by Joe Corso
Red was about to close up shop for the day and get ready for the dinner crowd when Piss Clam knocked on his door.
“Yeah, what is it, Piss Clam.”
“Boss, Gary Wilson, who runs the Sundance social club, is here. Says he has to speak to you in private for a moment.”
Red sighed and sat back heavily in his chair. “Send him in.”
Gary was a laid back kid with a shock of light brown hair, of average height and in his mid twenties.
“What can I do for you, Gary?”
“Red, I’m having problems with a guy who wants to take over the setups in my place. I don’t want the guy, don’t need the guy and I told him that to his face. He tells me he could offer me protection which I never needed before. I told him I don’t need any protection. The next morning I found a garbage pail was thrown through the front plate glass window of my place. Ten minutes later Nicky walks in and he acts all surprised like. ‘This would never happen if I was your partner,’ he said. I told him I didn’t want a partner, and the next day the same thing happened. Red, I don’t know what to do or who to go to for help, so I came to see you.”
Red opened the humidor on his desk, took a Cuban Montecristo and lit it. He waved the smoke from his face. “You did the right thing coming to see me. If you would have allowed Nicky to handle the setups, in a month he would have told you to get out, and you would have to get out because you can’t argue with a gun. You did the right thing. Go on home now and don’t worry about anything. I’ll have someone meet you at your place in the morning and we’ll take care of this matter. I can’t have anyone shaking down a neighborhood business.”
The next morning the hulking figure of Trenchie filled the doorway. He hesitated a moment before stepping inside the dark atmosphere of the social club. He waited for a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. His eyes narrowed when he saw the garbage pail lying inside the store, about four feet in front of the window. He walked up to the closest table, pulled up a chair and sat by the broken window. Although it was just eleven in the morning he lit up a cigar while he waited. Gary brought a tray over with a pot of espresso and a small bottle of sambuca and poured Trenchie a cup. Trenchie nodded but didn’t say anything. Gary knew who Trenchie was. In fact, everyone knew him by reputation and Gary was glad he was on his side. Forty-five minutes later Nicky walked in and spotted Gary cleaning a table, but his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dim light so he wasn’t aware of Trenchie sitting there, staring at him.
“Well, how about it? Do you want this to happen every night? I told you if I was your partner this wouldn’t happen. I’d take care of things like this.”
“And who would it be that takes care of you, tough guy.” The ominous voice of Trenchie shattered the stillness of the room. Nicky turned around to see Trenchie’s large form rising by the window. “Come over here. We need to talk.”
Nicky was a product of the streets and knew enough about street protocol to comply. He pulled up a chair and sat opposite Trenchie.
Trenchie pushed back his fedora. “You see that sticker in the window?” he said, pointing to a sticker on the glass still sitting in its frame. “This place is protected by us. Gary here pays five dollars a month for protection, so I’d like to hear why he needs your protection when he has us?”
Nicky knew he couldn’t win this argument, so he replied meekly, “I didn’t know this place was protected by Big Red’s outfit.”
“Yeah, well now you know. This kid paid for three broken windows and my question to you is how are you going to pay him, cash or money order?”
Nicky was sweating now. He hadn’t expected the very dangerous mobster Trenchie Savanola to be there this morning. “I’ll have to come back tomorrow with some cash.”
Trenchie shook his head. “Not good enough. I want the cash now.’ He called out to Gary who was in the back cleaning the bar. He didn’t want to be any part of their conversation and had made himself scarce.
“Yes, Trenchie?”
“Get the bills for the window replacement and bring them over to me.”
Trenchie glanced at the bills. $150.00 a day for three days. “Pay the man $450.00. Come on, I know you have it on you.” Gary reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of bills and counted out $450.00. He handed it to Trenchie. “Give it to Gary. He’s the one who you owe the money too, not me.” Nicky handed Gary the money and, as he did, he looked at him as if he were a dead man. Trenchie picked up on it. “Does that cover your expenses, Gary?”
