Shaking his head as he leads me through the foyer, Nick asks, “What do you think happens to the old mobsters when they get tired of the job? It’s not likeallof them go out in a blaze of glory. I sure don’t plan on it.”
He leads me into the main room of the club, where there are lounge chairs spread out, little pockets of people talking to one another—mostly men, I notice, although quite a number of the staff members seem to be young, attractive women. I’ve never heard Nicky talk about his life plans before and it intrigues me. “What do you want out of it? The whole thing, I mean?”
He doesn’t answer for a moment, nodding in greeting to a number of men who call his name, raise hands and try to wave him over. “A little later,signori. I have a meeting with my uncle. But I’ll come by later.”
One old man shakes his head in disgust. Curious eyes follow me the whole way through the main room, and I start to wonder if these aged mobsters are really as harmless as Nicky assures me.
“I want enough money to not have to worry about money,” Nick says.
It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me, answering my question about what he wants. “Is it only about the money?”
“What else would it be about? I don’t actuallyenjoythe work, Bianchi, I just happen to be good at it. Some of the Families do enjoy it, though. For some of them, it’s a way of life. The Giulianos, for example. The Clemenzas, too. But not all of us are like that, despite what you might think.” He sounds almost cold, so I don’t want to push my luck and ask anything further.
But it strikes me as strange that Nick Fontana’s only motivation is money. Sure, he’s got the rich-guy apartment and he’s got the art hanging on the walls, but they don’t seem like stuff that hecaresabout. Luca D’Amato, I can see hecaresabout money. I see it in the way he presents himself, in the cut of his clothes, in the luxuries he enjoys. But Nicky? He dresses in sweats whenever he can. He likes to cook his own steak. He calls his doorman Jonesy, for Christ’s sake.
Past the main room is a little hallway with rooms coming off them, private rooms, and Nick slides open the door to one of them. Inside is a man who must be in his eighties, but has a startling vitality to him. His hair is iron gray rather than white, his face weathered, his eyes still sharp. Nick reaches over a hand to him to shake before he sits down, nodding respectfully. “Uncle Iggy, this is Carlo Bianchi. He’s a friend of mine. I hope you don’t mind that I invited him to speak with you. We have some questions—”
“You’re always in such a rush, Fontana. You get me a coffee first, eh? We chat about the weather, about memories from my past,thenyou get to ask your questions. You gonna come in here and demand information from me? No. That’s not the way it happens.”
Nick grins. “You’re right, Uncle. Carlo, go order us all some coffee.”
I go as fast as I can to the café area, muttering their orders out loud to myself. I order the refreshments and have to explain that I’m not a member, but I am theguestof a member, all the while worrying that I’m missing out on vital information. I know the old man, and he’s definitely not Nick’s uncle—not a blood relative, anyway. Ignazio Barrano was a Vicario Family Capo way back in the day, and a good friend of Tino Morelli’s before Tino struck out on his own to found a whole new Family.
Tino Morelli was one of the old guy mobsters whodidgo out in a blaze of glory. I think about that while I’m waiting for my order.
When I finally get back to the room, balancing three coffees on a tray like some overdressed waiter, I realize I didn’t need to rush at all. Nick and Barrano are talking about the old days, but not about anything in particular. I see now what Nick meant by consulting history—Barrano has a long memory. Nick is nodding, laughing at Barrano’s tale of when he was a young man trying to win a girl’s heart, and I wonder how often he’s heard these same stories. But he shows remarkable patience, lets the old man speak for some time, running himself out, until finally Barrano says, “Okay, okay. I know you young fellas have a lot of business, always in a hurry. You ask me what you want to know and then you can get out of here.”
Nick gives a grateful nod, and looks to me. I pull out my phone, flick to the digitized scan I took of the photo of Bill Harris, and pass my phone to Nick.
“We’re looking for this guy. Name of Bill Harris, although it could be an alias.”
Barrano holds my phone back further, then a little closer, squinting at the screen, and I wonder if I should mention that his glasses are on top of his head. But then he nods. “Sure, I remember this guy. He’s not called Harris, though. Don’t remember his name, but I remember him. Oh, he was an asshole. One of those real violent types. Big on the drugs, you know? Came over from the West Coast with a Vegas crew when we were trying to make ties one time. Never got off the ground, that friendship. I hear Angelo Messina’s doing okay out there, though?” Barrano’s eyes go bright, inquisitive.
“I wouldn’t know,” Nick tells him with a smile. “So this Harris, or whoever he is—is he still in the business?”
The old guy purses his lips and wags his head from side to side. “That, I can’t say. I know you musta seen Donnie Gee on the way in, you should go ask him. He always knew more about the West Coast than I did.”
Nick nods again, more slowly this time. “The thing is, Uncle, this matter is…sensitive. I wouldn’t want word getting back to this guy that I’m asking questions about him, know what I mean? And there might be some Giuliano connections.”
It worries me that Nick is being so forthcoming, but Barrano just gives a sly smile. “Donnie Gee’ll keep it under his hat. He had no love for old Jimmy in the end, nor his Family.” I realize then, with a cold feeling in my gut, that Nick and Barrano are talking about Donato Giuliano, a previous Family Boss, who was ousted by his brother Jimmy G in a bloody coup many years ago. “And he never had a problem with you, Fontana. You know that. Besides, none of us old guys really want to get involved anymore,” Barrano says, despite having asked about Angelo Messina just seconds before. “We had our day in the sun, and now we’re happy to hand over the torch.”
With that mixed metaphor, Nick and I bid our goodbyes and head back out to the main room. Donnie Gee turns out to be the man who wanted Nick’s attention when we came in, seated at a table playing chess with another man. A few others are gathered around them, and they seem to be betting on the game.
I grab Nick’s arm and pull him aside before he can start walking over there. “Are you insane? We can’t talk to Donato Giuliano about any of this.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s a fucking Giuliano!”
“Not anymore, he’s not. And you heard what Uncle Iggy said. None of these guys here want to get involved, not really. Especially not Donnie Gee. He can keep his lips tight.”
“This is areally bad idea,” I try again, but he’s already walking away from me.
Great.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Carlo
