me anything?' Charlie questions back and McKnight leans closer to Charlie.
'Heard you're the muscle for that guy.'
'You heard wrong.' Charlie replies and McKnight turns to Mills. He's actually rather insulted that's all he's seen as. He's much more than that. It takes a lot in him to keep his mouth shut on that matter, slighted like that. Masseria's greatest legacy, the legacy that makes people think he's just a low level thug, the muscle.
'You've been arrested twenty five times and you expect us to believe, with a rap sheet like yours, that you're not involved with this guy on a deeper level? You expect us to believe that?' Mills repeats and Charlie shrugs slightly.
'If you think there's more than that, then where's your proof?' Charlie replies and the cops both lean back in their seats. Right because you have none. My word against the streets. No one is going to say anything. Charlie keeps his look neutral. 'Right. Because there isn't any.'
'Maybe not right now. But the law's never far behind crooks like you.' McKnight informs him haughtily and Charlie loosens his tie slightly.
'Crooks are people who rob banks and commit petty crimes. I'm not a crook.' Charlie replies evenly and the corners of McKnight's mouth stretch into a small, tight smile.
'You've got an over inflated ego if you think that you're not. You're no better than them.' McKnight answers and again Charlie simply shrugs at him.
'Says you.' Charlie enjoys watch the frustration play out on their faces. They have no evidence to charge him with anything; street gossip can't be corroborated because those witnesses all too often disappear. Or they're intimated so fiercely that they won't testify. Cops know that all too well. How it must frustrate them.
These cops are hoping that if they keep him here long enough he'll get desperate enough and give him a small piece of information they can use against him or others. Well, he won't. If being arrested twenty five times has taught him anything it's that he has to be patient. If they had something they'd have revealed their hand by now. He can play this game all night because he knows he'll win it.
'Tell us again, one more time…' Mills begins before Charlie interrupts him impatiently.
'Seriously? Fuck. You've both forgotten it already? Five times and it's gone? What makes you think the sixth time'll be any better?' Charlie wonders and McKnight feels himself redden at the accusation. There isn't a point in telling him that it's to ensure that the story doesn't change, but he hates to admit it to himself that the story hasn't altered at all, just the phrasing but the consistency is something that's been shown each time.
'Yeah, one more time.' Mills replies and he sees McKnight exhale his anger and frustration. Charlie doesn't reply and Mills glances over to McKnight. He shakes his head and Charlie arches his eyebrow with a smirk. McKnight sighs angrily and reaches in to his jacket pocket and pulls out a cigarette that he passes with reluctance over to Charlie. And then the matchbook, which he slides over the table.
Charlie smirks at his small victory. He takes the matchbook and breaks off a match, striking a light and igniting the cigarette. He inhales deeply and immediately feels calmer than he had a moment ago. 'What do you want to know?'
'What happened,' Mills can feel his patience dwindling. With that gesture given, this criminal may have bought himself more time. Especially when Charlie stares at them with a smirk. 'What you can tell us happened. Who did it, if you can.'
'I don't know who did it. I said that already. The guy had a lot of enemies. So you'd better make a list.' Charlie advises and McKnight pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. He's going to have to cut him loose soon. They are not getting anywhere with him.
'I'm sure you have some idea of who would want to take this guy out.' McKnight assumes and Charlie takes a deep drag on the cigarette.
'No, I don't.'
'So, forgetting that, then what?' McKnight rests his elbows on the table while Mills leans back. Charlie can see they're getting weary. Hopefully this won't be much longer.
'Like I said, we were playing cards-…' Charlie begins before Mills interrupts him.
'What time was that at?'
'I don't know, close to ten,' Charlie answers and watches McKnight close his eyes. He won't make a mistake. Not now, he knows what he's said over the last five hours. 'I got up to use the restroom. And then I heard the sound of gunshots. I waited in there until I was sure it was safe to go out.'
'What'd you find out there?' Mills wonders and Charlie watches McKnight stave off a yawn. He feels the same. It's gotta be close to four or five in the morning.
'Joe Masseria dead on the floor.'
'Did you see any gunmen escaping? Did you get a glimpse of a car?' Mills questions and Charlie shakes his head. The cigarette is getting dangerous close to being depleted. Damn.
'No. No car, no gunmen. I imagine they came in, open fired and then left before they could get caught.' Charlie states and Mills sighs. Clearly they've given up. Ben was lucky enough to get control of the car from Terranova, they're extremely lucky they never ran into police while making their getaway.
