An Epiphany at Slugs'

JANUARY 2, 1971 — BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

“Good morning Don DiLoretto. You wanted to see me?,” I said.

"Remember that guy you killed 6 months ago at the park?," said Don DiLoretto.

"Yes, I do."

"He didn't die."

"What?"

"That's right. In 22 years of stabbing guys the same way, no one has ever lived to identify you. Until now."

"Mario Flore,” I said, although I couldn’t believe it.

"That's the guy. He woke from a dream after months of recovery, and wrote on his pad that he thinks he knows who it was."

"I'm surprised that retard can write.”

"The cops had a sketch artist draw a picture with the beard and long hair you had when you got him. Then they took it off, drew it younger...and he knew who it was. They're coming for you. We found out they've been looking for the real Gino Giovanotti in Napoli. But, nobody really knows the real Gino Giovanotti. You didn't really go to Italy with your mother after your father died. So, the Sifreddis found out that there are no records of you in Italy. The cops are trying to find Gino Giovanotti here, but after 1949, there aren't any records of you in New York City either. Tony Pignatari and his boys are scouring the city looking for you. So is NYPD. 

You've always gone around disguised for the past 22 years, which means nobody really knows how to identify you, except for this sketch that’s now going around the city. Nobody knows where you live. Nobody knows who you work for…and we need to keep it that way.” 

“I'll take care of him, Don DiLoretto.” 

“You better.” 

“I'll get that fucking Flore, and Pignatari too. It'll be my pleasure.” 

I got the train back to Manhattan and headed to the Church of the Epiphany on Second Avenue to meet my best friend since first grade, Father Stefano Sarducci. 

“Well look at you, mister blonde hair and fu manchu,” said Stefano.

“Good morning, father. I’m under cover and I’ve got a lot of people looking for me. It's been four months since my last confession,” I said.

“I know how long it's been. What did you do this time?,” said Stefano.

“I had to kill a guy who was leaving the New Year's Eve celebration in Times Square.”

“Are you sorry?”

“Well, it's just my job. He was a really bad guy.” 

“Are you sorry for taking a human life?” 

“Yes, I guess in the greater scheme of things. I know it's wrong and it makes me feel bad. May I ask God to forgive me for this mortal sin?” 

“It doesn't seem like it's really eating you up with guilt.”

“It's what I do. One criminal, my boss, orders me to kill other, even worse criminals.” 

“How many times do we have to go through this, Gino?” 

“Well, I'm asking God to forgive me.” 

“God forgives you. But, confession isn’t supposed to work like this. You gotta stop doing this.”

“I'm gonna stop. There’s one big problem I gotta solve, though.” 

“You've been saying that for 22 years. If you were a normal murderer and not my best friend, I'd urge you to turn yourself into the police. But, I know if you do that, your own people are going to make sure you don't live to tell tales. You have to find a way out of this and turn over a new leaf. You’re an intelligent person, you have heart. How are you going to turn it around?” 

“This is my year. I’m gonna change.” 

“That's what you always say. Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good. The Lord has freed you from your sins. Go in peace.”

“You want to meet me at Slugs’ tonight? Son Ra is playing. He’ll blow your mind. You’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Sure. I'll check it out.”

JANUARY 2, 1971 — SLUGS IN THE FAR EAST

"I pull the veil aside and step through its portals dreams rush to meet me, Sun Ra said from the stage."

Sitting in a dark corner, a waitress with a boa constrictor around her neck brought us cocktails. People were mesmerized with what was happening on stage, a few were whispering, no one paid attention to any other patrons in the room.

“This afternoon after I left your office, I heard these two Madison Avenue office girls talking about new year's resolutions. That's something people do these days?”

“Yeah, people nowadays, the beginning of the year, they set some goals, some resolutions for how they're going to change their lives for the better. You should try it,” said Stefano. 

“What do they want to change?,” I said. 

“Most people just want to lose weight, quit smoking, quit drinking, stuff like that.”

“Well, I never get drunk and only smoke when I’m undercover. I'm in good shape and exercise every day.” 

“You know what you need to change, Gino!”

“I'm gonna stop. There's a couple more things I gotta do before I can leave.” 

“Just stop. Get out of here!” 

“There’s a guy who can identify me. Remember that fucking Flore from high school. I hated that guy. Hadn't seen him in over 20 years, then it's him they told me to get six months ago. When I stuck my knife in his throat, I saw a look of recognition in his face. Then, he dropped to the ground and I split. He’s the only one that's ever lived. So now, the Sifreddis and the cops are looking for me.” 

“Let it go, Gino. They don’t really know how to identify you. If you go now, you’ll get away. Just get out!” 

