by Joe Corso
Red thought that he might have mentioned Vegas in his earlier conversation and if he did, he didn’t want to remind Civella of that. He only wanted him to understand that his men were just passing through Bonner Springs on their way to somewhere else, and where that somewhere else was, was none of Civella’s business.
Chapter Eight
Red was just about to call Bull back when Tarzan knocked on the door.
“You got a minute, Red?”
“Sure. I was just about to call Bull, but it could wait a few minutes. What’s on your mind?
“Joe Gatto, a neighborhood guy and one of our regular customers, has a problem and he didn’t have anyone to go to for help. He don’t know what to do, so he came to see me.”
“God dammit, Tarzan. What do you expect me to do? Get involved with everyone’s problems because…everyone does have a problem.”
Tarzan was about to say something, but Red put up his hand and waved it away.
“All right, all right. Tell me the short version of his problem.”
“Joe got a new job as corporate director at the Diplomat Hotel with twenty-eight people under him. He’s passed his ninety-day probationary period, but he’s afraid that he’s going to be fired.”
Red steepled his fingers under his chin. “They want to fire him because he’s not doing his job? Do I have that right?”
“No, Red. He’s doing a fine job and his boss likes what he’s doing. You know Joey used to run a multimillion-dollar corporation, so this job is a piece of cake to him, and his boss loves the job he’s doing.”
“Then what the hell is the problem? Why does he think that he’s gonna be fired?”
“The problem is not his boss, Red; it’s his boss’s boss that’s threatening Joey. An Irish cocksucker by the name of Sean Shaunessy doesn’t like Italians and especially New York Italians.” Tarzan looked Red straight in the eye. “I had the same problem when I served in WWII and Korea. Those southern Irish sergeants ran the army and they just hated NY wops and they made no bones about letting you know how they felt about you. This kid is going through the same thing. The Irish were lucky; they could speak the king’s language when they immigrated to this country, whereas the Italians, no matter how educated they were, and I’m even talking about doctors, were out there digging ditches because they couldn’t speak English.”
Red was getting exasperated. “Okay, enough history lessons. Bring the kid in here and I’ll have a talk with him.”
A few minutes later, Tarzan introduced Joe Gatto to Big Red Fortunato. Red could read Joey like a book. He could see that he was having second thoughts about bringing his problem to the Queens mob boss. Red smiled, trying to get the kid to relax.
“You smoke, Joey?”
“Yeah, Chesterfields.”
“Ever smoke cigars?”
“Yes, but mostly on special occasions.”
Red opened his humidor and took out two cigars. He handed one to Joey.
“Well, I would consider this an occasion, wouldn’t you?”
Joey had a confused on his face as he looked at Red. “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Fortunato.”
Red reached over and flicked on his Ronson lighter and he brought the flame nearer to Joey so he could light his cigar. Then he lit his own cigar and took a long drag before blowing out a small cloud of smoke.
“Tarzan tells me that you have a problem. Why don’t you tell me about it?”
After Gatto finished telling Red his problem, Red leaned back in his plush leather chair and stared at the ceiling for a moment, and then he looked at Joe.
“Do you have a family, Joe?”
“Yes. I have a wife and two kids.”
“Good. Do you spend time with them?”
“I did until I got this job. It’s a corporate job and I’m on salary, so they have me working well into the night. Because of that, I don’t have the time I used to have to spend with my family.”
Red jotted a note on a pad on his desk. “What caused the problem at work?”
“I’m in charge of twenty-eight people and most of them I can handle. It’s the union members that are giving me the problem. They clock in but sometimes forget to clock out or vice-versa. I’m responsible for making out the payroll, but I can’t complete it because the union workers won’t co-operate. They just don’t give a shit, excuse my language. I told my boss about it and he called his boss, who’s in charge of the northeastern properties.”
“I see. And what did his boss tell you to do?”
“He screamed at me, telling me that I’m not doing my job and if I can’t do my job, then he’ll get someone else to fill the position. Look, Mr. Fortunato, when I took this job, I discovered that nothing was organized there. The patients were running the asylum. They did whatever the hell they felt like doing and the hell with my boss, who was doing both his job and mine. I came in and organized the inventory, I made changes that the workers I’m in charge of didn’t like, and they behaved like children and ratted me and Alfonso out.”
“Who’s Alfonso?” Red interjected.
“Alfonso’s my boss and they’re even ratting on him. Yesterday, Alfonso took me aside and told me that I was being put on a ninety-day action plan, which means that even though my probationary period is over, I still have another ninety days to worry about being fired. Alfonso took me aside and told me confidentially that Sean would be in my office three times a week, looking over my shoulder. He’s looking for any excuse to get rid of me.” Joey’s eyes were beginning to mist up as he told Red his story. “I can’t afford to lose this job, Mr. Fortunato. My family is depending on me.”
Red passed the pad to Joey. “Write down your boss’s name and address for me.”
Joe wrote down his antagonist’s name and handed it to Red. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know where Brian lives, but I have his home number if that’ll help.”
“Good. Let me have it.”
He handed it to Tarzan, who was leaning against the wall, listening to the conversation. “Call our contact at the phone company and get an address to this number.”
