by Chris Laing
“Hold on, Frank. The government couldn’t intern them just because they were Italian. Most of those guys were probably Canadian citizens.”
“I know, but here’s the thing: being a member of the Mafia and an associate of racketeers and criminals was reason enough to be locked up under the War Measures Act, whether you were a citizen or not. So hundreds of Italians were scooped up from across Canada, most of them here in Southern Ontario.”
“And that’s when Magaddino –”
“You’ve got it.” We’d stopped at the traffic light on the corner of Queen Street and he turned toward me. “Magaddino and his guys swooped in to take over the remains of Rocco’s gang. And he’s been in control ever since.”
“Why didn’t Perri come back to Hamilton after his internment, to pick up where he left off?”
“Well, he sure as hell tried, didn’t he? He was released after Italy broke with Germany, sometime toward the end of ’43. But the guys in charge were loyal to Magaddino by then and, according to the Mounties, that’s when Rocco got his one-way ticket to Burlington Bay.”
Frank swung over to King Street and pulled up in front of my office. “Something else I’m curious about,” I said. “What does the FBI think my mother’s doing up here?”
He glanced toward me. “Magaddino’s a very powerful guy; he’s got connections everywhere in the U.S. and Canada; one of his cousins is Joe Bananno, head of one of the five crime families in New York City. Another cousin is Guido Tataglia in Miami and they said he’s your mother’s boss. So they’re thinking that Magaddino wanted a ‘specialist’ to deal with the out-of-control situation here in Hamilton. Someone who could get a handle on the business end of the operation, then arrange an orderly takeover for the next boss. And your mother has the experience, plus she was born and raised right here in Hamilton, so …”
He might have been describing a group of legitimate businessmen discussing plans to acquire a rival company. The type of arrangement I imagined those tycoons in Toronto made every day in their skyscrapers on Bay Street. How different were they from these gangsters, I wondered, apart from actually murdering their enemies?
“You make it sound like a routine business transaction, Frank. Magaddino calls Tataglia in Miami and orders up someone to clean house in Hamilton.”
“Because that’s what it is. And your mother fills the bill. We were told that she’s not only the accountant for the Mob down there, just like she told you – but she’s Tataglia’s right-hand woman, if you know what I mean.”
I let that sink in, knowing what he meant but not wanting to accept it. “So she’s not limited to the finances. Is that what you’re saying, Frank?”
He leaned toward me with hooded eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
I’d known deep-down that might be the real purpose of Diane Black’s presence here. But it pained me to hear it officially confirmed, and Frank remained quiet as it lodged in my brain like a tumour.
My mother, a Certified Public Accountant, a real estate mogul – and an executioner.
“So what happens now? Will the Hamilton cops do anything to protect Tedesco?”
He humphed. “Majority of the voting public says let the buggers shoot each other; it’ll save the taxpayers the cost of housing them in prison. But you know we can’t do that – not that we wouldn’t like to.” He drew in a long breath then sighed. “So we’ll do what we always do – try to keep the mayhem down to a minimum and protect the public.”
Frank remained silent while I dithered about delivering Diane Black’s proposition to him, but I couldn’t put it off any longer.
“My mother asked me to deliver a message to Russo, my police friend.”
He didn’t respond right away, maybe astonished that she’d even remembered him and knew that he was now a cop. “Well, this ought to be good. What’s the message?”
“She wants you to convince the police brass to back off for 24 hours while the Mob finishes settling accounts here. She says that police interference will only put the public at risk.”
“Hah! Not a chance, Max. Why would she even think I’d agree to that?”
I leaned toward him and lowered my voice. “She knows all about you, Frank: your wife, your kids and your salary – even the amount of your mortgage. So she offered a ‘Christmas bonus’ if you agreed to delay.”
“What?”
“A little something to help with your mortgage.”
“That’s crazy. What kind of bonus?”
“Five grand.”
His breath came out in a soft whistle, then he said, “Holy shitsky.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When I returned to my office Phyllis waved me over to her desk where she was working on her Barbara Ann Scott scrap book. “Just look at this swell picture, Max. It was in last night’s Spec.” She was sticking the photo onto a new page with a stubby bottle of LePage’s glue.
“All right if I take off my hat and coat first?”
She blushed. “Oh, sure. Here, let me give you a hand.” She bustled over to take my coat, then I had a gander at her picture.
She used the eraser end of her pencil as a pointer. “That’s the Governor General, Viscount Alexander, and he’s presenting Barbara Ann with the medal for the National Amateur Athletic Award for 1947.”
“Looks like they’re in a hockey rink.”
“Yep.” She set the pencil aside and continued to smooth the photo into place, blotting up the extra glue with a Kleenex. “Barbara Ann skated a short program during the intermission of an exhibition hockey game in Ottawa with our Olympic team. Of course, you must know that she already holds the Canadian Ladies’ Championship and the World Championship Titles for this year.”
“Oh, of course.”
