by Joe Corso
The two men had tailed guys before and were used to waiting for their target. Today they waited for two hours, until The Greek finally emerged from the bar. He was no longer carrying the package. The boys watched him pull away from the curb and head in the direction of the city. They assumed that was where he was heading, but they guessed wrong. Instead, he performed a one-eighty by making two left turns and headed back to his shack of a home. Joey Bones thought maybe he was going back home to pick up another package, a package he would never deliver. In fact, the package he had just delivered was the last he’d deliver in this lifetime.
Sure enough, The Greek headed straight home, never bothering to check his rear view mirror or to close the gate in front of his house after parking his car in his driveway. As he drew nearer to his front door, he stopped to reach in his pocket for the key. He was so busy going through his pocket, looking for his key, that he never noticed the two men approach him from behind. Shooter pressed iron against The Greek’s back while Piss Clam smiled, took the key and opened the front door. The two gunmen wore trench coats, sunglasses and fedoras, pulled low over their eyes, making it difficult if not impossible for anyone to give accurate descriptions to the police. The Greek was about to say something, but Joey hit him in the back of the head with his gun. Blood trickled down his neck and onto his sweat-stained shirt.
“Shut up and do as you’re told.”
The Greek knew he was in deep shit. Something was terribly wrong. He patted the back of his head and saw blood on his hand.
“Look, I have money and even drugs, so take whatever you want. The money is hidden under the sink in a plastic bag. Take it. It’s yours. You can even take my watch. It’s a real good watch. It was my father’s, but you can have it.”
The Greek took it off and handed it to Piss Clam, who had sold swag watches and knew the value of them. He looked at it. The Greek was right. It was a good watch, a solid gold Patek Philippe . . . too good to belong to his father.
“Where did you get this?” Shooter asked him.
“I told you. It was my father’s.”
“Bullshit. Who’d you steal it from? Tell me or I’ll smack ya on the head again with the barrel of this gun.” Shooter raised the gun threateningly.
“No! Don’t hit me. I’ll tell you. I rolled a rich drunk last week and took his wallet and this watch. Now you know. Please, take it and leave.”
Shooter reached into his trench coat pocket and took out the envelope containing the confession Tarzan had typed. He laid the letter on the table and placed a pen on top of it. “Sign this.”
The Greek picked up the paper and started to read it.
“Just sign it. Sign it now! I’m not askin’. I’m telling you. Sign the goddamned paper now.”
“What am I signin’?”
“It’s a letter of apology to that nice lady whose husband you killed.”
“Look, the guy got what he deserved. It wasn’t personal. I gave him what was coming to him.”
Joey grabbed The Greek by the neck and pointed his face at the paper. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Now, sign the paper.”
The Greek knew by signing this paper he was signing his death warrant, but what could he do? He took his time picking up the pen, and then he hesitated signing it, trying to buy more time, to maybe figure some way out of this mess. He took the pen and slowly signed the paper; then, as soon as he put the pen down, Shooter shot him up close in the temple, splattering blood and brain matter onto the paper. Piss Clam knew what was coming so he stepped behind him to avoid getting any blood splattered on him. Shooter wore gloves so he didn’t wipe the gun clean. Instead, he placed it in The Greek’s hand and pressed his fingers hard on the handle of the gun then let it fall to the floor.
“Should we search the house for his stash of drugs?” asked Piss Clam.
“No. Leave everything as it is. The cops will find the drugs if he has any, and I’m sure he does. They’ll think it was a rival gang killing. Come on, let’s get outta here.”
“Wait a minute, there’s a bundle of cash hidden under the sink. Why should the cops split it up between themselves? I’m going to take a look. Maybe he was telling the truth.”
Piss Clam ran to the kitchen and searched under the sink. On his extreme left he found the plastic packet filled with money. He counted it on the way back to the Starlight Club.
“Whew! There’s over $18,000 in this envelope. Maybe Red will let us keep some of it.”
Shooter gave Piss Clam a look that could freeze a fresh cooked omelet. “Put the money away and we’ll give it to Red. He’ll know what to do with it.”
The following day the Daily News ran a story of a suicide on the front page. But the story went on to say that the police department’s investigators were not completely convinced it was suicide because, after a search of the house, they found a large cache of drugs in the cabinet under the kitchen sink.
Red loved reading the Sunday papers. It was his way of unwinding and forgetting the problems he faced every day. This particular table was special to Red because, on a sunny morning, the sun’s rays streamed particles of light that filtered through the window by his table, which brightened his paper, making it easier to read. The front door of the Starlight Club opened and Susan Moretti walked in and waited by the door for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the large room. She spotted Red seated at his table. She came in with her head held high and walked directly to Red’s table.
“Mrs. Moretti, what a pleasant surprise. Please have a seat and join me in a cup of espresso.”
She sat opposite him and, not to seem disrespectful, said, “Espresso would be fine.”
“Do you want anything else? A biscotti perhaps?”
A shadow of a smile played on her face, but she said, “Just coffee please.”
Red motioned to Tarzan to bring two espressos.
“Well then, is there anything you wanted to say to me?”
