The Heart of an Assassin Page 4

  “Hey, you notice the camera?” Jimmy noted. “He must be going sightseeing in New York,” Charlie commented.

  “Why would he do that?” Jimmy asked.

  “Cause that’s what people do with cameras, dummy!” replied Charlie.

  “Yeah,” Tyler added.

  Taking the underground A train, running north to south through most of Manhattan, Nick got off at Times Square and switched over to the path trains. The ride would take him from New York City to New Jersey via an underwater tunnel that ran under the Hudson River, where he would then get off in Newark.

  In his hands, he clutched the morning paper, reading intently as he learned about how Fazio Giordano had been killed. It seemed that some time during the night a couple of men broke into his Brooklyn apartment and shot him and several of his bodyguards. The paper went on to say that one of the assailants was killed at the scene while another had escaped. It was believed that Fazio was the head of the Giordano crime family, and that the hit was ordered by someone in the Costellino family. An unknown source stated that the long feud between the two families had, as of that day, ended.

  Fazio was survived by a son, Fabio, and daughter, Felicia, both of whom could not be reached for comment. Mr. Giordano’s wife had succumbed to cancer two years prior. Funeral services would be privately held at the family estate in Long Island. No other comments were made by members of the family.

  The Good News

  July 6, 1964 (Costellino home)

  Around 2:00 a.m. they got the call they had been waiting for.“Marino, we got the broad and her brother. Also we got De Luca,” Joe said.

  “What about Leo Russo?” asked Clemente Marino.

  “Uh . . . he was wounded. Saw blood coming from his neck. They got Joseph and Tommy, though. I just made it out of there in time, right before the rest of their people got there,” Joseph added. “Mr. Marino, I got shot too. Where can I go?” he asked.

  “Okay, you go to our place on Twelfth Street,” Clemente instructed him.

  “Uh . . . okay . . . thanks,” answered Joseph.

  Clemente walked into the study where Bolnaldo and his sons, Tony and Junior, and Joe Coleto and Malco Lombardi had been waiting for the news. Bolnaldo was beside himself. “What about Fazio!” he screamed.

  “We haven’t heard anything,” Clemente answered. Bolnaldo sat there, thinking about what had happened, worrying about what had occurred. He knew Fazio would spare no expense to seek revenge for his son and daughter. It would be a while before the Giordanos could attack, with Romano and Leo temporarily out of the picture; Bolnaldo had enough time to order another hit to finish the job. Then the phone rang again.

  Clemente picked up the receiver. “Yes, yes . . . great job,” he said into the phone. Clemente turned and gave Bolnaldo a huge smile; he did not have to say anything.

  “They got him? They got the bastard?” Bolnaldo shouted at Clemente.

  “Yep. Got him in bed. He’s deader than a doorknob,” Clemente added.

  “Deader than a doorknob? What the fuck does that mean?” Bolnaldo asked, laughing out loud. Clemente only shrugged his shoulders; he didn’t know either.

  Bolnaldo could not contain himself. He jumped up from his chair and gave Clemente a huge hug. They were all up on their feet congratulating each other.

  “From this day forward, they are going to remember the Costellino family. People will think twice before they fuck with us,” Bolnaldo practically shouted it out. “Tomorrow we go to Little Italy and celebrate,” he commanded.

  “Pop, maybe we should keep low just a little while longer. You know, till things cool down,” Junior said.

  Bolnaldo stared at his son for a few seconds, then at the faces of each one in the room. “No, no, we got to show our strength. We got to show them we are in charge. In fact, I want you to send some flowers to the Giordano estate expressing our sympathy, with an invitation to meet when the opportunity permits. I want them to know I am not a hard man to deal with, that I am willing to put things behind us. Of course,” laughing out loud, “I won’t expect an answer too quickly,” Bolnaldo said.

  La Celebrazione

  July 8, 1964

  Reaching Newark, Nick grabbed a cab to a location a few blocks from Jay’s shop. Pretending to enter the warehouse where he had been dropped off, he waited until the cab was well out of sight before walking the two blocks to the shop. Nick watched from across the street, making sure Jay had no customers, before approaching.

