Read Online Carlito's Way: Rise to Power by Edwin Torres - Free Book Online Page A

stayed clean, worked out every day, did some reading, a lot of rapping. I seen guys go in can’t read or write, come out talking Shakespeare. If you don’t know nothin’, the Joint is a great place—me, I had all my smarts long before.
    T HE WORD CAME DOWN . E ARLY SIXTIES: THE GOVERNMENT was building the first big narco conspiracy cases—getthem guineas, said Bobby, and they was got. Vito, Lilo, Big John, Chin, everybody went down. And the feds skinned the cats anyway they could—like with Vito— he only spoke to himself in the mirror in a Neapolitan dialect that not even an Italian could understand; meanwhile, the government has him dealing with a junkie P.R. from the Bronx—who they jiving? But like they cleaned Nelson up, gave him voice lessons, a good script, and the dude came on like James Cagney. Vito got fifteen— he must have loved P.R.’s after that.
    The word came down hard on Tommy Dunphy. The cons was out in the yard. Spooks, wops, P.R.’s, everybody on their own turf. I was jivin’ around with the Latinos, they was bangin’ on the skins as usual, timbales, conga and bongos—like a regular fuckin’ band. This walyo type come over to me. He looked like Marc Lawrence, pinched-in, pock-marked puss. Croaky voice—somebody once told me it’s because of the water in Italy, but I think it’s from always talkin’ in a whisper, like when you scheme. Anyway he says,
    “Carlito?”
    “Known by that name.”
    “Rocco got somethin’ for ya.”
    We split off from my click and walk across the yard.
    “You’re pals with Tommy Dunphy, right, Carlito?”
    “Yeah, we’re aces.”
    “He goes.”
    “Coño! Wait awhile—what’s this?”
    “Wadda you want from me, details? I don’t wannaknow from nothin’. My people tell me to tell you Rocco said so-and-so. Check it out. You in or you out?”
    “Okay, okay. But, Jesus, gimme a clue.”
    “Tommy and two other kids, brothers, handled a contract in Boston. The brothers got popped—they’re giving Tommy up. The boss that ordered the hit says Tommy got to be taken out, save him the trouble of going wrong which is only a matter of time with the job busted open, capisce ?”
    “Je-sus, Tommy gotta be washed on a just-in-case.”
    “Wadda you want from me? I don’t need this. I don’t even work for Rocco or Petey A.”
    “All right. I’ll take care of business.”
    “Ciao .’Ey, Carlito, how can you stand that shit?”
    “What choice I got? Rocco’s my man.”
    “I don’t mean that. I mean that racket from them fuckin’ bongo players. Meeng!”
    I was shook up—he was one of my main men, tough Irish kid from the West Side docks, good club fighter. We used to rap about being stand-up guys surrounded by rats. Bad news—I shoulda known then that I didn’t fit in. But Rocco was counting on me, so I started scheming to get to Tommy—but I liked the guy, he was a down cat. So now I was sweating, kept putting the job off; some Mafioso I was gonna be. Lotta tough wops never get made ’cause they can’t hurt people they ain’t mad at. Ain’t easy.
    But got to be. Colorado had a shank he kept in a soap bar—piece of metal honed down. I caught Tommy on the ball field—caught him from behind, I didn’t want to seehis face—slit his throat from ear to ear; he fell on his back gagging on his own blood. I quit the scene without turning back, but I knew his eyes had to be asking Why? But he didn’t go out. That night they brought a bunch of us into the hospital where he was laid out like Christ on the cross, pipes and tubes in and out of him. He was wheezing and gurgling terrible.
    “Tommy, you can’t make it—don’t let them get away with it, you can still talk from the grave—we’ll talk for you; you know you’re dying—pick out the cock-sucker.”
    They brought us one by one to the side of the bed. He fixed his eyes on me like they was gonna pop out of his head.
    “Tommy, for God’s sake, just nod your head up and down—we know