by Lynda Rees
“I know you did, Uncle Vinnie. They loved you. Gran still does. She talks about you like you’re her son. Go on, Uncle Vinnie. Tell me more.” Vinnie knew the whole story.
“I owed some dude, a made man in the Syndicate, a gambling debt. I kept trying to pay it off. He kept raising repayment cost. I tried to talk with him, but he wouldn’t bargain. His men beat me one night in an alley as I closed the club. Lola, Roberta and Snake visited me in the hospital.”
He hesitated so long she wondered if he’d finished. There must be more. She needed to learn everything she could, in order to get Carlo off her back. Damn, she longed to go home to New York. First things first.
“Carlo Tallarigo visited me the other night.”
Vinnie physically cringed. “Yeah, I know about it.”
“I figured Gran told you. I overheard her talking on the phone afterward. I figured she called you.”
“Yeah, Lola called. Don’t worry about Tallarigo. I’ll get him off you. The weasel ain’t got the shit to run your mom’s business. He thinks he’s the cock-on-the-block. He ain’t nothing but a piss ant.”
His guttural growl sounded scary. He had it bad for Carlo.
“Anyway, back to your dad. Old Asher liked the nickname and figured it made people fear him. Well they should. He had a long fuse, but riled became one mean dude. Asher, Roberta and Lola got pissed about my beating. Asher told me to forget it. He’d pay the debt, and we’d be done.”
“Wow, Dad must’ve loved you.” It was a generous deed.
“Apparently the guy wasn’t satisfied with the money. Asher tried paying him off. He refused the dough and threw it in Asher’s face. Asher’s hot temper allowed for no nonsense. He tossed it on the boss’s desk and told him to stay away from his family, which included me. The guy invaded Asher’s space. Asher head-butted him and broke his nose then stalked out.” Vinnie laughed out loud at the memory. “Apparently, it ruffled feathers. Guess they decided to teach us a lesson—a bad one. The next evening someone shot your dad dead on the street. They drove by and shot him as he came out of the antique store.” Vinnie pointed outside to the sidewalk. “He laid face down in a pool of his blood by the parking meter.” He wiped another tear from his fleshy face.
Tisha stared through the dirty window at the sidewalk for a long time. She didn’t know what to say or do but a lump in her throat tried to choke her.
Daddy breathed his last time alone on the dirty concrete. She wiped a tear silently.
“I’m sorry, Honey. It’s difficult to hear.”
“Yes, but go on. I need to hear it. Why’d they call him Snake?”
“It’s a funny story. Some dude beat the shit—pardon my language. Some dude beat the hell out of Asher, leaving him for dead. Two teenage punks bigger and older held Asher while another whipped your dad.”
“Wow, but it doesn’t explain.”
“Asher caught a rattlesnake in the woods by the Ohio. They’re rare here. It must’ve hitched a ride up river on a boat. Anyway, Asher caught the viper and put it in a pillow case. Spying the gangster waiting for someone in a car, Asher opened the front door and tossed the bag opened with the snake in it inside. He slammed it shut and strolled away.” Vinnie slapped his knee laughing.
“Oh, my god, it’s ruthless.”
The same man had shown her such gentle love as a child. She’d been sheltered from the real world. It began oozing from beneath the rock, coming at her now, left and right. Her head spun.
“I have the utmost respect for the man, my friend loved like a brother. In business and life he acted ruthless and hard-nosed. After Asher’s death Roberta, Lola, and I continued business as usual determined to avoid the mob. We’d make our fortune without them. We suspected the asshole Tallarigo did the shooting. Truth is, someone higher ordered it. Carlo Tallarigo may’ve done the deed as the messenger, but it appears a mob hit all the way. He wasn’t high enough in the food chain to make decisions about such stuff. He has always been a grunt, a toy soldier in the organization.”
“He keeps threatening me and Gran.”
“Don’t worry about him. I’ll see to it. We kept Carlo close enough to watch him. He suspected, but knew we didn’t have enough to go after him legally. He’s a sly one. There’s no statute of limitations on murder. Carlo needs to get what’s coming to him.”
