church and on the radio and in
the papers about being a good citizen? We can't let these bums take
over America. If I don't stand up and fight, how can I expect the
next guy to stand up? How could I look myself in the mirror?
But why, Joe? Lay off the bullshit and tell me for
chrissake, why?
Why? Because it takes big balls. Because Jack Diamond
was always cracking wise about the guineas and nobody is going to say
that Joe Vignola is a yellow-bellied guinea. Joe Vignola is an
Italian-descent American with big balls.
Big balls, Joe? Was that really it'?
Right.
You dumb bastard.
* * *
I got in touch with the lawyer for Charlie Filetti,
who they caught in Chicago and hit with murder one. They hadn't
picked up Jack. I told the lawyer poor Joe was of no use to the
prosecution because he would not be able to remember anything at the
time, and that I wanted to be in touch with somebody in the Diamond
gang who I could relay this message to at first hand so that Jack
would also know what Joe was up to, which was not much. The lawyer
put me on to Jimmy Biondo, who met me at the Silver Slipper on
Forty-eighth Street one night. We talked briefly, as follows:
'You guarantee he's no pigeon?"
"I guarantee," I said.
"How?"
"Every way but in writing."
"The bum. The fuckin' bum."
"He's all right. He won't talk. Lay off the
telephone threats. He's got three kids and a nice wife. He's a nice
Italian boy like yourself. He doesn't want to hurt anybody. He's an
altar boy."
"Funeral for altar boys." said eloquent
Jimmy.
"I guarantee you. What do you want from me? I'm
his lawyer. He can't fire me. He hasn't even paid me yet."
"Fuckin' ". . .said Jimmy.
"Easy does it. He won't talk."
"Fuck . .
"I guarantee."
"You guarantee'?"
"I guarantee."
"You better fuckin' guarantee."
"I said I guarantee, and when I say I guarantee.
I guarantee."
"Fuckin' well better . .
"Right. Jimmy. You got my word. Joe won't talk."
"Fuck."
* * *
Joe told me Jack Diamond, disguised as a Boy Scout,
came through the bars of his cell one night and stood alongside Joe's
bunk as he slept. "It's time to have your ears pierced,"
Jack said to Joe, and he shoved the blade of his Scout knife into
Joe's left ear. Joe's brain leaked out through the hole.
"Help me," Joe yelled. "My ear is
leaking." From the next cell somebody yelled, "Shut up, you
looney son of a bitch."
But Joe didn't feel he was looney. He told the
Bellevue alienist how it was when they wanted to know why he hid food
under the bedclothes.
"That was for Legs Diamond. If he wants a bite
to eat and I got nothing, that's trouble."
"Did it occur to you that the food would rot and
give off a stench?"
"Rotten. it doesn't really matter. It's the
offer that counts."
"Why did you cover your head with the blanket?"
"I wanted to be alone."
"But you were alone."
"I didn't want visitors."
"The blanket kept them away?"
"No, I could see them through the blanket. But
it was better than nothing."
"Why did you hide the spoon?"
"So my visitors would have something to eat
with."
"Then why did you scratch at the concrete floor
with it?"
"I wanted to dig a place to hide so the visitors
couldn't find me."
"How did you tear up your fingers?"
"When they took my spoon away."
"You dug at the concrete with your fingers?"
"I knew it'd take a long time; the nails'd have
to grow back before I could dig again."
"Who visited you?"
"Diamond came every night. Herman Zuckman came,
cut up the middle and half a dozen iron bars inside him, and wire
wrapped around his stomach to keep the bars from falling out. He
dripped muck and seaweed all over. 'What did you do wrong, Herman?' I
said to him.
" 'Jew people have a tough life,' " he
said.
"And I told him, 'You think it's easy being
Italian?' "
"Any other visitors?"
"Walter Rudolph came in to cheer me up and I saw
daylight through his bullet holes."
The night the dead fish
leaped out of Herman's tuxedo Joe finally won his straitjacket.
