Queen of Secrets, page 19
“Yeah, they were everywhere.” She pointed to various things and locations on her trip down memory lane. “Take a right here,” she directed as we passed Lincoln Avenue. “See this? This is Goosetown. It feels so good to be back here,” she said with a smile. “Yeah. At the next light, take a left.”
As we got closer to the deli, her expression changed. “Man, what happened here? It’s all beat up,” she yelled, then threw her hands in the air.
We pulled up to Angelo’s Delicatessen. The partially lit marquee blinked.
“This place has changed.” She studied the building while I parked the car. “Let’s get going.”
She opened the door to the deli like she owned the place. Smells of fresh bread, spicy meats, and cheese met my nose and made me hungry. While I rubbed my growling stomach, she worked the room.
“Hey, Vi,” an older, silver-haired man behind the counter shouted and came around the counter to give her a hug. “How you doing, hon? You look younger and younger every time I see you.”
“Cut the shit, Ang. You better get glasses,” she teased. “How you doin’, compadi?” she asked, then tapped his cheek with her palm.
“Mezza, mezza,” he said as he waved his hand back and forth. “We don’t get the business we used to get anymore.”
“Yeah, lots of changes, I see.”
“And who is this with you?” The man looked at me.
“Sofia thinks I need help around the house, so they hired Barbara here to be my cleaning lady,” she said, then laughed at her made-up story.
The man winked at me and held his hand out to shake mine.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Angelo Sunseri.”
“Likewise,” I said. “Barbara Jackson. I’m her . . .” I paused when I saw her bone-chilling death stare.
“Hey, Ang, is there somewhere we can talk? I might need a favor.”
Her words made me think about what happened to Marcus, and I was instantly curious.
“Yeah, sure. For you, anything,” he said, then escorted Ms. G. to the back.
“Take a seat, kid. I’ll be right back,” she said.
I waited for Ms. G. to return when another man behind the counter stared at me intensely. He was a younger version of the man who’d shaken my hand. It might have even been Angelo’s son—same face and hair—except that he had the most alluring blue eyes. The man came over to my table.
“Anything I can get you today?” the handsome-looking man said, then looked down at my left hand.
“No, thanks. I’m just waiting for Ms. Giordano.”
“Oh, you’re with Zia Vi. My godmother’s a feisty one.” His laugh accompanied a perfect, warm smile.
“Tell me about it,” I said.
“I’m Alessandro Sunseri.” He reached out his hand to shake mine. “Friends call me Alex.”
“Hello, Alex, nice to meet you,” I said, staring at his crystal blue eyes.
“If you need anything at all. Here’s my card. Catering . . . a sandwich, maybe grab a coffee sometime—give me a call,” he flirted with a dazzling smile.
Ms. G. came out with three white bags filled with food. “Alessandro,” Ms. G. yelled, “get over here and give me a hug.”
The man went over to her and kissed both cheeks.
“Zia Vi, I met your friend. You ladies should visit more often,” he said, then looked me over with his brilliant blue eyes that seemed to pop against his dark hair and brows. This guy was movie-star handsome. Blushing now, I grabbed the bags from Ms. G. and smiled back at the man.
“All right, time to go,” she said.
“Don’t worry about nothin’, compadi. Just call me, and it’s all taken care of,” the older man said.
I followed the number sixteen red jersey outside to the car.
“What’s he planning to do for you, Ms. G.?”
“Oh, nothing . . . just family business,” she said and got in the car.
“Family business?” I fastened my seat belt.
“I’ve known Angelo for years. He’d take a bullet for me,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Ms. G., I have to ask you a question.”
“Yeah, what is it?” she said as she struggled to click her seat belt.
“Marcus got kicked out of Garden Valley last night. You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”
“Ha,” she said in a spirited voice. “He got kicked out, huh? That’s what he gets for being a stronzo.” She slid her sunglasses into place.
“Well, did you?”
