Hit #29, page 12
Normally I would put the gun in a brown paper bag and the bullets in my pocket, because I don’t like to leave the house with a loaded weapon. But with all the strange happenings I didn’t want to take any chances. Although I was already carrying a loaded .38, I loaded the new gun too, and stuck it in my pocket. I keep a loaded gun by my dresser and another one hidden by the front door at all times. If I have any unusual company all I have to do is reach for one of them. And if I should walk out of my front door with a loaded gun and a cop grabs me it’s a felony. If the gun isn’t loaded it’s a misdemeanor. I am a very cautious individual. I know the law. I try to play each angle. That may sound overly dramatic, but it is my life I’m playing with.
On the way to Charlie’s basement I stopped at a lumberyard where I picked up four pieces of wood: one 2 x 4, one 3 x 6, one 1” board and a solid piece of plywood. These would serve as my laboratory equipment.
Charlie was waiting for me when I got there and before going downstairs to business we sat and shot the shit for awhile. Then I went down to the basement to work. I set up each board against a cement wall and stepped back about eight feet. Eight feet was the furthest possible distance I would be from Squillante when I hit him. I like to be right up close, range zero, because then there is no possibility of missing, but plenty close enough to guarantee results.
I had three different types of cartridges with me because I wanted to test them all. The first was a hollow-point bullet which will cut you to ribbons once it penetrates the skin; the second type was the flat-nosed or flat-head type and the third was your regular ball bullet. I started by emptying out the shells I had put in the new .38, and replacing them with four hollow-point bullets. Then I fired one bullet into each board. I repeated this with the other two types of ammunition.
Then I moved closer until I was about three feet away and did exactly the same thing. When I finished doing that my testing was completed, now I had to interpret the results.
First, I know the gun is good as soon as the first shot is fired. Second, when I dig the remains of the bullets out of the wood I can pretty well predict what is going to happen to the bullet in Squillante’s body. I wanted to make sure that there would be no fragments which could be traced back to this gun. If the police can’t match gun and bullets, it makes it much more difficult for them to put a case together.
As a rule, ball ammunition will come out whole, flat ammunition will come out pretty well flattened and wide, like a piece of squashed dough, and the hollow-point ammunition will splatter because it spreads as it goes into the wood. The piece of wood I’m really interested in is the plywood because that has a resistance that most resembles the human head. The plywood had been shattered into pieces.
The results of my tests were conclusive: The gun is excellent and I had my choice of ammunition. Although I knew there was a chance I would change my mind, I decided to use the hollow-point bullet.
I went back upstairs and sat with Charlie while I cleaned the gun. Weapons are his hobby and we talked guns and then gun-control legislation. Charlie told me that the general opinion of the pro-gun people was that nothing was going to happen about gun control and that I shouldn’t worry about it. I promised him I wouldn’t.
The use of Charlie’s basement was $25. The advice was free. Both were worth exactly what I paid for them.
That left only one more thing I had to get done this day, meet with Jackie Sweetlips. I had three things on my mind that Jackie could settle: One, would Squillante go along if Jackie told him to go to a meet? Two, who was tailing me? And three, what the fuck had he been doing at Squillante’s place?
I wasn’t about to ask him questions two and three straight out. If he was planning to burn me, I didn’t want to let him know I was on to him. If he was indeed planning such a mistake, the one advantage I had was that I knew he was, and I knew he would tie it in with my hitting Squillante. As long as I knew that, I could exercise some control. But if Jackie found out I was on to him he would move quickly and when I wasn’t waiting for him, so I couldn’t let on I was suspecting things.
A plan began to develop in my mind. The more specific I was with Jackie about where I would be with Squillante, the more control I would have. I could turn things around on him. If he thought I was in one place I could be in another place, nearby, and watch him make his best move.
I could still kill Squillante. And if Sweetlips moved, him too. This job was beginning to have some real appeal to me.
I drove over to the Half Moon right from Charlie’s basement. On occasion I would backtrack a few blocks, just to make sure I wasn’t being followed, but I still managed to get there by 10:30. Jackie Sweetlips didn’t wander in until 11:15. I was deep into my cherry cheesecake by that time.
He nodded to me and I returned his nod. We sat and small-talked until I finished my dessert and then left together. We got in my car and drove up the West Side Drive to the Saw Mill River Parkway and headed upstate. It is nice and quiet in an automobile and if you’re careful where you drive, you don’t have to worry about being seen by anybody.
“What’s your problem?” he asked after we settled down for the drive. His tongue stayed firmly inside his mouth.
I hesitated because I wanted to make sure I used exactly the right words. I didn’t want to start him worrying about anything. “It’s not exactly a problem,” I said carefully, “more of a complication. This job is going to be a little trickier than I thought. So far Squillante’s routine is difficult. I got half a dozen places I can take him, but I really don’t like any of them. And he really doesn’t do anything at night, at least nothing I can depend on.”
Sweetlips stared straight ahead. “So what do you want me to do?”
“I’ll get to that,” I told him. “Don’t be so damn impatient.”
He turned toward me. “Don’t you tell me what to do.”
