‘I’ll be OK, Ava,’ I said. ‘I had a sit down with Momo once before, and I walked away from that alive.’
‘That’s only because he let you,’ she said. ‘Don’t get over-confident.’
‘Believe me, Ava,’ I said, ‘when dealin’ with these people I am anything but over-confident.’
She put Jerry back on the line.
‘Gimme a call from Chicago, Mr G. . if you can.’
‘I like your optimism, Jerry. Keep your eyes open.’
‘Gotcha, Mr G.’
When I got off the plane at O’Hare the crush of humanity reminded me of New York airports. A nervous feeling erupted in the pit of my stomach which had more to do with me never wanting to go back to Brooklyn to see my family. I had to do it earlier in the year when my mother died, but that convinced me never again. If anybody else in my family died they could send me a postcard and tell me about it.
I went to the baggage claim to grab my suitcase and headed for the exit. I hadn’t reached it when I saw a man standing with a piece of cardboard with ‘EDDIE G.’ written on it. He had wide-shoulders stuffed into a cheap suit, stood about five-five. He looked like an ice box in pinstripes.
‘I’m Eddie G.,’ I said, standing in front of him.
He lowered the cardboard, looked me up and down.
‘You want I.D.?’ I asked.
‘Mr Giancana says I should bring ya.’
‘Bring me where? Do I get to register at a hotel?’
‘Mr Giancana says to bring ya right away,’ the goon said. ‘He says maybe ya won’t need a hotel room.’
He said that with no trace of humor in his eyes. There could only be two reasons I wouldn’t need a hoteclass="underline" if I was going home right away, or. . I didn’t like the second one.
‘Well, OK,’ I said, looking around. ‘You better bring me then.’
He nodded. I waited for him to take my suitcase, but he just turned and walked away. I was staring at his broad back when I heard my name.
‘Hey! Eddie G.. How you doin’, babe?’
I turned and saw Sammy Davis Jr. walking toward me in that cool, bouncy way he had. Apparently, Frank had made that call he was talking about.
The ice box turned around and frowned.
‘Sammy Davis,’ I said to him. ‘An old friend of mine.’
Sammy reached me and we shook hands. He was as dapper as ever in a suit and tie.
‘What’s shakin’, baby?’ he asked. ‘Whataya doin’ in the Windy City?’
‘I’m on my way to see Sam Giancana,’ I said. ‘He invited me.’
‘Uncle Sam? I ain’t seen him in a while. Mind if I tag along? I was supposed to meet somebody here, but they stood me up.’
I went along with the scam.
‘It’s OK with me, Sam,’ I said.
The ice box walked back to us.
‘Mr Giancana didn’t say nothin’ about him,’ he said.
‘Hey, baby,’ Sammy said to him. ‘Me and Uncle Sam go way back. Sam and Sam, ya know? Maybe you wanna call him and tell him you left me behind? Or how about we call my other good friend, Frank Sinatra? And we let him call Uncle Sam?’
Ice box stared at Sammy, then at me.
‘Come on, man,’ Sammy said to him. ‘Just drive.’
The wide man started to turn to walk away.
‘Hey!’ Sammy shouted. ‘My friend’s bag!’
Ice Box turned, stared at Sammy, then picked up my bag. Carrying it, he headed for the exit.
‘Nice job,’ I said to Sammy.
‘The Leader said not to take no for an answer,’ Sammy said. ‘Besides it has been a while since I’ve seen Momo.’
‘I appreciate this, Sam,’ I said, as we slowly followed our driver.
‘Hey,’ Sammy said, ‘the worst that can happen is that Frank’s wrong and Momo kills both of us.’
‘You got a gun?’ I asked.
‘Not this time, Eddie,’ he said. ‘Not to see Momo. That would not be a good idea.’
We followed the Ice Box out the door and to the parking lot. He opened the trunk of a black Chevy and put the suitcase inside, then got behind the wheel. I got in the back, and then so did Sammy.