'Right. Course not.' McKnight rubs his temples and exchanges a defeated look with Mills. There isn't anything else they can do. Even though they believe that this criminal knows more than he's letting on, they believe they know who committed this murder, they know he is connected to this Joe Masseria on a deeper level but they have no solid proof. And they know he knows.
They want more to this story. There has to be. Word on the streets from the careful rats is that two factions from Italy came here to take control. One man in charge didn't want to give up control, did appreciate the one moving into his business and that's how this massive territory battle commenced. Thankfully the only ones who had been the victims of this violence had been the gangsters. While that is a rather bleak way of viewing this war, after all, they know that those men killed had been husbands and fathers and now they've been killed leaving widows and orphans. Better than innocent bystanders. They knew the consequences of getting in to that kind of life. No hard feelings, it was just business.
But what's this connection Charles Lucanio has to this kind of life? Not much is known about him, the rats won't talk much about him other than keep your distance. They are aware he has a rap sheet, but not recently. The last time he had been in a police station, after a few phone calls around the Boroughs, had apparently been in October of '29. On Staten Island, after that he had kept his nose clean, so they believe. But something doesn't sit right with them. He's still involved with criminals, the rats have said he's one of the fastest rising mobsters, he's quickly accumulating power however he's doing it in secret.
In spite of this…until they can get proof it's all speculation. This murder, he isn't help with, he didn't see anything but they know there's more to it than he's really letting on. But again…no proof the case is going to go cold. Mills steals another look and McKnight who closes his eyes in a curt agreement.
'Well, we appreciate the-…' Mills begins before McKnight cuts him off.
'No help you gave us.'
'You're welcome.' Charlie replies, ignoring their obvious sarcasm. He stubs out the cigarette on the table and arches his eyebrow. He pushes the chair back and the two cops stand.
'Right, well, you think of anything else, give us a call.' Mills offers his hand and Charlie eyes it as he stands as well before reluctantly shaking Mills' hand. McKnight doesn't stay around instead heading towards the door and opening.
'Sure.' Charlie places his hat on his head and exchanges a smirk with McKnight who waits until Charlie's just out the door before he slams it so hard the glass part of the window rattles. As he heads down the hall towards the exit he can hear the muffled shouts as the two cops engage in a yelling match.
As he walks towards the entrance he wonders if he should call Maranzano now or wait until the morning. Deciding that he's entirely too tired to bother, he hopes that Vito would have informed him himself. There are going to be a lot of…logistics to sort out in the morning. Everything is still so up in the air.
That mere thought of what it's going to take to get things righted sounds exhausting.
He tries to slide the lock into place as quietly as he can. It's nearly six in the morning. He peers into the back portion of her suite, she is still asleep, thankfully. The window is open again, the curtains blowing so close to her face is a wonder she hasn't awoken from it. Charlie sighs as he heads into her room, loosening the tie around his neck and shrugging off his jacket as he shuts the window, leaving it open a crack. She likes it open…she's just her.
She had been upset they wouldn't be spending the night together, even if she carefully masked it. He could see the defeat in her eyes. She would always tease him about taking work home with him, and he did because it never, ever stopped. She just…accepted there wasn't anything she could do to change his mind or take him from it. And she'd just give him nod and say whether or not she'd be there when he got back. Eighty percent of the time she was, she'd have waited until he got back before she'd go or she left and came back.
The mysterious job she does would have her banged up some times. Even now as he gazes at her form from his spot by the window there is the formation of a bruise on the lower part of her back. The sheet keeps most of it from being exposed, however it's colouring is darker than the shadows on her back, darker than the lightness of her skin tone. He wants to know how she gets them; some of them that have appeared look as though it had been violent. The mere thought of someone even raising their hand to her…but…then again she's always assured him that she can handle her own. It also doesn't repress the thought of her running a bordello as the madam. Even though she gets that hard look in her eyes at the mere mention of that profession, he, Albert and Joey have learned that the hard way. But what could she possibly do? It's a mystery that doesn't need to be solved right away. Charlie draws the covers over her body; a hand appears and grips the covers, pulling them tighter to her.
