Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [78]
Petrosino walked to the other side of Rocco’s bed and looked him straight in the face. “That is all I know, although I can guess much more. I imagine they came to you for money; they might have even called it ‘protection money.’ That is their new tactic. Being an honest man, you probably refused to give it to them. Or,” he said, “you didn’t give them enough.” Petrosino put his derby back on.
“Signore, you just lost your hard-earned store. I don’t pretend that I can make everything right, but we can put these criminals behind bars by working together. You get better, signore, and we’ll talk again.” He turned and tipped his hat to Giovanna. “Good day, signora.”
For days, Giovanna did not go out. She did not want to run into Petrosino. Avoiding her neighbor Pietro Inzerillo was more difficult. Sure enough, her first time out of the house, she had to listen to him express his condolences and say, “If only I was allowed to be of service to you.”
They sold the horse and cart so that Rocco could set himself up as a street vendor once again. If passing the boarded-up store was not reminder enough of the tragedy, the back-breaking work of pushing the cart didn’t allow him to forget.
Rocco and Giovanna argued long and loud after Lieutenant Petrosino’s second “chance encounter” with them on the street. Giovanna’s feeling was that they had nothing to lose, so why not cooperate in hopes of seeing justice served. But Rocco’s mistrust of the police led him to believe that something even worse could happen if the police were involved. Giovanna was beginning to like Petrosino and trust him, and in spite of Rocco’s suspicions—and vows to kill the Blackhanders himself—she could tell that he, too, liked the little lieutenant.
A month later, Giovanna announced, “Rocco, I will work with Petrosino. You never have to be seen with him. If they are watching at all, they’ll be watching you.”
After more than four years of marriage to this man, she was learning the signs. He didn’t say yes, but there was no tirade, which meant that Giovanna could proceed as she wanted without Rocco having to bruise his pride by acquiescing.
TWENTY-TWO
In just one meeting, Lieutenant Petrosino realized that he would not be the only one asking the questions. If Giovanna was going to help, she made it known that she was going to have to understand the situation, and on that first morning, Giovanna’s education into the ways of the Black Hand began.
Petrosino admitted to himself that Giovanna intimidated him. She towered over him, and when she asked questions, her blue eyes were so penetrating that it seemed she would instantly know if he was hedging or not telling the truth. Ruthless crooks were easier to deal with, yet despite his discomfort, he had grown to like this big woman who now sat at an oak table in his cramped precinct office.
Giovanna was poring through stacks and stacks of identification cards. On the front of each card were two photos—a profile and a full-face shot. On the back were words and numbers that were gibberish to Giovanna, and not only because she didn’t speak English.
After more than two hours of scrutinizing each photo, Giovanna walked over to Petrosino’s desk. “Lieutenant, I have found an important similarity about these Blackhanders.”
Lieutenant Petrosino responded to her solemn expression. “Yes, signora, please tell me.”
“They are all ugly.” Giovanna slapped her face in an expression of ugliness. “Brutti, tutti sono brutti.”
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