Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [139]
Much of the election hoopla had escaped Giovanna. She knew the basics: there was a party called Tammany, and their candidate was William Gaynor, and a party called Fusion, and their candidate was Otto Bannard. Earlier, there was a newspaperman named Hearst who was going to run, but didn’t. And everyone said voting didn’t matter on the Lower East Side because the Sullivans were in control.
But she did know that a man named Edwin Reese who worked in an election office had given an envelope, probably containing money, to one of the scoundrels involved in Angelina’s kidnapping. And now the Blackhanders wanted the next payment dropped at the poll.
It was pouring. An American flag hung outside in the rain at P.S. 130, as did all sorts of men with buttons covering their coats. On another corner, under umbrellas, stood three well-dressed ladies draped in sashes that read, VOTES FOR WOMEN.
Giovanna could barely walk anymore her legs were so swollen. She entered the school, shook the water from her shawl, and lumbered painfully to the gymnasium. She surveyed the setup and the faces, especially people with ribbons pinned to their chests, and headed to the precinct maps on the wall.
“Signora, can I help you?” asked a man in Italian who was accompanied by a policeman.
“My husband wants to vote, but he can’t read. I came to find out where he has to go,” answered Giovanna.
The official’s voice changed. “Let me help you, signora. Where do you live?”
“At two…at 236 Elizabeth Street.”
“That wouldn’t be here, that would be at P.S. 21.”
“Grazie, signore, but I think I’ll take a look anyway to check for my brother.” Thankfully, the man was pulled away and Giovanna had just enough time to slip the envelope behind the map.
FORTY
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 1909
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1909
“Zia, there’s loads of people outside the Elizabeth Street police station,” announced Mary, coming through the door after work. Giovanna was confined to bed. Lucrezia wanted to put her in the hospital, but Giovanna wouldn’t allow it.
“Go to Zio Lorenzo’s house and get Domenico to go with you and find out what’s happening.”
It was nearly an hour before Domenico and Mary returned.
“It’s the Chinese, Zia. I saw Detective Fiaschetti, and he told me it was something called a tong war. Somebody got killed in August, and now the other gang killed someone in revenge.”
Giovanna, who had raised herself on her elbows, fell back onto the bed. Domenico entered her room and half closed the door. “There’s more, Zia.”
From Domenico’s expression, Giovanna could tell that it was serious. With great difficulty she once again lifted her upper body from the bed. “Go on,” she instructed.
“You’re going to think this is a joke, Zia.”
“Any joke now would be a cruel one, and you’re not cruel, Domenico.”
“Detective Fiaschetti told me that Lupo came to the police station today to make a complaint. Lupo said he was blackhanded at his store on Mulberry Street and that’s why he went out of business.”
“Lupo? Here?”
“Yes, Zia.”
“Didn’t they arrest him?”
“No. The detective said something about needing to get a complaint in order.”
“Lupo, on Elizabeth Street? And they let him go!”
“Zia, maybe he isn’t involved.”
“Maybe.”
“But imagine, Zia, he said he was blackhanded!”
“Domenico, do the police still play games in the settlement gym with boys from the neighborhood?”
“I think so.”
“I want you to go, Domenico. We need information on Lupo, but I don’t want anyone to see you go into the police station.”
“I’ll try, Zia, but I don’t think anyone other than Detective Fiaschetti would talk to me.” Secretly, Domenico was thrilled. This gave him the permission he needed to snoop around.
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 1909
It must be Sunday—they never let her out on Sunday when the men were home all day. But she couldn’t hold it in anymore. The bugs had bitten her badly, and her stomach ached, and