by Joe Corso
When dinner ended, Red excused himself from the table, went to the podium and took the microphone. “Excuse me ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “The last time I was at this podium, two things happened. One was when my friend Trenchie proposed to his beautiful wife Mary. The second was when I introduced a young man from the neighborhood by the name of James Roman. Do you remember him?” Applause and whistles filled the room. “Well, tonight it has to do with Trenchie and Mary again. Tonight we’re celebratin’ an addition to The Starlight Club – a little Trenchie Jr,” he laughed. “Okay, maybe a little Mary Jr., but I say it’s a boy, but. . . I did not invite you here to The Starlight Club to listen to me talk about my friends and their babies. So, let’s just all toast to Trenchie and Mary and get back to havin’ a good time. And just to make sure of that, I have a little treat for you.” Red turned and looked behind him at the curtains. “You boys can come out now.” A ten-piece band emerged from behind the stage and began filling the stage with their instruments. “Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome . . . Mr. Jerry Vale.” The crowd went crazy. Vale, one of the most popular male vocalists in America walked out to thunderous applause. Seems Red had called his buddies at the famous Copa Cabana in Manhattan and asked him if they could arrange to get Jerry Vale, Vic Damone, or even the impossibly hard to get Frank Sinatra, for a one night affair at The Starlight Club. Money was no object. Red received a call from the Copa a short time later – Vale was available.
Red was at his table, fully engaged in conversation and enjoying the big band sounds, when Ralph and Gibby walked over. They apologized for interrupting and asked him for a private moment. Red led them to a quiet table far from the other guests. Ralph did the talking while Gibby scanned the room, as was his habit, making sure there was nothing unusual that might require some attention.
“We heard that you have a problem,” Ralph said. “I want you to know that me and Gibby are available if you need us.” Red embraced Ralph.
“Thanks guys. I didn’t call you because you don’t work for me – you work for the Genovese’s.”
Ralph nodded and said, “Understood, but we can still help our friends on our own time so don’t worry about that. Call us if you need us.” Red smiled at Ralph’s offer.
“I hope it doesn’t come to that, but it’s nice to know that I can still count on you guys.”
The two men turned to leave then Ralph looked back at Red and said, “Thanks for invitin’ us Red. It was a great party.”
chapter twelve
Jacky Piss Clam was on the phone bringing Red up to speed on what was happening at the Zebra Club.
“Boss, you were right. Those two guys came back last night and threatened Jake. They said that unless he pays them protection money, they’ll hurt him first and then wreck his bar.” Red frowned. He was not a happy camper.
“You guys didn’t do anything to them, did ya?” Red asked.
“Nope. We figured we’d call you first and fill you in.”
“Good. Come on back to the club. I don’t want to talk on the phone. We’ll discuss it when you get here.” When Shooter and Piss Clam arrived at The Starlight Club, Red was waiting for them by the front door. Instead of going into his soundproof office to discuss the situation, he motioned for the guys to follow him into the lot across the street. Once there, they walked into the mechanic’s office, out a side door to a mechanics bay, and through another door in the rear that opened into a small area just large enough for a picnic table. Red swept The Starlight Club every three days for bugs to weed out inquiring minds. Even though it was probably safe to talk there, he was never one for taking chances. He didn’t want some snooping feds eavesdropping, using one of their remote devices. He motioned for the men to come closer. “I want you guys to camp out at the Zebra Club and keep a sharp eye out for those guys. The next time those two morons come into the club, I want you to nab ‘em and take ‘em to the new baseball stadium under construction at Flushing Meadows. Take ‘em right to the area where the cement trucks pour concrete into the forms, the forms that make the up walls of the stadium and then . . . plug both of ‘em. I wanna make a statement with these two guys. Don’t make ‘em part of the architecture. Just leave ‘em there. I want ‘em found. I want ‘em seen. I wanna send a message to Detroit that you can’t just waltz into Queens and take over our territories. Not gonna happen.”
