The Ice Man Read online

  Little by little Barbara was becoming more and more fond of Richard. His seduction was bearing fruit. Now when he kissed her she let him; indeed, she kissed him back…passionately. But that was it. She refused to have sex with him. Her mother had warned her many times over the years to never, never have sex before being married. That had been ingrained in Barbara since she was a young girl.

  But the more she resisted Richard’s impassioned pleas, the more he wanted her. Had to have her. He began to tease Barbara about her virginity, said the reason she wouldn’t have sex with him was because she really wasn’t a virgin at all, that she was “hiding the truth.” At first he said this jokingly, toying with her, but the more she said no, the more he teased her, and dared her to show him. Prove it.

  Barbara, a strong-willed, independent young woman by nature, finally gave in to Richard’s entreaties, more to shut him up and prove she was a virgin than anything else. The first time they were intimate was in a motel in Jersey City, and it was not a particularly pleasant experience for Barbara. In fact, it hurt. But Richard had reached the top of Mount Everest, and Barbara proved there in the hotel that she was, indeed, a virgin, for her blood was there to prove it. This made Richard want her all the more. Barbara was the only virgin he’d ever known, and he was intent upon making her his.

  He was intent upon marrying her.

  Aunt Sadie

  Barbara’s aunt Sadie was more like a mother to Barbara than Genevieve had ever been. Cold and aloof, Genevieve was not a people person. She didn’t seem to like anyone. She’d go to work, come home, eat, watch a little TV, and go to sleep; that was her life; that’s what life was all about.

  Aunt Sadie, on the other hand was outgoing, warm and friendly, loved movies, loved opera, enjoyed going out, had a giving, effusive southern Italian way about her. Sadie was also a crafty, cunning woman, as is also the way of southern Italians, of Neapolitans. If Barbara, who was surely more like a daughter than a niece, wanted to be involved with this big Polish guy, that was okay with her. But Aunt Sadie wanted to know more about him—who he was, where he came from, what kind of family he had. Whenever the subject of his family came up, Richard became quiet and changed the subject. Sadie wondered why, and she resolved to make it her business to find out. Her brother Armond was a part-time cop in Cliffside Park, and with his help, Sadie found a private investigator who, for a fee, went to Jersey City and Hoboken and began snooping around and asking questions about Richard Kuklinski.

  It didn’t take long for him to find out that Richard was a player, that he hurt a lot of people, that he hijacked trucks, that he had a hair-trigger temper, that he had drinking and gambling problems; and that he had associations with organized crime. He even heard rumors that Richard had murdered people in sudden bar altercations, and for money! Mama mia! Richard had no kind of police record, but he had a reputation as a dangerous guy: a thug, a hustler with a violent streak who carried a gun and a knife. All this Armond summarily reported back to Sadie. She was appalled and immediately dispatched Armond to go to talk to Richard, intent upon ending the relationship before it went any further. Armond found Richard in a Jersey City bar and said he needed to talk with him….

  “Sure,” Richard said, wary that Armond had suddenly come to Jersey City to talk with him: “What’s on your mind?”

  “Barbara,” Armond began, “is a good girl—”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s why I like her,” said Richard.

  “Look, I found out all about you, Richard. I know who you are. And me…me and the family want you to stay away from Barbara.”

  “Really,” Richard said, his lips tightening, his eyes narrowing.

  “Yeah, really,” Armond told him, acting tough.

  “And what if I don’t?” Richard asked.

  “It won’t be good for you,” Armond said.

  “You threatening me? Are you threatening me, Armond?”

  “I’m telling you to leave Barbara alone. She’s a good girl.”

  “My intentions toward her are only honorable.”

  “You are married with two kids…. What’s honorable about that?”

  “I’m getting a divorce.”

  “You aren’t for her.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me. Says me. The family wants you to steer clear of Barbara. Don’t you get it?”

  “Yeah, well, I ain’t, okay.”

  “That wouldn’t be…good for you.”