Tarzan left and a little while later, he stepped back into the office and handed Red the sheet of paper, only this time it had an address written on it. Red looked up at Tarzan and nodded.
“Good. Thanks, Tarzan.”
Red tapped the ash from his cigar into the ashtray he shared with Gatto.
“Before you leave, I want you to write down this guy Sean’s work address.”
Red picked up the slip of paper, read the address, and then slipped it into his jacket pocket. “Go home and put your mind at ease and don’t worry about your job because that donkey is not going to fire you. Now you’re probably wondering what this little favor I’m doing for you is going to cost you. Right?”
Gatto didn’t say anything; he just gave a slight nod acknowledging Red’s question.
“Good. I’m glad that you understand that there are no free rides in this life and one way or another, we all have to pay for whatever favors we ask for.”
Gatto hung his head as if the atmosphere in the office was weighing him down.
“Don’t look so down in the dumps. This isn’t gonna cost you a red cent…but someday, I may ask a favor of you and, should that day ever come, I expect you to do it for me.” Joey started to say something, but Red put up his hands to silence him. “If that time ever comes, I won’t ask you to do something illegal or immoral, but if it is in your power to do it for me, then I expect you to do it. Understand?”
Joey really didn’t understand what Red meant, but he nodded, indicating that he did. “Good. Now go home and enjoy the rest of the night. Tomorrow I’m going to have a talk with Mr. Shaunessy and when I leave his office, we’ll have come to an understanding and you will still have your job.”
When Joey left, Red told Trenchie, “Be here at eight o’clock tomorrow morning and wear one of your dark Valentino Maximus business suits. Tell Piss Clam that he’ll be driving us to the Dipl
omat Hotel.” Red handed Trenchie a slip of paper with the hotel’s address on it. Trenchie glanced at the address of the Diplomat, which was at 108-116 W. 43rd Street, just west of 6th Avenue, and then slipped it into his pocket. Red picked up the phone. “Now I’d like to have a few minutes alone so I can make a phone call to Bull to find out what’s happening in Kansas.”
Chapter Nine
Bull rushed back to Joey’s sister’s house with the doctor, after picking him up at the airport. Dr. Ben jumped out of the car and rushed to the front door, which wasn’t locked. He knocked once and walked into the house. Seeing Red’s men sitting on the couch in the living room, he asked, “Where’s the patient?”
Joey quickly stood. “He’s in the bedroom, Doc. Follow me.”
Joey led Ben to the bedroom, where JoAnne was sitting near Frankie, wiping his forehead with a wet dishtowel. She saw a man carrying a black doctor’s satchel and quickly got up to make room for him.
“Does he have a fever?”
“Yes. It was a hundred and three, but it dropped a little to one hundred two.”
Ben shifted his gaze to Bull. “Help me turn him over. I need to see if the bullet is still in him.”
The two men turned a feverish, semi-conscious Frankie over on his side. The intense pain of shifting him to his side caused him to groan.
“Shit. The bullet is still in him. Bring me my bag.”
Joey handed Ben his doctor’s bag. Ben removed a syringe and a small bottle containing a sedative, which he injected into Frankie’s arm. Then he took a bottle of alcohol and a forceps from the bag and he poured some alcohol on his instrument and on Frankie’s wound to remove any germs. He instructed Bull and Joey to hold Frankie down while he probed for the bullet.
“He’s unconscious, but I want you to hold him down as a precaution, just in case he reacts subconsciously to what I’m about to do.”
The two men each took an arm while the doctor probed for the bullet.
“Got it,” he said as he pulled the forceps out with the bullet cradled in it. He plunked it in a small metal pan and, after threading a needle; he began to sew up his patient. Then he took out the plasma packets he brought with him in a carryon bag and hooked one up. He didn’t relax until he had life-giving liquid flowing steadily into the vein in Frankie’s arm. Then he removed a syringe containing Novocain to numb the area where he intended to stitch the wound closed.
“Will he make it, Doc?” Richie asked.
Ben looked up at him from where he was seated beside the bed and shook his head, which Richie took to mean that Frankie wouldn’t make it.
“He lost a lot of blood, but he’s young and he’s strong. Now that the bullet is out and if he doesn’t get an infection, he stands a 50/50 chance of recovering. We’ll know more in the morning.”
Richie felt better hearing the doc tell him that. “Say, aren’t you supposed to get back home tonight?”
Ben sighed. “Yes. I was supposed to come here and do what I could for Frankie and then give you guys’ instructions on what to do after I left. But I can’t leave him like this. It’s better if I’m here in the morning to take care of him.”
Richie had a lot more respect for Ben after hearing him say that. The doc was a standup guy and whether Frankie lived or died, he wouldn’t forget what he did for him. Ben leaned over and lifted Frankie’s wrist and checked his pulse, then he felt his forehead. Richie watched the doctor give a slight nod, which made him feel better.
“He’s doin’ good. Eh, doc?”
Ben gave a tight smile. “Let’s just say that I’m pleased with the progress he’s making. He has no temperature now and his pulse is steady and that’s always a good sign. I’ll come back in a little while and check the plasma packet and, when it’s empty, I’ll replace it with a new one. He needs a lot of blood to replace what he’s lost.”
