by Joe Corso
“I need to convince Profaci that we’re even - me taking out his killers in retaliation for him having Yip killed. Now, if he goes for it and the meeting with him ends the way I expect it to, your troubles are over. I’ll arrange a sit-down for Trenchie and the commission, and between all of them, they can work out the peace details. And after you take care of this unfinished business for me, you guys can go back to President Street and not have to worry about looking over your shoulder again. It will be the last bit of work you’ll need to do for me. Listen to me. Take Gibby with you. I’ll feel better knowing he’s watching your back.”
Red looked at Ralph and told him straight out. “I know I don’t have to tell you your business Ralph, but make Rocarro’s death look like a suicide or an accident. I don’t care which.”
When Ralph left the room, Red called Frankie into his office. Previously, Red had asked him to leave while he talked privately with Ralph. Frankie knew why. It was Red’s way of protecting him. Red wanted him to have an out in the event he was ever called to the witness stand. There would be no tripping him up as he put his hand on the Bible and took an oath of honesty. Frankie slipped into his seat and Red handed him a sealed envelope. Ever since he started working for Red, he handed out and collected envelopes like the one he was just handed. Frankie didn’t have to look inside the envelope to know what it contained. “What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked holding the envelope high to make his point.
“I want you to take it to the Zebra club and give it to Jake. That’s the reward I promised for any information that led to Yip’s killer. Jake called me when he had something. I don’t think he did it for the reward. I don’t even think he knew about the reward because he never called to ask for the money. Make sure he gets it. There’s $10,000 in that envelope, so don’t get careless with it.
Chapter Thirty-One
To Sophia Feldstein’s delight, Jimmy signed the papers to his new Mulholland Drive home. She hated to see him leave so she purposely dragged out the signing process, much longer than it should have taken, before handing over the keys. With the formalities complete, Jimmy placed his hands on Sophia’s shoulders and kissed her gently on her cheek, causing her face to turn a crimson red. He thanked her and with that, he exited the door that Moose was holding, leaving behind both the Hollywood Hills real estate office and a very warm, weak-kneed, but happy, Sophia Feldstein. With Moose behind the wheel of Jimmy’s new Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz convertible, they headed for Jimmy’s new home.
Moose had interviewed a housekeeper the day prior and had hired her. With Sophia’s approval, the housekeeper was allowed entry to the home to clean, rearrange the furniture and make it comfortable for the star, manly like his image. When the boys arrived, they were pleased to see a glistening home, complete with the recent awards that Jimmy had received. The housekeeper had given meticulous consideration to neatly arranging them on the wall in the living room and in an étagère, displaying them to their fullest advantage. Impressive. The eyes followed the plaques and statues in a progression leading up to the Academy Award Jimmy won for Mob Enforcer. That award was displayed on the center shelf, drawing full focus to the big prize. Jimmy turned to Moose and slapped him on the back, “You picked a winner Moose. This lady did one helluva job.”
As of the movie’s wrap two days ago, Jimmy’s second film was “in the can.” The process of editing the picture, scoring it with music, and all the other processes that go into the making of a picture, would now begin. It was called post production. Jimmy had begun to appreciate the wisdom of Red’s words. “It took a lot of people who never really get the credit they deserve to make a mug like you look good.” On various other sets and films, he became a favorite of the various film tradesmen. Between takes, rather than retreat to his dressing room, he hung around with them. He appreciated the advice they had to make a scene look and feel better and in turn, he always offered his help if anyone had a problem. One month into shooting his latest film, a popular male co-star ruffled some feathers by refusing to work overtime. The movie’s assigned union delegate and the star got into a shouting match that turned ugly. Punches were thrown and threats were made. Word reached Jimmy, through Shorty Davis, that the actor was going to have a “fatal car accident” before the picture ended, apparently a message being sent by the union. Jimmy phoned Big Red immediately.
“You wanted me to call you if I had a problem. Well, we have a problem. How do you want me to handle it?” and he explained the details to Red.
“Don’t do anything. I’ll take care of it from here.”
The following afternoon a very nervous union representative walked over to Jimmy and said, “I don’t know who you called, but whoever it was, tell him that everything is cool. Nothing’s gonna’ happen, okay?”
Jimmy was impressed. Sometimes, he just didn’t realize the magnitude of Red’s power and he certainly had no idea that Red’s influence reached across the country right into a movie studio.
“Yeah, I’ll let him know. Thanks for givin’ me the heads up.”
“No problem and no hard feelings right?” Jimmy nodded and the union rep walked nervously away.
Larry Bernstein reviewed the dailies and liked what he saw. He had already made the decision to hold the release of Mob Hit Man until Jimmy starred in two other films, so now it was just a matter of what to shoot next. He wanted to re-make the Ernest Hemingway story, The Breaking Point. Many stars had different versions of it but Papa Hemingway liked the John Garfield version best. Bernstein decided that this would be Roman’s next picture. He instructed his staff to begin looking for the next movie after that, a script for preferably a romantic thriller. If Mob Hit Man was successful, Bernstein wanted to have a third script tucked away - one that completed the Mob trilogy. After that, if the public wanted more, he would consider it, but for the time being, he had a busy schedule lined up for his new star.