He sits on the bed after drawing the curtain tighter just a bit more, since the dawn light continues to get earlier and earlier, and glances over his shoulder to Rose, still asleep on her side, she's hardly audible. When he turns his gaze back to the window he can see even since getting into the Chelsea how lighter it's gotten. It's almost as if what's the point in sleeping? He could start the chain of phone calls he's certain he'll start getting, why not be the once to initiate it? That mere thought is exhausting as he pulls himself up off the bed and out into the lounge part of her room. He notices the small piles of things she seems to place around the suite and forget about. Disorganised and yet organised. It makes him smile as he sits on the chair next to the phone. He pauses before he lifts the phone…what if they aren't even home yet? He debates with himself before finally deciding that rather than call everyone, he'll attempt to get a hold of Vito, since it's the two of them that have so much at stake. At this point he doesn't even care if he wakes the house up, just a confirmation that everyone played their parts well. He dials the number and waits, feeling himself staring off into nothing.
'Been waiting for you to call. What the fuck took you so long?'
'Damn cops.' Charlie answers and smiles.
'Ah fuck them, they won't solve this one.' Vito answers assuredly. Charlie leans back in the chair a bit before he has to shake himself awake.
'They nearly could have. Care to explain what the fuck happened out there?' Charlie question and Vito shouts to someone in rapid Italian before he answers.
'Apparently Terranova found our…way of dealing with Masseria a bit too…grisly for his liking. Our entrance into the restaurant and subsequent killing of Masseria was so shocking to him. Honestly, the man's a gangster and it's as if he's never seen a hit before.' Vito laments and Charlie rubs his eyes to refocus.
'You weren't followed?' Charlie wonders and Vito scoffs.
'Course not, not with Ben driving, anyway. He's good at getting lost; we put the tag back on once we had reached Manhattan again. We didn't pass any coppers on the way out, either.'
'Good and like you said, they won't solve it.'
'No, not with the story you gave them. How'd the questioning go?' Vito questions and Charlie yawns. This conversation is drawing itself out much longer than he had anticipated. Perhaps calling Vito hadn't been a good idea.
'Well, I'm sure, given the hour I'm calling you at, it took entirely too long to tell them I didn't see anything. But you know how cops are.'
'I do, but they bought it? I mean, Charlie, what are they going to do? You're the only witness and you were not there.' Vito reminds him and Charlie glances into the bedroom where Rose stirs lightly but doesn't awaken.
'No I know, but they seem keen on keeping notes on me.'
'They do for all of us. Well, the ones that aren't in our pockets.' Vito assures him and Charlie decides to tackle one more thing before calling it quits for the day. It's damn well nearing seven in the morning.
'Did you call Maranzano?'
'No. I drove over there the moment we all separated and ditched the car. He seemed pleased enough. Simply said that Masseria put up a good fight and that now we need to get down to the actual business of reorganising. I think he's going to call a meeting.' Vito responds and Charlie leans forward, putting the stalk of the phone on the ground in front of him.
'Meeting? Meeting with who?' Charlie notices a small cut on his knuckle. Must have been from brushing the glass off his hat earlier.
'Didn't say, he did say, though, that he wants to see you before that. Actually now that I'm thinking about it, it sounded like a big meeting. With everyone.' Vito replies and vaguely hears Charlie stifle another yawn.
'As in everyone, everyone? Country wide? Christ, I wonder if this will be where he announces to everyone the conclusion of the war.' Charlie kind of dreads the get together but understands its importance. It will also be good way to reconnect with those they don't see every often. It's a good opportunity to make announcements and changes while all the heads are gathered in the same room that way grievances can be addressed right away.
'Probably and the direction in which we go now,' Vito surmises and listens to Charlie fight off another yawn. 'Where are you now? With the English looker? Delilah?'
'Rose. Yes, for now.' Charlie answers, not wanting to reveal where exactly he is. That and Vito has always been bad with people's real names. Funny how the nicknames always seem to stick to a person, descriptive and true and how they aren't chosen by the recipient, a moniker born out of a situation, a facial description, the likes.
Some didn't mind the nicknames, others loathed them.
Joe Bonanno hated that people, especially the cops, would sometimes call out Joe Bananas to get his attention or Ben Siegel. As kid he had earned the Yiddish nickname chaye, which fit Ben perfectly because he couldn't be tamed. But that of course spread a saying around the neighbourhood that he was crazier than a bedbug, hence Bugsy. Call Ben that once to his face and you'd be lucky enough to meet him again. Albert Anastasia was known as the Mad Hatter for a reason, his violent streak and unpredictable nature.