* * *
The judge ordered
the papers about being a good citizen? We can't let these bums take
over America. If I don't stand up and fight, how can I expect the
next guy to stand up? How could I look myself in the mirror?
But why, Joe? Lay off the bullshit and tell me for
chrissake, why?
Why? Because it takes big balls. Because Jack Diamond
was always cracking wise about the guineas and nobody is going to say
that Joe Vignola is a yellow-bellied guinea. Joe Vignola is an
Italian-descent American with big balls.
Big balls, Joe? Was that really it'?
Right.
You dumb bastard.
* * *
I got in touch with the lawyer for Charlie Filetti,
who they caught in Chicago and hit with murder one. They hadn't
picked up Jack. I told the lawyer poor Joe was of no use to the
prosecution because he would not be able to remember anything at the
time, and that I wanted to be in touch with somebody in the Diamond
gang who I could relay this message to at first hand so that Jack
would also know what Joe was up to, which was not much. The lawyer
put me on to Jimmy Biondo, who met me at the Silver Slipper on
Forty-eighth Street one night. We talked briefly, as follows:
'You guarantee he's no pigeon?"
"I guarantee," I said.
"How?"
"Every way but in writing."
"The bum. The fuckin' bum."
"He's all right. He won't talk. Lay off the
telephone threats. He's got three kids and a nice wife. He's a nice
Italian boy like yourself. He doesn't want to hurt anybody. He's an
altar boy."
"Funeral for altar boys." said eloquent
Jimmy.
"I guarantee you. What do you want from me? I'm
his lawyer. He can't fire me. He hasn't even paid me yet."
"Fuckin' ". . .said Jimmy.
"Easy does it. He won't talk."
"Fuck . .
"I guarantee."
"You guarantee'?"
"I guarantee."
"You better fuckin' guarantee."
"I said I guarantee, and when I say I guarantee.
I guarantee."
"Fuckin' well better . .
"Right. Jimmy. You got my word. Joe won't talk."
"Fuck."
* * *
Joe told me Jack Diamond, disguised as a Boy Scout,
came through the bars of his cell one night and stood alongside Joe's
bunk as he slept. "It's time to have your ears pierced,"
Jack said to Joe, and he shoved the blade of his Scout knife into
Joe's left ear. Joe's brain leaked out through the hole.
"Help me," Joe yelled. "My ear is
leaking." From the next cell somebody yelled, "Shut up, you
looney son of a bitch."
But Joe didn't feel he was looney. He told the
Bellevue alienist how it was when they wanted to know why he hid food
under the bedclothes.
"That was for Legs Diamond. If he wants a bite
to eat and I got nothing, that's trouble."
"Did it occur to you that the food would rot and
give off a stench?"
"Rotten. it doesn't really matter. It's the
offer that counts."
"Why did you cover your head with the blanket?"
"I wanted to be alone."
"But you were alone."
"I didn't want visitors."
"The blanket kept them away?"
"No, I could see them through the blanket. But
it was better than nothing."
"Why did you hide the spoon?"
"So my visitors would have something to eat
with."
"Then why did you scratch at the concrete floor
with it?"
"I wanted to dig a place to hide so the visitors
couldn't find me."
"How did you tear up your fingers?"
"When they took my spoon away."
"You dug at the concrete with your fingers?"
"I knew it'd take a long time; the nails'd have
to grow back before I could dig again."
"Who visited you?"
"Diamond came every night. Herman Zuckman came,
cut up the middle and half a dozen iron bars inside him, and wire
wrapped around his stomach to keep the bars from falling out. He
dripped muck and seaweed all over. 'What did you do wrong, Herman?' I
said to him.
" 'Jew people have a tough life,' " he
said.
"And I told him, 'You think it's easy being
Italian?' "
"Any other visitors?"
"Walter Rudolph came in to cheer me up and I saw
daylight through his bullet holes."
The night the dead fish
leaped out of Herman's tuxedo Joe finally won his straitjacket.
* * *
The judge ordered
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