Street Justice

by Vito Zuppardo

  Wallace was wrong, and the guy he called “kid” in a meeting now had the top job in the city. He planned to be elected as mayor when the November elections rolled around.

  Garrett knew about the problems that Mario and Wallace had over the casinos. Unlike the former mayor, Garrett had the people of the city at heart. His push was for more jobs, higher wages, tax revenues, road repairs, and economic development.

  Three days after taking office, Garrett called a meeting with Mario at Ruth’s Chris Steak House. It was the building where politicians and powerbrokers cut deals over red wine and rare meat. It was the best-dressed place in town for lunch, filled with lawyers, judges, members of the city council, and anyone else with a high-paying job and an expense account.

  It was the new mayor and Mario discussing business over lunch. In contrast to Wallace, Garrett didn’t have a sidekick like Kory Barnes who shadowed his every move. He didn’t need an assistant, and Garrett released him the day he took office.

  Mario had met Garrett once or twice at award events, and it was nothing more than, “How about them Saints?” Today was different; having the mayor on his side was suitable for his career, providing he proved to be good for the city.

  They ordered lunch and Garrett cut to the chase. He defended himself as a twenty-eight-year-old politician with people’s conception that he was too green behind the ears to run a city of this size. Some journalists had already branded him “The Mayberry Mayor” and written that he should go get some experience before tackling New Orleans.

  Mario listened to him talk nonstop through salads and sizzling filet mignons they both ordered. Garrett covered how he grew up in the city, went to local high schools and colleges, and graduated top of his class. He also worked his way through the family business of a chain of supermarkets and shopping centers. His grandfather, a multimillionaire since an early age, always bolstered him by saying, “If the city were run like a business—we would all benefit.”

  Mario ate part of his steak and told Garrett to start on his and take a breather. Then hit him with a question. “What do you want from me?”

  Garrett threw a hunk of meat in his mouth. “What’s your view on the casino project?”

  Mario repeated what he had told a reporter before his comments were picked up by every news network in the city. It became a battle when Wallace demanded the police chief to curb Mario’s views regarding the town. From that point, it was personal. “My true concern. I fear casinos bring crime. And we don’t have the police force to deal with more crime.”

  “Fair assumption.”

  Garrett pulled a piece of paper from his coat and glanced down at a list of written items. With the tax money from gambling, he planned to increase the police department with additional manpower, for better protection and traffic flow. The tax dollars would increase teacher’s pay in public schools and bring programs to the city to help people out of poverty by creating new jobs.

  “Mr. Mayor,” Mario said, pushing his plate toward the waiter. “A lot of promises are made, but few are ever carried through.”

  “If I’m elected this fall, one year after the casino opening, every promise I make will be fulfilled or I’ll step down. I need you to go on record that casinos are good for the city, based on my plan.” Garrett waited for a reply.

  “Why me?”

  “Because you have had a strong voice within the community against this bill.” Garrett took a sip of water. “And rightfully so, based on how Wallace planned to line his pockets.”

  Garrett planned to ask the city council for money to run ads in newspapers and on TV about the positive aspects of casino gambling.

  “Mr. Mayor,” Mario stood. “Thank you for lunch. If you believe this is good for all citizens of New Orleans—I’ll back you and put the word out.”

  “Thank you. Now I’m going over to that table,” he said, pointing at four gentlemen. “Those four men sit on the city council. They voted my ad campaign down, so I need to change their minds.”

  Before Mario left, he asked one more question. The city had already approved gambling; the mayor had only to assign the license to any of six applicants the Gaming Control Board found suitable. The answer wasn’t what he expected. Garrett wanted the approval of the people. They needed to believe in his decisions that all his actions were for the best of everyone’s interest and the growth of the city and the future.

  Mario walked away encouraged, a different feeling of how great it was for a mayor to have the city at heart and what he might do if given a chance.

  Back at the Eighth District, Mario sat at his desk with Howard, who thumbed through some phone memo slips. Mario’s mind wandered to conversations with Mayor Chadwick. Not that he wanted any part of the political machine that ran the city day by day, but his street power and connections could help.

  A business card had been in Mario’s desk drawer for some time. Not sure why he would keep it or ever need it. It read, Ferrari’s Italian Restaurant on the Boardwalk, in red and green ink on white card stock. No doubt Roberto’s grandfather gave the colors some thought, they were the same colors used on the Italian flag. The Sicilian family came to this country for a better life, but they never forgot their roots and the love for their country. The grandfather planned to run an Italian restaurant and hoped for the children to follow. Somewhere, they strayed and became the most powerful boss of bosses on the wrong side of the law.

  On the back of the card was a handwritten phone number given him by Bobby G. during the last meeting with Howard. Passed on to Mario, as a gesture of good faith and friendship to call if he ever needed anything. Bobby clarified that he meant dinner reservations at the restaurant. That’s how the wise guys worked in understated ways. “Call if you ever need anything” meant “I’m here for you.” But at what cost was the question.

  Mario never questioned Howard on how Roberto disappeared and why the hit on his own life was cancelled. Grateful, but he preferred not to know the details. Howard went to extremes in his defense, like he was back in the Special Forces for his country and assigned an assassination. His record still held at 100 percent, always hitting his target.

