by Joe Corso
“John, you are ordered to step down immediately as the head of your family,” Torelli ordered. “A replacement will be chosen by the council. This decision is final. This meeting is closed.” That was it. End of trial. Trial by mob or trial by wise guys, whatever you’d like to call it. Torelli was judge and jury. His decision was final. There would be no appeals, no retrials, no last minute reprieve by any Governor.
Magardi, stunned, sat for moment trying to process what he’d heard. Finally he spoke. “I won’t do it. Who the hell do you guys think you are? I fought and scratched my way to get where I am and I don’t intend to step down. I don’t give a damn what your decision is. Got that?”
“Yes I got that,” Torelli answered softly. “Is that your final decision John?”
“You bet your ass it is.”
“And you’re sure you won’t reconsider?”
“No. I will not give up what took me so long to build.” Magardi got up abruptly and began to storm up the stairs. He stopped halfway up to say, “You want a war? I’ll give you a war that you’ll never forget.” He kept walking until he exited the front door, slamming it behind him, and marched toward his car. He was surprised to find that his two men hadn’t waited for him. That just made him angrier. “Damnit,” he said as he yanked at the car doors only to find they were locked. Magardi cupped his hands and looked at the ignition, hoping to see a key, but there was none. Not giving up, the mobster looked around and spotted a bus stop and began to walk toward it. As he did, two men stepped out, flanking him, one on each side. They spoke no words as they nudged the man back toward his car and ordered him into the driver’s seat. One of the men jangled a set of keys in his hand, unlocked the door, and grabbing his upper arm, guided Magardi behind the wheel. The man with the keys sat in the passenger seat, put a key in the ignition, and told Magardi to start the car and drive.
“Where?” Magardi asked.
“Just drive. We’ll tell you.”
“Look, I know who you guys are,” Magardi said as he looked at Trenchie. “I’m sorry my men grabbed you and roughed you up, but I ran out of options. Understand that it wasn’t personal, just business.”
Trenchie nodded sympathetically. “I understand.”
“Look,” Magardi said. “I’m a wealthy man. Whatever Red’s paying you I’ll double it, I’ll triple it. I’ll make you both very rich men.” Tarzan, who was sitting in the back seat, patronizingly patted Magardi on the arm.
“You were given a way out John, but you chose not to take it,” Tarzan said. “But don’t worry, we promise that it’ll be quick and painless.”
Trenchie and Tarzan weren’t familiar with Southern California so after a little discussion, they decided to do a little scouting. They drove for about twenty minutes until they found a quiet construction site. It appeared that work for the day was finished. They sat for a few minutes, observing, looking for anything in motion, workers or security guards, who might be on site watching over equipment or supplies but they saw nothing. The car passed through the makeshift fence and slowly drove deep into the site past cement trucks and bulldozers. The equipment engines emitted a ticking sound as they cooled off. They passed some half framed buildings and circled around them until they found an area behind the foreman’s shack – an area that was nothing more than a trailer converted into a field office.
Trenchie reached over and shut off the engine. He got out of the car and waved his gun at Magardi, indicating that he should step out of the car, too. Magardi began to shake and placed his hands into the praying position.
“Please, don’t do this,” Magardi began to plead. “Look, I’ll step down. I’ll do what Angelo said. I’ll do it, I promise – just don’t kill me,” he said as he started to cry. Tarzan shook his head.
“You’re pathetic John. Don’t you have any pride? You live by the gun, now you’re gonna die by the gun, so take it like a man. What’s with this pansy shit?” Ignoring Trenchie, Magardi kept talking. Red’s men led him into a copse of woods behind the trailer and before he had even stopped walking, Trenchie and Tarzan both riddled him with lead, emptying their weapons. It wasn’t so much an assassination as it was a statement to others who might think of ignoring the commission’s rulings. Magardi lay there on his stomach, his eyes open but not seeing, his face half visible and partially hidden in an ever widening pool of blood. Seemed so simple – all he had to do was agree to Torelli’s terms and step down. When Magardi had refused, the council’s negotiator had tapped the table twice with the fingers of both hands. It was a pre-arranged signal giving Red permission to proceed. Red had then nodded, almost imperceptibly, to Trenchie and Tarzan. That was it. Red had secured the necessary approval to eliminate Magardi and his threat.