“The only title remaining is the Olympic gold medal and I can hardly wait. I’m just bustin’ my buttons.”
I couldn’t help admiring her enthusiasm. “I sure hope you’re right, Phyl.”
Isabel was watching this performance with a shake of her head, then joined me in my office. “I didn’t realize you were such a big Barbara Ann fan, Max.”
“She’d better win that gold medal – for Phyllis’s sake.”
We sat at the long table by the wall where I was pleased to see two brown paper bags and a tall carafe of coffee from the White Spot.
Iz poured two cups, unwrapped an egg salad sandwich on brown from one of the bags and fixed me with a stern look. “The funeral, Max. And don’t leave anything out.”
Contrary to instructions, I gave her a quick summary, then reached for the other bag: a gooey meatball sandwich – my favourite.
“Frank wasn’t shocked at what your mother told us about Tedesco’s so-called retirement?”
I shook my head and swallowed some coffee. “Nope. The FBI already had Diane Black on their radar in connection with the Florida Mob’s activities, so when she travelled up here they informed the RCMP who contacted the Hamilton Police to keep tabs on her. At the cemetery Frank’s crew took pictures of the high rollers from out of town.”
“But what about that big bribe she wants to offer him. What did he say to that?”
“He was tongue-tied for a minute, probably enjoying a quick fantasy about paying off his mortgage. But you know Frank, he’s a straight-shooter. And he had some choice words about what she could do with her offer.”
While we ate I gave her more details about Magaddino’s mobsters who were in town for the change of command ceremonies, especially the star of the show, Freddy the Wolf.
She gathered up the waxed paper wrappers after we’d eaten and poured more coffee. “I don’t get it, Max. Are you saying there’s nothing the police can do?”
“Well, they know that Tedesco’s on his way out. And they know who’s in town to show him the door. But they don’t
know when and where it’ll happen. Their main concern is to protect the public.”
“Did you speak to your mother at the cemetery?”
“No. We were trying to be inconspicuous, watching the players through binoculars.”
She reached for my hand and gripped it. “But she might be in danger, Max. She’s right in the middle of this mess.”
I was touched by her concern, but I shook my head. “Diane Black has chosen her own path. There’s nothing I can do about that.”
After lunch, Isabel stood in the doorway, dressed for winter. “I’m on my way, Max. Meeting with Emma at her office in the Pigott Building at 1:30.”
“Still on that bank case?”
“That’s right. The police have charged the assistant manager at The Bank of Commerce with embezzling funds. And Emma’s going to have a devil of a time defending him.”
“Anything you can do?”
“Yes, I hope so. The bank has finally delivered her a copy of the records, which they claim prove the man is guilty. I hope to find something in them that she can use in her client’s defence. I’ll be there most of the afternoon but I should be back before 5:00.”
After she left I called Dave at Veterans’ Cab. “Still on duty?”
“Just off the clock, Max. Are we going for another jaunt?”
“Yeah. Can you pick me up outside Birks Jewellers in twenty minutes?”
“Pretty ritzy joint for you. You win the Irish Sweepstakes or something?
“No such luck. But I’ll be somewhere else nearby and it’s easier to meet you there. I’ll be at the curb on the King Street side.”
I cut through Gore Park and was standing at Birks jewellery counter 5 minutes later. When I’d passed by here a couple of days ago I’d noticed a fanciful display of diamond rings in the window. But I didn’t have time to go in then.
Now, I was approached by a middle-aged woman wearing a sedate black dress with a starched white collar that matched her manner. She stood tall behind her counter inspecting me, maybe wondering if I had the do-re-mi to be taking up her precious time. “I saw the diamond rings in the window,” I said, “but the prices weren’t shown.”
She gave me a wintry smile. “They start at $199.”
I caught my breath and wondered about making a discreet escape. “Ah, what about some earrings with a smaller diamond in them?”
She bent down and brought out a tray of diamond earrings from under the counter and set them before me. “Starting from your left they go up in size and also in price. The first pair contain a small diamond chip, but you’re in luck, they’re on sale for only $79.”
I bent over to have a closer look but I could hardly see that chip. “Well … they’re not bad but I was hoping to get something more … substantial for all that money. You know, when she unwraps it and sees that little blue box with the Birks name on it, she’ll be expecting something really nifty.”
Her nose tilted upward and she sniffed, “Yes, nothing says quality better than our distinctive blue box, does it?”
I leaned across the counter and lowered my voice. “How about 50 bucks for those earrings?”
“Birks doesn’t haggle over prices, Sir.”
“Well, in that case, I might just have to take my business elsewhere.”
I saw the slightest movement of her thin lips which might’ve passed for a smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Our eyes locked for a few more seconds as I buttoned up my coat and looked quickly around to ensure we wouldn’t be overheard. “Say, I was just wondering, you wouldn’t be able to sell me an empty box, would you? A couple of bucks?”
