King of the Bootleggers

by Eugene Lloyd MacRae

  Sam did a double-take, looked up and pulled the pipe from his mouth, pointing it at Herb, "You're taking this cargo to Cuba?"

  "Yep."

  "On what ship?"

  Herb shrugged, "My tug."

  Sam did a double-take again, "Your tug. You're taking this cargo...on your tug...all the way to Cuba?"

  "Yeah. Now do you want to go down and inspect it or you just gonna send us on our way?"

  Sam puffed on his pipe a number of times and then blew a big cloud of smoke as he pointed the pipe towards the docks, "Herb, you go fishing on the lake, it's right out there. Cuba is..." Sam made a series of twists and turns with his hand and then extended his arm out to the left, "...and Cuba is way over there. I sailed the seven seas, I know. How you gonna get there on your tug?"

  Herb puffed his chest out, "I know where Cuba is. You don't have to tell me. I can head up through the Welland, up the St. Lawrence and down through the Erie and hug the coast."

  Sam puffed on his pipe for a moment and then picked up a stamp, pounded it in the ink pad and then pounded it on the papers, "I think you're nuts. And I hope you fellas know what you're doing. The ocean isn't always friendly, especially on a tugboat. I'd hate to see you all comin' back into town in pine boxes."

  Herb glared at Sam, stepped forward, snatched up the papers and handed them to Rocco. Then he turned on his heels and headed for the door.

  Rocco nodded thanks to Sam and followed Herb to the door.

  Tommy nodded at Sam as well and followed the other two.

  Herb pulled the door open and glanced back, "See you later tonight when I get back, Sam."

  Sam did a double-take.

  AFTER CAPTAIN GAMBLE helped Rocco and Tommy to get through customs, they had a nice belly-busting fish supper at Sarah's Diner. Rocco had explained they needed to make the run to shore on the Buffalo side after dark and Gamble was genuinely worried about running aground. But after Rocco assured him he would pay cash if the tug was lost, they were on their way. Gamble was eager to test his old sailing skills, as he put it.

  LITTLE JACK'S MEN BITCHED when they had to wade into the frigid water to transfer the load ashore. But Little Jack was more than happy to get a load of four hundred cases. He said Monterosso's establishment could barely keep up with demand already.

  The air was cold and snow started falling when the tug berthed back into its slip in Port Maitland. Rocco and Tommy were glad to get their feet back on dry land as they jumped off the end of the tug.

  Gamble stepped off behind them and stuck out his hand, "It was a real pleasure doing business with you men."

  Rocco shook his hand, "You do realize we'll be back tomorrow?"

  Gamble looked confused, "Tomorrow?"

  "Yeah. And I figure we'll have...700 cases?"

  Gamble's mouth hung open.

  "And we'll be back every day after that. We'll pay you $200 a day. If that's okay with you?"

  "B-but that's...."

  Rocco nodded, "That's over $70,000 a year to you."

  Gamble could only blink.

  Rocco slapped the old man on the upper arm, "And the loads will get bigger. Just let us know when you need a bigger boat."

  Chapter 12

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Rocco parked his truck across the street from the front entrance to the Glen Gael Distillery and walked back to Tommy's truck. The air was a bit frosty and it looked like it was going to snow. Pushing the frayed collar of his jacket up around his ears, Rocco stepped up onto the running board on the passenger side and leaned into the open window, "Wait here while I go and make the deal for 700 cases."

  "But how do we get 700 cases down there?" Tommy asked. "We'll need to get another truck and another driver–"

  Rocco motioned for the young man to calm down, "I figure Old man Kippen will let us take 400 and we come back and make a second run with the 300. That's why we're starting early. We got plenty of daylight–"

  "And that Gamble makes the run over there by himself? In the daylight? Rocco, if we're not there to protect–"

  "Calm down kid. You worry too much. There's plenty of room on that fishing tug and we just go back with the second load. If you're worried about him being attacked before we get back, you can always lend him your Thompson."

  Tommy straightened up, concerned, "No way. I'm Machine Gun Tommy–"

  Rocco shook his head in amusement and stepped off the running board, "Relax, kid, relax."

  Rocco headed for the distillery. Stepping through the door, he closed it behind him and headed for the old man's office. He stopped dead in his tracks.

  Kippen stood in the open doorway to his old office. Both eyes were swollen, the right one totally shut. His lips were swollen and bloody. Blood streamed from cuts around his eyes and from his nose. The front of his heavy, warm shirt and the coveralls were stained dark with blood.

  A voice sounded behind Rocco. "Don't even think of moving."

  Rocco felt the gun at the base of his skull and the voice in his right ear. A left hand began patting his jacket and pants. It found the wad of cash in his pocket and pulled it out. He must've been waiting behind the door.