“Yeah, Trenchie, it does.”
“Good. Now, go in the back and continue doing whatever it was you were doing while I finish talking to Nicky. Look, tough guy, if anything happens to that kid, I’ll figure that it was you that did it to him, and I’ll come looking for you. Now I have a little advice for you. It would behoove you to make sure that nothing happens to Gary because as of this moment, Gary is your life insurance policy. If he were to get hit by lightning or struck down by a car or if he happens to commit suicide, I will hold you responsible for it and I will come looking for you. And there is no place on this good earth that you can hide from me. I will find you and I will put one right smack in the center of your forehead.” Trenchie pressed his finger in the center of Nicky’s forehead and pushed his head back hard. “Right there.”
Gary appeared busy but he heard everything Trenchie said.
“You can go now, Nicky, but do like I said and make sure nothing happens to your insurance policy.”
After a sweating Nicky closed the door behind him, Trenchie stood by the door where he couldn’t be seen. He watched to make sure Nicky had left.
“You shouldn’t have any more trouble with Nicky. He knows better than to try anything now that he’s been warned. I’m the last guy in the world he would want looking for him and he knows it. But . . . If you should have any further problems give Red a call and I’ll take care of it.”
Without another word, Trenchie opened the door and walked away, leaving Gary to ponder what had just happened.
CHAPTER 19
Gonzo, Henri and Swifty had just about finished Legionnaires, a movie loosely based on the 1939 movie Gunga Din, with a few close-ups needed to complete Swifty’s part.
Swifty had trained hard for this fight. If he won, then his next fight would be for the middleweight championship. He was undefeated and looking forward to getting past this fight. The middleweight title was the one thing he wanted more than anything else in the world, even an Oscar. With Bernstein’s blessing he was pulled away from the picture in order to fulfill his boxing obligation.
Henri and Gonzo were in Manhattan at Stillman’s gym watching Swifty train. Red was in his corner with Gil Clancy.
“How does he look, Gil?”
“He looks good, but that’s not what I’m worried about. He’s fighting a classy boxer from Harlem who’s also undefeated. It’s too bad we couldn’t fight for the championship right now. I feel better fighting the champ than this upcoming Parker fight.”
Red’s head tilted and his eyes narrowed as he focused on Clancy, not liking what he was hearing. “Come on, Gil. Level with me. What’s buggin’ ya?”
Clancy ran his hand through his hair. “Styles, Red, styles. Styles make the fight. The champ is made to order for Swifty, but Slick Parker has a style like Henri’s, and you remember how that worked out. Yeah! That’s right, three draws. Only this guy Parker is not only a slick boxer, he also packs a punch. If you ask me, I think Frankie Carbo set this up knowing this fight would probably call for rematch. He’d make a ton of money with this fight and the rematch.”
Red pondered this. “Yeah, that makes sense. Carbo could have had Swifty fight the champ, but instead he insisted that Swifty fight this guy first. What do ya think, Gil, is Swifty in trouble?”
“Well, it’s gonna be a tough fight either way. Don’t count Swifty out, though. That kid’s no quitter and he’s got a champion’s heart. If he lands his right hand he’ll knock this kid out.”
&nb
sp; Red nodded. “Keep working on him. I have some business to care of. I’ll talk to you later.”
Red joined his men waiting outside. They got in their car and headed to Queens and the condom factory.
Red’s men huddled in the inner doorway in sight of everyone as an intimidation factor, while Red strolled through the factory, where smooth, metal phallic symbols were perched on rows upon rows of desks. Young girls placed rubbers over the upright metal in a smooth motion, thus encapsulating it. Then they expertly rolled the condom up the metal shaft and placed it on a moving, sanitized conveyer belt, which took it to another station for final packaging.
Red didn’t look right or left, he just kept his eye on the manager’s station and walked towards it. A timid looking man in his late forties or early fifties sat behind the desk and looked at Red.