One day, Jimmy arrived home to find Moose smiling as he handed him a letter. It was from Mary telling him that Trenchie wasn’t big on writing so she was writing on his behalf. The gist of the letter said that she and Trenchie were getting married on Saturday, June 16th and if his schedule permitted, they’d love him for him to attend the wedding and to give the bride away. Mary’s father had passed away years before and she had no other family. Jimmy was thrilled. He placed the letter on the table and asked Moose to check his calendar to see if he was free that week and if he was, not to book anything, and if he wasn’t, to cancel every scheduled appointment. Moose confirmed, “You have no appointments that week.”
“Great, I’m looking forward to going back east for the wedding. It’ll be good to see my pals again.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Julius paced back and forth in the single-wide Fleetwood mobile home. It rested on cinder blocks like every other home in the park and during a storm, it could be frightful. It took some getting used to. Mary had chosen Frank and Bill’s Trailer Park in Baltimore because it wasn’t like other parks which look junky and decrepit and full of undesirables.
Ever since receiving Zeke’s disturbing phone call, Julius had been pacing. His cousin had described in detail the celebratory mood he witnessed at The Starlight Club. He explained that the reason they were celebrating was because Mary was marrying the guy that had fought Julius that day in the alley. This news did not sit well with Julius at all. Anxiety set in followed by sleepless nights. Jealousy was driving him crazy. Instead of sleeping, Julius would spend time with his friend Jack Daniels, reclining in his chair in front of the television set with his daddy’s WW II standard issue Colt 45 automatic resting on his lap. He derived great satisfaction thinking of what he would do when he got to New York. The more he thought about Mary, the more he couldn’t bare the thought of losing her to this Trenchie character.
His thoughts drifted to how this could have happened. He knew he was a bad drunk and when he was in his cups, as they say, he became abusive to Mary. He
realized, also, that if Mary wasn’t around, he would turn his anger on others unfortunate enough to be near him. His friends, what few he had, stayed away when he drank, but Mary hadn’t had that luxury. When Julius came home drunk, she had nowhere to go. The trailer was small and Mary had no family. She was his whipping girl but that didn’t mean he didn’t love her. Why couldn’t she make allowances when he was drinking? He was a good man and gave her a place to live. Surely she must realize that it was never him that abused her, it was the alcohol. Each morning after sobering up, he would recall the way he mistreated her and it made him feel badly. He always tried to make it up to her by taking her to dinner or to a movie and he always promised that it wouldn’t happen again. But the short month that they were together, three times was three times too many for Mary. She was a smart gal and knew she had to leave.
One night while lying on his recliner, unable to sleep, his mind shifted to the detective he had hired. This man had found Mary for him. What impressed him was how fast he found her. Once the detective gave Julius her address, it was as simple as going to New York, following her and waiting for the right moment to snatch her and bring her back home, where she belonged, with him. His plan had been working perfectly until that big guy showed up and spoiled everything. This detective was the most expensive of the four he called, but he produced speedy results. Come to think of it, because of their speedy results, he actually saved Julius money. Julius removed the business card from his shirt pocket. It was the one he was given when he first interviewed the investigator. It read: “AAA Detective Agency of New York. Horace Sweeney, Senior Investigator.”
Julius called the agency and hired Horace Sweeney a second time. He explained to Sweeney the man he needed to locate admitting that he couldn’t remember the man’s name or much of the details. Sweeney gave his assurance that he’d find him. Sweeney telephoned first Zeke, and then Rollie, and questioned each extensively, jarring their memory until he had enough information for a starting point. It was Rollie who provided the lead he needed. Rollie remembered a name that sounded like the silent screen actor Rudolph Valentino, on the shopping bag that Trenchie had with him. Sweeney checked the yellow pages and found Valentino Maximus. That sounded close enough. It was the only name close to it and thus the hunt began. In no time, Sweeney handed over Trenchie’s address. He was efficient. Julius liked that.
Julius was in his usual angry mood from his drinking. Tonight, he directed his venom toward Rollie, who just happened to be the only other person in the room, using him as his sounding board. Julius, blind with rage, pointed at him and said loudly, “You know that I was hit by a sneak punch by that big bastard. If I was ready for it, he would have never beaten me. You hear me . . . never! I’m going back, Rollie. I’m going back and I’m gonna kill that guy and take back my wife.”
Rollie, not liking where this was heading said, “Look Julius, don’t even think about going back there. This guy is bad news. Just the look he gave me that day scared the shit out of me.”
“Yeah, well he don’t scare me none. I’ll take care of him, don’t you worry none about that. Who does he think he is trying to steal my wife away from me!”