The nicknames are always infinite. Everyone, every associate, boss, capo, the likes has a nickname a uniquely identifiable to the man that bares it. It is like a stigma a saint has. The name is the mark of membership to something bigger than they are. Anyone can call themselves Benjamin Siegel, but there's only one Bugsy. Anyone can be named Albert Anastasia but only one will answer to the Mad Hatter. Anyone can be named Charles Luciano but only one will turn around in a crowd when he hears Lucky.
Even Rose is starting to garner her own nickname, not by his choice although he can see why she's starting to be identified as so. She is referred to as the English Dove amongst them when they meet and inquire about her. Or simply the Dove. Their reasoning, as he had only recently found out, is that she exudes a calmness to her that is able to quell the arguments they've started when she walks in the room. From the time she is there until the moment she leaves no fights breakout, no name calling, yelling and shouting or trading blows. It's as if they're on their best behaviour until she leaves. She brings peace with her when she joins them. Ever since Christmas last year when he introduced her to nearly everyone, they've wanted her to come out with them more often. She is fun but still classy. Rare amongst the women that flock them.
'I think the work has just begun.' Charlie informs Vito who in turn sighs in defeat, as if they knew this was coming. They had to, they couldn't just bump off a boss and expect things to continue on as normal, things have to be dealt with, taken care of and reorganised.
'It'll be worth it, finally we can start making up for the ground we lost and the time we wasted on this petty shit.' Vito agrees and Charlie leans back in the chair, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hand.
'I guess we have to wait again.'
'Go see Maranzano in the morning.'
'It is the morning.' Charlie reminds him, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Vito laughs a bit. Charlie reaches down and grabs the stalk of the phone, standing and hovers it over the lacquered finished table.
'It is, both of us are due some rest.'
'Let's meet for dinner. I can tell you what Maranzano and talked about. Actually, no. The three of us will meet for dinner. I'll get word to you where.' Charlie decides and turns his sight on Rose, still blissfully asleep.
'That's fine. I'll let the boys know to be aware of a message.'
'I'll keep in touch.' Charlie hangs the receiver up and places the phone back on the table. He heads towards the bedroom, never more relieved that Rose hasn't left yet.
Something familiar to him in these unfamiliar times makes him glad he met her again and that she agreed to continue to see him.
The mere thought or utterance of her name can suppress his demons and make the world around him quiet down. Charlie sits on the bed once again and whatever fumes he'd been running on up until that point leave him. He takes the cufflinks off and places them on the night side table, rolling the sleeves up half way before he gives up entirely and lies back. He's certain he is asleep before his head hits the pillow.
The woman frowns as hurried footsteps are heard from behind the door. She shifts the tray in her hands and nearly looses the glass. She gasps and straightens her balance. Why did they put her on call duty like this? She doesn't have the coordination. Damn them, they're looking for any reason to sack her. Well, that ain't gonna happen. She's one of the lucky few to have a job, there are thousands more who would be more than willing to step into her shoes should they get the chance. And are clamouring for her to screw up and be sacked. Nope. Not her. She's got people relying on her to succeed. So she's gonna.
She widens her eyes as she hears the locks disengage and a blonde woman opens the door in a flourish. She's wearing a shirt that a man would wear with messy hair and a confused smile on her face. She looks as though she's just awoken. Odd, given that it's nearly half past eleven. But then again gals like this one here obviously have money and so time is on their hands.
'Adelaide. Still got you on this circuit, yeah?'
'Rose, it's awful. I don't know how the others do this. Everyone is so rude! Nothing is ever good enough.' Adelaide complains and Rose smiles sympathetically at her.
'Welcome to the world of the rich, famous and richer.' Rose takes the tray from her, she doesn't even recall asking for breakfast to be brought up but then again she had just fallen asleep without remembering much of anything.
'You're not like that, though. I didn't know this was your room. We've only ever met in the lobby.' Adelaide peers in to the room and notices someone else in the room with her. By her guess, they're asleep still.
'I know, I didn't remember asking for breakfast to be brought up.' Rose confesses and turns back into the room to place the tray on the settee.
'You didn't. Someone else did. Maybe…a boyfriend?' Adelaide raises her eyebrows in anticipation and motions to the bedroom with her eyes. Rose turns back to Charlie, still asleep. How can she see so much from the doorway?
'Really? Huh. And he's not even awake yet,' Rose smiles and Adelaide shrugs. 'Hey, are you singing at the Cotton Club this weekend?'
