Luciano’s Luck

‘Strange,’ Carter said. ‘It’s the one thing that doesn’t seem to fit.’

The Warden smiled. ‘That’s what a lot of people say, but don’t expect any comment from me. This is a state appointment. I know one thing. He can always be relied upon to do the unexpected thing. He was at Dannemora in 1941 just after Pearl Harbor. That was a bad time with Christmas coming up. People’s minds were on other things, so there were no packages for the cons until Luciano put the word out. Christmas Day, three truck-loads of gifts turned up from New York.’

There was a knock on the door. He called, ‘Come in!’ and Luciano entered.

He glanced at Carter casually, then turned to the Warden. ‘You sent for me.’

The Warden stood up. ‘This is Colonel Carter. He’s from the Government and he has full authority to speak with you on a matter of national importance, so I’m going to leave you to it.’

He went out and Carter took out his silver case. ‘Cigarette, Mr Luciano?’

‘Heh, you’re English.’

‘So are the cigarettes.’

Carter gave him a light and Luciano sat down by the window. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I believe you’ve had some visitors in recent months,’ Carter said. ‘From Naval Intelligence. To discuss the Sicilian invasion.’

Luciano said, ‘Not again, for Christ’s sake. Look, I gave them all the information I could. All the right names.’

‘I know,’ Carter said. ‘I hear they’re going to drop flags with an L for Luciano on every village in the Cammarata. Was that your idea?’

Luciano moved to the window and looked down into the yard. ‘You got an ace in your hand, you play it.’

‘I don’t think that’s going to be enough.’

‘You don’t think!’ Luciano laughed. ‘What the hell has it got to do with a limey like you, anyway?’

Carter replied in good Sicilian, ‘Sure, in the Cammarata they still talk about the great Luciano. Salvatore the saviour. But turning out to fight Nazi tanks with shot guns, just because someone drops his flag on their village … I don’t think so.’

Luciano frowned, immediately wary. ‘How come you speak such good Sicilian?’

‘Before the war I was a university professor, ancient history, archaeology. That kind of thing. I used to spend a lot of time in Sicily excavating.’

‘Excavating?’

‘Digging up old ruins.’

‘You mean you’re only a part-time soldier? Just for the duration? A professor, eh? Now that I can respect.’ He passed across his copy of The City of God. ‘Have you ever read this?’

Carter examined it. ‘St Augustine. Oh, yes. You read a lot, do you?’

Luciano nodded. ‘He knew what he was talking about. God and the Devil, they both exist, only these days God’s outnumbered.’

‘I see,’ Carter said. ‘So you’ve settled for reigning in hell?’

‘It’s a point of view. Milton knew what he was talking about.’ Luciano smiled softly. ‘I’ve read him, too.’

‘You know, Mr Luciano, you interest me – both of you.’

‘Both of me?’

‘But of course. There’s Luciano number one, a streetwise hoodlum, who leaves out verbs when he speaks and manages to sound as if he’s had the same script writer as James Cagney.’

‘I’m complimented.’ Luciano was smiling. ‘A great little guy.’

‘And then there’s Luciano number two, who reads Augustine and Milton, speaks discreetly, sounds remarkably upper-class…’

‘So a good actor changes his perfomance according to his audience.’ Luciano shrugged. ‘I mean, who are you playing today, Professore?’

Carter smiled. ‘Point taken. You’re a remarkable man, Mr Luciano.’

‘And you, Professor, are a remarkable judge of character. Tell me, does Tom Dewey know you’re here? When he was special prosecutor he pulled enough strings to get me put away. Look at him now. Governor of New York State. The White House next stop.’

‘You think Dewey was unfair to you?’

‘What’s fair? What’s unfair? There’s only life. Some kid’s born with twisted legs or half a brain. Is that fair?’ He got up and walked to the window. ‘Look, Professor, I don’t give a damn what you think, but this is the way it was. I was boss of the rackets. I had an interest in most things, but never girls. Tom Dewey tried every damn way he could to get me and failed. Finally, they brought me to trial with nine other guys and some of them were in the prostitution business. At the end of the day, the jury couldn’t tell the difference between us. It’s called guilt by association.’

‘A nice turn of phrase,’ Carter said.

Luciano turned to face him. ‘If I needed girls, I rang up Polly Adler. She kept the best house in New York.’

Carter held out his silver case. ‘Have another cigarette.’

‘Okay.’ Luciano took one. ‘Now, what do you want with me?’

Carter sat down in the Warden’s chair. ‘When the invasion starts, General Patton’s Seventh Army is going to have the task of hacking its way through some of the worst mountains in Sicily to reach Palermo. If Mafia can be persuaded to organize a popular uprising and make the Italian Army in the Cammarata surrender without firing a shot, then thousands of American lives could be saved. If not…’

‘Look, I’ve done everything they asked me to do,’ Luciano said.

‘I know, but as I said, I don’t think it’s enough. I was in Sicily myself only a matter of weeks ago and I can tell you this. There’s only one man with the muscle to achieve what we’re asking and that’s Antonio Luca. And he isn’t coming out of hiding for anyone.’

Luciano had stopped smiling. ‘Don Antonio? You know him?’

‘Not personally. Do you?’

‘Sure I do.’ Luciano shook his head. ‘I still get the word in here. I know about him getting out of that prison in Naples and going back to Sicily. But you’re wasting your time. Even if you could find him, he hates Americans. His brother went to the chair during Prohibition.’

‘I know about that but wasn’t there something special about his daughter?’

‘That’s right, Sophia. During the First World War while she was supposed to be at school in Rome, she joined the Red Cross as a nurse. Met an Englishman called Vaughan, an infantry lieutenant serving on the Italian front, and married him. He was killed in the last month of the war and she went back home to live with her father in Palermo. Had a daughter called Maria the following year. She was the light of Don Antonio’s life.’

‘What happened?’ Carter said.

‘July 1936. The kid must have been about seventeen. Her mother borrowed her father’s Ferrari one day so they could go shopping. When she put her finger on the starter, the car blew up. I guess whoever was responsible was after Don Antonio.’

‘So the mother was killed?’