Back at the Morgenstein house, Red followed Torelli out of the basement and walked into the kitchen. Oblivious as to what has been taking place outside, Mrs. Morgenstein had prepared coffee waiting and laid out a lovely presentation of bagels and lox, cream cheese, capers, onions, and had made scrambled cheese eggs on the side. There was every color juice known to mankind. She was a classy lady – one with a style that matched her meticulously decorated home. Larry Morgenstein and his boss, Bernstein had arrived and seemed antsy, eager to know what had transpired down below, but each knew better to wait until there was complete privacy.
“You did right by calling me,” Torelli said as he pulled Red aside. “The council would have frowned on trouble so soon after the Gallo – Profaci war.” “Do you know,” he continued, “that this is the first phone call I’ve received on that line since we decided to use it. I was surprised when it rang, but I knew it was serious. It’s too bad about Magardi. Pride and ego got in the way of common sense. I will give my full report to the council after I have the typed transcript from the hearing. I’ll take the next flight out and go straight to Detroit. We need to fill Magardi’s position soon, but carefully with someone more reasonable.”
Red nodded and said, “Angelo, I plan on opening an independent movie studio. I’ll work with Columbia Pictures and allow them to release a completed movie through their network. I don’t want any misunderstandings with the council over this move. Do you have a problem with this?”
The negotiator mentally scanned through the council’s laws and guidelines that dealt with one family encroaching on another’s territory. “If you were moving in on another mob’s territory,” Torelli said after pondering for a few seconds, “or looking to take over their action for your own purposes, I would advise you not to proceed with this venture. However, you intend to open a legitimate business by investing your own money into a venture that may or may not succeed. Therefore, I see no problem with moving west. I will inform the council of your plans and tell them that you discussed it with me and that I approved the move.” Red smiled and patted Angelo on the shoulder as he clasped his hand in a firm handshake. Mission accomplished. It was exactly according to Red’s plans.
“I hope I never get this kind of call from you again,” a smiling Torelli said. In a more serious tone he added, “But keep the number handy just in case.” The mob’s chief negotiator smiled again, said some pleasant goodbyes to the Morgensteins and thanked them for the use of their home.
Angelo Torelli had barely gotten out of the door when Bernstein, the studio head, with Morgenstein nearby, turned to Red and blurted, “Tell me what happened, my curiosity’s killing me.”
“Magardi won’t bother you again,” Red answered him. Your company is yours, your stars are yours, and no one will be threatened with blackmail from Bob Gray or any of Magardi’s men.”
“How can you be sure?” Bernstein asked.
“Because Magardi’s dead, that’s why,” Red said in a whisper, concerned that the Missus might hear. Red turned to Morgenstein and added, “John, I’m calling your house and instructing my man to leave Long Island. The danger has passed. You folks can now go on with your life. Let’s just say that these nasty little obstacles have all been eliminated.” Morgenstein l
ooked at Bernstein. Red noticed the silent interaction taking place between them. He rarely misread signals or people.
“Is there something else?” Red asked.
Bernstein spoke up. “Well, there was something we wanted to know.”
“What’s that?” Red asked.
Morgenstein searched for the right words. After all, he didn’t want to offend his benefactor so he simply said, “Red, you went beyond anything we expected but we’re businessmen, and no one would do all this for nothing. We never discussed fees so we wondered what your help is going to cost us.” Red smiled. He was enjoying this.
“I do want something from you boys and it’s not money or part of your company.” He waited, letting the tension build up a bit.
“Okay,” Bernstein answered. “Tell us then.”
