MOB HIT MAN
And I’m in prison & can’t do anything about it
As the phone rang back in Pennsauken, N.J., Natale’s mind began racing — his head suddenly filled with the sound and fury of the opening lap of the Indy 500. One name kept surfacing through the confusion: Tony Caponigro. Lucia picked up after just two rings, and Natale — without so much as a “good morning” — began to speak in a rapid-fire style.
“What are they saying on the TV?” he asked. After a quick news update, Natale provided his wife with very specific directions.
“Lucia, there are two things I want you to do for me,” he instructed. “First, call Long John (Martorano). The numbers are in our personal directory. Tell him to be at the Cent’Anni at 1 o’clock this afternoon. Secondly, take (sons) Michael and Frankie with you to the wake. Lucia, I’ll talk to you after I speak to Long John. Don’t worry. Everything will be OK.”
He hung up without saying goodbye.
At 1 p.m., Natale was back on the prison phone dialing the number at the Italian restaurant where he was a partner with the current head of Local 170, Charlie DeRose — who picked up after a single ring. There was no small talk before DeRose handed the phone to Martorano. FBI agents had trailed Bruno’s longtime sidekick to the restaurant this afternoon.
“What a terrible thing last night, our friend,” said Long John, his voice sounding uneasy to Natale. Martorano, knowing every word was being recorded, was about to declare his innocence in the hit for the unseen listeners who would review their conversation. Natale interrupted. “Listen, my friend was killed,” he snapped. “So don’t play silly games with me. I am in no f---ing mood. This is being recorded here, so don’t pretend that it’s not what it is. Those two motherf---ers did it, didn’t they?”
There was a long pause once Natale pointed the finger directly at Caponigro and Sindone. “How did you know that from down there where you’re at?” asked a perplexed Martorano, setting off an eruption from the other end of the phone.
“You dumb motherf---ers!” he raged. “Nobody was even near my friend when he died! The shame is on your souls, starting with Testa and Nicky Scarfo.”
Martorano’s explanation, that Bruno had asked Testa to steer clear of the sitdown, fell on deaf ears.
“Jerkoffs!” he ranted. “Why didn’t Phil send some of his crew to baby-sit Ang until he got home? I wonder why not. Well, f--k them all! Somebody’s got to pay for this, and if it takes 100 years, I’ll make sure of it. Longy, if you hear anything else on this, tell my wife at the wake. I’ll talk to you after that.”
Natale phone. slammed down the