  “You are threatening me. Look, Armond, if you wanna go to war over this that’s fine with me, but I can tell you right now, right here, like a friend, that only one of us is going to come out of it, and it ain’t—listen to me—it ain’t going to be you. Take that to the bank.” Richard let his words sink in. Armond was not a particularly tough man. He was tall and thin, not powerful. But he had fought in World War II, was highly decorated, had killed a lot of Japanese soldiers, and he did carry a gun. He had one on him right now, a .38 with a four-inch barrel, his service revolver. Richard had two guns on him. They stared at each other.

  “My niece is a good girl!” Armond repeated with firm conviction. “Don’t you get it?”

  If Armond hadn’t been Barbara’s uncle, Richard might’ve taken him outside and shot him there on the spot, then got rid of his body. Instead, he said, “Like I told you, my intentions toward Barbara are only honorable. Tell the family that; tell them I’m getting a divorce; tell them I love Barbara and’ll never do anything to hurt her. Tell them that…. Okay?”

  “Okay, I will,” Armond said, seeing clearly the resolve in Richard’s face, and he went back to his sister Sadie and told her what Richard had said.

  “I’ll talk to Barbara,” Sadie said, and she sat Barbara down and told her all she had learned, none of which was particularly troubling to Barbara. Whatever Richard had done, she said, was in the past. “He’s nice and kind and real good to me,” Barbara said, trying to defend the indefensible.

  “He’s married with children,” Sadie said. “He’s a gangster.”

  “He’s getting divorced,” Barbara said. “He’s no gangster. When I met him he was working. Working hard. He got fired for talking to me—you believe that? For just talking to me.”

  “He’s hurt a lot of people,” Sadie said.

  “I’m sure they deserved it,” Barbara said, having no idea of how severely Richard hurt a lot of people: that indeed he was a full-blown serial killer.

  “Barbara,” Sadie said, “I love you. I’m only telling you this because I care. I don’t think you know what you’re getting involved with here.”

  “I know, and I love you too, and I appreciate your caring, your looking out for me. Listen, we’re only dating, okay? I mean, I’m not marrying him; we aren’t going to rush off and elope. Don’t worry. Please, don’t worry.”

  “But I do. I don’t want to see you hurt. You can do better than this guy, I promise you.”

  “We are only dating,” Barbara repeated.

  “Okay…but you be careful. Don’t go falling in love with him; don’t go letting him make you pregnant.”

  “Of course not,” Barbara said, and hugged her aunt Sadie long and hard. “I love you.”

  “I love you,” Aunt Sadie said, having a very bad feeling deep inside her gut about this Richard Kuklinski from Jersey City with the shy, crooked smile and shifty eyes.

  That Christmas Barbara decided to invite Richard to join her family for both the Christmas Eve fish dinner and the Christmas Day meal, which would be a customary five-course feast lasting all day and part of the night. For Barbara’s family, like most Italian American families across the country, Christmas was a special time of year—a wonderful opportunity to give and laugh and sing and eat and bring everyone together. Barbara, a talented artist, painted colorful Christmas scenes on the windows with watercolor paint, and there was a big tree in the living room.

  Barbara saw this as a good opportunity for her family to get to know how kind and polite and sweet Richard really was. When Barbar
a told her mother she wanted to invite Richard for the holidays, Genevieve was not happy, but she reluctantly accepted it, as did the rest of the family. If that’s what Barbara wanted, so be it. Unless she had her way, she’d have a long, sour face, and would let everyone know she wasn’t happy.

  When Barbara told Richard she’d like him to join her family over the holidays, he was caught off guard, but he was pleased too, and readily accepted the gracious invitation and looked forward to it. He knew Barbara was close to her people, and if he wanted her, he knew they had to accept him. Simple. But he was nervous. His family never had a Christmas tree or any special foods; for him Christmas had meant nothing—zero. He usually went to a diner to eat, and that was it. No big shakes. This would be a whole new experience.

  This Is for You, Richard

  December 24, 1961, Christmas Eve, Richard arrived at Barbara’s house in North Bergen.

