chapter 1.13

Paulie Gatto hated quickie jobs, especially when they involved violence. He liked to plan

things ahead. And something like tonight, even though it was punk stuff, could turn into

serious business if somebody made a mistake. Now, sipping his beer, he glanced

around, checking how the two young punks were making out with the two little tramps at

the bar.

Paulie Gatto knew everything there was to know about those two punks. Their names

were Jerry Wagner and Kevin Moonan. They were both about twenty years old,

goodlooking, brown-haired, tall, well-built. Both were due to go back to college out of

town in two weeks, both had fathers with political influence and this, with their college

student classification, had so far kept them out of the draft. They were both also under

suspended sentences for assaulting the daughter of Amerigo Bonasera. The lousy

bastards, Paulie Gatto thought. Draft dodging, violating their probation by drinking in a

bar after midnight, chasing floozies. Young punks. Paulie Gatto had been deferred from

the draft himself because his doctor had furnished the draft board with documents

showing that this patient, male, white, aged twenty-six, unmarried, had received

electrical shock treatments for a mental condition. All false, of course, but Paulie Gatto

felt that he had earned his draft exemption. It had been arranged by Clemenza after

Gatto had "made his bones" in the family business.

It was Clemenza who had told him that this job must be rushed through, before the boys

went to college. Why the hell did it have to be done in New York, Gatto wondered.

Clemenza was always giving extra orders instead of just giving out the job. Now if those

two little tramps walked out with the punks it would be another night wasted.

He could hear one of the girls laughing and saying, "Are you crazy, Jerry? I'm not going

in any car with you. I don't want to wind up in the hospital like that other poor girl." Her

voice was spitefully rich with satisfaction. That was enough for Gatto. He finished up his beer and walked out into the dark street. Perfect. It was after midnight. There was only

one other bar that showed light. The rest of the stores were closed. The precinct patrol

car had been taken care of by Clemenza. They wouldn't be around that way until they

got a radio call and then they'd come slow.

He leaned against the four-door Chevy sedan. In the back seat two men were sitting,

almost invisible, although they were very big men. Paulie said, "Take them when they

come out."

He still thought it had all been set up too fast. Clemenza had given him copies of the

police mug shots of the two punks, the dope on where the punks went drinking every

night to pick up bar girls. Paulie had recruited two of the strong-arms in the family and

fingered the punks for them. He had also given them their instructions. No blows on the

top or the back of the head, there was to be no accidental fatality. Other than that they

could go as far as they liked. He had given them only one warning: "If those punks get

out of the hospital in less than a month, you guys go back to driving trucks."

The two big men were getting out of the car. They were both ex-boxers who had never

made it past the small clubs and had been fixed up by Sonny Corleone with a little

loan-shark action so that they could make a decent living. They were, naturally, anxious

to show their gratitude.

When Jerry Wagner and Kevin Moonan came out of the bar they were perfect setups.

The bar girl's taunts had left their adolescent vanity prickly. Paulie Gatto, leaning against

the fender of his car, called out to them with a teasing laugh, "Hey, Casanova, those

broads really brushed you off."

The two young men turned on him with delight. Paulie Gatto looked like a perfect outlet

for their humiliation. Ferret-faced, short, slightly built and a wise guy in the bargain. They

pounced on him eagerly and immediately found their arms pinned by two men grabbing

them from behind. At the same moment Paulie Gatto had slipped onto his right hand a

specially made set of brass knuckles studded with one-sixteenth-inch iron spikes. His

timing was good, he worked out in the gym three times a week. He smashed the punk

named Wagner right on the nose. The man holding Wagner lifted him up off the ground

and Paulie swung his arm, uppercutting into the perfectly positioned groin. Wagner went

limp and the big man dropped him. This had taken no more than six seconds.

Now both of them turned their attention to Kevin Moonan, who was trying to shout. The

man holding him from behind did so easily with one huge muscled arm. The other hand

he put around Moonan's throat to cut off any sound.

Paulie Gatto jumped into the car and started the motor. The two big men were beating

Moonan to jelly. They did so with frightening deliberation, as if they had all the time in

the world. They did not throw punches in flurries but in timed, slow-motion sequences

that carried the full weight of their massive bodies. Each blow landed with a splat of

flesh splitting open. Gatto got a glimpse of Moonan's face. It was unrecognizable. The

two men left Moonan lying on the sidewalk and turned their attention to Wagner.

Wagner was trying to get to his feet and he started to scream for help. Someone came

out of the bar and the two men had to work faster now. They clubbed Wagner to his

knees. One of the men took his arm and twisted it, then kicked him in the spine. There

was a cracking sound and Wagner's scream of agony brought windows open all along

the street. The two men worked very quickly. One of them held Wagner up by using his

two hands around Wagner's head like a vise. The other man smashed his huge fist into

the fixed target. There were more people coming out of the bar but none tried to

interfere. Paulie Gatto yelled, "Come on, enough." The two big men jumped into the car

and Paulie gunned it away, Somebody would describe the car and read the license

plates but it didn't matter. It was a stolen California plate and there were one hundred

thousand black Chevy sedans in New York City.