Leroy Jesus Bauls watched the ambulance pull up at Frank Bassalino’s house in the early hours of the morning with hardly a flicker of interest showing in his flat eyes. He was chewing gum, slowly, methodically. Now he took the gum from his mouth, squeezed it into a tight, hard ball, and rolled it between his fingers.
How easy it would be to lay a hit on Frank Bassalino. One carefully aimed shot between the eyes—it would be a cinch. By the time the two goons who were apparently his protection reacted, Leroy Jesus Bauls would be long gone.
Frank Bassalino was a far easier target than the old man. Enzio Bassalino knew what protection was all about, and wherever he went he made sure he was always surrounded and shielded. Of course, he protected himself in the old-fashioned way. Somebody should tell him, Leroy thought, with a wide yawn.
It was a shame there was nothing to be done right now. But he’d studied his homework, and if the occasion arose, if Dukey K. Williams gave the word for the final hit… Well, he was ready.
Leroy dropped his chewing gum to the ground. He had work to do. The Bassalinos were proving to be a stubborn family, but they would learn… eventually.
* * *
Later that morning Leroy walked slowly toward the van he had stolen. He wore cheap clothes with SAMSONS LINENS written across the T-shirt he had on. Once in the van he jammed on a black leather cap and yellow-tinted shades.
With a tight smile he imagined he could hear the witnesses now. ‘Yeah—a black boy—about twenty-something—tall, skinny—how the hell do I know what he looked like—he was black.’
‘Sure, sure. We all look alike, baby,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Beee-oootiful!’
He drove the van carefully. It wouldn’t do to have any kind of accident.
Barberellis was a large Italian restaurant and bar situated on a main street. Pulling the van up outside, Leroy got out. Collecting a large laundry basket from the back of the van, he carried it inside.
A girl was sitting behind a cash register adding up bills, while a wizened old man beat at the floor listlessly with a broom.
‘Morning,’ Leroy sang out. ‘Samsons Linens, fresh delivery. Anything to go?’
The girl looked up vaguely. She had only worked there a week. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Nobody’s in yet. You’d better leave it on a table.’
‘Sure.’ Whistling, he chose a table by the window. The old man kept on sweeping. ‘I’ll drop by tomorrow,’ Leroy said cheerfully.
‘Okay,’ the girl replied, disinterested.
Still whistling, he departed.
Leroy was three blocks away when he heard the explosion. It gave him a strange, almost sensual jolt of pleasure.
Carefully he extracted a new piece of gum from the pack, and even more carefully he drove the van to his next stop.
* * *
Manny’s was a nightclub, and the front was all closed up. Leroy took another laundry basket from the van and made his way around the back. There was an open door, but no one around.
Leroy began to whistle as he carried the basket past several dirty-looking dressing rooms, across the dance floor, and placed it on a table.
He was starting to perspire slightly, the basket was heavy, and there wasn’t that much time. He was cutting it close.
Quickly he turned to leave, and as he did so the door to the ladies’ room swung open. A sharp voice said, ‘Hey, boy, what you think you doin’ here?’
Leroy stopped and smiled. ‘Samsons Linens,’ he said politely.
A fat old black woman waddled into sight. Obviously she was the cleaner. With her was a small, bright-eyed black child.
‘We don’ deal with no Samsons Linens,’ the old woman said with an impatient snort. ‘So you all kin git that basket outta here fast as you got it in. Unnerstand me, boy?’
He glanced at his watch. Shit! a voice screamed in his head. Shit! Shit! Shit! Be smart and get your ass out.
But something made him hesitate. He couldn’t leave them. They were his people.
Jesus! What was the matter with him? Was he getting soft?
‘Well, ma’am,’ he said calmly, ‘if you’ll be kind enough to step outside with me, maybe you can tell that to the driver, ’cos he ain’t gonna listen to me.’
The old woman viewed him suspiciously, then she said to the child, ‘You stay here, Vera May. Don’t you touch nothin’, you hear?’
Christ! Now he was really sweating. Time was running out, and what could he do? Tell the truth? No, the old crone wouldn’t believe him. Anyway, there wasn’t time.
On impulse he scooped the kid up and started to run back the way he had come in. The child began to yell.
Leroy glanced behind him. Waving her arms in a panic, the old woman careened after them.
In his head he began the countdown—sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight. There was no time to take the van now. It would have to go up with the rest of the building. Forty-five, forty-four, forty-three. Outside at last.
‘Shut up,’ he muttered to the screaming kid. The old woman would be out soon. Get at least a block away.
He ran down the street clutching the child, and behind him he heard the old woman screeching, ‘Stop that man, stop him—he’s got my Vera May, my baby!’
Passersby turned to look at him, but nobody tried to detain him. This was New York; people were not stupid.
At the corner he paused. Any second now.
He placed the child on the pavement. ‘You stay right here,’ he commanded.
In the distance he saw the old woman getting closer.
Without hesitating he sprinted off in the direction of the subway entrance, annoyed at his own foolishness.
Within seconds he heard the explosion. Glancing back, he noticed the woman and kid were together, frozen in shock, while people around them ran back toward the noise.
Ducking down the stairs to the subway, he went straight to the men’s room, where he got rid of the Samsons Linens T-shirt, the hat, and the shades.
It had been a good morning’s work. It would certainly scare the shit out of the Bassalino family. And Dukey K. Williams would be more than pleased.
Leroy was satisfied. Nobody could beat him when it came to doing things right.