  Jay looked up as Nick entered the shop, smiled but made no reaction to acknowledge him other than nodding at him to go to the back. Nick moved immediately to the back and waited for Jay.

  A minute later, Jay appeared, drawing the curtain behind him. Removing the makeshift wall, Jay showed him his masterpiece. Nick was quite please with Jay’s handiwork.

  In addition to the rifle, a tripod to steady it, and five bullets (all that was needed), Nick had also requested four boxes of remote-controlled fire crackers. Each two-by-four inch box contained five firecrackers, which could be ignited remotely from as much as three blocks away.

  Reaching into his duffle bag, Nick handed Jay the money. During this entire process, no words were exchanged. Nothing was said. Both Nick and Jay embraced and nodded good-bye.

  As always, Nick exited cautiously, walking about half a mile before hailing a cab to the Newark train station. It was now about 10:45 a.m., and his mark would be having his lunch, as usual, anywhere between 12:30 and 1:00 p.m.

  The streets were packed with people. After all, it was a beautiful Sunday with the temperature hovering around seventy-five degrees. Nick walked east from Spring Street and turned south on Mulberry. On the corner of Grand Street and Mulberry, he discreetly placed one of the small black boxes under a parked car. Continuing down Mulberry, he placed another box halfway down the block, and then another one on Hester Street, all the while looking around, making sure he wasn’t being watched. Next, he headed north on Mulberry and placed the last box on the other side of the street. He then entered one of the buildings between Grand Street and Broome. Racing cautiously up the stairs, he positioned himself on the east side of the block facing up Mulberry.

  At 12 15 p.m., Nick began to take pictures up Mulberry Street. At twelve forty-five he saw a couple of limousines pulling up to the west side of Mulberry between Grand and Hester streets. Using his camera, he zoomed in on the occupants exiting the limo. They entered the La Ristorante restaurant.

  Judging by the number of occupants, it would be a while before they exited. Looks like they have something to celebrate, thought Nick.

  Inside the restaurant, they were drinking and having a feast. Drinks were on the house. All tabs would be picked up by the Costellino family.

  Giordano Family Acts

  July 8, 1964 (3:00 p.m.)

  The Twelfth Street and Avenue D Costellino location, a corner grocery store, would normally have a couple of Joe Coleto’s boys sitting outside of the place playing dominoes, but not today; not when the threat from the Giordano family had been eliminated.

  Erin Romano and about eight of his men rushed inside the store with guns out. Costellino’s men were caught completely by surprise; no one had to be shot. Bursting into the back room, Erin and his men found two rows of tables used in the manufacturing of drugs, and more than a hundred paper bags containing $50,000. There were about six men and five women, and though they were heavily armed, the surprise attack caught them off guard. Not one of them was able to draw a weapon in time.

  Erin had Rinaldo Blanchi, the guy in charge, call Clemente Marino to tell him they were bandaging up some guy for them. Before the call, Erin warned Rinaldo that he’d better make it look good, or the gun that was being held to his twenty-five-year-old son’s head would accidentally go off. This was to eliminate any suspicion that the Giordano family had actually caught and eliminated the guy sent to kill them; the same one who had called in earlier to report the success of the hit.

  After the call, Erin
turned to the rest of the people in the room and made them write their names and addresses before giving them each close to $6,000. Before letting them go, however, he told them that if he found out they talked to either the police or the Costellino family, Erin and his men would be coming for them. Next, Erin turned his attention to Rinaldo and his son, and shot them both in the head in front of all of these people, emphasizing their need to stay silent.

  La Ristorante

  July 8, 1964

  “Mangiare, eat, enjoy,” Bolnaldo was shouting to everyone.

  Around 3:20 p.m. Clemente advised Bolnaldo that Twelfth Street called about a guy showing up with a bullet in his leg and that they were taking care of it.

  “Good, good. They should have given him a trophy or something for killing the bitch, Felicia, and her brother,” laughed Bolnaldo.