“I’m an old lady with memory issues. Hell, until you said his name, I’d forgotten all about that piece of shit. Now, maybe he’ll get a job and start providing. Let’s get home. I’m starvin’,” she said, avoiding my pressing stare.
I eyed her cautiously, then started the engine.
On our way home, Ms. G. looked sullen. Maybe she was sad from seeing Goosetown. According to her, San Jose had changed so much. Reality surely dated her memories and caused her pain.
I had made a right onto the Alum Rock exit when a rather wild idea crossed my mind. Without her license, she was a prisoner at the ranch. Her sad face verified it. So, without any further thought, I pulled the car over.
“Do you have your regular glasses in your purse?”
“Yeah, why?”
“’Cause you’re gonna drive us home. So, put ’em on.” I opened my door to walk around to the passenger’s side.
“Really, kid?” Her brows rose and her eyes grew wide.
“Yes.”
We exchanged seats, and she adjusted the seat to move her small body closer to the steering wheel. She shifted into gear, and we were off. She blew through one yellow light and swerved a few times as we approached the one-lane road to the ranch.
Once we hit the open road, she mashed her foot down on the gas pedal, and we flew up the hill. With white knuckles, I held on to the armrest of the door, squeezing it hard until I couldn’t feel my fingers. She laughed around every turn.
“Whoo hoo,” she bellowed through the car.
She flew up that road like she’d been doing it all her life. We had one close call with a truck, but she slowed and then we were back in the races again. She barreled down her driveway and slammed on the brakes, barely missing the garage door by an inch.
“That was great, kid,” she gushed with wide eyes. She shifted the car into park and turned off the ignition.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, but we can’t do that every day. I might have a heart attack,” I said, peeling myself off the leather seat. I grabbed the bags. She laughed all the way to the front door.
Integration
After Ms. G.’s joyride through the mountains, I took a few deep breaths to calm myself before loading piles of meats, bread, and cheese onto plates. I wasn’t sure I could eat after our spirited little drive, but the smell of freshly baked bread took over my senses and I was hungry all over again.
Two helpings later, the elastic band on my scrubs felt tight. I’d gained ten pounds since taking care of Ms. G. I’d become a fan of Italian cuisine.
“Everything was delicious. Next time I’m in the mood for a nice hoagie, I know where to go. By the way, the younger gentleman who came to talk to me . . . that was Angelo’s son, right?”
“Yeah. His oldest, Alessandro, Alex. Seems like just yesterday he was a little boy, running around that place.”
My curiosity got the best of me. “Is he married?” I blurted out.
“Divorced. His old lady didn’t want to be part of the family business,” she said with a coy grin.
“Oh . . . the family business. Right.” I swallowed down hard. How could I be thinking about another man with the way things were? But Alex was so handsome, and he seemed interested. The only time Marcus paid attention to me was on payday. It had been a long time since someone took notice of me, and it felt good.
“He’s a good-looking kid, all right. He gets it from my mother’s side. Angelo married my cousin, Marie, but she died a few years back.”
“Yes, Alex seems nice,” I said, avoiding her stare.
“He’s a good boy. He’s been trying to get Ang to go legitimate for years. That kind of thing is hard—just look at my father. And poor Ang, he looks like he’s struggling. Don’t people appreciate good food anymore instead of this new health food crap? Who in the hell would eat wheatgrass anyway? Grass is for horses. Did I tell you my father raised horses?”
“I think I read that somewhere,” I said, remembering the business cards in the desk.
“My father bred horses and had his medical practice. We were able to clean the money through both businesses.”
“You mean cleaning as in money laundering?” I asked as my back tightened.
“Oh yes, bookmakin’ was common in this life. See, about a month after the wedding, my father said it was time to learn the family business. I started as his medical assistant. I’d sterilize rooms, linens, equipment. Then he’d have me clean wounds and administer various painkillers. Once my father noticed I’d become more comfortable with my new role, he sat me down with this big black receipt book. And that was the first day I ever did work for the Molanano family. That’s when I got my hands dirty in the business.”