Now a genuine smile appeared on her face. “I came here to thank you for what you did for me.”
Red acted confused. “What is it you think I’ve done for you, Mrs. Moretti?”
“Please call me Susan.” She paused before continuing. “You don’t have to say anything, but I know it was you. And I thank you for it. Please accept my apologies for my behavior the last time I was here.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Susan.” Her smile broadened when he said her name. “You were hurt terribly by what that man did and no one could blame you for feeling hurt and alone, especially me.” Red took her hand paternally in his. “Susan, I want you to know that you have a friend in Big Red. If you ever need anything, and I mean anything. A favor, perhaps, or money. Someone’s threatening you. Or even if you need someone to talk to. You come and see Big Red because we are now friends. Now, do you have a job or a means of income?” Red hadn’t realized he was still holding her hand until she gently pulled it from his grip. “I’m sorry about that.”
She nodded as she brushed aside a strand of hair around her ear. “I understand, Mr. Fortunato. As for an income, I’ll receive a small pension from the fire department and Tom had a small insurance policy that will carry me and the kids for a while. We didn’t have any savings because how could we have saved any money with my husband being a fireman?”
Red listened to every word. When she was finished he nodded in understanding, like a father. “Look, Susan, I think you came in at a very fortunate time. We were looking for someone to work at our Ford Dealership. I’ll arrange it so you can work flexible hours, so you’ll be available for your kids.” He opened his desk drawer, took a business card and wrote his personal number on it, then handed it to her. “Call the number on the front of the card for an interview. But that’s just a formality. The job is yours if you want it. If after you leave here you have any questions, call me. I wrote the number to my direct line on the back of the card. And here’s a little something to tide you over until you start work.” He took an envelope that
was lying on the table beside him and pushed it toward her.
Mrs. Moretti looked at the envelope and then at Red.
“I don’t understand. What’s in the envelope, Mr. Fortunato?”
“We took up a collection for you. I was going to give it to Doc to give to you, but since you’re here I’ll give it to you myself. There’s $15,000 in the envelope. Take it. It won’t bring your husband back but it’ll help pay some bills.”
Mrs. Moretti was a proud woman and she was about to push the envelope back towards Red, but he put his hand out and stopped her.
“Don’t be foolish, Susan. Do you want to insult some well-intentioned people, who thought you could do with a little financial help, by not accepting the money?”
She still wouldn’t touch the envelope so Red picked it up and put it in her pocket book. She nodded as tears welled up in her eyes.
She thanked him for the money and stood to leave, but he stopped her. “Susan, I told you before, I’m not a murderer and I would never kill anyone just because someone asked me to. But I like to see justice served; and I’m glad that this one time a friend of mine got some justice.”
CHAPTER 7
“Can you believe that we’re doing this shit, making movies?”
“Yeah,” Gonzo said. “I feel like a damned faggot playacting and wearing girlie makeup. Next thing you know we’ll be wearing tutus.”
Henri laughed. “You guys just don’t get it, do ya. Look at where we were and look at where we are now. For God’s sake, Swifty, we fought each other three times for chump change and now we’re making thousands of dollars a week without breaking a sweat.”
Gonzo hung his head. “Yeah, when you put it that way, I guess we have a lot to be thankful for.”
Swifty agreed. “Before all this happened, between fights I would have dug ditches to make a few extra bucks.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I didn’t look at it that way,” Gonzo chimed in.
When the boys arrived in Hollywood to begin their career in moving pictures, Swifty insisted they live with him at his house on Mulholland Drive in the Hollywood Hills. Gonzo and Henri gladly accepted Swifty’s invitation because the three boys hadn’t been separated since they entered the army, and they enjoyed each other’s company. Swifty had a gym installed at the studio, and when he wasn’t needed on the set he’d work out at the gym to stay in shape for his next fight. He made sure he worked his schedule so he could both train and make a movie. At the studio, when they were on the lot working on the picture together, they were called The Three Musketeers. Their parts in their current film were almost completed and they wouldn’t be needed on the set for the next few days, so they were told to report to work on Tuesday. Rather than go to a restaurant tonight for dinner they decided they would have Maria, the housekeeper and cook Moose had hired when he bought the house for Swifty, prepare a delicious Italian dinner for them.
After dinner the boys relaxed in their favorite room, the den. Swifty and Henri made themselves comfortable on the couch while Gonzo settled his big frame opposite them in the leather recliner. Gonzo hadn’t said anything for a few minutes, apparently lost in thought. Henri noticed and cleared his throat once. Then he did it again, bringing Gonzo back from wherever he had been. They noticed he was grinning.
Henri said, “Must have been somewhere nice with that big grin on your face.”
Gonzo smiled. “I was just thinking about when we were in Japan and the good times we had in Yokahama, and especially Makaniecho.”
Swifty slapped his thigh, laughing. “Who couldn’t have had a good time in a town of whorehouses that extended as far as the eye could see in either direction. I felt like a kid in a candy shop. Remember Rusty?”
Gonzo clapped his hands and laughed. “Who could ever forget a girl who had a mouth full of different kinds of metallic teeth? One tooth was silver, another gold, and another looked like it was rusted.”