  This stone-cold, remorseless killer was nervous, indeed had butterflies in his stomach; he’d never been to such a function, had no idea what to expect, what to do, how to act, what was expected of him. Barbara’s whole family was there, fifteen people in all. Grandma Carmella had been cooking nonstop for days. Huge, colorful platters of food were ready to be served. Barbara introduced Richard, awkward and painfully shy, to cousins, aunts, and uncles he’d not met yet. It was now that Richard met Barbara’s cousin Carl. “He’s my favorite cousin,” she told Richard. Of course her aunt Sadie was there, and she was warm enough to Richard, but she didn’t like him, didn’t like anything about him—what he did, where he came from, where he was going. Still, she resolved to be nice, to make him feel welcomed no matter what. After all, it was Christmas Eve, the time of love and family unity, and if her Barbara wanted him there, so be it. She’d make the best of it, hoping it was only a passing phase.

  Drinks were soon poured. Toasts were made. The smell of delicious southern Italian foods permeated the air, mixing with the strong smell of pine coming from the Christmas tree. Richard knew better than to drink whiskey, and he only had a glass of white wine to be social.

  When they all sat to eat at the long, glorious table Barbara and Nana and Aunt Sadie had carefully set, Richard sat next to Barbara. They started with colorful platters filled with antipasto, red peppers in oil, salamis, prosciutto, all kinds of cheese, stuffed peppers, olives, artichoke hearts. They then had the customary spaghetti and clams, followed by fried fillet of sole, stuffed shrimp and shrimp scampi, stuffed calamari, and grilled lobster tails. This was followed by fruits and nuts and more cheese, followed by Neapolitan stuffed artichokes, to help with digestion. Then, of course, the desserts.

  Richard had never even seen a home-cooked Italian meal like this, let alone eaten one, and he was amazed at how good everything was. Warmed and flushed by the beautiful meal, he was even more touched by how the family openly showed affection, readily touched and kissed and hugged, the constant banter and laughter. He was seeing something he had never known existed: a tight-knit family enjoying one another’s company, openly showing tender feelings. By the time espresso was served with sweets Carmella had made—also sambuca and grappa—it was near twelve, the time when gifts were given. Richard hadn’t brought any gifts. He didn’t know you were supposed to, and when Aunt Sadie handed him a carefully wrapped gift and said, “This is for you, Richard, merry Christmas,” he was touched. He was speechless. And there were still more gifts for him, from Barbara, from Nana Carmella, even from Barbara’s mother. Richard was so moved that tears actually filled his eyes, and like this he opened his gifts—a sweater, some cologne, a nice suede jacket from Barbara. All choked up, Richard tried on the jacket. It fit perfectly. It was the nicest gift anyone had ever given him.

  “Is it always like this?” he asked Barbara.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, smiling.

  “Everyone so nice and warm and giving,” he said.

  “Of course—it’s Christmastime,” she said. “It’s always like this, Richard.”

  The following day, Richard returned to Nana Carmella’s house carrying gifts. He had shopped all morning and made sure he’d gotten something for everyone that would be there. He gleefully handed out the gifts, receiving thank-yous, kisses and hugs. He never knew people could be so warm and effusive, readily expressing their feelings.

  Soon they all sat down to eat again, and this meal was even larger than the meal the night before. There was antipasto, lasagna, and eggplant parmesan, followed by ham and lamb, with three different kinds of potatoes, stuffed mushrooms, rice balls, huge bowls of salad, and fruit, sweets, and fennochio (fennel). They ate for hours, taking a break after each course; much wine was poured, toasts were made, there was laughter, and old and new jokes were shared, some a little bawdy. They also sang Christmas carols.

