A Long Day’s Night in the
Naked City (Take Two)

Roy’s father had a friend in Cicero, Illinois, named Momo Giocoforza whom Roy visited once in a while when he was in high school. He died a few years later but in those days Momo hung out at the Villa Schioppo, a restaurant on Cermak Road next to the Western Electric Company plant. Momo was part owner of Hawthorne Racetrack, which was on the boundary between Cicero and Stickney. Roy could usually find him in a back booth of the Villa talking to men who always looked like they were in a hurry. Momo, on the other hand, not only never seemed to be in a hurry, but he hardly moved except to put a fork or glass to his mouth. Momo was a fat man, close to three hundred pounds, with very small hands, fingers no bigger than a ten year old child’s. He rarely shook hands. Momo always seemed glad to see Roy and have plenty of time to talk with him. He insisted that Roy eat something and would order food for both of them. Roy guessed that Momo never stopped eating.

From what little Momo shared with him about his relationship with Roy’s father, Roy gathered that they had done business together during and after Prohibition, and he never asked Momo for details. Once afternoon when Roy and Momo were having linguini with clam sauce and discussing the vicissitudes of the Chicago Blackhawks, of whom Momo was an avid follower, a short, wiry guy entered the Villa Schioppo and came over to their table and held out to Momo a white envelope.

“It’s all there,” the man said. “I’m t’rough wid it.”

Momo did not reach for the envelope so the man put it down on the table.

“Siddown,” said Momo. “Have some linguini.”

“Thanks, Mr. Giocoforza, but I can’t. I got my cab outside. I’m workin’.”

The man shifted his weight from foot to foot and looked nervously around the restaurant. He was about thirty-five years old, five-nine or ten, ordinary features. His eyes were so small Roy could not tell what color they were.

“So we’re up to date now, right?” he said.

Momo barely nodded and said, “If you say so, Brian. I’m always here for you.”

‘No offense, Mr. Giocoforza, but I hope to Mother Mary I won’t.”

The man was jumpy, like he badly needed to take a piss.

“I’m goin’. Thanks a million, Mr. Giocoforza.”

The man left and Momo picked up the envelope and slid it inside his coat pocket.

“Funny guy,” Momo said to Roy. “He was a cop. He’s moonlightin’ one night, guardin’ some buildin’s onna Near North Side, and almost gets his eye shot out. Some fancy broad, a white girl, she’s stoppin’ cars—Mercedes, Jags, Cadillacs, expensive models—and tellin’ the drivers she’s got a flat tire or somethin’. As a driver’s about to give her a lift, opens a door, a black guy dressed like a bum comes up behind her and drags her into an alley. Most drivers take off, but one hero gets out, chases the mugger.

“Now the broad’s a real doll, dressed to the nines, and the hero’s gonna save her, right? Thinkin’ what she’ll give in return. The black guy drops the woman when he sees the hero comin’ to help her. The driver comforts the broad, takes her into his car, asks her where she wants to go. She pulls a pistol out of her purse, puts it to the hero’s head, and the black guy jumps into the back seat, also wid a gun, tells the hero to drive. They go to his house or apartment, which they clean out the jewels and cash. Primo scam. Worked thirty-two times inna row until my pal here, the cop who’s moonlightin’ in order to save money for his weddin’, spots the pair in the act.

“The cop attempts to pull the black guy out of this Mercedes, doesn’t figure he an’ the broad are workin’ together, an’ she plugs Brian point blank in the skull. Brian’s lyin’ onna sidewalk next to the car and the bum tumbles out right on toppa him. Brian’s bleedin’ all over but takes out his own piece and shoots the black guy, then passes out. When he wakes up, Brian’s inna hospital wid his eye bandaged. He’s barely alive an’ doctors tell him maybe he won’t lose the eye. The black bum’s dead, the broad got away clean.

“While Brian’s inna hospital, his girl never comes to see him. She thinks he’s gonna die. He’s already given her ten, fourteen thousand for the weddin’. She’s why he was workin’ a second job inna first place, right? So while he’s inna hospital fightin’ to recover, she runs off wid another joker. By the time Brian’s on the street again he’s in deep shit. The police department insurance policy won’t cover him ’cause he was off duty workin’ for a private security firm, and they don’t cover part-timers. So he comes to me, knows a guy knows me. Brian’s suin’ the insurance company, the owner of the buildin’ he was guardin’ that night, the police department, everybody he can think of, payin’ some ambulance chaser to do it. On toppa that he’s afraid to go see the girl threw him over ’cause he’d put six inna her. Now he’s pushin’ a hack tryna get back on his feet. I give him a good deal, plenya time to pay me back, right? Why not? Your dad, he helped out plenya guys.”