Who is Lou Sciortino? by Ottavio Cappellani Page A

mine, capish? To find out more. I mean, you gotta know what happens in your own neighborhood, am I wrong? Apparently, the sergeant was shot in the mouth, in the mouth, capish? I mean: it’s not like they know exactly what happened, because of the condition of the face, but on the shelves behind him, along with his brain they found these really tiny pieces of teeth, and from that the forensic people worked out the bullet hit him in the mouth … The things forensics can do these days!”
    Nick squeezes the paper towel in his pocket, and realizes it’s even wetter than before.
    â€œWho’s playing?” Uncle Sal says, frowning. “Duke Ellington?”
    â€œNo, Don Scali,” Nick says in a thin voice. “It’s … Charlie Parker.”
    â€œYou know, Nick, I’m an old man now…” Uncle Sal says. “I can remember the fifties, goombahs coming over from America, talking about the Duke. Minchia, I thought he was a boss of bosses, but he was a musician!
    â€œAnyway”—he looks at his watch, gets up very slowly, and just as slowly heads for the door—“it’s getting late.”
    A few steps from the door, he stops and slaps Nick on the back. “It was a pleasure talking to you, Nick.” Then, lifting the flap of his jacket near the buttons, “Tony, Tony, all these barbecues of his aren’t so good for the figure…”
    At the door, he suddenly stops. “Oh, Nick, I almost forgot, you need to be careful … Apparently the son of a bitch who did the robbery is someone who lives in this neighborhood … in this neighborhood, capish? It’s an outrage!”
    With one foot almost out the door, he stops again. “I almost forgot something else, minchia, I’m really getting old … Mindy asked me to say hello.”
    â€œMi-Mindy?”
    â€œLook at him, he’s got a stutter!” Uncle Sal says, squeezing Nick’s right cheek hard between the index finger and middle finger of his left hand. “You’re pretending you don’t remember, huh? Tony’s right, you’re a real good kid. And like all good kids, you’re shy. Mindy, yes, Mindy … Look, we see these things, we know how these things are between you young people … We talk about other things, it seems like we don’t notice, but we got our eyes on you! All you did last night was talk, I know … But you and Mindy were really hitting it off!”
    â€œLast night?”
    â€œSure, last night, at the barbecue. We all saw it … you know what I’m saying? It’s obvious you’re a smart kid, like Tony says … Last night at the barbecue, we all saw the way you and Mindy were looking at each other … all of us … And you know what? I’m telling you this in confidence, man to man: Mindy told her mother she thinks you got a pretty face … Capish, Nick?”
    Outside the door, Uncle Sal looks quickly at the street, then strokes Nick’s cheek and says in conclusion, “Make sure you don’t miss the next barbecue, eh, Nicky?”

“MISTER CECCAROLI FOR YOU”
    â€œMister Ceccaroli for you.”
    Jasmine’s shrill little voice interrupts Frank’s fantasizing. He’s been thinking about his meeting with Sal Scali and wondering why John La Bruna said, “He’s a well-dressed guy, just like you.” For the first time, the words seem off-key, out of place; it hurts his feelings. “He’s a well-dressed guy, just like you.” What the fuck is that supposed to mean? “Who’s he?” he replies absently.
    â€œMister Ce-cca-ro-li from Rome,” Jasmine repeats irritably.
    Frank hasn’t even had time to say okay when Ceccaroli’s Italianized English rings out at the other end of the line. “ Nice-a to ear you! ”
    â€œCeccarò,” Frank says. “Let’s talk Italian,