“Yeah, but did you see the body on that girl? And do you remember how we met her?” Henri asked.
But before Swifty could reply Gonzo spoke, hardly containing his ear to ear grin. “That was the time when we didn’t reserve girls for the night because we were late leaving Camp Zama; and when we got to Makaniecho we had a helluva time finding girls to spend the night with.”
Swifty laughed. “Remember what the Mama Sans told us when they had no more girls available?”
“Yeah,” Henry jibed. “They offered to sleep with us themselves.”
The guys laughed so hard they held their stomachs.
Henri added, “Remember that one Mama San who told us to come with her because she tried to convince us she still had girls available at her place?”
“Yeah, we didn’t believe her, but we followed her back to her place and that’s where we met Rusty. I got her and Gonzo, you didn’t do too bad because the Mama San wasn’t lying. There was another girl available and, not only did you get her, you got lucky because she was a real beauty.”
Henri chuckled and turned to face Swifty. “Man, Swifty, if Gonzo got lucky then you got mega lucky that night. Mama San had a cousin staying with her whose boyfriend stood her up and was she pissed off! She was pretty drunk when she came walking down those three steps, but when she got a look at you she agreed to spend the night with you, probably to spite her dumb boyfriend. Now what’s the chances of that happening?”
Swifty smiled, thinking about the girl. “She was a beautiful girl, that’s for sure.”
Henri agreed. “She wasn’t just beautiful. She had a body on her that wouldn’t quit. It was perfect for childbearing.”
They all laughed.
“Boy was that a surprise,” recalled Swifty. “I never expected to find such a pretty girl available that late in the evening, but hell, we all got lucky that night.”
“Not so lucky the next day though,” Henri said.
“Yeah, well, how were we supposed to know we were in the communist part of town and that a bunch of meathead commies would be waiting for us when we left the place?” Gonzo thought about that for a moment. “You know, come to think of it, with all those commie Japs waiting for us we were damned lucky not to get hurt.”
“Yeah, but there were only five of them,” Swifty said, “and they weren’t expecting us. They thought we were young, inexperienced soldiers who wouldn’t know how to take care of ourselves. They figured they would teach us an easy lesson to keep us away from their women, but they picked on the wrong guys.”
Gonzo nodded. “That’s for sure. We kicked their asses and they never forgot it, because they never bothered us again after that day.”
“Well . . . that’s not entirely true,” Henri said. “Did you forget the time when we couldn’t find three girls from the same whorehouse and we had to split up? Me and Gonzo found two whores in one house but you went back to the old Mama San’s place and stayed with her cousin. The next morning three of those young commies came for you.”
Swifty laughed. “My girl Satchico was returning from the lady’s room when she heard them say they were going to hurt the American real good. She came running into the room excited as hell, telling me that communist Boy Sans were coming upstairs to hurt me. You never seen a guy leave a place so fast. I put my shirt on, grabbed my tie, pants and shoes and then, holding all of my clothes in my hands and under my arms, I climbed out the second floor window. When I stepped onto the roof, or what passed for a roof, my feet kept going through the rice paper they used as a covering. Lucky for me there was a Volkswagen taxi stand next door. I hopped in a cab and had him drive me to the base.”
Henri smiled, tilted his head and lifted one eyebrow. “Yeah, but that didn’t teach you a lesson did it? You’re a glutton for punishment.”
Swifty wore a pained expression but couldn’t help smiling. “I know where you’re going with this. So why don’t you tell me what you mean.”
Henri pointed his finger at him and looked at Gonzo. “I don’t think you heard this story, Gonz. This crazy bastard we
nt back there.”
“Damn right I did. Only this time I went back there with a loaded 45. I didn’t tell Satchico about the gun, but the next morning she came running into the room screaming that communist Boy Sans were coming for me again. I got off the bed and put my pants on, then lay back on the bed and told her to show them in. When they came crashing in the room I slid the 45 from under the pillow, pulled the receiver back and chambered a round. You guys know how loud it sounds when you pull back the receiver then let it slam forward. It’s a frightening sound, especially to those young heroes. They fell over themselves trying to be the first to leave the room. They didn’t want any part of me or my gun.”
Gonzo said, “Geez, I didn’t hear this part of it. What did you do then?”
“I dressed, went downstairs and walked into Papa San’s bedroom while he was still in bed. I made sure he could see the gun in my hand, then placed the barrel at his temple. I had to back off a little because he was shaking so badly, and I didn’t really want to hurt him. I only wanted to scare him. But the way he was shaking I was afraid the gun might go off by accident and kill the guy. But things worked out good after that, because from that day on I never had a problem again.”
“Man, I never heard that story before. Why didn’t you tell me you were gonna do that? I would have come with you. You should have told me about it,” Gonzo said.
“I told you about it. You knew I had a problem with some kids and I told you I handled it.”
“Yeah, I remember you telling me you handled it, but you didn’t tell me about the rest of it.”
“Wasn’t important.” Swifty dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “If it was I would have told you.”
“Whatever happened to Satchico?” asked Henri.
“That, my friend, was the scariest part of my entire time in Japan.” That remark got his two friends’ attention.