THE BLACK-HANDER'S POLICE PROTECTION
"'Certainly,' Cecala said. 'In America _everything is prohibited; but
if you pay the police or detectives they will leave you in peace_. In
this land money counts, so that if _you kill any one and have money
you will get out of it_. Morello knows how much money he has given to
detectives to get out free out of three or four cases in which he was
implicated. Even now he is supposed to be watched by the police who do
not care to watch him because they know that they will receive their
bit. The government always holds him under suspicion as the head of
the Black-Handers. When anything happens Morello is always in danger
of arrest, but the same policeman he feeds tips him off and so Morello
goes into hiding. The police then feign to raid his place, but, of
course, the man wanted is never there. Now then, my dear Don Antonio,
that's the way things are done in this country. During the last three
years I am getting along well in my line: that is, I am the head of a
band of incendiaries and earn a little money now and then.'
"Cecala was disclosing to me a phase of the under-world life of crime
and horror of which I knew nothing at the time.
"'And what do you do to earn this money? Do you take the objects that
you find in the burned houses?' I inquired.
"'No,' sneered Cecala with contempt. 'I set fire to the houses to
defraud the insurance companies!'
"He said this with the pride of a professional expert.
"'And how do you do it?' I inquired, curious to learn his ways.
"'Well, you own a store and have insured it against fire. You have
paid up the insurance and do not wish to pay any more, but you want to
realize on the money already paid in. You will send for me to set a
fire. In my manner I will develop a fire in an instant. When the
insurance company pays you the money you pay me a percentage.'
"'Then perhaps you were the one who set the big fire in Mulberry
Street where so many poor people were burned?'
"'No!' came the quick response. 'I do not set fire to make accidents
happen. That fire was engineered by a Neapolitan band that were in
accord with the proprietor of the dry goods store underneath. They did
not work it right because they started the fire from the side of the
store and afterwards put explosives on the stairs so that no trace
would be left. If I had had that job there would have been no trace to
tell the story, and the damage would have been done from the store
door. There would not have been so many accidents and the families
would have had time to run into the yard.'
"'How can you guarantee all this? And what explosive matter do you use
to start a fire?' I inquired.
"'Glycerine,' mumbled the bandit. 'I mix it with other matters. It
does not smell and leaves no trace of the fire.'
"'And do you go alone on these jobs?'
"'No. You always need three or four men. I direct them and they bring
the material. I pay each man five dollars a night.'
"'And these helpers, do they make much money?'
"'Quite some--now and then. They risk their hides. But it is not
steady work, you know; only on occasions.'
"The train arrived at the station and Cecala indicated a seat separate
from him so as not to invite suspicion. At Houston Street he signalled
for me to get off, and when in the street he asked me where my aunt
lived. When I told him in Bleecker Street he said: 'I will accompany
you. Let us go to a drug store near by first. I must ask something.'
"We went to Spring Street and entered a drug store with a sign over
the door spelling the name of 'Antonio Mocito.' Cecala asked a boy in
the store where the druggist might be and the boy replied that he was
out. Cecala told the boy to inform the druggist that he, Cecala, had
been there and to prepare 'that matter.'
"'I put this druggist right!' boasted Cecala in a low voice. 'He had a
drug store and did a little business. I suggested to him that he
insure the store against fire. After he had paid up for a little
while, I put fire to it and the company paid him three thousand
dollars with which he put up this new store. So you see, he was
saved!'
"On the way to my aunt's house Cecala made many suggestions to me
warning me that I was to tell my aunt nothing. He told me to meet him
at his home at six o'clock the next morning. This was at 6 P. M.
"I leave it to the reader's imagination to picture the condition of
mind I was in after learning of the kind of 'gentlemen' I was obliged
to deal with. I had been caught in a trap set by a band of
incendiaries and Black-Handers enjoying police protection. What good
would it have done me to go to the police about it? What could anybody
in my position do under the circumstances? I thought it would be
better to keep silent and save my life until I had occasion to
denounce the gang. I was secretly awaiting this opportunity without
their knowledge. Then, again, how could I proceed against them without
witnesses?
"The thought that afflicted me with most concern was the fate of the
lady. I realized that her consent to my desire had caused her to be
mixed up with bad people. I also realized that if we were discovered
by the police, Caterina and I would be the only ones to suffer
because we were alone and without any help from any one and penniless.
"I summoned all the courage I could muster. I always appeared to be
contented with the orders that were given me, and I executed them
without finding the least objection.
"I was daily afflicted by the life I was leading, and was continually
disturbed in my mind because I saw that I had not one penny, and when
I asked for money I was bluntly refused. It also worried me to think
that my family believed I was working and making money without sending
any home. Time and again I planned to run away, but how? Where would I
go? I would have to abandon all my things and be left out in the
street. And who would help me? A penniless stranger.
"On the morning of February 5, 1909, it was snowing and very cold when
I went to the home of Cecala at the appointed hour. He invited me to
sit down and his wife served me with coffee. I saw his five children,
quite sympathetic children, three girls and two boys. In looking at
them I was seized by remorse to think that these innocent children as
the offspring of a criminal would probably be converted into criminals
also in time. Cecala told me brusquely that we would have to leave on
the ten o'clock train in spite of the snow.
"'When we arrive at Highland there will be no one about the station,
and we will arouse no suspicion,' explained Cecala.
"'Have you found the man to prepare the ink?' I asked.
"'Yes. He is coming with us. Here is a dollar. Go to your aunt and
meet us at the Grand Central Station. I am going to Don Piddu's
(Morello's) to get other inks that were bought last night. But now
that I think about it, meet me at the Brooklyn Bridge and you will buy
some green ink, because they would not sell it to me. Say you are a
printer and refer them to the shop where you were working.'
