by Joe Corso
“Shooter,” Red called. “Is there a phone down here?”
“Boss, on the end table over in the corner,” Shooter answered. Red pulled Dominic over to the phone and told him to call his boss. “Tell him that you have us at the Morgenstein home. Tell him that the others were killed but you saved me for him. Do it!!” Red ordered. Dominic calmly held the phone and started dialing. Magardi actually giggled when he heard Dominic say that Big Red was captured.
“I’m taking the early flight out of here tomorrow,” Magardi said excitedly. “I’ll be in sometime late afternoon. Keep him on ice because I want to deal with him myself. I’ve been looking forward to meeting him. I couldn’t take care of him before because of the council, but now I’ll teach that bastard not to mess with John Magardi. Keep him safe and don’t let him out of your sight.” Click. The phone went dead.
chapter twenty-three
Red called Frankie at the club and told him in turn to call Joey Bones to let Joey know that he was to go to the Morgenstein home in Long Island right away. “Joey’s going to stay in the house and protect the daughter June. Wherever she goes, he goes . . . no exceptions. He’ll be her shadow and tell him to behave himself – this is business – nothing more.”
Frankie called Joey and gave him the news. Joey loved his assignment. After all, how many guys were ordered to spend every minute of the day with a woman, and call it work? Joey had already found out – this gal was a beauty so how could anyone even call this a job? Joey was an up and coming hoodlum in Red’s mob and Red relied on him more frequently as of late. He was slowly beginning to fill the slot vacated by Jimmy when he left for Hollywood. Joey, like Jimmy, had brains and he could think on his feet. Red would have normally used Shooter for this job but Shooter was with Red. Red wasn’t concerned. He knew that Joey would do the job just as well. Red had grown to depend on these two boys more each day. Piss Clam was their backup but Piss Clam couldn’t think on his feet like the other boys. He was street smart but had his limitations. Joey and Shooter were different – they were rising stars. These boys could assess a situation, make a quick decision, and follow through. Both showed courage under fire – didn’t rattle easy, but then again, neither did Piss Clam. Red was the puppet master. He knew which strings to pull to get the best out of each of his men. Piss Clam had guts, followed orders, and in an instant, would kill anyone that Red ordered him to.
Before Joey left for the Morgenstein Long Island home, Frankie filled him in on what the Detroit mob was up to and explained to him that Joey’s job for the next few days was to protect Morgenstein’s older daughter June.
“Don’t get carried away with her good looks,” Frankie warned. “Remember, beauty can get you killed if you’re not careful. Don’t forget to watch your back. We’re in an undeclared war with Detroit and even though Red doesn’t think it will last much longer, be careful. Remember, even though it’s a long shot, these guys may try to grab the girl. They’ll take you down if you’re in their way. Think of her as just someone you have to protect”
“Okay, I understand,” Joey said with a lop–sided grin. “Yeah, she’s just somebody I have to protect . . . somebody that happens to be drop dead gorgeous.” His smile faded and he suddenly became serious. “Understand this Frankie. The only way this girl will be taken by someone while I’m watching her is if I’m dead . . . and that won’t happen.”
John Morgenstein called his daughter that evening and told her that Red was sending a bodyguard of sorts to watch after her. June was silent for a moment and then asked, “What time is this man coming here?”
“You can expect him in the morning around ten,” her father replied.
“Dad, can this man be trusted?”
“You think I would let anyone in my home to protect my daughter who wasn’t trustworthy?”
“No, I guess not. It’s just that I’m all alone here and I wish you and mom were with me.” John knew what his daughter was feeling. He felt the same way. He wished he was there too. To his family, he was this fearless husband and father, but deep down inside, he was a frightened man. But, he reminded himself, he had Red and his boys for protection, and that gave him comfort. June had always been the independent type but she still depended on her family a good bit. He was her father. It was his job to provide security and peace of mind for her and it worried him that she was alone. Morgenstein even toyed with the idea of calling Swifty and asking him to look after her but this was Red’s call and so far Red had been right on the money, like a general making decisions in combat. “Red assures me that this man is a professional. Look, I have to go now,” he said. “But I’ll call you tomorrow. I love you.”