  That Christmas Barbara’s family grew to accept Richard: his shyness, how much he obviously enjoyed being there, the considerate gifts he’d brought, won them over. Though he was not Italian, they made him feel welcomed and loved, as if he were truly one of them. Part of the family. He wanted to reach out and hug them all, wrap his powerful arms around them and hold them tight. With a warm glow, he sat there eating and smiling, and maybe—truly for the first time in his entire life—Richard was glad to be alive. Richard felt…loved. He was so moved, so touched, that he went out on the back screened-in patio and cried in his cupped hands. Barbara found him there like that and she took him in her arms and held him tight, thinking he was just a big baby.

  If she’d only known.

  After the holidays passed and the New Year began, Richard and Barbara saw each other more and more. But Barbara was beginning to feel stifled, boxed in. Richard was always there. No matter which way she turned he was there, waiting for her, opening doors for her, demanding her undivided attention. He had cut her off from seeing her friends, certainly from dating anyone else, and she felt that she was trapped. She had grown very fond of Richard, but she wanted a little room to breathe, to go for sodas, to go shopping and have long talks with her girlfriends. She resolved to tell him. She had the right. She was only nineteen years old and couldn’t do anything on her own anymore. She thought of the best way to do this, turned it over in her mind. She did not ask any of her friends or anyone in her family for advice because she didn’t want to let anyone know how hemmed in she felt.

  Meanwhile, Richard decided to take her to his favorite haunt in Hoboken, Sylvia’s Ringside Inn. Richard had told Sylvia all about Barbara, the wonderful time he’d had over the holidays, the feast they’d served. Barbara didn’t particularly want to go to the Ringside Inn. That was a part of Richard’s life she wanted nothing to do with. But being polite, she agreed to go, and Richard proudly introduced Barbara to the crowd there, and to Sylvia. Sylvia was outright rude, even hostile. She felt Barbara had been keeping Richard away from the place. Richard’s pool playing had been a draw. She’d been making money because of him. Sylvia resented Barbara and had no reservations about letting her know. The feeling was mutual—Barbara thought she was the rudest, ugliest person she’d ever met and told Richard so. “I don’t like being here,” she said. “It’s dirty, it smells. I don’t like the people; I don’t like this Sylvia character! My God, what a face; could stop a clock, could stop Big Ben. I want to leave, Richard.”

  For the life of him Richard couldn’t understand Barbara’s animus or why Sylvia was so unfriendly, and the couple left.

  “I don’t ever want to go back there,” Barbara said, “and truth is, I don’t see why you would either. It’s below you, Richard.”

  “Okay, guess it was a bad idea to bring you,” Richard said. They never went back as a couple, and soon Richard stopped going altogether.

  Several days later Barbara finally mustered the courage to tell Richard how she felt. He had come to pick her up at work. When she got in the car she still had no idea how dangerous Richard was, that he carried a gun and a knife with him all the time. However, she would soon learn.

  “Richard, I need to
talk with you,” she began.

  “Sure,” he said, sensing he was about to hear something he wouldn’t like.

  “Look, Richard, I’m very fond of you. You know that. It’s…well, I feel trapped. Everywhere I turn, you’re there. I want some space; I want to hang out with my friends. I’d like to go out on a Saturday night with my girlfriends like I used to do.” She went on to describe, her voice kind and considerate, warm and sincere, how she needed space. She was very young and didn’t, she said, want such a “serious commitment.”

  Maybe, she said, she’d even like to…you know, date other guys.

  Barbara’s words cut Richard like broken glass. They hurt. They made him bleed. As she talked he actually began to pale, and his lips twisted off to the left. Barbara did not see him reach down and pull out the razor-sharp hunting knife he always kept strapped to his calf, and as she talked he reached out his arm and held it behind her. He looked at her and smiled as she prattled on about freedom and space and her being so young. He raised his hand and jabbed her in the back, just behind her left shoulder, with the knife.

  “Ow,” she said. “What was that?” Then she saw the glistening knife in his hand. “My God, you stabbed me—why?” Seeing the blood, her eyes filled with shock and dismay.

  “‘Why?’ As a warning,” he said, in a sickeningly calm voice. “You’re mine…understand? You aren’t seeing anyone else, understand? You do what I tell you!”