“I gotta finish the job. Then, I can split.”

“You must have some dreams. What are your new year's resolutions going to be…after you stop killing people, of course?”

“I’m going to go far away and start my own little theater. I like this acting game.”

“Great, but what you do is not a game. You’ve killed dozens of people over the years and come to me asking forgiveness, but you never stop. You think it's fun to dress up, go around the city, and stab guys in the throat. You justify it because you say they’re bad guys, it’s your job, and the Don won’t let you leave. I think you enjoy it.” 

“I can change.”

Stefano shook his head and took me in with those watery, compassionate eyes of his. “You need an epiphany, Gino. Something that can wake you up. There is a darkness clouding you that prevents you from seeing what's good in the world. You just hide out in disguises in this crazy neighborhood. You don't even know who you are.”

JANUARY 3, 1971 — BRONX, NEW YORK

The next morning I headed up to the Bronx with a battered suitcase containing the day’s disguises. I dressed up as a bum. I shot out a transformer on Flore's block with a slingshot. Next, I found an alley to change into a ConEd man uniform in order to get into Flore’s house. 

I rang the front door bell and two tough-looking guards came to answer. 

“Good morning fellas. Maybe you heard that transformer blow, but we’ve almost got it fixed. I need to go around the back of the house to inspect where the electricity enters, then I need to come in and check the breakers for you,” I said.

“You can go around back. Rocco, go with him,” said the heavy on the porch. “But, you can’t come in. Just tell us what to do with the breaker.”

I went around the back with Rocco following and eyeing me suspiciously. I noticed a woman in the kitchen, about 60 years old, as I made a show of checking the electricity connection. 

“This looks good,” said Gino. “Now I just need to go in and take care of that breaker for you. It’s probably in the basement. It’ll only take 5 minutes.”

“You can’t come in,” said Rocco. “Just tell me what to do.”

I noticed the woman exit the kitchen.

“Does this door go down to the cellar?”

“I think so.”

“Well, let’s go down there and I’ll handle it for you.”

“I told you. You can’t go.”

“Suit yourself. Stay in the dark,” I said, turning to leave.

“What do I need to do?,” said Rocco.

“Open this cellar door and I’ll tell you what you gotta go do.”

Rocco lifted the heavy, old-fashioned, wooden cellar doors apart. 

“Walk down there a little bit and see if you can locate the breaker box.”

Rocco walked down three steps, craning his thick neck to look into the cellar. He looked up at me, and before he could ask for a flashlight…I stabbed him in the larynx, grabbed his hair and lowered him down onto the steps as quietly as possible. I closed the door and went back up to the porch.

I rang the doorbell and the thug in charge opened the door… “Where's Rocco?” 

“He's down in the cellar doing what I told him to do with the breaker box. If he can figure it out, you'll have lights in a few minutes,” I said. 

“Okay, thanks. You can go.” 

“Oh, one more thing…” 

The guy opened the door more and gave me a quizzical look while trying to act tough. I quickly stabbed him in the gut and popped him in the larynx with a short stabbing blade, knocking him back into the house. I went in, closed the door, and sprinted up the stairs.

I opened one bedroom, nobody's in there. I opened the other bedroom door and saw Flore laying there. I stuck my stiletto through Flore's heart.

As I was wiping the blood off the knife, Flore's mom came in and stuck me in the arm with a kitchen knife. I turned and backhanded the old woman, grabbed the knife out of her hand, and knocked her down. As I was running down the stairs, I heard her shout… “I know you Gino! They’re gonna get you!”

I went back into the alley, changed back into the homeless guy costume and headed for a doctor I knew in the Bronx to get my arm stitched up. After I left the doctor's office, going toward the train on Gun Hill Road, I saw Tony Pignatari across the street and down half a block. I knew I’d been spotted. I hustled to the platform, lucky to get on the train heading back downtown. 

I had to get off and change trains a couple of times to throw off Pignatari and his boys. Exiting in Harlem, I kept walking south, got a soul food plate, and found a taxi to take me to the theater on West 47th. 

Beside Stefano, Stella Schwartz was my best friend (really my only other friend). She’s the one who made me a master of disguise. She dressed me up as a middle aged Puerto Rican postal worker. 

I made it to Grand Central at rush hour, where I happened to see Tony Pignatari on the mezzanine keeping an eye out. I thought about killing him right there, but decided my arm hurt too much and that I'd probably get caught.

I ended up walking most of the way to the East Village that night. I stopped in Slugs' before going home and overheard an older musician talking to some young players at the bar. 