“Love you too dad.”
June had been up since seven. She prepared a pot of coffee and placed it on the back burner. After the perking had stopped, she poured herself a large mug of the black liquid and took it to the small table by the window where she sipped it while browsing the newspaper. Carefully she turned each page, glancing at each of the ads and not concentrating on anything really until she came to an article on page four that caught her attention.
FOUR MEN FOUND DEAD IN WAREHOUSE
She read the article intently and for a moment wondered if this might be remotely connected to her father and Columbia Pictures. Nah, she thought – just her imagination getting the best of her. She placed the paper into the small magazine rack by the window and made a mental note to mention it to her father the next time they spoke.
Around ten o’clock the doorbell rang. June was a little nervous as she walked toward the door. She peeked through the blinds first and saw a man standing in the driveway. Cautious, she called out to him. He smiled and introduced himself as Joey.
“I believe that someone should have called you,” he said, “either Red or your father to let you know I’d be knocking on your door this morning.”
“Yes,” June answered, “my father called me last night. Please, come in. I have some fresh coffee and danish in the kitchen.”
Joey lit up. “That would hit the spot ma’am, thank you.”
“Please call me June. I’d much prefer that than ma’am.”
The two made small talk for a while, exchanging stories about where they’d grown up and talked a little about family. It was after his second cup of coffee that Joey said, “Ma’am . . . I mean June. You do understand that I’ll be here in this house with you until your father returns or until Red calls me to say that there are no more concerns?”
“Yes,” June answered, “he told me that you’d be staying here. We have several spare bedrooms, so you’ll be comfortable. You’ll have your own dressing room and bathroom and if you need anything, just ask – I’ll see to it that you get it.”
“If you have to go anywhere,” Joey smiled and said,” just think of me as your chauffeur. I’ll be with you and sorry if this seems a nuisance, but I really can’t let you out of my sight so if it seems like I’m a little puppy dog following you around, well, I guess I am – just following instructions. All it takes is one second for somebody who’s up to no good to grab somebody. Don’t mean to scare you, but that’s the way it is. And now, if you don’t mind, if you could show me to your room, I’ll put my things down.” Joey didn’t know which looked bigger at the moment – June’s mouth or her eyes. It had never occurred to her that having a bodyguard meant a having a sleeping buddy.
chapter twenty-four
Red had a restless sleep. Major decisions always did that to him. Finally, at four in the morning, he got up, showered and shaved. He walked to the window and looked out as though the answer would appear from outside somewhere. In a few hours, John Magardi would walk through the door and Red would have him. But then what? If he killed him, he’d have to kill the four others and probably Bob Gray as well. Red had given Gray his word that if he cooperated fully, Red would spare his life. Gray had complied. If Red ‘disposed’ of all these guys, he would now have to go to Detroit and kill everyone up there too? That would mean another ga
ng war.
Red pensively gazed out the window, looking at nothing, just staring and thought of what Jimmy the Hat’s dying words. ‘The devil is whispering in my ear but God still loves me.’ Suddenly, it was as if a door opened in a part of his brain that had long lain dormant – a little thought began to bubble up, a seed of an idea – rough at first, but Red recognized the significance of it. He mentally massaged that seed until it became more polished, refined, until it broke through the surface, sprouting through his subconscious and breaking into his conscious mind. There it was. Red knew what he had to do. He picked up the phone and dialed the one sacred number to which all the ‘family’ were privy, sorta like the red phone in The White House, the one that goes right to the President – a number for emergencies only. A refined sort of voice answered.
“Who’s calling?” the voice asked. Red checked his little black book for his code name.
“Ted Williams.”