Red began to elaborate. “I want the two of you to come to Queens as my guests. We’ll celebrate the successful conclusion of this nasty little business at The Starlight Club. Then, I want both of you to accompany me to some matches to see my three fighters in action, especially Swifty. I’d like you to observe him and tell me if you think he has any potential for the movies.”
“Is that all?” Bernstein asked.
“No,” Red continued, “there’s one more thing. I plan on opening a movie studio. I would like to have Columbia Pictures release the pictures I make, but only if the pictures meet your high standards. I have no plans to compete with you. I just want to get into a legitimate business and I intend to invest my own money to build the studio and to finance the pictures that I make. Another thing, gentlemen, I will need your help and advice in proceeding with this venture. I know as much about making a movie as I do about making an atomic bomb. So, will you help me?” Both men laughed. Each man nodded and verbalized their eagerness to assist – if that was all Red wanted, they were fine with showing him the ropes, fine with most anything he needed or wanted at this point.
Morgenstein had been to Red’s club but Bernstein hadn’t. But the movie head had certainly heard enough about it from his partner and others.
“You have our word, we both will be there, at The Starlight Club, at the fights, wherever you like,” Bernstein reassured.
“Great!” Red said as he smiled. “Bring your families. I know they’ll enjoy it. If he’s not booked, I’ll try to get Jerry Vale for the night and if not him, then Vic Damone and if he’s booked, I’ll get someone else just as good, maybe even Sinatra.” And that was it. All in a day’s work. A day in the life of Red.
chapter twenty-five
Spending three days with Joey Bones was not what June considered fun. He was a scary guy – nothing like the movie tough guys portrayed in the pictures that her father made. This guy was creepy. He seemed fearless, exuded ‘danger’. June guessed it must have been the reason that Big Red had assigned him as her protector. She had never envisioned having a real life mobster as a bodyguard. While it was uncomfortable having him right up under her, she had to admit that she felt pretty safe with the guy. Joey had accompanied her everywhere – to the gym every day to watch Swifty train, to the supermarket, the gas station, everywhere. For the last several days, Joey Bones had been right at her side.
Joey was downstairs in the kitchen as June headed toward the pot of black gold to pour a cup of coffee. She put a slice of whole wheat toast into the toaster and offered Joey one as well. He shook his head as if to say no. June took a few sips of her coffee, then excused herself to the powder room for some last minute touches to her makeup. She wanted to look her best for Swifty. As she and Joey were heading for the door, the phone rang. June answered it.
“It’s for you, Joey” she said. “It’s Red.”
Joey held the phone to his ear. “Hi Red. What’s up?” Joey asked. “A little early in the morning for you, isn’t it?” Joe listened for a moment. “What? Okay, I’ll do that. When will you be back? That soon, eh? Okay then. I’ll see you at The Starlight Club.” With that, Joey hung up.
June asked, “Are you ready to leave now?”
“No June. You’re going by yourself from now on.” She looked confused and frightened.
“Why? What happened?" June asked. “You’re not going to be protecting me anymore?”
“No, my job is finished, it’s over,” Joey said. “No one will be bothering your family.”
It took a moment for it to sink in. June’s emotions were conflicted. She composed herself, took a deep breath, and smiled. She was free now. This nightmare was over. June walked over to Joey and kissed him sweetly on the cheek. That caught Joey off guard. “Thank you for watching over me,” she said. “I will never forget what you’ve done.” Secretly, he yearned to take her into his arms and kiss her properly, but he didn’t dare. He could hear Frankie’s words as he whispered into Joey’s ear the warning of not being tempted by her beauty. Joey thanked her and right as he was getting into his car, he waved one last time. His heart was heavy. The guy was smitten. He thought about June all the way home on the drive to The Starlight Club. June was hung up on Swifty. Joey knew better than to pursue it. He had seen how she looked at Swifty while he trained. Sometimes Swifty wasn’t even aware of it. Joey convinced himself that even if she wasn’t attached, she was out of his league. Nevertheless, he continued to think about her all the way back. Joey sometimes memorized lines from poems – the ones that spoke to him and had meaning to him personally. He didn’t discuss this with the boys. They probably wouldn’t understand why a guy like Bones would do that. Anyway, the thought of June’s warm lips kissing him on his cheek reminded him of a line from John Greenleaf Whittier’s poem Maude Muller.