"You can't blame your bad luck on white people & the cops that mistreat you. Just keep playin' your ass off and always do what you say you're gonna do. Remember, God is in this music. He comes each morning to call us to continue our journey with him, following where he leads us, we gotta go by our faith, going where He takes us...in and out of the bad breaks of our lives, but ultimately leading us safely home."

JANUARY 4, 1971 — LITTLE ITALY, MANHATTAN 

The next morning I went out with those words in mind, while trying to decide if I should just make a break for it now and finally escape this life. Those guys had it rough all their lives, and yet they had the music to keep them going and give them something to live for. What did I have?

I knew the guys from the Sifreddi gang used to hang out in a cafe in Little Italy at lunch time. I dressed up like a garbage man to scope it out.

"Why you still back here?! The garbage truck already left," one of the Sifreddi boys barked at me.

"I saw something I thought might be worth something."

I turned and left. The kitchen guy came out and they almost boxed me in behind the restaurant.

"Hey stop!"

I got past the kitchen guy and the two chased me behind the building. I ducked and waited right around the corner. As soon as the Sifreddi thug came running, I stabbed him in the leg. The kitchen guy turned and went for help. 

I took off running, and luckily a garbage truck happened to drive by. I jumped on the back and got a funny look from a garbage man that had never seen me before. I hopped off the truck and got the subway at Grand Street heading Uptown to the theater.

Stella dressed me as a middle aged company man to go home. She told me to come back the next morning and she'd have a special costume for me. 

JANUARY 5, 1971 — MANHATTAN 

I went back to the theater the next morning and saw Stella dressed as an older Chinese woman. She dressed me up as a Chinese man to return to the cafe in Little Italy. She insisted she go with me disguised as my wife. I didn’t like the idea but she followed me.

We got to the cafe and I saw Tony Pignatari at the table. We made a couple of slow passes around the neighborhood. I saw Pignatari outside about to leave. Stella said let's walk by them. Pignatari and his thugs shouted at us. Two thugs approached, but we stayed in our roles and acted it off, going toward Chinatown.

Two thugs went around the block and headed us off a few paces from the next corner. I turned and saw Pignatari and one other guy bring up the rear at the opposite side of the block.

I whispered to Stella, “Run right.” Before she could get past, the guy grabbed the wig off her head.

I ducked, turned to shoot Pignatari, and missed. Pignatari fired, as I was crouching. The bullet hit Stella in the neck. My bullet hit the thug next to Pignatari. I ran over Stella’s dead body, bullets flying. People scattered and took cover. I sprinted through traffic on Canal Street and lost Pignatari and his boys.

I saw some delivery drivers coming out of a storage cellar at a Chinese grocery and jumped in behind them. I hid in the cellar behind pallets stacked with huge bags of rice. The guys locked the doors and left. I spent a sleepless night agonizing over Stella's death.

JANUARY 6, 1971 — EAST VILLAGE, MANHATTAN

I climbed out of the cellar when the employees opened up early in the morning. I never felt worse in my life.

I tried to rest before going to see Stefano, but it was no use. I went and knocked on his door.

“Stefano, I got Stella killed!”

“I told her not to go. She insisted. She said they’d never guess we weren't just an old Chinese couple. But they knew something was up. We got trapped. I told her to run. The bullet that was meant for me hit her in the neck. Blood gushed everywhere. I ran and was lucky to get across the traffic on Canal. It shoulda been me.” 

“You know, all the times that you've come here and asked God's forgiveness for murder, I always tell you that your sin is absolved...if you change your ways. You haven’t, and maybe you never will. Confession is about forgiving yourself for doing something bad. God's always going to forgive you. But, can you forgive yourself for this one? 

You never had a hard time forgiving yourself before because it was just a job. They were just bad guys. Now, you got your friend killed. How are you going to absolve yourself for this one? 

Now just go! Forget about revenge and finally start over. Change, Gino!”

I was finally going to listen to him and planned to fly out the next morning.

That night I went to Slugs' one last time disguised as a Puerto Rican salsero. Stanley Turrentine's band was gettin' funky, the joint was jumping, it was loud, and people were having fun. I was trying to forget about what I’d done before getting a plane to Brazil the next day.

I saw Pignatari with a beautiful black woman across the room. I watched and waited. The band was starting to slow it down. People were going in and out the front door to hang out on the street and get some fresh air.

Pignatari went outside. I followed. A bunch of people were making noise in the street. Someone from an apartment above threw water on the crowd below. Pignatari got soaked and looked up to yell. I stabbed him in the kidney with my switchblade and brought down a smaller knife to crush his larynx.

Pignatari’s girl screamed. People scattered and ran for the door. As the front door opened, I heard Turrentine's band playing "Quittin' Time".