Ben walked out of the room and asked if there was any coffee. JoAnne rose from her chair.
“You stay right there. Take a seat on the sofa and I’ll bring you a hot cup of fresh coffee. Would you like a sandwich or a piece of cake?”
Ben hadn’t realized how hungry he was. “A cup of coffee and a nice piece of cake sounds real good . . . I’m sorry, but I didn’t get your name.”
“JoAnne. I’m Joey’s sister,” she told Ben, as if that explained everything.
When JoAnne left to get the coffee, Bull heard a car pull into the driveway, he pulled the curtain aside and saw a big black Lincoln park behind his Caddy and a large van park by the curb in front of the house. Bull watched four men step out of the car and walk toward the front door, but he noticed the driver of the van remained in the vehicle. The meeting with Civella was set for nine o’clock and it was nine now. Damn, where the hell did the time go? Bull thought. “Look. I never seen the guy and I have no idea what he looks like, so have your guns handy just in case it’s not Civella.” Joey Bones pulled the curtain aside and watched the men walk up to the front door, making sure they didn’t have any weapons in their hands. They looked clean, so he nodded to Bull just as someone knocked on the door. Bull took a deep breath, knowing that if it wasn’t Civella, he could be looking down the barrel of a gun, but he had a “what the hell” attitude and opened the door. He was relieved to see there were no guns pointing at him.
“Civella?” Bull asked.
A man behind the one who knocked stepped forward. “I’m Nick Civella – and who are you?”
Bull smiled cordially and put out his hand. “I’m Bull. Red told me you were coming. Nice to meet ya, Nick. Come on in and have a seat and we’ll have ourselves a little talk.”
After introducing Ben to Civella and his men, Bull asked the doctor to check on Frankie while he talked business with these gentlemen. As soon as the door to the bedroom closed, Bull explained why he asked Doctor Ben to check on Frankie.
“One of my men was shot tonight by Carlos and those rat bastard friends of his. Big Red flew our doctor friend out here to try to save Frankie’s life.”
Civella nodded. He respected a boss who thought of his men. He would have done the same thing.
“And did he save him?”
“Right now, it’s 50/50. He got the bullet out, but Frankie lost a lot of blood. We’ll know more in the morning, but the doc seems to think that there’s a good chance Frankie will pull through.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear that,” Civella said. “But before we talk business, I’d like one of your men to go in the van with my men to Carlos’s warehouse. It’s better that we clean up that mess as soon as we can.”
Bull agreed. “Richie, go with Nick’s men and help them clean up the garbage.”
Richie understood.
“Come on; let’s get this over with.”
Two of Civella’s men left with Richie while one of the other men, Civella’s bodyguard, remained behind to cover his boss in case Bull and his men weren’t what they appeared to be.
When Richie Fingers and Civella’s men left in the van, Nick turned to Bull. “I understand you have some papers for me?”
Bull turned to Joey. “The deeds, Joey.”
Joey handed them to Bull and he in turn handed them to Civella. Civella looked the deeds over carefully.
“Damn, I wish Carlos would have signed them.”
Bull smiled. “Don’t worry about Carlos having signed them. You’re in luck because Richie Fingers is not only the best pickpocket and safecracker in the business, he also happens to be the premier forger; he’s the best you can find. When he gets back, he’ll take care of this little oversight.”
The men relaxed and killed time by making small talk until their men returned. Two hours later, the van pulled up and all the men got out and walked to the house with the exception of the driver. Once the men left the van, the van, with its grizzly cargo of dead men, pulled away, heading to a destination known only to Civella and his men, where the bodies would be disposed of.
Bull reached into his jacket and took some papers with Carlos’s sig
nature on it and handed them to Richie Fingers. Richie looked at them and motioned with his fingers for Civella to hand him the deeds. Richie placed the deeds and the papers with Carlos’s signature on the kitchen table and studied them for a minute. Then, apparently satisfied, he asked JoAnne for a piece of scrap paper, which she took from her desk drawer and handed it to him. Richie proceeded to write a few practice signatures while Civella and his men stood by, watching him work with their mouths open. The signatures were exactly alike. Richie then wrote Carlos’s name on the three deeds and handed them back to Civella.
“Well, I’ll be damned. These signatures are perfect. No one could tell the difference.”
Civella shook Richie’s hand and then he walked back into the living room and sat next to Bull.
“You guys did me a big favor by taking out Carlos. I was about to make a move on him because I had to do something. I couldn’t let him get away with moving into my territory. If I allowed that to happen, then other guys might start to think that if Carlos could get away with it, then they could too. I’m sorry that one of your men got shot up, but shit happens because that’s the business we’re in. Oh yeah, Red said that you had a Mustang that had to go away. Where is it?”
“It’s in the garage.” He turned to Joey. “Give Nick the keys to the Mustang.” Bull noticed the look on Joey’s usually unemotional face. “Don’t worry about the car. With the dough you’re making, you can always have Red get you another red Mustang convertible from his Ford dealership and you know that he’ll sell it to you at invoice.”