  At 6:25 p.m., Bolnaldo signaled his son and Clemente that he was ready to go. Clemente, Junior, and Tony exited the restaurant to alert the limo drivers. Bolnaldo’s limo was across the street, but before Clemente could order the driver to bring it around, Junior told him not to worry. “Who the hell are you afraid of?” he asked Clemente. “They’re all fucking dead.” Clemente nodded, but felt uneasy about it. Turning to the rest of the men, he ordered them to be vigilant and to stay close to Mr. Bolnaldo as he exited.

  Bolnaldo waved and shouted at the people in the restaurant as he exited. To his left was Clemente, and to his right was Malco. In front of him walked Junior, and Tony followed behind.

  Before exiting between the parked cars, they heard what sounded like gunshots. They all ducked. “What the fuck!” Bolnaldo screamed. Then again, they heard more shots only this time it was a little closer.

  “They’re shooting fucking firecrackers,” shouted one of the limo drivers.

  They all got up cautiously. Then they started to laugh. Especially when they noticed that bystanders were looking at them strangely. Bolnaldo laughed the loudest.

  They continued their trek across the street when there was another burst of firecrackers behind them. Bolnaldo turned to look up Mulberry Street, still laughing. Clemente caught the splatter of blood on his cheek as it burst out the back of Bolnaldo’s head.

  Patience was a virtue, thought a lone figure now racing across the top of several buildings, as the screams of the people below faded in the background. Within minutes, Nick was on his way back to his apartment.

  In Harm’s Way

  July 8, 1964 (3:30 p.m.-7:30 p.m.)

  Around 3:30 in the afternoon, the boys were playing stickball when several gang members of the Black Aces came down their block. “Hey, you guys, you want some cool stuff?” asked one of the gang members.

  “No,” replied Tyler as they grouped behind Charlie.

  “Get off our block with your stuff,” remarked Rick.

  “We know what that is,” added Tyler.

  “They’re drugs,” Jimmy interjected.

  Charlie raised the stick they were using as the bat, ready to swing it.

  “What’sa matter, sissies, you afraid of us or something?” asked Loco.

  “Yeah, you come closer and see if my stick is afraid of you,” Charlie dared.

  Before the gang members got any closer, Uncle Ted was between them. “Get out of here you punks!” he shouted.

  There were about six of them, and they stood their ground laughing, giving him the finger and calling him names. Then the Fat Man was in their face with a baseball bat and told them to get the fuck off the block, or he was going to bash their heads in. “I know where you bastards hang out, and I’ll go over there with some of my friends, and we’ll kick your asses from here to hell. So get the fuck out before I lose it!”

  The gang of boys stared at the Fat Man and then backed up without saying a word. When they were a safe distance away, one of the bigger gang members remarked that the Fat Man had better watch what he was saying. The Fat Man responded in kind with, “Go home to your father and mother ’fore I go over there and kick their asses. Stay off this street. You hear, you asses?”

  The gang moved on, looking back every once in a while to see if the Fat Man was following, saying something about how he shouldn’t have messed with the Black Aces. A minute later, Uncle Ted, the Fat Man, and the boys were laughing hysterically. A few minutes after that, everything was back to normal. The kids were playing their stickball, Uncle Ted was on his stoop, and the Fat Man was on his. Everything was back to normal, for the last time.

  After dinner, Tyler went back downstairs. It was a cloudless day, and there was a cool breeze as the sun began to set. Most of the boys were there, sitting on the stoop, chatting, and simply enjoying the night air. Again they saw Mr. Tim Goldman leave with his camera and an attaché case. He nodded at the boys and ruffled Tyler’s hair a bit as he passed.

  “Wonder where he’s off to,” Charlie commented.

  “Probably going to take more pictures and do some work saving people money,” Tyler responded.

  After a while, Tyler’s mom came downstairs and joined them on the stoop. It was a beautiful peaceful night.

  As usual, the ice cream truck came around 6:00 p.m. This time it was the Fat Man who offered to buy the ice cream. The kids were beginning to think there was a competition between the two men about who the kids liked most.

