Elizabeth Street Part 15

"Commissioner, I want to thank you," said Petrosino, pointing to an article in the newspaper.

"Oh, Joe, don't be silly, you don't have to thank me. Those dandies don't know a thing about police work. I'd like to see those prissy-a.s.s aldermen on the street for even an hour."

"Well, even so, my men and I want you to know how important it is to us to have a commissioner who understands that sometimes you have to teach a lesson with your fists."

"Don't you worry, Joe. If they bring it up again, I'll say the same thing." With his finger in the air he reenacted his speech. "I am the police commissioner! I am responsible for everything my men do! Petrosino is one of our best detectives. Of course he has to use force now and then!"

The lieutenant rewarded him with one of his rare smiles. "Bravo!"

Bingham finally sat down. The office had changed little since Teddy Roosevelt was police commissioner. "So tell me, what's on your mind, Joe? I know you didn't come here just to compliment me on my oratory."

Petrosino took his seat opposite the ma.s.sive mahogany desk and waved a stack of papers. "Commissioner, I've read this new immigration law, and it wouldn't get a spider out of its web. We have more Italian ex-cons in New York City than in all of Italy! We have to get the Italian government to help us."

"That's not going to happen." The commissioner was picking lint off his trousers.

"They get back in! Remember Don Cascio Ferro, who we exiled after the barrel murder?" Petrosino asked. Bingham nodded. "He's back! My men found him, and we threw him on the next boat, but not before he rallied the hoodlums here. Commissioner, can't we go to the president?"

"Joe, as much as Teddy respects you, this isn't something he can take on. We'll have to go it alone. But I want you to know that I'm working on it, and I'll explain it all to you at the proper time." Bingham could see Petrosino's question forming and preempted him. "I promise you that you and I together will smash this band of criminals and anarchists your native land has given us." Bingham spoke with such drama that Petrosino knew it had been rehea.r.s.ed and that it signaled the end of the discussion.

"Commissioner, I knew I could count on you. And you should know that even with all its loopholes, I'll use this new law to get rid of all the blackmailing schifosi we can."

Petrosino turned toward the door, and the commissioner patted him on the back. "That's right, Joe. We'll get your shevosee, shevosee, and the world will know about it." and the world will know about it."

Siena's Fruit and Vegetables was a bas.e.m.e.nt store, which meant that Rocco often saw his customers' feet before he saw their faces. He could tell the man now walking down the stairs was not coming to buy figs or any other produce by the artificial swagger to his steps. The bell rang as the door opened. Rocco continued to stack zucchinis, but out of the corner of his eye he could see a man looking around the room.

"You've got a really nice store here, Signore Siena. You don't want anything to happen to it. After all, you know how rough this neighborhood can be," said the man, who had black moles on his face.

Rocco didn't say anything, but his motions became louder. He threw a sack of potatoes onto the counter.

"Didn't I see you after the bombing of Paparo's store? What a shame, and less than a block from here," jeered the moled man.

Rocco slammed a crate to the floor.

"But for only fifty dollars a week, we'll make sure you stay safe."

"Disgraziato! Get out of here before I kill you with my own hands!" Rocco shouted.

"Signore," the moled man tipped his hat, "I will return."

It took only a week for the man with the moles to return. This time, he ignored Rocco and addressed Giovanna. "Signora, possibly you're not aware that we offered your husband protection for a small fee. It is a wise business investment."

"How dare you speak to my wife! Out!" Rocco's face contorted in rage.

The man backed out of the store, but his demeanor changed. "Signore, remember that the hard heads of the Calabresi can be broken. Good day, signora."

"Rocco, what was that about?"

"Niente."

"Answer me, Rocco."

"It's a lazy mafioso who wants money to 'protect' us. Don't you have to get home?"

"Mary won't be home for another half hour, but I'm leaving," said Giovanna indignantly, gathering up Angelina. "I want to know if he returns. This is our our store, Rocco." store, Rocco."

As soon as they entered the apartment, Angelina began banging on the piano that was Giovanna's only indulgence from the first payment of Nunzio's money. Mary and Frances were both taking lessons, and although they played poorly, it still brought Giovanna great pleasure to hear music in her home. The dough that she had made that morning had risen, and she punched it down with more force than usual and formed it into two loaves, placing them on the stone marked SIENA. SIENA.

"Angelina, why don't you go upstairs and see if Carmela is home?"

"S, Mamma," chirped Angelina, going out the door.

Giovanna leaned backwards out the open door, hands covered in dough, watching Angelina walk upstairs and knock on the neighbor's door. Limonata opened the door in an ap.r.o.n. The past two years had changed her from a wisp of a girl into a weathered woman with dyed blond hair who copied American fashions. Limonata's "husband" never materialized, and she survived on handouts from various boyfriends and from whatever Giovanna sent over.

"Limonata, can Angelina stay by you while I get dinner made?" Giovanna called.

