“This is bad idea…a real bad idea,” Louie said from the backseat of the Cadillac. He had been shaking like a hooker in church the whole ride to New Jersey.
“Would you shut the fuck up already?” Frankie snapped from the passenger seat. “The only reason I let you live instead of sending you along for the ride with your friends is because I think you can be useful to me. Now if I made a bad decision, let me know and I can have Jimmy end our business relationship right now.”
Louie looked up at the fat man who was glaring at him through the rearview. “No, I’m with you Frankie. I’m with you.”
“Then act like it.”
“You need me to go in with you?” Jimmy asked. He wasn’t comfortable with Frankie rolling into a nest of vipers with only Louie to watch his back.
“No need, I bought insurance,” Frankie replied as he held up a yellow envelope. “Now let me go in here and pay my respects.” He grabbed the bouquet of flowers from the dash and slid out of the car.
The front lawn of the house was crawling with Meloni soldiers and associates. All eyes turned to them when Frankie and Louie approached. Louie looked like he was ready to shit himself, but Frankie was as cool as the other side of the pillow when he walked up to the door and rang the bell. There was a commotion on the other side of the door before it finally swung open, and a woman who could only be described as robust greeted them. Behind her were several hard-looking men wearing uninviting scowls. When she saw who it was, her eyes narrowed to slits.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Ragotta. My name is…”
“I know who you are. What do you want?” Mrs. Ragotta said in a voice that was far deeper than Frankie expected.
“Simply to offer my condolences and pay my respects,” Frankie said in his silver tone, offering her the flowers.
Mrs. Ragotta looked at the flowers for a while like she was trying to figure out if they were poison or not.
“Thank you,” she said as she accepted the flowers and stepped aside to let him in. “Little Joe,” she called to one of the men, a thin Italian with brown hair and eyes to match, “show our guest to the study where your father and the other guys are.”
“I’ll cut his stinking Cissaro throat is what I’ll do!” Little Joe snapped, which got him a slap to the back of his head with one of his mother’s meaty hands.
“We’ve had enough craziness today and I won’t have any more of it upsetting your sister. Now I don’t know what business you boys have going on in the streets, but while he’s under this roof, he is a guest. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mama,” Little Joe said in a low tone. “C’mon,” he said as he motioned for them to follow him inside.
After Frankie and Louie were checked for weapons, Little Joe escorted through the house. If looks could kill Frankie, would have surely dropped dead on the spot from all the murderous eyes that turned to him. One soldier even went as far as spitting on the floor in their path.
“When we get inside, shut the fuck up and let me do the talking,” Frankie whispered to Louie when they reached the study door.
Inside there were about a half dozen men, smoking and talking amongst themselves. Sitting on a sofa, in all of his bulky glory, was Big Joe. His eyes were rimmed red like he had been crying and a young girl of about twenty was rubbing his back trying to console him. From the striking resemblance, Frankie reasoned that it was one of his daughters. Little Joe motioned for them to stay put while he went and whispered something in his father’s ear. When Big Joe’s eyes landed on Frankie, a chill ran through his body, and he wondered if he should have have listened to Louie.
When Big Joe rose to his full height, which was about 6’5”, he seemed to dwarf everyone in the room. One of his Capos opened his mouth to say something, but a look from Big Joe silenced him. The huge man took his time walking across the room and came to stand directly in front of Frankie. Frankie was a tall man, but he looked like a child standing in Big Joe’s shadow.
“Frankie the Fish,” Big Joe said his name, as it was something vile.
“My condolences on your loss, Big Joe,” Frankie said, trying to keep his voice steady. When he leaned in to kiss Big Joe’s cheek, a massive hand wrapped around his neck.
“You and yours kiss my son-in-law and now you further insult me by fouling my home with your Cissaro stink during our time of grief?” Big Joe snarled, shaking him like a rag doll.
“Break his neck, Dad!” Little Joe cheered his father on.
“I didn’t…” Frankie croaked but Big Joe’s grip made it near impossible to breathe let alone speak.