I could see he was getting uptight. I decided to back down, something I’m not used to doing, because I didn’t want a confrontation in the front seat of my car. “Okay, okay,” I said, “I’m sorry.” I drove on in silence for a few more minutes. “Does Squillante have any idea at all what is going on?”
“No fucking way.” That sounded positive enough.
“How about those two yo-yos. Is it possible they tipped him?”
Jackie chuckled. “They seem to be happy living and I don’t think they want to jeopardize that. In fact,” he continued, “they met with him yesterday to talk about the next job.”
A bell of recognition started ringing in my head. I asked him, “You wouldn’t happen to know where they met with him, would you?”
“Yeah, I know. Squillante has a piece of a beauty parlor in Manhattan. They met in a back room there.”
“Isn’t that something!” I said to myself as much as to Sweetlips. “I saw him go into the place and then I saw these guys a little while later. I couldn’t figure out what the hell he was up to.”
“Now you know.”
“Now I know,” I agreed.
He sighed. Then he started speaking. “There are a few problems though. If you hadn’t called me I was going to contact you.”
“I’m listening.”
He paused for a minute before he spoke, so when he did it sounded very dramatic. “Squillante is getting ready to make a move.”
“What kind of move?”
“We don’t know. But he told the boys this was going to be the last job …”
“Maybe he’s just scared,” I interrupted.
He glared at me. “Will you let me fuckin’ finish?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Okay.”
“Jesus,” he said, shaking his head. If he was acting, he was overacting. If he wasn’t acting, he was really as much of a jerk as I thought he was. “He cashed in all his bank accounts Friday. He’s got a lot of cash on hand.”
“I was with him Friday,” I said. “I didn’t see him go near any banks.”
Sweetlips was quick on the uptake. “I mean, it was his wife, closed them all down. He’s got more than sixty-five thousand in cash on hand.”
“Well, whattya think?”
“I think he’s gonna start running.” Now his tongue came shooting out of his mouth.
“When do you think?”
“We’re not sure. He told the boys he wants them to work next Monday. So it won’t be until next week at the earliest.”
“So how come he took the money out so early?” I was trying to be cute as well as careful. I never took my eyes off the road.
Jackie shook his head from side to side. “Maybe he’s the nervous type. Anyway, the Fat Man wants to know what you’re going to do about it.”
It was interesting that he said the “Fat Man” wanted to know, not that Jackie Sweetlips did. “I guess I’ll have to move before then.” They were putting me in a time box.
“When?”
It didn’t really bother me because I had decided that, for my own safety, I wanted them to know precisely when and where I was going to make my move. That way, if they were going to make a move, I could figure when they were going to make it. How else could they be guaranteed of getting me in a lonely place by myself? “Right now I’m thinking about the weekend. Okay, Jackie, listen up now. If you tell Squillante to do something, will he do it?”
Sweetlips nodded. “He’s good at following orders. If we tell him to lay on his stomach and quack like a duck, the only question he’ll ask is ‘how loud?’”
I checked the rear-view mirror, even going through Brewster, N.Y., but I was as clean as a whistle. “That’s good,” I agreed. “Now, if I tell you that, on a certain night, say Saturday night for argument’s sake, I want him to meet somebody somewhere, you think you could make sure he would be there?”
Jackie answered very slowly and distinctly. “Quack, quack,” he said.
“Are you sure?” He nodded. “Okay, I’ll tell you where and when after I figure it out.” We drove on in silence as I formulated the plan for Squillante. Before I opened my mouth again I turned the car around and headed back down the parkway. “Okay, I want you to tell Squillante that there’s a job to do and he’s been chosen to do the job. Tell him it’s no rough-house, it’s just that he has to be able to identify somebody.” I explained the plan in detail. Squillante was going to be told to meet a man at a certain location, and then they would go to a second location where he was to point somebody out to this guy. Jackie said he would offer a couple of extra geezles for the job, just to make sure Squillante didn’t get suspicious. We both knew he would have to be suspicious as hell, but would have to go or take the bigger risk of a long talk with the Fat Man.
As we drove back I really wanted to ask Jackie about the tail and his visit to Squillante’s house. But he didn’t bring it up or give me any sort of opening. I tried to create one. “What’s he been acting like at the office?”
“Like Squillante. Friendly.” He thought for a minute. “Maybe he’s been a little quieter than normal.”
“And outside the office?”
He looked right at me. His tongue came shooting out of his mouth. “How the hell should I know?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. I just thought maybe you did.” I was sort of surprised he hadn’t given up the tail and told me about it. Since they had not followed me again I thought they must have realized I picked them up. That meant that if Sweetlips was behind it, he knew that I had picked it up. But he said nothing.
As he was getting out of the car in the parking lot at the Half Moon he said he personally liked the plan, but he would have to get the final okay from the Fat Man. He didn’t expect any problem. I expressed my appreciation for his optimism.
Tuesday had been a long day and more questions had been asked rather than answered. There was no question that Sweetlips’s information would force me to move very quickly on Squillante. The only question was whether Sweetlips gave me that information to make me move toward my own grave, or if he gave it to me because it was true. Something else I didn’t have the answer to.