When morning arrived, Piss Clam and Shooter met Jake at his home and followed him to work. They parked their car in the Zebra Club’s small employee parking lot at the rear of the club. Satisfied that everything inside checked out, they would seat themselves at a table in the corner with a bird’s eye view of the front door. With two fingers, they motioned for Jake to bring two coffees to the table and that was the routine for two days. Red’s men became constant fixtures at the Zebra Club all throughout the day. They were there when the club opened and left when Jake locked the front door. They followed Jake home, keeping a discreet distance. They waited outside for the living room light to blink twice – Jake’s message that no one but his family was in the house. Once the signal was given, they drove slowly past the cars parked near Jake’s house, checking for anything suspicious.
On the third day, a Thursday, the bar wouldn’t open until noon. Two men walked into the Zebra Club shortly after it opened and headed straight to the bar. They didn’t notice Shooter and Piss Clam sitting at their table hidden in the shadows – the one that gave them a view of both entrances. Jake was busy cleaning the bar when the two men grabbed the damp cloth from his hand. Satisfied that they had his attention, one man said, “You got money for us?”
Jake answered, “Look guys. I’m already paying Big Red Fortunato for protection. I can’t be giving money to the two of you. It’s just not right
“This has nothing to do with fair,” the man who appeared to be the leader sneered. “Where’s Big Red’s protection when you need it Jake? Why isn’t Big Red protecting you now?”
At that moment, Shooter shot out of his chair and said, “His protection is right behind you . . . shithead,” he said. The men were startled. Shooter continued, “Put your hands on the bar where I can see ‘em and don’t make any funny moves or I’ll drill ya . . . right where you stand.” Shooter was standing there unarmed, barking orders. Both men, as fast as a snake, went for their guns but Shooter’s gun was out and aimed at them before they could clear their holsters. Shooter nodded to Piss Clam. “Get their guns and do a search. Check the ankles, guys.” Piss Clam patted down both men. He found one ankle gun and placed it with the others onto the bar. Shooter picked up one gun, put it in his coat pocket, and told Jake to put the others somewhere safe. Piss Clam began going through their wallets until he found their Detroit licenses. Shooter reached into the side pocket of his jacket and pulled out the two sets of handcuffs that Red had given him and handed them to Jake. Jake cuffed both men’s wrists and Shooter and Piss Clam headed out the door, one gun to one man each, and right in the small of their backs. Shooter sat in the back of the rental car with one of the men and trained his gun on the nape of the neck of the other as he ordered him to drive, handcuffed, toward the construction site of the new baseball stadium. Piss Clam followed in Red’s car. The driver, all the way there, kept warning Shooter that they worked for a powerful Detroit family, that there would be severe retaliations if anything happened to them. He kept shooting his off his mouth about a second Valentine’s Day massacre. Shooter just kept answering, “Yeah, yeah. You’re scarin’ me. Now shut up and drive.”
They parked both cars near the future site of the home team dugout. Shooter ordered the two men to stay in the car. He got out, walked around to the driver’s side, opened the door, and without so much as a word, shot them both, point blank, using the gun that had been removed from one of the now dead men. Gunshots reverberated throughout the empty stadium. Piss Clam sat patiently, seemingly unfazed at the shots. He watched as the flashes lit up like little fireworks. Shooter removed the handcuffs from each man and placed t
hem into his pocket. And as a final parting message to Detroit, he put the barrel of the gun close to the face of each man and methodically shot him again, rendering each man virtually unrecognizable. Then Shooter meticulously wiped the gun clean and threw it into the back seat.
chapter thirteen
Red was on the phone tying up some loose ends so he could leave for the West Coast on Monday with some sort of peace of mind. One loose end was his three fighters. Red phoned Benny Spinoza, the fight card manager for Sunnyside Gardens, and apologized for calling him at home on a Sunday morning. He expressed to him that he was leaving town and wanted a match scheduled for all three boxers before he left. Spinoza was only too happy to accommodate Red’s request. All three were amazing fighters – a good draw for boxing fans. Swifty and Henri were popular fighters in Queens and Benny’s customers remembered the three tough fights they had with each other. Now Red was offering him a third fighter, a heavyweight. A good heavyweight on the card always filled the house. Benny knew that Red wouldn’t send him a stiff. He quickly agreed to line up a fight for the guys. He placed Red on hold for on a moment and returned to say, “Okay Red. I have an opening on Saturday night August the third, three weeks from now. Does that work for you?” Red settled back into his chair.