“Yes, Ted what can I do for you?”
“I have a party with one of our friends.” Red checked his code book once more. “Roger Maris. After the party, I’m afraid he’ll be takin’ a long vacation to Australia, you know, down under. I thought I’d call you and ask you to perhaps talk him out of takin’ that trip. His family needs him. It would be a shame for him to go and if he does, it will leave his family and the extended family in a mess. It just isn’t worth it. I don’t think he understands that. He’ll be my guest startin’ tomorrow so I thought I would talk to you and see if you might persuade him to stay around a little while longer.”
“I see,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “I guess it would be an inconvenience to have him come here, am I correct?”
“Yes you are very intuitive. It would be inconvenient for me to bring him to you. But . . . perhaps you can come to my party and I’ll make sure he gets to say hello to you before he leaves. You could probably talk to him about old times, catch up a bit. I’m waitin’ for him to arrive, but I already have five of his friends with me. I insisted that they remain as my guests until he gets here tomorrow mornin’. I’d really appreciate it if you could make the party – the sooner the better.” The voice remained very calm.
“Yes, I see the urgency of attending. Thank you for the invitation. I’m sure I will be able to make it. I have your address Ted. It hasn’t changed recently has it?”
“Yes, actually, it has. I’m at a friend’s home. He’s the head of a large movie studio and that’s where the party is being held. Do you have pen and paper?”
“Sure do,” the proper voice answered. Red recited the address slowly and carefully, enunciating his words and careful to repeat them for accuracy sake. He hung up the phone and allowed himself to relax for the moment. If things worked out the way he planned, he just might have averted killing six men – something he did not relish doing. In Red’s line of work, sometimes killing was necessary, like what happened to Trenchie when he was trapped, or the guys he had to kill in the junkyard, but overall, it was not something he enjoyed.
Red knew John Magardi’s flight number and its expected ETA. Red wanted all this nonsense over so he could get back to his three fighters waiting for him in Queens. The young boys were expecting him to be in their corners the night of the fights and although Red had never planned to make boxing a business, the thought of it now excited him a bit. He couldn’t wait to just sit back, relax and watch . . . if you call watching two men beat each other’s brains out, relaxing.
Magardi rang the doorbell of the luxurious Morgenstein home and as expected, he wasn’t alone – two men accompanied him. He looked around as he waited at the door. Maybe, he thought, that when this was all over, he’d buy a home like this one. He could afford it. Hell, he chuckled, maybe he’d buy this one.
The door opened and Bob Gray greeted Magardi. Magardi was surprised but tried hard not to show it. He had expected one of his guys, either Aby or Fred, but instead there stood Gray. As Gray ushered Magardi and his men into the living room, Magardi calmly asked Bob about the rest of his men.
“They’re in the basement making sure Red doesn’t get any funny ideas . . . like escaping,” Bob said. Magardi nodded as if to say ‘good idea’ as his eyes and lips visibly relaxed a little. Gray was watching the mobster’s every move – his body language, his eyes – trying to determine if Magardi was buying into it.
“So what are we doing up here?” Magardi shot back. “Let’s go . . . I wanna meet this tough guy from Queens, this ‘Big Red Fortunato’,” he said mockingly.
The entrance to the basement was open. There were wide steps with ornate, hand crafted metal railings on either side of the steps and unlike other homes, there was no door to open to gain access to the lower level. The basement was breathtaking. Thick, taupe–colored rugs covered the floor and red velvet chairs, accented in gold, were strategically placed in the corners. It looked like a long lost movie palace of yesteryear. As Magardi rounded the stair landing to enter the room, he found himself face–to–face with Angelo Torelli, the council’s negotiator. Magardi was so fixated on Torelli that he failed to notice Big Red sitting at a large table, at the far end of the room. Magardi’s eyes darted about and landed on his men – sitting against the wall near Red, their hands and feet bound.
“What the hell is going on here? Why are my men tied up like that?” Magardi snarled.
