Part 9 (2/2)
Bolan grabbed the guy and jerked him back as he lunged toward the crew-room door. ”You're doing nothing!” he said coldly. ”Don't you worry, it's already in council. That's why I'm here.”
”Well, dammit, what'm I supposed to do, just sit here and smile about it?”
”I'm just going to tell you what I would do, Carmine. I leave the rest up to you. If it was me, I'd take Jules home, I mean straight home. He's hurting and he needs to be home. I'd do that first. Then I'd round up all his regime; I'd get them hard and I'd tell them to shoot the first greaser that crossed the line. Then I'd go home and do the same for my own, and I'd sit tight and let Johnny Cavaretta do his own job his own way.”
Drasco's gaze was darting about the kitchen. He was thinking-survival thinking. Presently he asked, ”What about Stefano?”
”Johnny Cavaretta is here with Stefano, Carmine.”
Drasco was huffing and puffing and still thinking about it.
Bolan lit a cigarette and pa.s.sed it to him.
The guy huffed some more, ignoring the cigarette, then said, ”That's why you're here?”
”It's exactly why I'm here. I didn't even have to come to Philly otherwise. I bagged my game over in Jersey.”
Drasco had come to his decision. He grabbed Bolan's hand and pumped it throughout the long speech. ”I want you to know, Johnny; and I want you to tell all our dear friends in New York, that this is the nicest thing anybody has ever did for me. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. All these years with Stefano and he never done nothing like this for Carmine Drasco. He even sat on his tail once and let Cappy horn right into my territory without no explanation-not even a by-your-leave. Not even, no, not a gentle cough to warn me. I mean it, I'll never forget this, Johnny.”
Bolan the Dirty b.a.s.t.a.r.d told him, ”I'm sure you won't, Carmine.”
Five minutes later, Drasco and all his boys plus the heavily sedated Jules Sticatta were off the property and huffing their way home.
Wild Card Bolan sent with them his blessings. He would do all in his power to help them huff their houses down. He and Frank the Kid and all his beloved gradigghia.
Chapter 15/ Requiem For an Empire.
Bolan pa.s.sed the word to his new dear friend, the yard boss, that no one-but no one-came onto that property without Johnny Cavaretta's personal approval. Then he went to find Don Stefano, and found him at his desk, glaring sourly at his kid and heir, who was by now finding it quite an achievement to merely maintain equilibrium atop a barstool.
The old man turned around with a sigh and told the Executioner, ”I should've had a kid like you, Johnny.”
”Give him time, Steven,” Bolan replied, using the surname reserved for the use of capi and other stellars of the organization. ”He might surprise you yet.”
”Not tonight, I guess,” the old Don said.
”Does he do this often?” Bolan asked.
”No, usually he just runs and sticks his d.i.c.k in some cheap broad. Tonight the bar just happened to be handier.”
Bolan chuckled. ”You're too hard on him maybe.”
”Hard my a.s.s,” Angeletti sneered. ”I give him everything and he turns it all to dust.”
”Whoever gave you anything, Steven?” Bolan asked gently.
”Huh? n.o.body ever gave me a d.a.m.ned-oh! I see where you're getting. Well, maybe that's right. I , thought about that too.”
Bolan broke a lengthening silence to report, ”I shuffled the hard defenses. And I sent Jules and Carmine home.”
A vein popped in the old man's neck and he stiffened in his chair as he protested, ”I told them to stay here with-where do you get off telling my boys where to go and when to go?”
”Hey, they got things to protect too,” Bolan reminded the boss of Philly. ”This isn't the only place in town the guy could decide to hit. You have all the protection you'll need. Relax and let me take care of it.”
”You relax!” the old man yelled. ”It's my hide, don't tell me to relax!”
”There's a hundred cops out there,” Bolan argued. ”You're paying taxes. Get a little back.”
”I thought they'd gone,” the old man said, easing off a bit.
Bolan chuckled. ”They're not gone far. Don't worry. That guy won't get within sight of this joint tonight. And if he does. . .” Bolan slapped an imaginary figure in s.p.a.ce with the heel of his hand right into the trap and off with his head. You got to have more respect for the law in your town, Steven.”
The old man cackled and reached for a cigar. Bolan lit it for him and told him, ”There's not many like you left, Steven.”
”I 'preciate you saying that, Johnny. Because I respect you, too. I know what you can do ... what you've done. That job in Jersey last month was, well, I mean, that was the neatest I ever saw, and I've seen some.”
Bolan said, ”It's great of you to say that. I guess we got quite a thing going, you and me.” He laughed. ”Too bad you're not forty years younger and split-tailed.”
The old man thought that statement a riot. He laughed until he choked, had to sip some wine, pounded the desk for a full half-minute, then slyly reminded his guest, ”I know somebody named Angeletti fills that bill to a tee-and its name ain't Frank.”
Bolan laughed and held up both hands. ”Oh hey, don't match make me, Steven. I'm nowhere near my quota yet.”
”Well, you could do worse,” Angeletti said, maybe a bit more than half serious. ”And I'll bet she'd never give you any s.h.i.+t, I'll bet that.”
Bolan said, ”I'll keep that in mind.”
”You should. I, uh, to tell the truth, Johnny. . .”
Bolan prompted him. ”I'm always ready for the truth, Steven.”
The clouded old eyes flicked toward the bar. The voice dropped as he confided, ”I've about given up on Frank. I mean .. . let's be men, Johnny. The kid just never is going to have it. And I-”
Bolan cut him off with a wave of the hand. His face screwed into a troubled frown as he told Don Stefano, ”Please-Steven, please. Let's don't discuss that. Nothing about that. I mean . . . I sympathize, I know the problem . . . but I'm too close to it and I. . .”
The old man was perched there on the edge of his chair, giving Bolan the b.a.s.t.a.r.d a quizzical, searching scan of the eyes. ”I don't, uh, I don't get you, Johnny. You're too close to what?”
”Let's just drop it.”
”Drop it my a.s.s! Now, come on!”
Bolan smiled soberly and said, ”We have a thing, you and me. Right? Let's leave it that way, and never any hard feelings. Never you having to say that you sat right in my face and discussed this with Johnny Cavaretta and he never gave you a thing, not a tumble. Spare me that, Steven.”
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