“Didn’t what? Didn’t have anything to do with it? Is that what you were gonna say?” Big Joe cackled. “I’m going to crush your throat and then I’m going to roll into Manhattan with every able body I can muster up and wipe you back-stabbing Cissaros off the map once and for all.”
“If you kill Frankie, then you’ll never find out what happened to Nicky!” Louie blurted out, turning all the attention to him.
“What did you say?” Big Joe turned his murderous stare to Louie.
Louie took a step forward, but several guns being aimed at him made him pause. “The envelope,” he said, pointing to the parcel clutched in Frankie’s hand.
Little Joe snatched it and began thumbing through the pictures inside. “What the fuck is this?”
“Killer,” was the only word Frankie was able to get out. Thankfully, it was enough to get Big Joe to release his grip and allow him to fall to the ground.
Big Joe took the pictures from his son and started looking at them. “Who is this?” he asked as he held one of the pictures up for Frankie to see.
“The man responsible for Nicky’s death,” Frankie said, massaging his throat. “Those pictures were taken outside the building where they found Nicky moments after his death.”
One of the younger street bosses came over and peered over Joe’s shoulder at the pictures. “I think I’ve seen this guy around before. Isn’t he with the Clarks?”
“Yes, he’s one of their young hitters,” Frankie told him.
“Bullshit!” Big Joe balled the picture up and hit Frankie in the face with it. “There’s no way you can convince me that a bunch of second-rate thugs had the balls to kill a Made man. Doesn’t make any sense. Drag this piece of shit out back and off him.”
Several sets of hands grabbed Frankie and Louie and began dragging them away.
“It makes sense if Gee-Gee promised them your territory after they pushed you out of Jersey!” Frankie said in a last ditch attempt to save his life.
Big Joe raised his hand and the men stopped. “Okay, Frankie. I’m gonna let you humor me. You’ve got thirty seconds to convince me not to bury you in my backyard.”
“Big Joe, there’s no secret that our two families have never quite seen eye to eye, but I’ve always had a lot of respect for you. You’re one of the few who still play this thing by the rules, which is more than I can say about the man who now sits at the head of our table. Ever since Gee-Gee took over, things haven’t been good over on our side, and they got worse when he gave those black sons of bitches seats at our table.” He paused to make sure Big Joe was still following. “Gee-Gee is willing to break bread with anyone to put coins in his pockets, even niggers.”
“You’ve burned through twenty of your thirty seconds and I’m still not convinced,” Big Joe told him. “Were the Cissaros responsible for Nicky’s death or not?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good enough for me. Let’s do this fuck, then ride into Manhattan and kill the rest,” Little Joe suggested.
“But it wasn’t a family decision,” Frankie added. “To kill a Made man would’ve meant all-out war. We all knew it, which is why Gee-Gee couldn’t get the full support of his captains and had to go to his new black friends to carry out the hit.”
“Let’s say that I did buy this load of horse shit you’re shoveling, which I don’t. Why would you risk Gee-Gee’s wrath by coming to me with it?” Big Joe asked.
“To be perfectly honest with you, it’s because I’d rather die old and rich than young and foolishly, and I’m not the only one who feels this way. Gee-Gee is running our family into the ground and I can’t just sit by and watch anymore.” Frankie’s voice was heavy with emotion. “If you don’t believe me, have one of your people check it out.”
Big Joe handed one of the remaining pictures to one of his Capos, who went off to verify the story.
The minutes seemed to drip past while they waited for Big Joe’s man to verify the story. Frankie glanced over his shoulder at Louie, who looked like he would faint at any moment. It had been an Oscar-worthy performance, and he hoped that it would be enough.
Finally, Joe’s man came back, and they held their collective breaths waiting for him to deliver the news.
“It checks out. They call him The Animal and he indeed works with the Clark family,” The man informed them.
Frankie wanted to drop to his knees and thank God, but he had to keep his composure. They weren’t out of the woods yet. For a long while, Big Joe paced back and forth looking at the picture as if he was trying to commit it to memory.
“So,” Big Joe finally broke his silence, “where can I find this Animal?”