  Mario gave a nod and Howard made the call on a throwaway cell phone. Bobby G. answered the call himself.

  “Mr. G?” Howard said. “I have someone wanting to talk to you.”

  Few people had the cell number direct to Bobby. It wasn’t out of friendship that Bobby needed a man like Howard on his side. One who got close enough to take him out and would do it again if necessary. Bobby wanted Howard as a friend.

  “Bobby G? I need a truthful answer.” Mario got directly to the point. “Roberto is gone. Are you the man in charge?”

  There was no hesitation. “I am. What do you need?”

  Chapter 36

  Two days later, Mario and Howard sat in the back seat of a limousine parked on the side of a rusty fence. A roar overhead shook the car as a private jet landed on the north-south runway. The plane taxied, then stopped near the car. The electric stairway came from the belly of the plane and rested on the ground. First to walk off the aircraft was Julie Wong. A man stood at the top of the steps, scanned the area, then waved Bobby G. out of the plane. They all met in the back seat of the limousine.

  Mario simplified the details of the casino contract the mayor would issue within a week. If Bobby followed Mario’s suggestions, his company would be the sole distributor of food, liquor, and paper products to the New Orleans casinos. A deal worth, on the low side, one hundred million dollars in revenue a year.

  Mario would make the introduction of Bobby’s “Meat Packing Company and Food Distributors” to Mayor Chadwick. In return, Bobby would grant one favor. A strange look came over Julie. Even she was taken aback with such a request to a mob boss.

  It would be easy for Mario to convince Mayor Chadwick of the plan. Put the East Coast Meat Packing Company and Food Distributors into the deal when awarding the casino licenses. No companies would be fighting for a “cash cow�
� casino permit, if the city directed what company to buy from, as long as the quality and price were a value.

  The feather in the mayor’s cap was a guaranteed drug-free city. Garrett believed in Mario, and if he could show force against drug traffickers and stop the drug epidemic without increasing payroll for hundreds of cops to do the job—he was in.

  Bobby thought about Mario’s proposal longer than expected. His eyes shifted to Howard, Julie, and out the window.

  Howard gave him a nod. “Your chance to be one hundred percent legit in New Orleans. Who knows what the future will bring?”

  “At what cost?” Bobby asked. “You want me to tell the cartel—New Orleans is off limits.”

  “You have the power,” Mario said. “You’re not cutting their distribution. You’ll give them more by allowing them into your East Coast cities.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “To gain the casino business,” Mario quickly shot back. “You’ll gain new friends who will look up to you for your accomplishments in creating jobs—not fear you for who you are. And, at the same time, you’ll earn millions of dollars.”

  It had been a long-standing agreement that the cartel had foot soldiers on the ground in many Southern cities, New Orleans being one of them. Bobby would offer a larger East Coast city in exchange for keeping New Orleans drug-free.

  “Look at it as a business opportunity for the cartel to increase business,” Howard added. “Just not in our city.”

  Bobby made a face. “And if I don’t?”

  “Not a problem,” Mario said, as cold as a twenty-five-pound block of ice.

  Bobby cocked his head and motioned, “No repercussions?”

  “Oh, I didn’t say there wouldn’t be consequences.” Mario pulled pictures from his pocket. Then rattled off a believable story that the mayor was prepared to train 100 men under the federal government DEA guidelines solely to crack down on drugs coming into the city. He continued with his bullshit story that laws would be passed to prosecute minors as adults if caught selling drugs of any kind or weight.

  “It won’t be easy to recruit nine- and ten-year-olds to sell drugs when the word gets out.” Howard raised an eyebrow. “Minimum five years.”

  Mario leaned forward, showing a picture of a kid with a backpack standing on a corner. “Think we don’t know what the kid has in his backpack?” Another picture, stamped FBI on the back, was put under Bobby’s nose. “This little girl—yeah, she looks sweet. She’ll sell enough drugs in school to buy a new car. The downside is she’ll have to wait four years to get a driver’s license. She’s twelve!”

  “Bobby, the game is over in New Orleans.” Howard bent closer and whispered, “You have an out—I advise you to take it.”

  “Your appointment with the mayor is in thirty minutes,” Mario said. “I need an answer.”

  Mario handed Bobby further instructions needed to close the deal and for him to consider. Bobby and Julie walked back to the aircraft to discuss the options. One of two things would happen: the engines would crank up into a whirlwind of speed and the plane would taxi off or Julie would walk down the steps ready to move forward.

  While Bobby was off considering his future, Howard flipped through the pictures. “How did you get these surveillance pictures from the feds?”

  Mario pointed at the pictures. “The two children with the backpacks? I took them this morning at seven-thirty on Esplanade Avenue. They were waiting for the school bus. The FBI logo on the back of the pictures? That’s a rubber stamp we use when forwarding documents to the local FBI office.”

  “Slick move,” Howard smiled.

  “We know they’re running kids,” Mario said. “Just don’t know who they are.”