  As they sat on the stoop enjoying their ice cream, they heard a screeching of tires from the other end of the block. Everyone stood up so that they could have a better look. A car was racing down the street toward them. The Fat Man immediately got off the stoop and walked toward the center of the street. As the car approached, he could see what appeared to be guns sticking out of the windows. “Get down!” he screamed as the car raced toward them.

  Someone from inside the car fired at the Fat Man, hitting him in the chest. Lefty, who was driving, saw Uncle Ted coming down the block and floored the car in his direction. As the car hit Uncle Ted, it veered to the other side, hitting two or three parked cars. In the meantime, everyone had ducked for cover. Within a few seconds, it was all over.

  Tyler lay on the ground; his mother lay on the sidewalk near him. Slowly they began to get up and look around. The Fat Man’s wound proved fatal. Uncle Ted sustained a broken collarbone and leg.

  The kids looked around. Tyler looked toward where his mom still lay. “Mom, it’s okay, they’re gone,” he shouted to her. “Mom, get up.”

  In a second, he was by her side. Turning her over, he could see that she had been shot. “Mom!” screamed Tyler. “Mom, get up. Please, please, Mom, get up.” She had been shot in the chest.

  Sylvia looked up at Tyler and smiled. “It will be all right, baby. Don’t cry. It will be all right,” and she took her last breath. Tyler held her head on his lap. He cried, “Nooooo. . .No . . . No . . .Noooooooo!”

  A Family’s Sorrow

  July 8, 1964 (7:00 p.m.-7:00 a.m.)

  Tyler could not hear the sirens in the background, nor feel the cool breeze in the air. Tears continued to pour from Tyler as they took his mother away in the ambulance.

  Sitting in the back of a police car, Tyler, through blurry eyes, could see Nick Costello across the street, staring at him with cold, hard eyes. It would be a sight that Tyler would remember years later.

  Nick arrived shortly after the police got there and heard Uncle Ted telling the story of what had happened earlier in the day, and that he thought it was the kids who belonged to a gang on the next street, who called themselves the Black Aces. Nick’s smile was gone His fists were clenched as he visualized what had happened, pledging to young Tyler that this deed would not go unpunished.

  Nick waited until the police had left and for most of the people to return to their homes before walking slowly across the street to his apartment. When he got there, he filled his duffle bag with his belongings and disappeared into the night.

  Tyler sat alone in an interrogation room at the local precinct. Though a couple of officers came in to check on him, asking him if he needed anything, Tyler
never responded. He sat still, looking at the table in front of him, replaying what had happened to his mother, over and over again. Hoping it was a dream that could not be true, a nightmare, but knowing that it was not, Tyler prayed for a miracle. He knew that because of him, she was dead. Because he wasn’t fast enough, because he was playing with his friends and not watching over his mother, she was dead. His heart exploded in his chest. Grief, turning to rage, finally consumed him with hopelessness. He deserved to lose her. He should have protected her. He should’ve done something, but he didn’t. The warmth had gone out of his life.

  Someone entered the room. Tyler did not look up, not even when the officer sat down next to him.

  “Hello, Tyler. It’s been a couple of years since we’ve seen each other. Do you remember?” Tyler looked up at the officer now and suddenly realized it was his uncle George from Queens. The tears welled up, and Tyler grabbed for him. They hugged for a long time, with Tyler letting it all out, sobbing louder as he told his uncle how his mother died.

  “It’s okay, Tyler. There was nothing you could do. We are going to get those sons of bitches. I promise you. We are going to get them for what they did to my little sister. I personally will blow their fuckin’ heads off. I promise. I swear on her grave that they will not get away with this,” George said with anger in his voice. “You are going to come home with me and live with us in Queens. Is that okay with you?” Tyler simply stared and then nodded, realizing then that he couldn’t go home again. That Mom wouldn’t be there to cook him his favorite dinner, or play scrabble with him, or help him with his homework. Tears streamed down his cheek as he thought about all these things.