'Yeah! First big chance. They booked me after the gal who was supposed to open for the main act caught the flu.' Adelaide answers excitedly and Rose presses her finger to her lips as Charlie stirs. Adelaide clasps her hand over her mouth with wide eyes.
'He's had a late night.' Rose smiles apologetically and Adelaide nods, hand still over her mouth.
'If you can make it, I'd love to have you in the audience. Family is still back in Georgia.'
'I'll do my best.' Rose promises and Adelaide grins, embracing her quickly before she pulls away and flattens her uniform and adjusting her cap.
'Great! Can't wait! Sorry I gotta go, other people to appease.' Adelaide smiles and dashes off for the lift, Rose peers out into the hall with her hand up before she disappears around the corner and shuts the door.
Rose turns to the tray she's left on the settee. She isn't really hungry, hungry, but she assumed Charlie ordered whenever he came back from last night's excursions. Whatever time that had been, she didn't even hear him come in or get into bed beside her. She had awoken briefly around nine in the morning surprised to see him asleep, nearly dressed, not quite. He had been difficult to rouse and even then when she finally did he didn't seem pleased she awoken him. He looked as though he had only just fallen asleep. She didn't want to think of the time he had gotten in at because looking at him made her want to sleep more as well.
He had wanted the physical touch of her, but at the same time didn't linger. Short kisses, light but meaningful touches that made her hot however she insisted they attempt to get more sleep when it became clear to her that he was simply too exhausted to go on.
Rose notices the toast stand out on the fine, white china. The caramel coloured bread stands out from the stark whiteness and gilded edges of the plate. She lifts it off first and takes it to the chair along with the newspaper. She'll eat this quickly and then head back to bed. She's still tired from earlier this morning when Charlie had woken up unexpectedly. As though he hadn't recalled falling asleep and was confused as to where he was.
The only reason she had awoken had been because he grabbed her to him. She hadn't minded it was only around eight in the morning. She was going to tell him that she didn't hear him come in last night and that it had to have been late. He shrugged absently. And then she had really looked at him. He had been barely coherent, looked at her through half lidded eyes that were bloodshot. To her it seemed as though he'd only been asleep for an hour or two. When she had inquired as to why he hadn't answered her, he'd fallen back asleep. It made her wonder what he'd been up to last night. However she hadn't dwelled on it for long either. Once Charlie held her tighter to him she closed her eyes and fallen asleep again too. A deep sleep until a curt knock to the door shook her from her sleep. Then it became a frantic search for something to slip on.
Rose takes a bite from the toast wondering how they toasted it so perfectly while she takes the newspaper in her hands and flattens the edges as her eyes skim the cover. As she goes to turn the page something catches her eye on the front page.
Suspected Gang Leader Gunned Down In Coney Island Restaurant.
Rose nearly chokes on her toast. She quickly flips the pages until she comes to the story. Thankfully there had been no published pictures of the crime scene.
In the early morning hours of 15 April, one Giuseppe 'Joe' Masseria was gunned down while out to dinner with an associate at Nuova Villa TammaroRestaurant on Coney Island. Witnesses say that four men burst into the restaurant from an unknown access point from the street and opened fired once inside. Masseria had been struck four times in the back and once in the head. .32 and .38 calibre bullets were recovered at the scene. Police also recovered two revolvers in the alleyway. No suspects have been arrested.
She lowers the paper and the toast falls from her hand back onto the plate. She reads and rereads the excerpt again. She's stunned. She folds the paper down and then opens it again, reads it once more before shoving it to the floor. She gets up and begins to pace. She's nervous and she doesn't know why. She stops by the bedroom door and leans on the doorway trying to recall if she had seen any blood or bullet holes on him. She hadn't focused that well; she tries remembering when she ran her over him if she felt anything suspicious. But she can't. She turns away to stare into the lounge drumming her fingers on her arm. Okay, so…what the hell happened then? She finds herself taking deep breaths, steadying her nerves. What does she think happened? Dinner. Murder. But by whose hand?
Oh she had a suspicion that the negotiations had started. And she had a feeling that was the only way to end this stupid turf war was the leader of one faction being eliminated. Charlie is, was, Masseria's second in command he had to give the go ahead for the hit. What did he gain from it? Even she doesn't know that. Right now she's certain that everything is up in the air for them. One gang is without a leader. They can't be without a leader for long.