“Back to the girls, the prostitution ring—how did Mom get involved again? Isn’t it mob business?”
“Yeah, I was getting to it. And yeah, the mob runs prostitution. Their girls are two-bit whores compared to your mom’s girls. She runs a high class operation. The Mob doesn’t care. Their market differs, so they allowed her to function. If anything, her classy operation helped make the overall profession look better. Roberta got involved with girls through the clubs. She allowed hookers to frequent her clubs. Gents spend more with scantily clad broads around, so they were good for business. She paid a commission for convincing guys to buy them expensive drinks or spend a lot of money at the bar. Noticing girls who danced for her, and some who frequented the clubs, came in night after night with black eyes, and bruises from beatings. She learned of their dissatisfaction with abusive, loser pimps and told the girls they could work with her if they wanted. She’d take care of ‘em. The smart ones agreed.
“Weren’t the pimps upset?”
“Upset doesn’t cover it.” Vinnie laughed. He smacked one fist into the palm of the other hand. “I dealt with anyone causing our girls problems. One by one, they saw the light and backed off realizing the ladies wouldn’t return. They got other, more desperate gals to work for them, I recon. The kind is a dime a dozen. Roberta taught them turning them into classy, upscale prostitutes, helping them go to school and get educated. She taught them about clothes, makeup and hair, how to communicate and how treat men like Kings. They did business in hotels at first. Shady hotels didn’t provide an appropriate atmosphere for high-priced hookers. Roberta being smart knew clients expected more and wanted security, privacy, and a pleasant, upscale setting to enjoy paid companions. One good reason to spend extra on a quality girl, there’s less chance of getting caught.”
So there’s a good thing about this?
“Roberta came up with a system which worked well. She renovated this building to accommodate one-room, classy suites. She renovated the two side-by-side buildings on Monmouth Street where the bakery is. The other store front of the adjoining building appears vacant from the street, but it’s used for another purpose—upstairs suites for the girls. Roberta has a lot of girls.”
“Carlo mentioned books. What’s he referring to?”
“Roberta kept a separate phone and a book for the business. I saw it once. The dark red, leather-bound journal holds clients’ and girls’ numbers. She collected personal information and poop on clients—good ammo should any of the powerful gents want to turn on her. It ensured safety. She hid it at the house. Carlo wants it. He expects you’ll hand over Roberta’s girls to him.” He rubbed his fleshy chin in consideration.
“Oh shit, I’ve been through Mom’s things and her safe. I’ve not found it.”
“Customers requested their favorite girl on a voice mail and identified themselves with a code name Roberta gave them. Everything operated in code—numbers for girls and customer. Once a day she checked messages using her burner phone. It couldn’t trace to her. She confirmed appointments with the girl requested and the client. Clients paid the girl during their visit. The girls paid rent. Roberta charged high rent to include what was owed toward her fee for trick’s turned. She went by average number tricks each girl did per month with a simple math equation calculating reasonable rent for each tenant. It’s simple.”
“I don’t understand why she did it. Smart and educated, Mom could’ve done anything. The art gallery made a substantial profit and her real estate is lucrative. She didn’t need the cash. Why wasn’t it enough?”
“How do you think she earned money to invest in real estate? Besides, Roberta liked the girls. Sh
e felt she owed it to them to keep their lucrative livelihood going. They needed her and she earned impressive revenue helping them with their chosen career. Everyone wins. Nobody loses. Good business.” His matter-of-fact tone displayed no remorse.
Flustered, Tisha shook her head. “First stripping, then the clubs, the mob, hookers, and prison—now this, I’m in over my head, Vinnie.”
“Roberta got involved in clubs because she grew up around them. She wasn’t afraid and liked the family business. With Lola involved, Roberta worried wanted to watch out for her. Everything tied up in clubs and the antique store, Roberta saw it as an industry pure and simple, with big money-making potential. Eventually the market shifted. Strip joints lost momentum, still fruitful but there were signs. Things changed and income slowed. A matter of time, she sold to developers who built restaurants and the Levy, catering to hip, young professionals. She made a killing and invested in property. By then she’d formed the prostitution ring and kept it business. Everyone wants respectable operations nowadays, or at least appearing as such. Politicians developed consciences. Police cracked down. Most feared getting caught so didn’t take risks. Roberta came up with a process which works smooth as silk. She continued to this day.”