Her thin lips whitened as she pinched them together and she backed away from me as though I’d made a lewd comment. Then she pointed to the door and I scooted out of there.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dave was waiting at the curb when I made my escape from Birk’s. I slid in beside him, expecting to be given the third degree because he’d seen me hustling from its main entrance. But he didn’t ask and I didn’t tell.
While we drove east on Main Street I explained my mission this afternoon to investigate that dog fighting complaint. “Mr. Neatby is the SPCA’s lawyer,” I said, “and he wants me to take a look at the setup out there; talk to a few neighbours; see what I can learn about this guy and how he operates.”
“But if the cops haven’t been able to arrest him, what the hell can you do about it?”
I leaned across the seat and clipped him on the arm. “You’re doubting the ability of the ace detective, Bud? I’m surprised at you.”
He remained quiet until we crossed Kenilworth Avenue where he pulled over at the curb. It was unusual for him not to be jabbering about this or that, so I wondered what was on his mind. He fidgeted in his seat, glancing at me and then turning away. After a long pause, he said, “I know about dog fighting, Max.”
“What?” I shifted in my seat to face him and he stumbled over his words at first, then began again.
“I attended one of those fights when I was overseas. Remember when a lot of us Canadians were stuck in the south of England on training and garrison duty for the first couple of years of the war? We were just itching to cross the channel and get into battle. Guys in my unit were bored and anxious and one weekend a couple of the Brits told us about these dog fights they planned to attend. A few of us tagged along with them. And it was brutal, Max. I had to leave after the first fight when the loser was torn to smithereens – I hustled out behind this abandoned farm building where the fights were held and I puked my guts out.”
He was staring straight ahead now and the set of his jaw and the twitch of his facial muscles told me he was back behind that building again.
“I’ve seen photos, Dave. And they were bad enough.”
It took him a moment to pull himself together. “Okay, let’s have a look at this place. You said somewhere on Parkdale Avenue, right?”
This area was at the edge of the city; a few small houses, a tire repair shop, a couple of garages and a sprawling scrap yard. He made a left turn on Parkdale and headed toward the harbour. “A bit more snow out here than downtown,” he said. “And the houses are few and far between, eh?”
“And they’re only on the left side of the road,” I said.
He pointed toward the open expanse on our right, snow-covered except for two long cleared strips which crisscrossed at the far end. “That’s the Municipal Airport on the other side. Ever been in there, Max?”
“Nope. I thought it was closed when the new airport opened at Mount Hope.”
He slowed the cab as we watched a twin-engine plane coming in low for a landing, almost on top of us. I had to raise my voice above the roar of the aircraft, “Obviously I was wrong.”
“Yeah, it’s still a going concern here. Some of the big companies still fly their execs back and forth in their private planes. There’s also a regular transport and mail service. And the Hamilton Aero Club flies here; it’s a recreational group, and they provide flight training too.”
I watched the aircraft land with a bump, then taxi toward a low building off in the distance. “How big’s this airport?”
“This is the western boundary. It runs north to Barton Street, then all the way east to the ravine. Couple hundred acres, I think.”
“You seem to know a lot about this place, Dave. How come?”
He grunted out a laugh. “My old man was crazy about aviation. This airport was built in ‘29 and he used to bring me out here when I was a teenager. We’d watch the old biplanes taking off and landing. And there were blimps here as well. We went for a flight over the bay one time and it scared the hell out of me. That’s why I signed up for the infantry instead of the Air Force.”
“Oh yeah? And I suppose it was a helluva lot safer on that beach at Dieppe, e
h?”
“Don’t get me going on that, Max. That was one big snafu from beginning to end. The Rileys lost a lot of good men that day. And I consider myself lucky that I only came away with this.”
He held up his left hand and I saw for the first time that he was missing his last two fingers.
“Damn good thing I’m right-handed,” he said.
I kicked myself in the pants for being unaware of his injury. I felt like a jerk. “Jeez, Dave, I’ve never noticed because it doesn’t seem to bother you. I’m sorry.”
“No need. I’m used to it now and you’re right – it doesn’t hold me back much. Had to give up my career as a concert pianist though.”
I shook my head at his black humour. He had the kind of grit that set the RHLI guys apart from other soldiers I’d met – it was an attitude they wore like a badge.
“City of Hamilton owns this airport land,” he said, “and I read in The Spec that operations will be relocated to Mount Hope in the next couple years. Then this land will be used for a veterans’ housing development.”
There were fewer than a dozen houses spread out along this stretch and one or two appeared to be abandoned. “Pull over there, Dave, near that white frame place.”
He stopped by the side of the road but kept the engine running.
“I don’t see a car or truck around,” I said. “And that looks like a small barn at the far end of the driveway.”
He twisted around in his seat for a better view. “Yeah, and see that wire fencing? Could be kennels in there and maybe a dog-run. Want me to drive in so we can look around?”
“Hell, no. This guy isn’t likely to appreciate citizens dropping in uninvited, especially if he’s connected to the Mob. Let’s stop at the neighbour’s just down the road there.”