“That sounds great Benny, thanks.”
“Okay it’s confirmed.” Benny said. “Send me some mug shots and stats and have your boys at the arena by seven pm. They’ll be the three final bouts of the evening. Your heavyweight will fight the main event. Fans love watching a heavyweight bout.” Red was pleased.
“I’ll have the boys there by seven. Thanks again Benny.” When he hung up Red leaned back, once again, into the plush leather chair, pleased that business was moving along, including that issue that Shooter and Piss Clam had resolved.
Gonzo was the only unknown in these fights and Red wondered how he would do. He knew that the other two fighters would put on a good show, but Gonzo was a question mark. His record wasn’t bad. Fifteen wins, thirteen by knockout, two losses – not bad he thought. Red smiled, knowing that Gonzo had been training with Swifty and Henri. He knew those boys would motivate him and get him into shape.
Moose placed three large chairs around the large desk in Red’s office. When the Henri, Gonzo, and Swifty arrived, Red told the three boys that he was leaving town on unexpected business. “But I have some good news for you. I’ve scheduled fights for all three of you for Saturday, three weeks from now, at Sunnyside Gardens. I’ll be back in time, but until then I hired Gil Clancy, the best in the business, to train you, and if for some reason I can’t get back, you listen to him. He’s waitin’ right now for the three of you at Stillman’s gym. So scram. Train hard and listen to him.”
“How do you know Gil Clancy?” Swifty asked.
“His father was a commercial artist.”
“What’s that?” Swifty sort of mumbled.
“He’s a guy who designs and paints signs for a store. He lives in Rockaway Beach. I did him a few favors. That’s where I met his son Gil Clancy Jr. Satisfied?”
“Yeah. Thanks Red. I was curious that’s all.” Red nodded in acknowledgment and then pointed to Gonzo.
“I checked your record. It’s a good one and you won those fights without really trainin’ for them. Put your heart into what Clancy tells you and you’ll all be champions. Now, I don’t know if you know it or not but I never really intended on gettin’ in the fight game. I just got into this racket because Swifty was nothing but a lazy sonnuva bitch going nowhere – aggravated the hell out of me whenever I thought about him. He would have just kept partyin’ if I hadn’t stepped in and bought his contract. Now, I don’t want any bullshit from any of you. I wanna be proud of you so train hard, fight hard, do your best and leave the rest to me. Listen to Gil Clancy and learn what he has to teach you. It just might secure your future. Your fight is three weeks from now so get in shape and be at the arena by seven pm on fight night. Oh and Gonzo . . . you’re fightin’ the main event so make sure you’re in shape for it because I wasn’t told who you guys will be fightin’.” Red turned to Swifty and Henri, tilted his chin downward and sternly said, “But that won’t matter if you’re in shape.” He was sending them a message, one that wasn’t lost on the boys. Red didn’t like laziness. “Now get out of here. I want you at Stillman’s gym in an hour. Got that?”
Swifty looked at Red and said, “Red, Stillman’s is on Eighth Avenue in Manhattan. That’s four blocks from Madison Square Garden and that’s all the way over on the West side. We’ll never make it in an hour.” Red nodded.
“Then get there as soon as you can and don’t make any stops on your way there, understand?” The boxers unanimously nodded. “Now go train hard and make me proud. I don’t like being embarrassed.”
Next on the agenda was Moose. He didn’t know it yet, but he and Frankie the cop, were going to be in charge of the club while Red was gone. He wanted and needed Trenchie and Tarzan in California with him. Red thought for a moment and decided that more was better. He’d take Shooter and Piss Clam, too. Red called Shooter and told him to pack a bag. Then he called Piss Clam and gave him the same instructions. Next, he called John Morgenstein and told him to book five seats on whatever flight he was taking to the west coast and gave him the names. Morgenstein was eager to do so and assured Red that it was no problem, that everything was considered a company expense, a major company expense for that matter. There was still one dangling little thread that needed attention before he could tie the final knot and leave in peace. Charlie “Tag” Tagorelli picked up on the second ring.