“I can’t believe this goes on in today’s’ world. Am I the only person clueless? Does the world know?” Exasperated, her hands refused to stop shaking.
“Prostitution thrives. It happens, but done quietly, not out in the open. The market thrives today as it always will. It’s the oldest profession. Anyway, the girls need the work. Clients want them. It’s a win-win, a victimless crime. Roberta has high powered clients who don’t rock the boat—politicians, ball players, businessmen, lawyers, doctors, and even a sheriff. I won’t name names. It would surprise you.” Vinnie’s belly danced as he chuckled. “Some aren’t local. A union leader flies in from the west coast frequently. A couple Washington politicians visit occasionally. Actors, singers, influential businessmen, you name it; if a gainful career exists there’s a client in your Mom’s red book.”
Vinnie studied Tisha’s face for reaction. She could tell he hated being the bearer of this news.
“It’s not all prostitution. There’s more.”
All this happened around her through the years. She’d been blind.
CHAPTER 17
“Monthly Roberta put on a high-roller game, and people come from around the world to play. It’s held in the empty storefront next to the bakery, by personal invitation. Roberta sent invitations in the mail to a swanky cocktail party with a charity theme. She held a party and collected donations for the charity. Anyone outside the-know wouldn’t realize its main purpose as alerting players of the game. Attendees paid a hundred-grand to the house as they RSVP’d. Buy in is two-hundred-thousand cash. Upon arrival they received fifty-thousand in credit from the upfront fee. The house kept the other fifty taking one percent of total pot throughout the evening. The balance went to winners.”
“The popular events have a waiting list of famous names around the country dying to get in. Roberta sent invites to attendees for the coming month. She received upfront cash. Her invitation list is in the red book along with a waiting list for upcoming months. The next game happens in two weeks, so it would help if you could locate the journal. Upfront dough is non-refundable. If someone cancels less than a week before the game they owe the house an additional twenty-grand to offset loss the house incurs should they fail to advise Roberta. Someone must manage the game. Without the diary, we’re screwed. With it, at least we can meet the commitment to the gamers. I’d hate disappointing these wealthy, powerful customers. Who knows what they might do.” Worry-sweat beaded on his rippling forehead.
Tisha felt a pang of pity for him. The distasteful, illegal venture had been a well thought-out program. In awe of Mom’s devious nature developing the ingenious plan, Tisha learned how little she really knew about her family. Heavy weights continued piling higher on her shoulders, as she grew weaker by the minute, taking a toll on her. How much more could she take before fracturing into a million pieces?
“These guys have money to burn and love to play, so rarely does anyone cancel. It’s an honor being invited and an opportunity to network off the grid, so to speak. They’re loaded and get off on winning. The thrill of being the best provides a high for these powerful folks with enormous egos and cavernously deep pockets. They live for high stakes whether in business, politics or games. They require a beat down, besting an opponent and being on top.”
They sat in silence for a moment while Tisha mulled it over with her head spinning. The tall tale could fodder an interesting historical novel or quirky movie plot. Having trouble believing the reality of her nightmare, she strained to figure a way out.
“Now what?” Her voice rang defeated forgetting earlier euphoria.
Sunshine before the storm?
How could she escape the mess? Desperate to put it in her past and get on with life, she refused being drawn into the swirling spiral of illegal, immoral poison.
She couldn’t possibly lay this on Sam. Their love affair would never withstand it and he’d look down on her like others always had. She couldn’t drag him down with her. No wonder she had been treated as a pariah. People feared association with her. Her stomach rolled, and she struggled to steady her breath and not hyperventilate. Down and defeated, her world exploded into thin air.
Sam posed another problem. She’d let off the hook easy then find a way to forget him. It wouldn’t be easy. Sam wasn’t forgettable. Heartache headed her way. She had no choice. Might as well get it over with quick, she’d do it this afternoon, if she could catch him before his dinner meeting. She’d cancel their date for tomorrow and refuse his calls after the break off.