"Of course! Come, Angelina."

"I'll have fresh bread later."

"Grazie, Giovanna-you're too kind," Limonata said, going back into her apartment.

Without Angelina's banging, Giovanna weighed the options. Later that night, she encouraged Rocco to pay them the money. "You saw Paparo's store. Do you want that to be us?"

"Loro brutti puzzolenti mafiosi!"

"All the curses in the world won't make them go away."

"I'll take care of it."

"How? You can't be there every hour! So don't pay the fifty dollars, but pay him something something."

It was overcast. Giovanna scanned the skies on the short walk to the store, deciding how much produce to place outside in the early spring air. Angelina clung to her hand. At nearly three, Angelina walked everywhere, but had a hard time keeping up with her mother's long strides.

Giovanna fished in her dress pocket for the store key. The bell clanged loudly when she opened the door.

Angelina ran to her favorite spot behind the counter and picked up a folded piece of paper that was on the floor. "Mamma, who made this drawing?"

Giovanna s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her and looked.

"Beware. Give the money or everything will be destroyed. La Mano Nera."

Beneath the words was the imprint of a thick hand in black ink.

"What does it say, Mamma?"

"Niente, niente." The bottom few feet of Rocco's horse and carriage were visible through the window. Giovanna panicked and stuffed the paper down her dress.

Looking into Angelina's face, she instructed, "This is nothing. Go help your papa."

Her heart pounding, she watched Rocco through the window lift the crates of fruit off the cart while Angelina picked up the pieces that fell along the way. Giovanna still looked shocked when he entered.

"Cos'e successo?" asked Rocco, confused. His wife never stood still or looked frightened.

Giovanna didn't have the strength to hide the letter. She took it from her dress and handed it to him.

The drawings were for the benefit of illiterates like Rocco, whose face turned purple. He slammed the paper and his fist onto the counter.

"What have you decided?" asked Lucrezia, handing back the letter to Giovanna.

"I want to pay something."

"And Rocco?"

"He says he will sleep in the store-he threatens to kill him with his own hands."

"See, if you were still a midwife you wouldn't be blackhanded, because they would know you had no money." Lucrezia's stab at levity failed, so she continued. "What about bringing the letter to Petrosino?"

"You saw what happened to Paparo's store! They brought the letter to Petrosino. Besides, Petrosino may be Italian, but he's still the police. Rocco would never allow it."

"What about DeCegli?"

"For what reason? So he can negotiate the payment?"

"Do you want me to talk to my husband?"

"No! Lucrezia, please say nothing. Forget I told you!"

It was possible the thief was smarter than Giovanna thought, because the next time that he visited, only Giovanna was in the store. Rocco had sworn to spend every minute in the shop, but Giovanna knew that was unlikely for a man who had spent his entire life outside.

"Signora, is your husband here?"

"No." Giovanna used her foot to feel under the counter for the wood pole that Rocco had spiked with nails.

He turned to go. "Let him know I was here, I have business with him."

"You want money from him."

The man turned back around. Giovanna could tell he wasn't comfortable dealing with a woman, but the mention of money was too strong a lure.

"How much do you want?"

"Fifty dollars a week for protection."

"That's too much. We don't have that kind of money."

"But, signora, I see your business. It's a good business. Surely you want to protect that."

"We can pay ten dollars."

"For you, signora, I will take the ten dollars. And when your business gets stronger, you'll want more protection."

He stood there staring, and Giovanna realized the stronzo stronzo wanted the money now. She grabbed ten dollars from the cash box and put it on the counter. wanted the money now. She grabbed ten dollars from the cash box and put it on the counter.

Taking the money, the thug said, "Today is Friday. I'll see you next Friday, signora."

TWENTY-ONE.

Lorenzo noticed that Rocco had not said one word throughout the entire Sunday dinner. His comments were always rare, but usually he at least complimented Teresa on her meal. Giovanna and Rocco had not exchanged words or glances, but that, too, wasn't out of the ordinary.

"How are piano lessons going?" Lorenzo asked the girls.

His stepnieces answered excitedly, but he barely heard them. Instead, he studied his sister.

Giovanna did not notice Lorenzo's scrutiny because she was focused on avoiding eye contact with her husband. Rocco still had not spoken to Giovanna. On Friday, when he counted the money at the end of the day, Giovanna was forced to tell him about the payment. Rocco hadn't known where to direct his rage. One minute he was yelling at Giovanna, the next he was cursing the lazy schifosi. He swung his spiked wood at the invisible enemy. Giovanna had let him rant and didn't debate the issue. But after having spent her first day since the letter arrived not looking over her shoulder or jumping at every sound, she also knew that on the following Friday she fully intended to pay the thief another ten dollars.

While Rocco was furious, he was even more frustrated. Frustrated that he couldn't protect his family and frustrated that another man's money put his wife in this position of power.