“Tag here.”
“Tag, it’s Red.”
“Red, is that really you? Christ, it’s been a while. How can I help you?”
“I got a little business to take care of in California. I’m flyin’ into LAX with four business associates and I need some office products. If you could meet me there, I’ll give you a complete list, but for now, here are some of them. I’ll need some regular staple guns and one or two automatic staplers, the ones that hold the large staples. Do you have any in stock?”
“Yeah, I have a few left.”
“Good. I’ll need a few lighters too. Some of the guys still smoke. Nasty habit. Do you have any in stock?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact I have a few Zippos, the custom Zippos, so they’re gonna cost you a little more than the regular ones. Not many people smoke any more but I have what you’re lookin’ for in stock.”
“Good. How fast can I get ‘em?”
“Well, I’ll meet you at the airport, get your full order and go back to the warehouse. I should have them for you later in the evening.”
“That’s great Tag. I’ll call you back when I confirm the flight info.”
Red said and hung up the phone. Red had just told Tagorelli that he needed two assault weapons, a few hand grenades and some other guns.
chapter fourteen
The plane took off from LaGuardia at two twenty–five in the afternoon and arrived at LAX at four twenty five–pm west coast time. Charlie Tags was waiting by the luggage carousel. Red spotted him right away and waved to get his attention. He mouthed, “I’ll be right there.”
Red instructed his men to wait for the baggage and he walked toward Charlie. In typical Italian fashion, the two men embraced – two old friends exchanging fond hellos. They hadn’t seen each other in person for a while. Red tilted his head toward the door and the two men headed outside, through the automatic doors, away from the crowds, where they could have a more private conversation. They stepped out into the hot Southern California sun. Nearby, they found a shady spot, in an alcove near the doors leading in and out of the airport.
“It’s great to see you Red. It’s been too long,” Tag said.
“Yes it has. It’s good to see you too, Tag.” Red waited a moment before speaking while Tag lit up a smoke. “You still smokin’? Didn’t your mother tell you smokin’s not good for you?”
“I know. I kno
w. One of these days I’ll stop, but for now it calms me, ya know? I cut down a lot and now I smoke half of what I used to, but even cutting down like I did, I still smoke too much.” Red tried not to be obvious as he looked around making sure that there were no ears listening. He reached into his jacket pocket and palmed a slip of paper which he handed to Tag.
“These are the other items.”
Tag glanced at it and said, “A single action Colt? You gotta be kidding me . . . a six shooter? Who uses that gun in this day and age?” Red smiled.
“Yeah I hear you, but one of my men specializes in this weapon. He’s as deadly a shooter and as fast a draw artist as any of the old time gunfighters so I’d appreciate it if you could locate one for him. You’ll be paid for the guns when they’re delivered and when I go back east, I’ll either give them back to you or tell you where to pick ‘em up. If I decide to get into the movie business, then I’m gonna need the guns, so I’ll just store them in a locker somewhere. But for the time being, I just need to rent ‘em, borrow ‘em. I’ll call you as soon as I know where I’ll be stayin’ and we’ll get together later.”
“Don’t worry about the weapons. I’ll hold them until you make up your mind what you’re gonna do. If you decide to open a business here, then I’ll just deliver them to you here to whatever address. It’ll give us another chance to get together again.” Red smiled and nodded in agreement.
Red and Tag had been part of Yip’s mob until Tag flew west to visit his ex–wife and three kids in Anaheim. Once there, he really liked it and decided to stay. When his ex–wife realized he was serious about staying in California, she invited him to stay with her and the kids and yes, you guessed it, they got along well and eventually remarried. His wife Susan said that she did it for the kids but truth be told, they still loved each other. She knew that even though Tag had changed his ways in regards to family relationships, he still had the same roguish profession. She just chose to turn a blind eye this time. Lots of people needed weapons in southern California – the Latino gangs, the Mexicans, the wise guys, the drug runners from Latin America. Everybody needed guns and Tag had them and what he didn’t have, he knew where to get them. He had a prosperous business running guns and he was careful to cover himself by making some pretty generous donations to the local judges and politicians.