“Yes, can I help you?”
Red smiled. “Yes, I’m looking for the person in charge.”
“That would be Mr. Smith. He’s in his office. Wait a moment while I buzz him.”
He clicked a button on the intercom and a few minutes later the door opened and a large, gruff looking man walked out. He eyed Red up and down.
“Can I help you with something?”
“Yes you can. My name is Big Red Fortunato and this is my place.”
The man stiffened, as if he knew that someday this man would show up. But he knew the rules and played by them. “Come on in the office and we’ll talk while I pack my things.”
Red didn’t say anything. He knew the guy was just a soldier following orders but he was still wary. He didn’t figure the guy would try anything foolish. Red knew he’d noticed his men waiting in plain sight by the exit. The man put out his hand. “Charlie Tambasco, but everyone calls me Charlie Smiles.”
Red took his hand and shook it. “Glad to see you’re cooperating, Charlie Smiles.”
“Hey! This is just business, nothing personal. I just follow orders. But to tell you the truth, I was wondering when you would show up. I was hopin’ it would be soon because I wanted to get this over with. You know, you comin’ in here like you did and takin’ your place back like you’re doin’. Because I don’t like wonderin’ what’d happen when you did get here. I kept wondering if you’d come in here blastin’, or do we talk, like we’re doin’ now.”
For the next half hour the two men talked almost as friends, with Red trying to pick Charlie’s brains. Red looked around. “Why pick this place?”
“This place is just as good as any other. If it wasn’t this it’d be some other place. Besides, this place was easy pickings. Nobody here would give us a hard time. All you have is a bunch of broads and a frightened little guy out front who doesn’t even know who owns the place.”
Red nodded. What he said made sense. ”Where are your other men?”
Charlie smiled. “You picked up on that, eh? Well that’s good, ’cause I don’t want any fireworks goin’ off in here. Someone’s liable to get hurt. There’s just three of us here. The other two took a walk down the street to pick up some sandwiches for lunch.”
Red motioned to Tarzan. “Keep your eye out for two men. They went to get sandwiches and should be back any minute.”
The two men were surprised to see Tarzan and Trenchie waiting for them as they walked through the doors. Trenchie, as usual, was silent, but the scowl on his face and his very presence told the two Boston men that they could be in trouble. Tarzan, on the other hand, just glared at them before pointing toward the office while holding a gun by his side. All the ladies, busy at work, knew enough to mind their own business; but they knew something serious was happening, and each hoped that, whatever it was, it wouldn’t explode into violence. They shrank, trying to make themselves as small as possible, as these hard men walked by their station heading to the office.
Red told the men, “Pack your bags ’cause you’re leaving town today. And you can tell that boss of yours that if he tries anything like this again, there’ll be an all out war.”
As Charlie got up to leave, Red stopped him. “Wait a minute, Charlie. I want to talk to you for a minute.”
Charlie stepped back in the office and took a seat. “I’m listenin’.”
“I’m tellin’ you to leave town cause I’m protective of what’s mine, and besides, it ain’t healthy for you guys bein’ here. My men are pissed off at what your boss is pulling and they have itchy trigger fingers. You handled yourself like a pro today and because of that you’ll live to see tomorrow. Now get outta here and tell your boss what I said. Oh, and Charlie . . . If we go to war, I hope I don’t run into you.”
Charlie smiled. He knew what Red meant and felt the same way.
CHAPTER 20
The two men were in Frankie Carbo’s office in the Garden.
“How’s he look, Gil?”
Clancy dabbed the sweat from his brow with the towel hanging over his shoulder. Then he looked at Red with a concerned expression on his face. “I would have rather passed on this fight, Red. This guy’s style is too much like Henri’s, only he’s a bigger version of him. I just wish we had the championship and then we could think about taking this guy on.”
“You’re making me nervous, Gil. Is Swifty up for this fight or not?”
“Oh, he’s up for it all right. It’s all he thinks about. He’s in shape and he has the right mental attitude. He wants to be champ so bad, he can’t think of anything else.”
