“But this was stupid. This is bringing heat, these killings. St. Valentine’s Day Massacre type heat. Jake Lingle type heat.”
He was nodding.
I continued: “The Crime Committee hearings are getting moved to next week, you know. Kefauver is tossing fucking subpoenas over this city like advertising leaflets out of a plane.”
“You’re tellin’ me. You know, he’s going after our wives next, the prick.”
I wondered where he heard that.
Shifting in my hard seat, I said, “I figure this is like when Dutch Schultz wanted to hit Dewey, and the rest of the New York boys said no fuckin’ way. You don’t hit a cop; you don’t bump off a public figure.”
Giancana’s expression was blandly friendly; but he was still studying me. “You’re not just sayin’ this, Heller. This is how you see it.”
“Sam, this is how I see it. I’m not just trying to talk my way out of a tight spot.”
“This ain’t a tight spot.” He nodded toward his hands, still spread on the table. “It’s a public place, Heller. That’s why I arranged to meet you somewheres like this. Specifically, this joint ’cause Bas was the lawyer for the management…and, after you sort through all the holding companies, I’m the management.”
All of this was news to me. “Bas was your attorney?”
“Only where certain businesses, like this one, was concerned. And Drury had no knowledge of that. don’t get thinking Bas was dirty, ’cause he wasn’t—he was just a lawyer with various clients…like a private eye can have various clients.”
“Right. Would I be overstepping if I suggested you might have been helping Bas in his efforts to unseat Tubbo?”
He twitched a grimace. “I’d rather not say. Tubbo has been a friend to Outfit interests for a lot of years—one-stop shopping, a fixer who can help with both the cops and the State’s Attorney’s office. But a guy that’s been around as long as Tubbo can get…too powerful. Too full of himself.”
For a guy who’d “rather not say,” Sam had said a hell of a lot.
I sat forward. “Was Tubbo involved in the Drury hit? The Bas hit?”
“Heller, I don’t know the answer to that question. But I know you—and know how you can go off on these…little rampages, now and then. You wouldn’t talk to the Kefauver Committee, but you might decide to settle some scores in your own way. You’ve done it before.”
I just shrugged.
He leaned forward, and lifted his right hand off the table, to gesture. “Now…there’s something you need to know, Heller: neither of these hits was…what’s the word? Approved—authorized. Just the opposite—Charley Fischetti asked to have this done, and was told not to. In no uncertain terms.”
“But he did it anyway.”
Giancana leaned back, raised another eyebrow. “Charley claims not—swears up and down, stack of Bibles, mother’s grave. This was a meeting at the highest level, understand—Ricca, Accardo, Guzik….”
“Do they believe him?”
“Fuck no. But Charley hasn’t been challenged over this. He’s still a powerful guy, Heller—Al’s cousin, remember. And a smart guy—knows the business side. Understands the politics. Which is why you’d think he’d know better….”
“So the boys are letting this slide?”
He shook his head, folded his arms. “Don’t think there isn’t a lot of displeasure. Don’t think guys like Ricca and Big Tuna like having to pack their bags in the middle of the night and beat ass out of town, like common punk crooks.”
The back of my neck was starting to tingle. “You’re not saying…. You’re not giving me permission to….”
Tiny shrug. “I’m not saying anything. I might be implying that if you wanted to do something, personal, about Charley Fischetti…there would be no repercussions from certain circles. You know, when you might expect there to be.”
“…And just how would I find Charley Fischetti?”
“At a hotel in Mexico.”
I blinked. “What hotel in Mexico?”
Giancana reached inside his coat, almost as if he were going for a gun; but I wasn’t nervous, anymore. He just handed me a small piece of paper with quite a bit of writing on it.
“That hotel in Mexico,” he said.
I slipped the piece of paper in my pocket without looking at it. “I saw Bas go down.”
Giancana’s eyes flared; this really was news to him. “No kidding?”
“No kidding…. Obviously, not in time to stop it. I got a shot off at the torpedoes—cracked their windshield. Got a good look at the bastards.”
“Anyone you know?”
“No.” I described the mustached pair. “Anybody you know?”
His expression gave away nothing. “Maybe…. Maybe.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Sam?”
With his folded arms, and his tiny smile, Giancana seemed guarded, to say the least. “Heller, like you, I have to be discreet. I’m limited in what I can say. But I will say this— those two gunmen are almost certainly from out of town…just not very far out of town.”
“Jesus, Sam—what does that mean?”
Another tiny shrug. “That’s all I can say. That slip of paper I give you?”
“Yeah?”
“The number at the bottom—that’s a local number. You have any problems—need any…assistance…you call that number. If I don’t answer, somebody will, who can get me in a hurry.”
“You’re not going to Florida?”
“Not right away.”
“You, uh—mentioned Kefauver going after the wives of Outfit guys. Where did you hear that, Sam?”
“I just heard it, is all.”
“You have somebody on Kefauver’s staff, don’t you?”
“Now you’re asking too many questions, Heller.”
“Just tell me—is it Halley?”
“Fuck no! That vicious, slandering son of a bitch. If he was ours, would he make so many lives miserable?”
I kept pressing, though my tone seemed casual. “You know Rocco married that girl—from the Chez, Jackie Payne? Married her the other day so she couldn’t testify against him.”
Giancana smirked. “Yeah—little Miss Chicago. But word now is, Rocky was wrong…that canary can be made to sing, or sent to the slam for contempt. And you know what’s gonna happen then, don’t you?”
“What, Sam?”
“She’ll talk. She’ll sing her lungs out. I mean, shit, she’s a junkie…. The feds will own the keys to her.” He shook his head. “Fucking Rocco—he’s a chowderhead, anyway, a real shit-for-brains. And he put her on the junk!”
“Maybe you wouldn’t mind if something bad happened to him,” I said.
His face was blandly expressionless again. “I’d get over it.”
Feeling like I was trying to put the pin back in a grenade, I ventured, “Sam—the girl. Miss Chicago?”
“Yeah?”
“She’s a friend of mine. I don’t want to see her hurt.”
He frowned—almost scowled. “Listen up, damn it: my friends and I are not trying to attract attention, right now. Drury and Bas getting splattered is the worst fucking thing that could have happened—bumping off a beauty queen, recently married to a Fischetti, is just as bad. Gimme a little credit, Heller, for Christsake!”
“Sorry, Sam.”
Smiling, he sat forward and patted my arm. “Hey—you and me, we have no problems. You need somebody like me, in my circles, to be your guardian angel. Like Nitti used to be. We aren’t in the same exact racket, but we can be helpful to each other. Do each other favors.”
Like have me bump off your fellow gangsters, when they’ve rubbed you the wrong way? is what I thought…but sure as hell didn’t say it.
“For example, a favor you could do me, Heller…”
“Yeah?”
“Introduce me to your pal Sinatra, sometime.” Giancana stood. “Listen…it’s going to start getting busy in here, Friday night, I need to be scarce.”
“Yeah—sure.”