"'And if they object, what shall I reply?'
"'I will understand.'
"'And what kind of ink is it necessary to buy?'
"'The kind we need are marked in the catalogue.'
"'And who has marked them?'
"'A professor who has done other work for me and is very practical at
his work. If necessary, he will come and work together with you.'
"Cecala took me to a store on Rose Street where he employed sign
language to explain the kind of ink he wanted. A young lady asked
questions in English which I could not answer. Cecala then interrupted
and tried to act as interpreter. I was confused for a moment. Then I
took out a bill head with my name on it which I had used while I acted
as solicitor for work in an Italian printing shop in Mott Street. The
young lady read it, and after about twenty minutes she returned,
giving me three cans of ink and the bill, which Cecala paid.
"Cecala now directed me to go to my aunt's place before meeting him at
the Grand Central Station in time for the ten o'clock train. There I
met the man who was to assist me in printing the counterfeit bills.
The reader may now appreciate the sagacity of Cecala in leaving me
after coming out of the ink store. It gave him the advantage to meet
the mysterious man who was to help in the mixing of the inks, and it
also gave him a chance to throw anybody off the trail if there were
detectives following.
"At the Grand Central Station we met the man with the camera. Cecala
bought three tickets for Poughkeepsie. Arriving there we found Cina
waiting for us with a closed carriage. He drove to another station and
then to a ferry where we went across the river to Highland and from
there to the clandestine factory. Supper was waiting for us there, and
we rested till the next morning to start work. During the evening,
Cecala, Cina, Uncle Vincent and the other man played cards while
Bernardo and I chopped wood for the stove.
"On the morning of February 6, 1909, we got the press ready. The man
whose name I had not yet been given mixed the ink. After taking some
proofs the right shade of green was developed. The unnamed man then
explained to me that by mixing black and yellow I would obtain an
olive green, and by mixing this color with the clear green in the cans
which were brought up from New York, the right shade of green, just
like the genuine money color, would be obtained. He explained this so
that I could mix up more in case the ink he had mixed would not be
sufficient to print the ten thousand sheets of the two-dollar bills,
which would make twenty thousand dollars in counterfeit money. Then
he measured the genuine note and marked where the seal was to be
printed. He also prepared the blue shade of ink for this impression.
He advised me to pay close attention to the black.
"We were alone in the room while he was instructing me, and I told him
that I had little faith in Cecala and his companions because they did
not give me any money, and made me remain without a penny after having
worked a long time. He told me that I ought to be contented, for I was
dealing with gentlemen. In olden times, he said, men in that line of
work, when the work had been done, would _assassinate_ the one doing
the very work I was doing. _The man was murdered_, he explained to me,
_so that the counterfeiters would not be discovered_ and the secret
revealed to the police.
"'Is there any danger of my being assassinated after completing this
work?' I asked.
"'No,' he said, 'there is no danger. You are dealing with good
people.'
"After he was through with his work he wanted to see how the printing
progressed and how many an hour were struck off. He was trying to
figure whether the work could be completed in fifteen days.
"We worked at the press until about 4 P. M., when there were over
three thousand sheets printed on one side. This progress seemed to
satisfy the photographer and ink mixer. At about 4:30 P. M., Cina,
Cecala and Bernardo went away with the stranger, leaving Uncle Vincent
behind with me. Before leaving, Cecala said that Giglio would come
next morning to help and, if necessary, Bernardo would return also.
Cecala said that when the green side of the printing was completed,
and I saw that a change in the ink was necessary, I was to leave the
plant and meet him in New York. Hereupon Uncle Vincent declared that
it was necessary to have Bernardo present in order that some one could
be watching outside the stone house and keep an eye out for strangers.
Cecala consented, and Bernardo remained with us to do sentinel duty.
Next morning Giglio came, and he and Uncle Vincent and myself worked
on without interruption. Bernardo, armed with a revolver and a rifle,
remained on the outside, having received orders from Uncle Vincent to
fire a shot into the air in the event of strangers appearing. This
was to be the signal for us.
"On February 9, 1909, the press was ready for the seal. In the morning
Cina handed me a note from Cecala and a letter from my aunt. Cecala's
note requested me to remain in the house and not come to New York if
there was no urgent need of it. My aunt's note informed me that my
brother was about to be operated upon. I lost no time getting into my
street clothes. I prevailed on Cina to show me the way to the station,
where I boarded a train for New York.
"My first move was to see Cecala and get some money from him, but I
did not find him at his home. Then I went to Morello's home in One
Hundred and Thirty-eighth Street. Mrs. Morello told me that her
husband was not at home, nor did she seem to know where Cecala could
be found. I hurried to my brother's house, got there just as he was
being removed in an ambulance to the Italian Hospital in Houston
Street. I was without a penny and felt very miserable to think that I
could not help at this moment.
"After going with my brother to the hospital I went to Cecala's house.
He seemed much surprised that I should have come to New York without
first consulting him. However, when I explained the circumstances,
Cecala approved of my action, but said that he had no money, only two
dollars for the return fare. He assured me, though, that he would see
to it that my brother was put in a private ward. This would be an easy
matter, Cecala said, because he was well acquainted with several of
the doctors at the Italian Hospital. He advised me to leave for the
plant as soon as possible, saying that he had many requests for the
counterfeit money and the customers were waiting for him to fill the
orders.
"I was always obedient to the orders of the gang, and so after going
to my brother's house and trying to console his wife by assuring her
that I had arranged to have a private room for him at the hospital, I
left for Highland on the 11:40 P. M. train. It was very cold when I
arrived at the little station on the Hudson, and I was almost frozen
stiff trying to find Cina's house in the darkness. I stopped at Cina's
house until the next morning when I was taken in his wagon to the
stone house."