Red took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So what are we worried about then? So far the kid has lived up to everyone’s expectations.”
“This guy’s style is gonna give Swifty trouble tonight. I’m not saying he won’t take the guy. I’m just sayin’ this fight won’t be a walk in the park.”
Red was losing his patience. Swifty was like the son he never had. He didn’t want him to get hurt. “For Christ’s sake, Gil, can he win or can’t he?”
“Of course he can win. You can’t count this kid out. Like I said before, he’s got a great chin and he has the heart of a champ.”
Red relaxed a little after hearing Gil explain his concerns. He pulled a cigar from the leather case in his jacket pocket and lit it. He offered one to Clancy who shook his head.
“Don’t use them, but thanks anyway.”
Red put the case back. “Okay, let’s get back to the dressing room. The fight’s about to start.”
While waiting for the call to the ring, Swifty shadowboxed in front of a mirror to work up a sweat. It’s not good for a fighter to enter the ring cold because he risks getting knocked out early. That’s why a fighter will jump up and down and dance around the ring while waiting for the introductions to be made. He doesn’t want to cool off, so he dances around on his toes to keep up a sweat.
“How do you feel, kid? Get this fight out of the way and the next fight you have will be for the championship. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds like a dream come true, Red. I can’t wait to be champ.”
Red nodded and patted Swifty on the shoulder. “Then go out there and knock this bum out and let’s go home early.”
Swifty smiled. He knew Red was worried about him. It felt good having a guy like Red in his corner looking out for him.
The door opened and a short man wearing a rumpled, grey, pin-striped suit bellowed loudly, “The main event is next. You’re on in five minutes.”
Swifty stopped shadowboxing and put on his robe. Gil put a clean towel around Swifty’s neck, pulled his hood up over his head, covering most of his face to keep him warm, and then tied his robe closed. Then the entourage, consisting of Swifty, Clancy, Red, and Ray O’Connell, Swifty’s ex-manager and now his cut man, left the dressing room and began the long walk past aisles of adoring, screaming, hysterical fans toward the steps leading into the ring.
After the classy, blond, Fred-Astaire-thin announcer, Jimmy Lennon, introduced the fighters, Ruby Goldstein, the referee, gave the men their instructions. The two fighters went to their respective corners, waiting for the bell to st
art the fight.
CLANG!
The two fighters cautiously circled one another, trying to get a feel for the other’s style of fighting. Sure, the two fighters watched 16mm films of their opponent and sure, they had a game plan worked out. When they were in the ring they stuck to their game plan as much as they could. But, generally, what they expected went out the window as the fight took on a life of its own.
The first round was a feel-him-out round and was tough to score. During the second round, Parker frustrated Swifty by giving him a boxing lesson. Whenever Swifty threw a punch, the punch hit air. Somehow Parker wasn’t there; and Parker made Swifty pay for his mistakes by peppering him with jabs, followed by heavy left and right hand combinations. When Swifty returned to his corner after the second round, Gil Clancy was not happy, watching the cut man apply the end-swell to his now swelling right eye. Each following round was like the previous one, where Parker jabbed and danced, frustrating Swifty Card. He was powerless to mount an effective counter to the classy Parker’s masterful boxing lesson.
In Clancy’s eyes, Swifty lost six of the first eight rounds. He had to do something to salvage the fight, but he couldn’t think of anything Swifty could do to catch Parker. But as the fight progressed Clancy noticed something in Parker’s style. So at the end of the eighth round Clancy told Swifty about a flaw in Slick Parker’s boxing style.
“Swifty, pay attention and listen to me carefully. In this round I want you to feint with your right as if you’re gonna throw it, and at the same time I want you to follow with a left hook. Remember: feint with your right hand, and at that exact moment follow with your left hook. You got that?”
Swifty nodded as Clancy put his mouthpiece in. “Yeah, I got it.”