Torelli answered in a quiet voice. “Sit down, John. We have to talk.”
“Talk about what? You wanna talk? Then let’s talk about why my men are on the floor tied up like cattle. Let’s talk about that okay?” he yelled in anger.
Torelli used his calm voice tone again. “Sit down John. I’m not going to ask you again.” This time he obeyed. It seemed like the reality of something serious began to settle in.
Red’s phone call had elicited an immediate response. Torelli’s only job was to answer that number, assess the situation, and determine if it necessitated a visit from him. He was bound by the rules of the council to fly, drive, or even swim to the problem and find a solution, peacefully, if possible, but by force, if necessary. Torelli was appointed by the council and entrusted with making tough decisions. His ‘rulings’ were final, irrefutable, even if that meant loss of life. John Magardi was as aware of this as anyone. In all the years that Yip and Red had been the heads of the Queens family, neither one had ever dialed this number but by doing so, Red needed to prevent a gang war. Repercussions like this could shake the mob’s foundation, eliminate territorial boundaries and wreak havoc on their bottom lines, which meant money.
Magardi sat quietly and listened to Torelli explain the rules to both him and Red. Torelli listened to Red’s story first, then to Magardi’s, and again to Red’s, while Torelli’s assistant, a scrawny younger man, wrote everything down on a yellow pad, in shorthand. When each man had finished stating his case, Torelli looked at Magardi and said, “You had four of your men kidnap Trenchie, a ‘made man’, with the intent of killing him. Your men, under your instructions, attempted to take over a brokerage house owned by friends of Red here. You attempted to take over three establishments owned by Red and his associate. You tried to take over a legitimate major movie company using blackmail and force. You threatened to harm their families which is against the council’s rules. What do you have to say in your defense John?”
“Hey, I’m the boss of my family and if I want to expand into other territories, I have every right to do so.”
Torelli nodded. “Yes, John, as long as you play by the rules. Our rules . . . which you chose to ignore.”
This really wasn’t what John had expected to hear. Well, this wasn’t really what John had expected period. He had come to this location thinking that everything was under control, that he could make his move before any chance of reprisals. He knew at that moment that he had underestimated Big Red Fortunato.
Four hours of back and forth testimony ensued, lengthy discussions, elaborate explanations, rationalizations. Torelli had heard enough. The single juro
r trial had come to a close. He turned to Red.
“You will release these men. They are to return to Detroit and no harm will come to them,” Torelli stated unemotionally, yet firmly. “If there is any blood by your hands, you will be held responsible. Is that understood?” Red’s eyes didn’t waver from Torelli’s as he nodded at the negotiator’s decision. Magardi smiled. It appeared that things were going his way after all.
“You men,” Torelli said, pointing to the men being untied by Red’s men, “You are free to leave. You will return to Detroit and are ordered never to return to California under penalty of death. Do you understand the consequences you face if you disobey this order?” He waited for acknowledgement from each of them. The men readily agreed. They were only too happy to leave the house. Torelli dismissed all five of Magardi’s men and instructed them to leave . . . without Magardi.
Torelli continued, “Red, you and your men are free of any charges and can leave if you desire. I would prefer that you stay and we leave this house together.” Red instructed his men to go upstairs and wait until further notice.
As the men headed for the stairs, Red asked Bob Gray to wait for a moment. Gray was clearly troubled by this.
“What is it Red?”
“I just want to remind you that I’m keeping my word to you, but if I ever see you again, I’ll kill you myself, with my own hands.” Gray looked into Red’s eyes. He knew that Red meant business. At that moment, death was staring right back at him.
Gray answered, “You’ll never see or hear from me again.”
“Good,” Red said. “Go on. Get out of here.” Gray turned. His impulse was to sprint up the stairs and get out of there, but the best he could manage was a fast limp. It seemed an eternity before he finally stepped outside into the California sunshine – a free man.