Page 107 of The Killer Cupcake
“It’s okay. I’m here. How’s it been? You going back to teaching or not?” Debbie asked.
“Yes, Ely and I finally came to an agreement. He doesn’t want me away from Sandra, but she will be fine with his mother. I start teaching again next week.”
“I’m happy for you. I love how you, too, are always able to compromise,” Debbie said. “I swear, between Matteo and José, I’m always dealing with drama.”
Kathy smiled. “Both of them spoil you in their own ways.”
“True,” Debbie agreed.
“I need to finish dinner. Been waiting all week for this call. So is it happening? Are you really moving to Vegas?" Kathy asked, tasting the spoon she'd used to stir the gravy for her husband's favorite beef stew, before taking the cornbread skillet out of the oven.
"So much has happened in a week. I mean, Mama's back in the hospital. Matteo says they're doing nothing but experimenting on her and making her suffer. In Vegas, he can get her better care."
"I don't know if that’s true, Debbie. Do you remember Tommy Peterson?" Kathy asked.
"I think so," Debbie replied.
"Well, he just came back from Vegas. He said it's segregated there. You can't have mixed marriages, and they really hate blacks and Natives in the entire state of Nevada. So why does Matteo and..." Kathy refused to say Carmelo's name, so she caught herself. "Why does Matteo keep saying Vegas is where you can be free?"
"It's the Mafia, Kat. The rules are different for them there. Kind of how you said the Sicilians were different in New Orleans," Debbie explained. “He said there's a hospital he can put her in, and they will help her. I dunno. It's my Mama. I talked to Mama Stewart, and she said to keep her in Harlem. If anyone's gonna see after her, it should be our own people. Whatdo you think? She’s hanging on for me and Junior. I know she’s tired of the fight.”
"I think Mama Stewart is right. I'm glad you still have her. Big Mama has been dead two years now, and I still cry and miss her advice,” Kathy said. “Can’t even go to her house.”
“Ely’s parents live there now? Huh?” Debbie asked.
“Yep, moved in four weeks ago. The house just sat for so long. The Jensens didn’t want to turn it over. They hurt so bad for Big Mama. But it’s ours now, and the land it sits on. They’re doing good,” Kathy said. “I just… the world isn’t the same with Big Mama and Uncle Pete gone. I want to believe she is in heaven keeping him straight.”
"Me too," Debbie said, then her voice dropped. "So much has happened. Harlem isn't the same, Kathy. You wouldn't recognize it. The Italians hit the Apollo theater last month when everyone was there to see Billy Holiday.”
“What!” Kathy gasped.
“Yep, some young ones got burned, too. Minton's Playhouse was so badly damaged that it closed indefinitely. The Italians are squeezing every numbers runner, every policy bank. Bodies turn up in the Hudson every week, both Italian and black. But we’re not hurting them as badly as they’re hurting us.”
"Jesus, Debs?—"
"That's not even the worst of it. Remember Mrs. Washington, who ran the beauty shop on 132nd? They found her in her shop with her throat cut because she wouldn't pay for her products through the Riccis and had reported the extortion to Uncle Henry. And, oh, little Marcus—you remember him from the bakery? They grabbed him off the street, held him for three days to make his father flip on your daddy's movements in operations. The boy came back different, Kat. Won't speak, won't eat right."
Kathy's hand trembled as she stirred the stew. "How many have we lost?"
"Too many. The Italians hit the Savoy Ballroom during a Saturday night dance. Seventeen people are dead, including three teenagers who were just there to dance. Your father retaliated—took out two of their social clubs in Little Italy. Then they came back harder. It's like watching Harlem bleed out, one block at a time."
"The police?" Kathy asked.
Debbie's bitter laugh cut through the line. "The police? They're worse than ever. As soon as Bumpy went away, they started treating every Negro man like he was Al Capone. Can't walk down Lenox without getting shaken down. They arrested Brother four times this month—just for being Henry Freeman's nephew. Beat him so bad last time, he can't see out his left eye properly. Gonna have surgery.”
Kathy closed her eyes. "Daddy must be careful?—”
"Your daddy's holding on. Trust me. Brother says he has allies with the Nation of Islam and a man named Malcom. Additionally, Brother mentioned that there is a Jewish mobster named Meyer Lansky who used to conduct business with Bumpy. He is cool with Matteo but sneaky. Brother says he really hates Cosimo Ricci for what he did to Bumpy. He is funding Harlem’s war behind the scenes. But I have bad news.”
“What… tell me,” Kathy braced herself.
“Carmelo is, he’s at the front of it, Kathy.”
“That can’t be true,” Kathy mumbled.
“It is. Matteo says he’s the one behind the scenes trying to destroy Harlem. Matteo can’t be sure, but he thinks he is going after your dad. So for now, Uncle Henry can't leave the house without six men around him. Sleeps in a different place every night. Your Mama’s not telling you. The Nation of Islam is protecting him. And..." Debbie paused.
"What?"
