two-by-four. After Cheech worked his magic, all the witnesses developed amnesia, the prosecutors became anemic and the jury very open-minded. While he possessed as much conscience as a protozoa, Ricky felt eternally loyal to his new family, especially Al Malandrino.
"Okay, Uncle Al. You're right. You're always right.
What do I gotta do?"
"You contact Dimitrov. Keep your ears open and be ready to pass messages."
"Sounds like the goddamn 'hot line'."
"You bet, Ricky. This way, we avoid misunderstandings. Who knows, maybe even a war." Al smiled, then devoured a chocolate biscotto.
Pironi's antique, wood-and-glass, lace-curtained door opened. Wentworth's fresh, All-American face poked itself in, the blue-gray eyes scanning the place.
"Hey Chuckie!" Al shouted, waving one arm. "Over here! Whaddya doin', Chuckie? Lookin' out for some tail?" Al winked and nudged a decidedly unenthusiastic Ricky in the ribs as the latter downed a glass of Pellegrino.
Ricky half-raised his left arm to deflect his uncle's light pugilistic jab.
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49
Al motioned Wentworth to have a seat. They shook hands. Ricky offered a limp wrist, almost as an afterthought.
"So, you guys have met?" Al asked.
"Yeah," Ricky murmured. "Ran into each other at the Al-Mac office. Wasn't it Chuckster?" Ricky's deadpan eyes challenged Wentworth's.
"It's Chuck," Wentworth corrected him.
"Whatever." His attention was suddenly captured by a well-filled leather miniskirt sashaying on the street outside the window displaying "Pironi's" in gilt, cursive lettering.
Al motioned for Wentworth to take the seat next to him.
"So, what's up, Chuckie-boy?"
"It's 'Chuck'!" Ricky interjected sarcastically.
Al shot a reproachful look at Ricky, then turned back to Wentworth.
"Well, Mr. Malandrino…uh, Al, I just needed you to sign these papers to hire two more employees -- newly retired army sergeants -- to help me out on security matters.
They'd also double as warehouse foremen to replace two that we fired recently. So you'd be getting twice your money's worth." He handed Al a sheaf of papers.
After scribbling his signature quickly and handing back the documents, Al slapped Wentworth on the shoulder.
"You're a good kid, Chuckie. Doin' a terrific job. Anytime you need anything, you let me know. Don't be shy."
"You've been more than generous, sir." Wentworth then excused himself, begging off coffee and biscotti, and departed.
"That kid's a real piece of work, Uncle Al. I can't believe you hired a guy like that."
"What's your problem, anyway?" Al said. "I get somebody who can clean up the mess over at Al-Mac and 50 JAMES
BRUNO
you dump all over him. I never saw you shakin' the tree over there, little nephew."
"It's just that we got Beaver Cleaver working at Gangsters R Us. He'll get in the way."
"I think I see the problem now," Al said. "You're jealous! Ol' Chuckie there gets more done in two months than you did in two years over at Al-Mac"
"Gimme a break. If I wasn't here, all your goombah competitors would be all over you. Not to mention the fuckin' Spanish, Chinese and any other greaseball hoodlums jumpin' out of the melting pot demanding a piece of the action."
Al gestured that he'd had enough. "Chuckie Wentworth has what you and I never had: trust. He also happens to be very good at what he does. Finally, the guy adds respectability at a time when the businesses -- and I --
really need it. So, I'm not asking, but I'm telling you: Get along with him. Help him out. When you help him, you help the family. You obstruct him, you hurt the family.
Capisce ?"
Ricky
nodded.
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CHAPTER FIVE
The "Wen-ching Ho" had been unloaded of its cargo, its crew either at quarters or taking in as much as they could of New York in two nights time. Customs did its thing checking the cargo and cleared the whole lot of canned food and electronic components from China after some cursory checks. Homeland Security was a bit more vigorous.