The two men remain at their table in the restaurant long after the other diners have left. Umberto the proprietor would also like to shut up shop and go home; but you don’t argue with customers like these, and in any case he anticipates being well paid for the inconvenience. The food is good. Joe attacks it with his usual greed and uncouth manners; Charlie is more abstemious. After the meal they play cards and reminisce about old times, and when they are alone in the room they talk business. Eventually Charlie excuses himself to go to the lavatory.
As he rinses his hands and slicks back his hair he contemplates his refection in the mirror over the washbasin. He is only in his early thirties, but his face looks much older: a result of the pressures of his work. The scar down his cheek, which gives his right eyelid a permanent and sinister droop, aches with the tension, but he steels himself to ignore it. He has been given the nickname “Lucky”, which he dislikes: his success has been due to careful planning and determined application, not to luck. He glances at his watch: it’s three o’clock.
There is a sharp retort of pistol shots. Charlie retreats into one of the cubicles, and waits there for some time before pulling the chain and emerging. Only when he is certain the coast is clear does he venture back into the restaurant, where he finds that once again his careful planning has paid off: Joe is dead.
(This describes one of the most famous incidents in the history of organized crime: the killing of Joe Masseria (“Joe the Boss”), chieftain of the New York Mafia, set up by Charles “Lucky” Luciano on this date. It happened as outlined here)
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