Giancana’s headquarters was in the Armory Lounge in a suburb of Forest Park. We pulled in front and got out. When I stopped at the trunk to get my suitcase the goon said, ‘Uh-uh. You ain’t gonna need it inside.’
We followed him into the building. Just inside the door we encountered two more men. Their suits cost a little more, fit a little better, but underneath they were cut from the same cloth.
‘What’s the nigger doin’ here?’ one of them asked.
‘Hey, baby,’ Sammy said, good-naturedly, ‘now that ain’t kosher, ya know?’
‘He’s friends with Mr Giancana,’ our goon said.
‘Hands up,’ one of the others said.
I raised my hands and he patted me down, checked the pockets of my sports jacket. I could smell something in the air, something cooking. It smelled really good.
‘What is that?’ I asked, sniffing the air.
‘Mr Giancana’s sauce,’ one of them said. ‘He makes a batch in the kitchen every day.’
‘OK,’ the other one said. ‘Hands down. He’s clean.’
They did the same search on Sammy with the same results.
The one who met me at the airport said, ‘OK, come on.’
We followed him towards the back of a large room with lots of folding chairs in it, to a kitchen. Inside I saw Momo standing at a stove with an apron on over his suit. He was still wearing his Fedora, and dark glasses.
‘He’s here, Mr Giancana,’ the man said. ‘And he’s clean.’
‘Of course he’s clean,’ Momo said. ‘Eddie’s my guest. You frisked him?’
‘The boys thought-’
‘Stupido! Get out.’
‘Yessir.’
As the hood hurried out of the kitchen Momo looked at me, saw Sammy and smiled.
‘Hey, Sam,’ he said.
‘Momo.’
‘You the bodyguard?’ Momo looked at me. ‘Did you think I was gonna snuff ya?’
I shrugged, not sure what I could say that wouldn’t offend him.
‘I’m sorry about the boys, Eddie,’ he said. ‘They’re idiots, but they keep me safe.’
‘I understand.’
He put a wooden spoon into the pot on the stove, took it out and extended it to me, keeping his other hand beneath it.
‘Taste.’
‘That’s OK-’
‘Come on, one taste. You don’t want to insult me.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘no, I wouldn’t wanna do that.’
I let him put the tip of the spoon into my mouth. It was the best sauce I ever tasted. I wondered if he was going to ask Sammy to taste, but he didn’t.
‘You got anything like that in Vegas?’
‘Nope.’
‘Taste that garlic?’ he asked. ‘All my ingredients are natural.’
‘It’s great.’
That made Momo happy.
‘I’ll give ya a couple of jars to take back home with ya.’
‘Jars?’
‘Yeah, I give it to family and friends. It’s too good to keep it all for myself. Whataya like? Meat sauce? Marinara?’
‘Uh, marinara’s fine.’
‘OK,’ Momo said, ‘you got it.’
He went back to the stove and put the wooden spoon down, then picked up another one and stirred another pot.
‘The pasta’s ready. Now we eat.’
Because of the time difference it was afternoon. A little early for pasta, but not unheard of.
He got some plates down, filled them all with spaghetti, then covered it with the sauce. He stuck a spoon, fork and cloth napkin in his jacket pocket.
‘Take one each,’ he said.
We picked up a plate, while he carried two.
‘Come on.’
‘Um Momo, where’s Danny Bardini?’
‘Don’t worry about your buddy,’ he said, over his shoulder. ‘Like I said, he’s my guest.’
We followed him down a hallway into a back room where some tables were set up. At one of the tables sat Danny, with a fork and spoon. There were two more settings on the table. Momo set his plate down, then the fourth setting. He set one plate in front of Danny, who smiled up at me.
‘Best food I ever ate,’ Danny said, with a smile. He picked up a fork and dug in with gusto.
‘Have a seat, Eddie, Sammy,’ Momo said. ‘Manga!’