“Weren’t you scared you’d get caught?”
“Hell no,” she said, then took the last bite of her sandwich. “My father wouldn’t let me take the wrap for something like that. He asked me to get involved in the finances because he trusted me with that part of the business. Since I was the first to graduate high school in my family, he thought I could handle the money side of things.”
I sipped my soda while she continued.
“I remember he told me to think of it like paying taxes. Every working American had to pay taxes to the government, and in exchange, we got protection. The Mafia was no different than any government.”
“Did the cops ever find out?”
“They tried a few times, but my father was smart. Deep down, whether my father wanted to admit it or not, he depended on the Mafia for lots of things—things that your basic immigrant wouldn’t get on his own. He did his share of favors for them. He’d move the money when he had to. But back in my day, stuff like that would just go away. When a mob boss thought they would be linked to anything, they’d just grease the cops. If that didn’t work, things got ugly and people died. It was as simple as that. So, we had to be careful, no matter what. The mob is smart. They find ways around everything, and there is always someone on the inside.”
“Is it complicated to launder money?”
“No. It’s pretty simple. Everything was cash. I’d write up the expenses and the charges to match how much we put in the bank. It all had to add up so that we wouldn’t get in trouble. Now, you can’t get away with as much as we did back then.”
“That’s true.”
“If we were gonna get caught for anything, it would have been for taking in wise guys or for fixin’ ’em up. Sometimes guys got hurt out there. Drug deals gone bad, robberies, street fights. My father saw everything from stabbings to bullet wounds—you name it.”
“Bullet wounds? Seriously?” My mouth went dry.
“Sure. See, those guys didn’t want to go to the hospital for fear they’d be questioned by the cops, so they came to my father, and he took care of it. As long as it all stayed under the radar, he maintained an open-door policy.”
I looked around her house and tried to imagine the place as a functioning clinic. Real-life Mafia men sitting around after they may have killed someone? My heart knocked against my chest. Maybe in the room I’d put my purse and coat, there once was a gangster bleeding from a bullet wound or a robbery, or even worse. A shiver moved up my spine.
“You okay, kid? You look like you saw a ghost,” she said, then put her hand on mine.
I smiled. “I’m fine. Go on.” I swallowed deep when I thought about how devious she was. “You done with your lunch?”
“Yes, thanks.” She handed me her plate. “I can’t tell you how grateful these guys were for my father’s services. They respected and admired him, and sometimes we’d even receive gifts. Once, a made guy named Johnny Spits gave my mother a brand-new mink jacket to thank my father for saving his life. Can you believe it? A mink jacket.” She laughed, then went on. “My mother, being the simple woman she was, ended up having my father sell it. She used the money to upgrade the kitchen.”
“Johnny Spits?” I wrapped up the leftover meats and cheeses to put in the refrigerator. “That’s a strange name. Why do some of them get weird names like that?”
“They’re just nicknames. Johnny used to have a lisp, and when he talked, he used to spit. I guess that’s where he got the name.”
I laughed with her and finished clearing the table.
“You know, even the mayor’s wife came to see my father for her migraines. She’d tried everything from aspirin to morphine for her pain, and nothing worked. My father applied his touch to her temples and neck. Within a few days, the headaches went away. She was so happy with the results she told everyone about my father.”
“Kind of like acupressure?”
“Well, sort of. It was more about the healing power of touch. Good news spreads fast, and because of the mayor’s wife, our clinic was packed with people—including her husband. He started coming around more and more without her. Then I’d see him at Sunday night dinner and the occasional parties. And, over time, I put it together. He wanted in on the business, and since my father needed the protection, they worked out a deal. The mayor got a cut from the profits and the cops never bothered us or any of my father’s friends. My father wasn’t a strong arm for the mob, but he was a great negotiator, and he used whatever advantages he had.”