In any case, the end was now in sight. I had tested the gun and selected a plan that would work under normal circumstances. Now all I had to do was find the proper place, and that would be Wednesday’s chore.
Instead of going straight home I decided to detour to Pelham Bay and make sure Mr. Squillante was tucked away for the evening. Now that the hit was actually getting underway I didn’t want anything except me to happen to him. It is terribly frustrating to get yourself all psyched up for a job and have it fall through for some reason or another. This had happened to me before. I once spent two weeks tailing a guy and decided to hit him on the way to his girlfriend’s apartment. He made a practice of stopping there every single night, which is somewhat unusual, but this is what he did. The big day came and I’m sitting and waiting and waiting and he never shows up.
I raced over to his house and his car is gone and the place is pitch black. It was obvious my man had been tipped off and had flown, so I called the man who hired me to give him the bad news. It turned out to be good news. The man who hired me told me my target had suffered a heart attack that morning and wasn’t expected to live. He did live though, long enough for me to catch up to him and stop his heart permanently.
I did not expect to have that sort of problem with Squillante. When I drove by his place the lights were on in the living room and his car was parked for the night, doors locked. Feeling contented, I went home myself.
I spent some time Tuesday night lying awake in bed wondering where to have Squillante meet me. Having a free choice of spots makes you work hard—there are just so many possible places. Just when you think you’ve found the perfect place another area pops into your head and the whole process begins again.
The most important thing to look for is isolation. If you can have it, why shouldn’t you? Why hit a guy on a street in the Bronx when you can hit him on a beach or under a bridge, in a cemetery or even a junkyard? The only other thing you have to consider is the spot must be believable to the intended. If Sweetlips told Squillante he was supposed to meet somebody on a sand dune in Long Beach, Squillante would think twice because a beach is just too perfect a setup. So what I am actually looking for is a not-so-seemingly-perfect perfect spot.
It kept me tossing and turning for a few hours. Every time I closed my eyes I would think of another possible spot and start running down its potential. I was working harder just lying there than I did when I was in my car.
I guess this disturbed my wife. “Whatever it is,” she finally said, “can’t it wait till tomorrow?” Then she went to sleep. She has a way of getting off these one-liners then konking out immediately.
Not me.
Wednesday started out to be a nice, lazy day. First thing I did was call my bookmaking office and set up a meeting to settle for the week. I had the money and there was no reason not to get it out of the way. But before I left the house I asked my wife about Sunday night. “Are the Squillantes still coming for dinner?”
“I assume so,” she said. “I haven’t spoken to Cindy since I told you.”
I asked her, “Do me a favor? Call her sometime today and let me know if they’re still coming.”
She wanted to know why.
“Because,” I told her.
“What kind of an answer is that?” she said.
I lost my temper. “Just do it! I don’t need a reason for everything, do I? Just call her and find out, huh?”
She agreed. I don’t know what I expected to find out from this, but there was always the chance of gaining some information. If Mrs. Squillante said they couldn’t come I would at least have reason to believe Sweetlips was telling the truth, they were packing to leave. On the other hand, if she said they were, that wouldn’t tell me anything. It’s possible they aren’t leaving until later in the week, it’s possible she doesn’t even know he’s leaving, it’s possible she’s going to call later in the week and cancel, it’s possible they just aren’t planning to show up.
Anything is possible.
After driving down to the bookmaking outfit and settling up I picked up on Squillante just as he was leaving the coffee shop. I was with him perhaps a half-hour when I looked in my rear-view mirror. The Chevy was back.
I dropped off Squillante quickly. The Chevy did not follow. I parked for a minute and tried to analyze the facts. The Chevy picked me up twice, both times when I was tailing Squillante. Therefore it seems obvious the Chevy is with Squillante. Or against him. But in any case it is following him, at least until I get on the scene. If they were friends of his watching his tail, my cover should have been blown. He should be running, or at least screaming. And he wasn’t doing anything of the sort. The only conclusion I could draw was that the tail was not with Squillante, but rather following him. So it could only come from Sweetlips. The question is why? Sweetlips still doesn’t like me from long ago? The Fat Man doesn’t trust me?
I stopped in at Johnny Dee’s for some weak coffee, a stale donut, and some bad jokes. Even though this job was getting very complicated, and I was spending an awful lot of time on it just driving and thinking, I still couldn’t forsake my other businesses. Or my love life. I called the Roach to find out what our cigarette customers were doing. They were doing good, he told me. “Don’t forget I want you to save a few hundred cartons for my wife and her friends,” I reminded him.
“Tell me how many you want so I can write an order.”
I thought for a minute. “Leave me seven-fifty. If that turns out to be too much I’ll hustle them to a machine vendor.”
“Seven-fifty,” the Roach said. “Your wife is gonna have a hell of a smoker’s cough.” Everybody’s a comedian.
We made arrangements to meet at the warehouse Thursday night so I could give him the cash and send the drivers on their merry way. Next I gambled that my sweet Alice had been too lazy to work this afternoon and tried her apartment. One for me. “I had a real bad headache this morning,” she said, “and I’m only just getting out of bed.”
