“Were you working for the albino all along?”
“Workin’ with him, you mean?”
“Sure.”
“Yeah.” He grinned at me. “Unless we was workin’ with Gianolla. Or Adamo.” He stopped and turned around. “See, what we do is work for ourselfs. Got to where we come from, right?”
“I suppose so.”
He started walking again and turned down an alleyway. We followed, and Joey brought up the rear. Light leaked out from a few windows above us, casting a muddy glow over the alley. Two figures sat in the shadows about a hundred feet in, on the stoop of a rear entrance—Ray and Izzy.
They stood when we got close. “D’ja get it?” Izzy asked.
Abe shook his head.
“Why not?”
Abe hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward Joey. “Ask Quick Draw.” He turned back to me. “You owe me. You know that, right?”
I nodded. It was hard to argue with him on that score.
“I’m gonna need the wheels greased now and then. You got connections, so that’s your job now.”
“We’ll see. Depends on what you want.”
He stared into my eyes for a moment before reaching inside my coat. He pulled out my gold lighter and flipped it up in the air. “Here’s a start.” He caught the lighter, tossed it into the air again, and nodded his brothers toward the alley’s entrance.
Sobbing, Elizabeth threw her arms around me. I held her tightly. Over her shoulder, I watched the Bernsteins walk away. Joey and Ray fell in behind their oldest brother, but Izzy ran to him and leaped to try to catch the lighter on his next toss. Abe reached up and grabbed it just before it would have fallen into Izzy’s hand.
“Hey!” Izzy shouted.
Startled, Elizabeth turned and looked at them. I kept my arms wrapped around her, and we watched the brothers walk down the alley. A tracer shot up from behind the building across the street, a white flare rising in a gentle arc.
Again, Abe flipped up the lighter. Izzy pushed him, just enough to get him off balance, and snatched it out of the air. The firework exploded in a blinding burst of white sparks.
The boys stopped and stared up at the embers showering down toward the street. When the last one burned out, Izzy began dancing around his brothers, cackling, flicking the lighter at them. Abe feinted at him and laughed when Izzy bolted away. The boys continued down the alley, their silhouettes getting smaller. Finally they turned the corner, and Abe led his brothers out of the dark alleyway and into the bright lights of Detroit.
Author’s Note
Writing a historical novel requires walking a fine line—giving the history as you know it while dramatizing events that didn’t really happen. So it is with this book. I spent a lot of time perusing the Detroit newspapers of the day and then imagining how those events might have played out with Will and Elizabeth in the mix.
Although most of it was fought in 1913, the Adamo-Gianolla war actually occurred, and the Gianollas were victorious. Along the way, Tony Gianolla was wounded, as was Ferdinand Palma, former Detroit Police detective-turned-banker-turned-interpreter at Vito Adamo’s murder trial. The last mention I found of Palma during this time period came immediately after the Adamo brothers were shotgunned. He stated, from his hospital bed, his desire to get out of Detroit as quickly as possible. However, he must have reached an accommodation with the Gianollas, as he returned to Detroit and continued to run a very successful business.
Vito Adamo did turn himself in to the police and was exonerated for the killing of Carlo Callego, a move that may have signaled to the Gianollas once and for all that they had the upper hand. The murder of the Adamo brothers actually happened in November, during the day, just down the street from Vito’s house. Inside, the police found a notepad with writing in Italian and crude pictures of stilettos plunging into men’s backs. They thought this would give them insight into the gang war until they had it interpreted and discovered that Vito Adamo was writing a dime novel starring himself as the wrongly persecuted boy.
Strangest of all—for me, anyway—is that the Adamos and Gianollas did have groceries across the street from each other in Ford City, a village that has since been swallowed by the city of Wyandotte. Did the war start because of “a thumb on the meat scale or a price war on lettuce”? Probably not. More likely it was the old story of greed and ambition.
As for Detroit Electric, the Fords, F. W. Taylor, and the labor movement, most of the events depicted in this book did take place, though I have moved things around a bit to serve the story. Contrary to popular belief, the Model T was made in a variety of colors prior to Ford’s “perfecting” of the assembly line, which required the change to black in order for the paint to dry in time.
A note for Detroiters who may think I’m geographically challenged—the Merrill Fountain originally stood at the corner of Woodward and Monroe, in front of the old Detroit Opera House. It was moved to Palmer Park in 1926.
Finally, a plea for the legacy of Edsel Ford. The man was smart. He was kind. He was generous. Above all, he was loyal, working his whole life for his father, who berated and humiliated him time and again until he put Edsel in an early grave from stomach cancer caused by ulcers. It’s bad enough they named that car after him. (Although, to be fair, it was meant to be a tribute.)
Let’s remember Edsel Ford as he was—a hell of a guy.
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank my early readers, and they are many: my lovely wife, Shelly Johnson; my daughters Nicole, Grace, and Hannah; Yvonne Cooper; and a pack of voracious writers known as the West Michigan Writers Workshop, including, but not limited to, Steve Beckwith, Albert Bell, Patrick Cook, Greg Dunn, Vic Foerster, Jane Griffioen, Fred Johnson, Norma Lewis, Karen Lubbers, Roger Meyer, Paul Robinson, Dawn Schout, and Nathan TerMolen.
Once again, a shout-out to the amazing research facilities around the Detroit area, particularly the Benson Ford Research Center and its wonderful director, Judy Endelman, and the Detroit Public Library and its National Automotive History Collection. Thanks to Tony Barnes for help with the legal aspects of the story, to Yvonne Cooper and Emilie Savas for their medical knowledge, to Galen Handy for his assistance with Detroit Electric history, and to Jack Beatty for allowing me to ride in his beautifully restored 1916 Detroit Electric coupé and helping me in other ways.
Thanks to Cherry Weiner for gaining me the opportunity, and to Daniela Rapp for her patience, kindness, and encouragement while trying to wrench this book out of my mind.
Finally, I’d like to thank Richard Bak, a fine writer who gave me great insight into Detroit history and helped me appreciate Edsel Ford.
Also by D. E. Johnson
The Detroit Electric Scheme
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
MOTOR CITY SHAKEDOWN. Copyright © 2011 by D. E. Johnson. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Johnson, D. E. (Dan E.)
Motor City shakedown / D. E. Johnson.—1st ed.
p. cm.
e-ISBN 9781429973731
1. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. 2. Automobile industry and trade—Fiction. 3. Organized crime—Fiction. 4. Detroit (Mich.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3610.O328M68 2011
813'.6—dc22
2011018770
First Edition: September 2011
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