“Julius, she’s not your wife any longer. She divorced you and she’s free to marry anybody she wants. Don’t go lookin’ for trouble, not with this guy. Listen to me. If you go up there, it won’t end well. I’m tellin’ you, don’t go up there. ”
“You’re right about that, Rollie. It won’t end well … for him.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was exactly nine in the morning when Red was escorted into the foyer of the large mansion. Profaci’s bodyguard did the most thorough pat down he had ever had. Satisfied that Red was clean, he ordered him to stay put as he picked up the small piece of luggage Red carried with him. He slowly examined it. Inside, he found a bottle of champagne, encased in ice, with two glasses resting in special recesses built into the case. The bodyguard looked for any secret compartments - the bottom, the sides -that might hide a weapon but there were none. He asked Red to follow him down the long foyer. Red felt obliged to explain the champagne. “In case you’re wondering about the case, it’s a gift to celebrate our agreement,” lifting the case as he said it.
Profaci was in his living room seated in his favorite armchair, surrounded by three of his men. Red noticed the bulges under their jackets which they made no effort to hide. Profaci, still seated, nodded to an empty seat opposite him as a silent order for Red to sit. “So what are we discussing today?” he asked.
“First,” Red said, “I want to show you something.” He opened the case and tilted it so Profaci could see the champagne. “Should we come to an understanding this morning, and I see no reason why we shouldn’t, I brought this as a celebratory gift.”
Profaci’s interest was piqued and he asked curiously, “Champagne? Is this the gift you brought me?”
Red made a show of taking the bottle from its special bag, along with two champagne glasses which he set on the table. He went on, “Ah, but not just any champagne. This is a bottle of the most expensive champagne money can buy - Clos Du Mesnil 1938. I brought it in anticipation of us reaching an agreement.” Profaci, being a wealthy man, recognized its label. The champagne sold for up to one thousand dollars a bottle.
“You have my interest. Please continue. What are we agreeing to, specifically?”
“Look Joe, I came to this meeting in the interest of straightening out any misunderstanding we may have.”
“Let me stop you right there. I don’t have any gripe with you. There is no misunderstanding, so what’s this really all about?”
“I know you had Yip wacked and when I found out about it, I became angry and I took care of the two guys that killed him. That was just business. So I come here in peace. It’s over as far as I’m concerned. You got what you wanted - Yip is dead and I got what I wanted - the two guys that killed him. Now, if you feel the same way, I’ll pour a glass of this fine champagne for the both of us and we’ll toast to me and you and we’ll call it a day.”
Profaci smiled and turned to his men. “I like this guy. He’s got style and he’s also got . . . a big pair of brass balls. Sure, I agree. Business is business. Let’s have a glass of that fancy Clos du Mesnil.”
Red poured first one, then the other glass of champagne into the two glasses and invited the man closest to him, the bodyguard who patted him down, to take a sip from either of the two glasses he held in his hands. The man pointed to the glass in his left hand, took a sip as Red reached up and took a sip from the other glass. Red placed the glasses on the table, looked at Profaci, and smiling a half smile, picked the up glasses, taking yet again another sip from each glass. “Just in case you had any doubts,” he said.
Profaci was observing him carefully. Red topped off each glass, smiled again and lifted them as if to ask Profaci to choose. Profaci shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “Pick whichever one you like” all the time observing which drink Red was about to give him. Red raised his glass and toasted Profaci, Italian style, “la pace tra le famiglie”, “peace among the families.” Red inched the fluted glass to his lips, and just as he was about to take a sip, Profaci gracefully, took hold of Red’s glass and offered his own, choosing to switch the glasses at the last second. Red was prepared. He had practiced holding one glass in his right hand, passing it in his left while reaching for the other glass with his right.
As Red began to pass the glass to his left hand, his hand hovered slightly over the glass. Red kept repeating to himself, “point of misdirection, maximum misdirection.” With his palm covering the ring and with the speed of a striking rattler, he triggered the catch on the ring, releasing its deadly powder, totally oblivious to the five men in the room. He was half way home. The move worked perfectly.
Profaci’s eyes watched Red’s eyes closely studying him for anything that might seem unusual but everything seemed normal. Satisfied, he held the glass in his hand waiting for the toast and the two men
tapped their glasses. Trying to stay a step ahead of the old man, Red drank the champagne in one gulp before Profaci could switch glasses a second time. That was the weak link in Red’s plan that he knew he couldn’t control. He poured a second glass and this one he drank slowly savoring the taste. Profaci raised the drink to his lips. Red held his breath.
“Ahh. That is one fine champagne,” Profaci exclaimed. “Leave the bottle. I want my men to sample what good champagne tastes like.”
“Sure Joe. The bottle’s yours. Maybe there’ll be another occasion to sip a good drink.” As Red was leaving, Profaci tapped his arm to stop him. Looking up at Red, he said in what seemed to be sincere tone, “It was unfortunate that Yip had to die, Red, but he sided with my enemies, so you can see, I had to do it . . . but it was just business. I was concerned about how you might take it but I gotta say - I’m impressed with the way you handled it. I want to tell ya, you got class kid. Don’t be a stranger. You’re welcome here anytime.”
The two men embraced and Red waved to the old man, still standing on his front stoop watching Red as he drove away.