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Small was staring at the floor now, his own drink held in both hands. I doubt that he still knew I was in the room.
    â€œAll right,” I said. “Why do they call him Joe Dominoes?”
    Small snapped back from wherever he had been with a slight start. “Why? Well, all this happened about the time that Wallace Beery had just made Viva Villa! You ever see it?”
    â€œI’ve seen it.”
    â€œYou remember the scene where Beery decides to save ammunition and he lines—what was it—three or four prisoners up in a row? Then he uses one bullet to pass through the bodies of the three or four prisoners he wants executed. Well, Palmisano, after he got well, saw this flick and he decided that it seemed like a good idea. So the story goes that he caught up with all four of them at once, lined them up in a row, and used one 30.06 slug from an old army rifle he had to kill all four of them and they just fell over like dominoes. That’s what they say anyhow and that’s why they call him Joe Dominoes.”
    â€œYou know some nice people,” I said.
    â€œYou know why I know them.”
    â€œYes, you told me. What about the godfather of Sacchetti? Do you know him?”
    Small was silent for several moments, staring at the carpet again. Then he said, “I think I’ll have another drink. You want one?”
    â€œNo thanks.”
    He rose and disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a drink that was darker in color than the one he had had before. He took a long swallow of it and then lit a cigarette.
    â€œThe godfather,” I said.
    â€œIn Washington.”
    â€œThat’s right, in Washington.”
    â€œYou remember that I once told you about my brother and how he wanted me to finish high school and all.”
    â€œI remember.”
    â€œI didn’t tell you why though, did I?”
    â€œNo.”
    Small sighed. “Well, believe it or not I was taking a college preparatory course. You know, so I could get into college. Can you imagine that—in East Harlem?” He laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it, just a certain amount of bitterness. “There were only two of us taking that course, me and the other guy who’s the godfather of Angelo Sacchetti.”
    â€œYou’ve lost me,” I said.
    â€œA long time ago, about seven or eight years before you were born, they had a meeting in Atlantic City.”
    â€œThey?”
    He gave me a disgusted look. “You want a name for it?”
    â€œDoes it have one?”
    â€œWhy don’t you ask J. Edgar Hoover?”
    â€œI don’t have to. He calls it the Cosa Nostra.”
    â€œLa Cosa Nostra is what he calls it.”
    â€œIs that its name?”
    â€œNo,” Small said, “but it’s always good for a few laughs. So let’s get back to the meeting.”
    â€œIn Atlantic City.”
    â€œThat’s right. They were all there, Costello, Luciano, Vito Genovese, even Capone and his brothers. Anybody who was anybody. They got together at this meeting and decided that they needed to reorganize their operations. They were going to lay out territories, cut out the wars, and improve their image, although nobody was using that word then you understand. They just wanted to get more respectable and one of the ways they decided to go about it was to send some of the younger, brighter punks to college. So they went around the room to find out if there were any candidates. My brother was there and he put in my name and promised them that he’d break my neck if I dropped out of high school. Costello said he knew a young kid who he’d do the same thing to, so out of that entire crowd they could only come up with two they could send to college, me and this kid that Costello nominated.”
    Small paused and took another long swallow of his drink. “Well, the other kid made it. You know what happened to me—I already told you that.