A chime rang and the shop’s front door opened. Startled, the bell broke the silence and Tisha’s train of thought.
A tall brunette entered. Her long ponytail swayed confidently behind her tall neck. Flawless skin on her slim frame and barely noticeable makeup gave her a classy aura dressed elegantly fashionable in a turquoise cashmere turtleneck. Tailored, leather bomber jacket with matching knee-high boots over expensive, designer jeans clung to curves as though painted on. She carried a small, black Gucci bag, and wore tiny pearl earrings with no other jewelry. The beauty strode serenely poised toward Vinnie’s open office door.
Noticing Tisha, she smiled congenially. “I’m sorry, Vinnie, I didn’t realize you had a customer. I need to drop this off.” She extended a white envelope to him. Recognition flashed on her lovely face, having met Tisha at the funeral.
Mom’s girl?
Vinnie moved nervously. “No worries, Brenda. You remember Roberta’s girl, Tisha?”
She extended a perfectly manicured hand. “Certainly, Ms. McClain, I’m sorry for your loss. I loved Roberta dearly, like a big sister.”
Tisha accepted the warm handshake. “Thank you, Brenda. I appreciate your sharing.”
“Of course. If I can do anything for you, say the word. I owe Roberta big time. Vinnie can reach me.”
“Thank you.” Tisha couldn’t imagine a scenario where she’d call on Brenda’s offer, but it brightened her mood knowing she appreciated Roberta. The remarkable female politely excused herself.
Never in a million years would she have guessed Brenda as a hooker. She exuded class and breeding—like Roberta.
She began questioning everything she thought she knew. She’d never suspected her family of criminal involvement. Accepting life at face value, never questioning or suspecting, she’d been oblivious. Spiraling deeper and deeper into a cavernous realm of lies and deceit, Tisha shattered.
She mindlessly followed Vinnie as they viewed the rooms upstairs then visited Uncle Tony DiAngelo at the bakery-casino-whore house on Monmouth Street to tour the buildings. At their goodbye, Tony solemnly gripped her in a bear hug, as though suspecting it as his last. He realized she’d separate herself from it and them.
Later in Vinnie’s office she slu
mped in her chair exhausted. “What now?”
“First, you must find Roberta’s book and phone. They’re keys to contacting clients. It’s important, and these influential people deeply invest in the upcoming game. We don’t dare risk disappointing them. Once you find it, we’ll figure out what to do. Roberta hid it somewhere in the house. Want me to come help search?”
“No thanks. I’ll find it. It’s not anywhere obvious or in the safe. I’ll look tonight. If I don’t find it, you can help search.” One step at a time, she’d achieve a goal—getting the hell out of the sinister industry. Stakes high, she didn’t dare leave loose ends. Gran’s life—or hers—could depend on it.
“Say the word. I’m here if you need me. Don’t worry about Lola. She’ll understand. She’s not a novice at this. The old gal’s got guts. She’s savvy to ways of the world.” Vinnie cocked a brow studying her face as though gauging whether her capability to leave or not.
“Yep, Gran’s provided her share of shocking surprises for me, as well.”
“Yeah, well here it is. Like it or not. You inherited the trade. Decide what you’ll do with it. Keep in mind it’s all I’ve got going, Tony too. It’s my sole income. And the girls want to work. They make big dough and know what they’re doing. There’s a market for what they provide. Close us down, the ladies, Tony and I got nothing. We need this. It’s all we know.”
The sad truth, Tisha felt ready to burst into tears. Vinnie’s resolved look shot an ache through her heart. “I’ll go with whatever you decide, regardless my personal outcome. I’m impressed with your tolerance. Like your ma, you’re a class act, Tisha. I trusted your judgement. You’ll figure out how best to handle this.”
“I don’t know, Vinnie. I’m in shock. I never suspected this. A week ago if someone suggested Mom involved in shady affairs, I’d have believed them insane and would’ve bet my life on it.” She stood to go. “I’ve learned enough for today.”
Vinnie helped with her coat. “I’ll touch base in a day or two and make a decision about—.” She edged toward the door with shoulders sagging unnaturally.