“For of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these:
It might have been!”
Tough guy mobster Joey Bones drove all the way back to Queens pining for the woman he had just left and could never have.
chapter twenty-six
Red had only been back for a week. It felt good being home, at The Starlight Club, sitting at his favorite table, by the window, enjoying his years long routine of sipping coffee and Sambuca while reading the news and watching the comings and goings of his guests. He opened his newspaper to the sports page. At that moment, Tarzan walked in. He appeared angry – seething was more like it.
“Did somethin’ happen?” Red asked.
“Yeah,” Tarzan answered. “My daughter. Some girls ganged up on her in school, beat her up. She came home bruised and terrified out of her mind. While she was explaining to me what happened, the girl, the one who beat her up, showed up outside our door with some of her girlfriends.” “How’d you handle that?” Red asked.
“Simple,” Tarzan said. “I walked outside with my arm around my daughter. The girls were all there and they didn’t seem too scared, to be honest with you so I asked the girls, ‘Did any of you girls come to fight with my daughter?’ And one girl raised her hand.”
“Good I said. Come over here. She walked tentatively toward me and stood right there looking at me defiantly. I asked her ‘do you really want to fight my daughter?’ The girl nodded that she did. I guess that this must have been some sort of required initiation or somethin’ and that the girl couldn’t back down in front of her girlfriends, so I told her. ‘Alright, you have my permission to fight my daughter, but first I want you to do something for me.” ‘What’s that?’ she asked. ‘Go home,’ I said, ‘go get your father and bring him back here with you. Cause I’m gonna kick the shit out of him until he begs for mercy. Then I’m gonna kill him and bury him right there in that grassy area in front of my house. Now go on and get him and tell him I’m on my stoop waiting for him.”
“What happened after that?” Red asked.
“Nothing. I waited all day and nothing happened. None of the girls came back. I think I must have scared them a little.” Red chuckled.
“Tarzan you would scare the buh-Jesus out of the devil himself . . . just by looking at him. Well, as a student of human nature,” he laughed, “from what you just said, I don’t th
ink these gals will give her any more trouble at school. In fact, don’t be surprised if they invite her into their little gang, their group, ask her to join them at their lunch table.”
Tarzan ordered an espresso with his usual shot of Sambuca. His blood pressure seemed to lower with each sip he took. The conversation then turned to their recent adventure.
“You know,” Red began, “I was at a logjam. I didn’t know what to do and that rarely happens to me. If I had rubbed out those guys, I’d have had to whack Bob Gray too, and I gave him my word that I wouldn’t harm him. If I didn’t do anything to them, then that would be seen as weakness and I would have been lookin’ over my shoulder for the rest of my days. Just as I was about to make a decision to kill the whole lot of them, I remembered the negotiator. That’s all fairly new, you know, this negotiator business, but the council appointed him to that position to mediate situations just like that. In other words I passed the buck and whatever he decided, I would have to abide by. No matter what Torelli instructed me to do, I would have still been ahead of the game. If he had told me not to harm Magardi or his boys, that would have been fine because they would have been ordered to stay away from us. As it turned out, he judged pretty fairly. Torelli saw right through Magardi and how he was itchin’ for a war that I wanted no part of. If the egomaniac had just listened to the negotiator and abided by his decision, he would still be alive, but, no, he had to go act tough. Look where that got him,” Red said, shaking his head.
“When are Bernstein and Morgenstein flying in?” Tarzan asked, shifting the discussion.
“They’ll be here Thursday. They want to have a day to rest before comin’ with us to the fights. I want Larry to meet Swifty. I’m gonna ask him to give him a screen test. If he does okay, I want Larry to make a star out of him. We’re expandin’ into the movie business and Larry is the guy who can make that happen.” Tarzan nodded in agreement.