hardly believe he was as old as Sam. His wavy hair was blue-black without a trace of gray, and his handsome profile was smooth, and his gray suit was beautiful. I turned around when Caputo held out a hand and smiled at me.
“Angie’s my name,” he said as we shook hands. “Where we going?”
“I understand you’re the one that worked over the old man,” said Sam in a much softer voice than before.
“You gotta be kidding, Sam. I got other things going. Your finks got the wrong boy for this one.”
“I been looking for you.”
“What for, Sam, you gonna bust me?”
“I can’t bust you. I ain’t been able to bust you since I knew you, even though I’d give my soul to do it.”
“This guy’s a comic,” said Caputo, laughing as he lit a cigarette. “I can depend on old Sam to talk to me at least once a month about how he’d like to send me to the joint. He’s a comic. Whadda you hear from the folks back in Aliquippa, Sam? How’s Liz and Dolly? How’s Dolly’s kids?”
“Before this, you never really hurt nobody I knew personally,” said Sam, still in the strange soft voice. “I knew the old man real good, you know.”
“He one of your informers, Sam?” asked Caputo. “Too bad. Finks’re hard to come by these days.”
“Old guy like that. Bones might never heal.”
“Okay, that’s a shame. Now tell me where we’re going. Is this some kind of roust? I wanna know.”
“Here’s where we’re going. We’re here,” said Sam, driving the car under the ramp onto the lonely, dark, dirt road by the new freeway construction.
“What the fuck’s going on?” asked Caputo, for the first time not smiling.
“Stay in the car, Bumper,” said Sam. “I wanna talk with Angie alone.”
“Be careful,
fratello
,” said Caputo. “I ain’t a punk you can scare. Be careful.”
“Don’t say
fratello
to me,” Sam whispered. “You’re a
dog’s
brother. You beat old men. You beat women and live off them. You live off weak people’s blood.”
“I’ll have your job, you dumb dago,” said Caputo, and I jumped out of the car when I heard the slapping thud of Sam’s big fist and Caputo’s cry of surprise. Sam was holding Caputo around the head and already I could see the blood as Sam hammered at his face. Then Caputo was on his back and he tried to hold off the blows of the big fist which drew back slowly and drove forward with speed and force. Caputo was hardly resisting now and didn’t yell when Sam pulled out the heavy six-inch Smith and Wesson. Sam knelt on the arms of Caputo and cracked the gun muzzle through his teeth and into his mouth. Caputo’s head kept jerking off the ground as he gagged on the gun muzzle twisting and digging in his throat but Sam pinned him there on the end of the barrel, whispering to him in Italian. Then Sam was on his feet and Caputo flopped on his stomach heaving bloody, pulpy tissue.
Sam and me drove back alone without talking. Sam was breathing hard and occasionally opened a window to spit a wad of phlegm. When Sam finally decided to talk he said, “You don’t have to worry, Bumper, Angie’ll keep his mouth shut. He didn’t even open it when I beat him, did he?”
“I’m not worried.”
“He won’t say nothing,” said Sam. “And things’ll be better on the street. They won’t laugh at us and they won’t be so bold. They’ll be scared. And Angie’ll never really be respected again. It’ll be better out here on the street.”
“I’m just afraid he’ll kill you, Sam.”
“He won’t. He’ll fear me. He’ll be afraid that
I’ll
kill
him
. And I will if he tries anything.”
“Christ, Sam, it’s not worth getting so personally tied up to these assholes like this.”
“Look, Bumper, I worked bookmaking in Ad Vice and here in Central. I busted bookmakers and organized hoodlums for over eight years. I worked as much as six months on
one
bookmaker. Six months! I put together an investigation and gathered evidence that no gang lawyer