but he wasn’t going to leave any of his money with me. But by the mid-fifties there were the New York families, Pittsburgh, Boston, two New Jersey families, one of the Chicago families, New Orleans. The ones in Los Angeles were connected to families in the East, so they were part of the package. The only person who knew where any of it was invested was me. You can see the problem.”
“They wouldn’t let you out of their sight,” said Jane.
“In the fifties there were a couple of wars. They were afraid somebody would clip me just to cause trouble. Then it was the big uproar caused by the wars. Citizens had found bodies lying around, so the government had to start making noise about the Mafia—holding hearings, doing raids. People started to worry about me getting picked up. They moved me out of New York and set me up in a house in Florida.”
“So you couldn’t go to New York anymore.”
“She couldn’t either. It was the sixties by then, and women weren’t doing that anymore. A department store in Detroit had the same clothes as one in New York. Then a bad period started. From the late sixties on, you couldn’t trust your telephone or go talk to somebody outdoors without getting your picture taken. The FBI raided my house six times, and eachtime I got hauled in for forty-eight hours so they could ask me questions while the families were crying real tears and wringing their hands. In 1978 my house burned down.”
“Arson?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I know, because I did it myself. I hadn’t seen her in fourteen years. I talked them into taking me to Chicago while it was being rebuilt so I could be closer to her. I slipped my bodyguards once and spent the night in a hotel with her. That was the last time. A new house got built, only this time it was in the Keys. While my house was going up, they built houses all around it.”
“So those stories are true? The whole neighborhood is Mafia?”
“I don’t know what you heard, but here’s what’s true. There are three streets on each side. They built the houses and put people in them. The houses aren’t all occupied all the time, but some are. There are places on the island where you can see a boat coming from miles away in any direction, and there’s only one bridge. It was all for me.”
“Didn’t her husband die right around then?”
“Yeah,” he said. “That was why I had to see her. To propose.”
“Marriage? After thirty years?”
“What do you want from me? I couldn’t make the calendar go backwards. It was the first realistic chance I had.”
“She turned you down.”
He nodded. “I figured if anybody would understand that, it would be another woman. I sure didn’t.”
“It was the boy, wasn’t it? If her husband was dead, then her son was going to be the boss. Your son.”
“That’s just about the way she said it. Vincent was practically a kid, late twenties, when Ogliaro died. She was afraid that without her at his elbow to tell him what was what, he couldn’t do it. It would be like setting the baby on the ground while the wild dogs circled him. She couldn’t bring him with her to Florida to live with me. She said that would be like castrating him.”
“What about later, after he was established?” she said carefully. “He seems to have had an aptitude for it.”
“Then it was too late. People were already watching him, worrying that he might get too strong. If his mother came to live with me, then the families who gave me their money would decide he was trying to get his hands on it. They would have killed him.” He shook his head. “That was our son. He was what she traded our lives for.”
Jane was quiet for a few seconds. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s a sad story.”
She thought about the woman. This was her story, not Bernie’s. She tested it. “And your son—Vincent—he arranged for your death?”
He shook his head. “How could he? He’s in prison. You knew that, didn’t you?”
Jane
“They wouldn’t let you out of their sight,” said Jane.
“In the fifties there were a couple of wars. They were afraid somebody would clip me just to cause trouble. Then it was the big uproar caused by the wars. Citizens had found bodies lying around, so the government had to start making noise about the Mafia—holding hearings, doing raids. People started to worry about me getting picked up. They moved me out of New York and set me up in a house in Florida.”
“So you couldn’t go to New York anymore.”
“She couldn’t either. It was the sixties by then, and women weren’t doing that anymore. A department store in Detroit had the same clothes as one in New York. Then a bad period started. From the late sixties on, you couldn’t trust your telephone or go talk to somebody outdoors without getting your picture taken. The FBI raided my house six times, and eachtime I got hauled in for forty-eight hours so they could ask me questions while the families were crying real tears and wringing their hands. In 1978 my house burned down.”
“Arson?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I know, because I did it myself. I hadn’t seen her in fourteen years. I talked them into taking me to Chicago while it was being rebuilt so I could be closer to her. I slipped my bodyguards once and spent the night in a hotel with her. That was the last time. A new house got built, only this time it was in the Keys. While my house was going up, they built houses all around it.”
“So those stories are true? The whole neighborhood is Mafia?”
“I don’t know what you heard, but here’s what’s true. There are three streets on each side. They built the houses and put people in them. The houses aren’t all occupied all the time, but some are. There are places on the island where you can see a boat coming from miles away in any direction, and there’s only one bridge. It was all for me.”
“Didn’t her husband die right around then?”
“Yeah,” he said. “That was why I had to see her. To propose.”
“Marriage? After thirty years?”
“What do you want from me? I couldn’t make the calendar go backwards. It was the first realistic chance I had.”
“She turned you down.”
He nodded. “I figured if anybody would understand that, it would be another woman. I sure didn’t.”
“It was the boy, wasn’t it? If her husband was dead, then her son was going to be the boss. Your son.”
“That’s just about the way she said it. Vincent was practically a kid, late twenties, when Ogliaro died. She was afraid that without her at his elbow to tell him what was what, he couldn’t do it. It would be like setting the baby on the ground while the wild dogs circled him. She couldn’t bring him with her to Florida to live with me. She said that would be like castrating him.”
“What about later, after he was established?” she said carefully. “He seems to have had an aptitude for it.”
“Then it was too late. People were already watching him, worrying that he might get too strong. If his mother came to live with me, then the families who gave me their money would decide he was trying to get his hands on it. They would have killed him.” He shook his head. “That was our son. He was what she traded our lives for.”
Jane was quiet for a few seconds. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s a sad story.”
She thought about the woman. This was her story, not Bernie’s. She tested it. “And your son—Vincent—he arranged for your death?”
He shook his head. “How could he? He’s in prison. You knew that, didn’t you?”
Jane
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