Nick and Frankie glanced at the paper; both looked up at the cop. An air of innocence permeated the faces of the streetwise two.
“I swear it wasn’t us who stole that stuff,” Delesperanzo squealed meekly.
“Yeah,” piped up young DeMaio, the tallest of the five prisoners. “Maybe some kids who look like us did it. Don’t blame us…”
“I’m not the one who’s blaming you,” growled McNulty. “I’m just going by what a witness told us. He saw you fellas stealing the merchandise yesterday and fingered you. That says he saw your clique in action stealing the stuff, and he told the owner, Nat Sissler, about it—”
All at once the door of the interrogation room opened and the precinct commander, Captain Michael Conners, walked in.
“Excuse me, boys,” he said in a firm voice, “could I talk with you for a minute?”
The two patrolmen nodded. They had no choice.
“Bring these young men out of the room to the booking area,” Conners commanded.
“Sure, sure, Cap,” said McNulty. He turned to McConnel and whispered, “What the fuck’s goin’ on here…?”
“Beats the shit outta me,” McConnel responded. “Why the hell don’t we take these little bastards out there and find out what this jazz is all about?”
In mere seconds McNulty and McConnel knew what “this jazz” was all about. They knew when they spotted the familiar figure with the regal-like stance: the Black Hand’s godfather—Don Giuseppe “Battista” Balsamo.
The awesome Mafia overlord stood at the side of the booking desk, which was now manned by Sergeant Edward Mahar. As the young suspects stumbled into the main booking room, Balsamo, oblivious to the presence of the stationhouse’s commander, turned to the desk sergeant and gave his rubbery face a playful tug.
“Be nice to my kids, sarge,” Balsamo said softly. “Let them go home.”
“Gee, Don Giuseppe, I have no control over that—that’s up to Captain Conners,” Mahar pleaded. It was then that the sergeant spotted his commanding officer coming out of the interrogation room with the two arresting officers and their quarry of suspects.
“Signore Balsamo,” the sergeant said with a sigh of relief, “there is the captain—he surely has authority to release your little friends…”
“Grazie,” Balsamo smiled. “Now I know what I must do.”
Captain Conners and Battista Balsamo were no strangers to each other. Conners had been alerted ahead of time by one of the cops dispatched by Mahar, and he knew exactly how to handle the sticky situation.
“Mr. Balsamo,” Conners said as he went to the godfather and extended his hand. “Do you mean to tell me that these boys are your nephews?…I don’t believe it. How come they have different last names than you, sir…?”
Balsamo quickly straightened out the genealogical misplacements. “The two DiMaio boys are my sister Rosalie’s sons and the two Delesperanzo kids belong to my sister Catherine and Salvatore Labiase…” Balsamo then gave the captain a rundown on Frankie Savino which convinced Captain Conners that the next move was up to him—and it had to be a diplomatic one.
“I see what you’re saying, Mr. Balsamo,” the captain returned. “It’s clear to me that your interest in these young men is unmistakable—and genuine.”
“That’s exactly as I thought you’d see it, my capitano,” Balsamo responded. “So what you propose to do…?”
“Well, I’m thinking—” Conner’s started to say when Balsamo interrupted.
“Hey, Mike, for Chris’ sake, old friend,” Balsamo came back, “let them go. If you book these kids of mine, they’re gonna have police records—and that could be very bad. It could ruin their lives…So let them go…for my sake, good Mike…”
Captain Conners winked at Balsamo: “To tell you the truth, Mr. Balsamo, I don’t think we have enough evidence in hand to hold your kids any longer. So I am returning them into your custody since you are so closely related to them.”
The captain signalled to his officers and commanded: “Release his nephews to Mr. Balsamo. There cannot be any charge against them.”
As the five teenagers scurried out of the police station, their benefactor lingered to chat with the police commander.
“You’re a nice guy, Mike,” Godfather Balsamo praised the captain. “I like you because you’re understanding. I always say it’s very important to get along with police because you can always get more cooperation with people when you are nice…”
As Balsamo started to leave the police station, he said:
“My capitano, it’s very important to get along with the public…And I admire you for the way you conducted yourself today. And I want to say one last word to you—Stata Bono Capitano.”
“What does that mean?” the puzzled police captain wanted to know.
“It means stay well…This is how you say in Sicilian.”
A broad smile creased the Irish cop’s face.
“You, too, Mr. Balsamo,” the relieved Conners shook Don Giuseppe’s hand.
Balsamo made his way out of the stationhouse and towards the young men he had just bailed out.
He felt good that he had conned the precinct commander into reprieving the youngsters. He crossed the wide stretch of Hamilton Avenue and came face to face with the five young renegades he’d just sprung from the police station. He had fire in his eyes as he stared at them. The youngsters stood in silent respect.
“What’s the matter with you kids?” he almost shouted. “Are you stupid? Why the hell you pull stunt like that when you gonna get caught. Don’t you know no better? Eh? Answer me!”
Frankie Savino volunteered the response: “Don Giuseppe, I want to tell you for all of us that we are thankful to you for getting us off the hook—”
Balsamo looked into the face of the young man speaking to him, then into the faces of the others. “Just let me tell you something,” he scolded. “Don’t ever get caught doing something wrong with anyone or anything in your own neighborhood.”
Balsamo looked around at his audience.
“You know why?” he demanded.
None of them spoke.
“Because people in our neighborhood might recognize you. Some know your names. Other might know your faces…Bad, very bad!”
Then, with a sweeping swing of his hand that passed over the heads of the just-emancipated teenagers like a wand, Battista Balsamo counselled, “I would rather see you boys become doctors, lawyers, engineers—any profession that’ll bring joy to your parents’ hearts.”
The boys disappeared