“Ms. G., how did your father become a doctor?”
“He had a lot of friends. Some were attorneys and even a few judges. They pushed him to get his license and then they approved it. That was easy. Besides, back in those days, no one checked for licenses, unless it was threatened as a form of leverage, which happened from time to time. The cops and authorities always wanted to find a way in. The mayor was our golden ticket. By having a relationship with him, no one questioned us—ever.”
“Can’t really do that now. You can’t just buy people off anymore. Things have changed.”
“Not as much as you might think. Don’t kid yourself, honey. Dirty politicians still exist,” she said firmly. “The Mafia is still here, just more infiltrated now, more above board. But back then, no one ever ratted on my father because he’d earned the respect of his patients and the trust of the community for his years of service. If the mayor’s wife trusts you, you’re untouchable, and my father knew it.”
“Tell me about the horses.”
“My father bred, studded, and trained horses for racing. On paper, everything looked legal, and that’s what my father and Don Molanano wanted everyone to see. He’d collect hefty fees for his services. It all looked legitimate. Sometimes he’d even gamble underground funds at the racetrack. Win or lose, it didn’t matter, because the money was cleaned through the racetrack, which was connected to the Molanano family. The Molanano family was always trying to conduct and maintain business any way they could.”
“So, because of your family’s relationship with the mayor, you never got caught?”
“Money moved, everything moved. Things were literally falling off trucks. That’s right at the time that Louie Cortese courted my sister. My father orchestrated the marriage—just like me and Frank. My sister didn’t even know who Louie was until we had his family over for dinner one Sunday night. The next thing you know, he was at the house every weekend.”
“So that’s why your father had you, not Carmela, marry Frank?”
“Yes. She was promised to Louie before Frank came around,” she said firmly.
I reached for her hand and looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry you weren’t able to marry Gaetano.” My eyes misted a bit.
“I’m okay, kid. I’m alive to talk about it, aren’t I?” she said, peering over her glasses.
“Hopefully, one day, I’ll be as tough as you.”
“One day, you’ll have to be, sweetheart.”
“Did you tell anyone what happened on your wedding night?”
“Hell no. That was my business, and I didn’t need a war on my hands. I focused on my patients. But living in my father’s medical practice was tough for me and Frank. He and my father got into it a few times. My father made it clear to him that without the business functioning on a normal basis, he couldn’t clean the money. And if he couldn’t clean, trouble would follow. So Frank, being the kind of guy who knew what that meant, just sucked it up and dealt with it.”
“I bet he didn’t like having to cower down to your father.”
“He hated it,” she said with a wicked laugh. “From that point on, I didn’t know where the money went. I mean, my father made money, no doubt. And there was more than money moving around, but I wasn’t privy to that part of the business. I did what he asked of me, and I moved on to the more interesting parts of the job, like the patients, who later became my friends.”
“Like you are to me—my friend,” I said and smiled.
She smiled back with tender eyes. “Yes, but you’re becoming more than just my friend. You’re more like a daughter to me.”
Tears I tried to hold back fell.
“Jesus, don’t cry, honey. All that makeup you put on will run down your face. You get your period or somethin’?” she asked as she brushed away a loose tear.
“No, nothing like that. It’s just . . . you know me like no one else. When I come here, I feel like this is my home away from home.”
“I understand completely. I used to be in search of a safe place too.” She placed her hand on my arm.
I wiped my tears and sniffed. “So, Ms. G., you little money launderer, you,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
“That’s how I got my feet wet in all this mess. Hell, I practically dove in. Looking back now, I can’t say I was proud to do it, but I figured I’d helped my father. Working helped my mind stay busy. I needed a distraction from Gaetano. It wasn’t until I moved to Brooklyn with Frank that I got a real taste of this life. That’s when I met Rose and the girls, and everything changed.”