Then there is the fact that maybe Charlie didn't know when the hit would come. He could have given his approval and the rest fell into outside hands on the Maranzano side. He could have been tailed as he and Masseria went into that restaurant. Or maybe they didn't know Charlie was with him, maybe he got there first and then the gunmen burst in and opened fired. Not caring who they hit, they were lucky Masseria was the only one hit and not an innocent bystander. But what if Charlie was?
Rose bites her lip and rotates herself to stare at him still asleep in bed. Knowing him, he wouldn't have readily sought medical help. It bothers her more that she can't recall if she had felt any injuries on him. That and the fact that she wants answers. She wrings her hands and presses her lips together and she carefully heads back into the room and inspects the bed.
She can't find any drops of blood on the sheets and so she climbs into bed with him. Hopefully he'll be more lucid than earlier this morning. Ironically only a few hours ago. She presses herself to him, wrapping her arms around his middle and kisses between his shoulder blades. It doesn't take long before he's gripped her hand.
'How can your hands be so cold?' Charlie questions and turns to her while Rose gives him a small smile.
'I have poor circulation in my hands sometimes,' Rose explains and he turns to her. 'How are you?'
'How am I?'
'Yeah, how are you? You're okay?' Rose wonders and Charlie gives her a strange look. She blinks and takes a mental note when he props himself up on his elbow that she can see no visible injuries.
'Besides being utterly exhausted, I'm fine. Why do you ask?' Charlie wonders and brushes out the hair from her eyes, letting his hand linger on her cheek. Rose covers it with her own. He moves his hand from her cheek to behind her head and draws her closer for a kiss. As Charlie rolls back to his back Rose follows. She abruptly breaks away as his hand moves to her lower back and brushes the bruise that has appeared there from being tossed into a wall during a mission not that long ago.
'I read something in the paper this morning.' Rose informs him, cutting him off before he has a chance to ask what she's in pain about.
'Did you? What?' Charlie takes note of the pain that had flashed in her eyes and the quick way she broke the kiss.
'I worried because I read that Masseria had been killed in the restaurant you were at last night. I worried…' Rose is interrupted by Charlie.
'That I was hurt?'
'Yes.'
'I'm not.'
'Are you sure?' Rose's words tumble out before she has a chance to actually think about them. She's so used to people, like herself, that pretend they're well, work through the pain. Course she chooses not to get help, Charlie ignores it because he goes for help, it'll be like Staten Island all over again. He'd get minimal care before being taken for questioning.
'Did you want to look?' Charlie smirks and Rose serious demeanour and concern melt away into a crooked smile. She moves a top him.
'Mm, yes. I owe you a promise, don't I?' Rose recalls and lets out a cry of surprise as Charlie sits up. Rose wraps her arms around his neck.
'That was partly my fault for taking so long.' Charlie replies and Rose presses her forehead with his. Taking note of the pain he caused her earlier by touching her lower back, that bruise looked violent, he keeps his right hand on her left hip and she cups his face kissing him deeply.
'What happened?' She pulls away but Charlie doesn't answer her. Rose closes her eyes. 'Okay, later then. When are you leaving?'
Again Charlie doesn't answer her right away. 'Whenever we're done here.' He doesn't miss the sadness in her eyes however she smiles and nods in defeat. What can she do?
'Is this because of…last night?'
'It is. Things are…chaotic right now.' That wasn't an understatement. He doesn't know what to expect other than the promises made to him by Maranzano and who knows if those will hold true now that the hit had taken place.
'I need to take you away from this.' Rose replies, half serious. Charlie merely shrugs in response. He can hear the playfulness to her voice.
'You can try, it always finds me.'
'Or maybe you always find it.'
'Or there's that,' Charlie agrees and as Rose places her hand on his chest to push him back down to the bed he grabs it and she tilts her head. It dawns on her. She must sense that he won't be around until later tonight again or not at all. 'I don't know what'll happen, so, don't wait around. Once things become settled again, things should go back to normal.'
'I hope it won't take forever. I don't like only have a few hours here and there with you.' Rose informs him and he wholeheartedly agrees with her. A woman like her could get bored very easily. Sometimes he wonders why she hasn't left yet.
'I know, I don't like it anymore than you do, but hopefully after this meeting, things will get sorted and be as they were.' Charlie tells her seriously and before Rose can reply to that he's kissed her deeply. She's resolved to make him stay as long as she can.