  In the limousine, Mario took a call from Glenn Macy. An appointment he set up between Glenn and the mayor had just finished. Garrett was overwhelmed that the Big Easy Voice gave him a column on the front page for a message to the people about why casinos are good for the people. Ten days of free positive messaging on the front page—the mayor couldn’t buy that space. Mario made it happen.

  “Mario—he loves the idea,” Glenn said. “Another exclusive, thanks.”

  It was the first step in making the deal work, and Glenn had played a big part in making it come together.

  At the top of the stairs, Julie appeared and gave a thumbs-up, dressed in an outfit that would get the mayor’s attention. She knocked back a cocktail in the limo, not to curb her nerves, she was a professional—worries never came into play. She was celebrating Mario’s success for conning a crime lord. She agreed—it’d pay off for everyone.

  Mario alerted Garrett that the representative of the East Coast Meat Packing Company and Food Distributors was on her way.

  Fifteen minutes later, the limousine pulled curbside at city hall. Julie climbed the steps of the building with the confidence that everyone was viewing her from the rear—she was right.

  “Mr. Mayor, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Julie said. Usually she didn’t talk to her marks. She’d shoot them in the head and walk away. It was a first for her to take good news to someone for a change.

  They chatted. Eye contact was made several times. Julie encouraged Garrett’s flirtatious smile, as it played into her presentation.

  “Mr. Mayor, my company is prepared to offer you some assistance in bringing casino gaming to your city in a grand way that will make you proud.”

  “Mario said your company is the backbone of the food and beverage supplies for casinos in Atlantic City.”

  “Correct, for many years.” Then Julie laid out her plan.

  The East Coast company would modernize a building in the Warehouse District, solely as a supplier for New Orleans casinos. The company would purchase all the meats, products, beverages, beer, and liquor from local vendors. It would warehouse and package products for daily deliveries to the casinos. The Boardwalk was much like the French Quarter with limited parking and narrow streets. This process would help keep the local businesses of the French Quarter and Canal Street clear for shoppers.

  One delivery a day to the casinos with all the food and supplies needed to operate—not ten or fifteen trucks throughout the day. It would eliminate traffic concerns, additional damage to streets, and not turn the city into a truck eyesore. If the mayor named her company as the food, beverage, and supply distributor, it would see that each local company continued operating with increased sales. The distribution warehouse would employ 150 people. An added bonus would be 100,000 dollars spent on advertising to get the mayor’s voice to the people. TV, radio, and newspapers would be flooded with positive reasoning over the next week.

  The smile left Garrett’s face as he moved from flirting to business mode. “What’s in it for your company?”

  “We can buy in volume from each vendor, more than one casino could, and still resell the product at a value. If not done this way, each casino would pay for additional warehouse space, delivery trucks, and equipment. And jam your streets during deliveries.”

  Garrett had no comeback. The East Coast company had a good rating with the Boardwalk casinos. Owned by some businessmen in New York with an excellent reputation of value products and following through on every promise. Not public was where the money came from to start the company, how it drove other suppliers out of the city, and who called the shots for the company.

  The corporation was solid, paid taxes, employed many people, and was the most successful legit business the Ferrari family had operating. Now, all under the control of Bobby Galeffi. The mayor of New Orleans was about to make a deal with the devil himself.

  Garrett walked Julie to the door. They shook hands, made a little eye contact, and he said he’d be in touch. She wasn’t even back in the limousine when Mario got a call from him. Wanted his guarantee the company could deliver. Mario told him not to trust only him—make a call to the mayor of Atlantic City. Garrett had called and that was the problem—he could find nothing negative.

  Companies
that successful have bones in their closets. Mario wanted to tell him to look harder. If it produced a drug-free city—it was a good trade-off.

  A week later, the mayor held a press conference. Mario and Howard sat in the front row. He announced the name of the company that was awarded the license for distribution to casinos in New Orleans. Garrett took credit for putting in place a distributor for food and beverages to ease traffic, increase employment, and generate millions of dollars in tax revenue for the city.

  Introduced was the president of the East Coast company, which was the holding company for all the casino distributions. He made promises the mayor hoped he’d honor.

  Garrett gave Mario and Howard a nod and that was all the recognition they wanted.

  “Are we bad people?” Mario asked Howard.

  “Was Robin Hood bad? We made a deal with the devil to take his drug business elsewhere.”

  “It’s only a matter of time for Bobby G. to squeeze the vendors out and takeover himself,” Mario said.

  “It’s a trade-off,” Howard replied. “Squeezing out vendors or keeping drugs off the streets. The mayor had to choose what’s best for the city.”

  Chapter 37

  A fleet of limousines left the building and Mario and Howard got in the last car. One headed to the car wash and picked up Big Gabe and Cyrus. Another picked up Jay at the Royal Street Grocery store, then stopped at Riverside Inn and Zack, Dave, Emma Lou, and Pearl Ann took to the back seat. In Howard’s car, he and Mario sat in the back and celebrated the occasion with champagne. At the curb of One Shell Square stood Ralph Givens. He climbed in and handed Mario an envelope.

  “The taxes are paid on your money,” Ralph said. “The investment account is deleted and the balance deposited to the account of “Not Forgotten” with enough money to operate for two years..