  Kippen stumbled forward from the doorway into the room, pushed from behind.

  Lauriano 'Meatball' Achille stepped out of the office behind the old man. He carried a Smith & Wesson M1917 revolver in his right hand and he lifted it and pointed it straight at Rocco's head. His face was cold and impassive.

  The voice behind Rocco said, "He's clean."

  "Tie him," Meatball said.

  Rocco felt the gun leave the back of his skull and he glanced to the right, wondering if he had the chance to attack. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Meatball's partner, Guppy.

  "Don't even think about it," Meatball said slowly.

  Rocco had his right hand jerked hard behind his back, then the left one as Guppy tied his hands together. Then he nearly fell over on his face when he was pushed from behind and Guppy growled 'move'.

  Meatball stuck his gun under Kippen's chin, "You know what happens if you or your men talk or call the coppers."

  Kippen's eyes watered with pain as his head was forced upward. He nodded as best as he could, his eyes filled with fear as he looked into the eyes of a killer.

  Rocco felt Guppy's hand grab his upper left arm and he was guided roughly into the back of the distillery and towards the back door. The workmen were off to the sides, doing their best to stay as inconspicuous as possible and keeping their eyes turned away, in case they incurred someone's anger. Outside the back door was a Model T that had been modified during the war to serve as an ambulance. Rocco noted the Red Cross symbol on the side of the wooden body was faded like someone had tried to remove it. Two men were sitting in the front seat. Rocco was led to the back opening where he was roughly lifted and thrown inside on the floor.

  Meatball and Guppy joined him, closing the heavy canvas flap behind them before sitting on the floor and glaring at Rocco.

  Rocco lay his head back on the floor. Do I end up in Burlington Bay? Or in a swamp?

  Chapter 13

  THE FORMER MODEL-T AMBULANCE jerked to a stop. Meatball and Guppy dragged Rocco out of the back, letting him drop to the ground.

  Rocco felt the breath knocked from his lungs but he refused to show any pain. Roughly hauled to his feet, Rocco was shoved forward. He was surprised to find himself in a narrow back alley. Old wooden buildings rose on either side of the alley and the stench of garbage was strong.

  One of the men from the front of the ambulance pulled open the back door to one of the buildings. Its hinges squealed annoyance.

  Rocco was pushed inside and down a dark, narrow hallway. The wooden floor creaked under his feet. Light filtered through an open doorway ahead. Moments later Rocco was pushed into the back of a small, old restaurant. He could hear the clatter of pots and pans through a doorway off to the right. The place was totally empty except for a group of four men sitting at a table near the front on the right. Only a row
of tables against the windows behind them separated them from the front of the building. As he was pushed forward past the empty tables, Rocco saw the sign on the door on the left. It said 'Open'. Which meant he was seeing the back of the sign and the place was actually closed. And as he was pushed towards the table with the four men, he knew why. And where he was. This was Marsala Ristorante on James Street North. The lettering on the window offered old world Sicilian cuisine. It had been started by old man Frido Russo, who had named it after his hometown in Sicily. And sitting there in a chair that disappeared under his bulk was the son, Salvatore Russo. Fat Sal barely glanced up as Rocco was pushed to the table.

  Guppy stepped forward and held out something to the man sitting at the table on this side of Fat Sal. It was the wad of cash Rocco had carried with him.

  Rocco recognized the man as Genesio Marino, Russo's right-hand man and known as The Enforcer.

  Marino quickly counted the cash, "$20,000." He set it on the table in front of his boss.

  Fat Sal raised an eyebrow as he looked at the money.

  Meatball spoke up, "And the old man was right. His records show they bought 915 cases of whiskey."

  Fat Sal's face flashed annoyance and he looked up at Rocco, brown eyes glaring menacingly, nearly buried in the puffy fat of his face. His voice was gravelly, still heavy with the Italian accent from his childhood in Sicily as he spoke, "I send my men to pick up my measly 100 cases and what does the old man tell them? That he doesn't have any left. That someone bought everything, cleaning out his stocks." He looked at the men sitting across from him, "And I say, how can that be? The distillery can make 500 cases a day, but the old man hasn't made that much in years because of the law. So I say, who can be moving that much liquor in my neighborhood? Who? Who can be interfering in my business?" Russo lifted a fat, sausage-like finger and pointed at Rocco, "Then I find out it's you."

  Rocco didn't react. It wouldn't do to show fear, even if you felt it.

  Fat Sal shifted slightly in his chair, the old wood of the chair underneath him cracking in protest, "But I know it's not being bootlegged in my territory. So I reach out to my friends to see what they know." He gestured to the two men sitting across from him.

  Rocco realized who the other two men were. It was Guido Vitale and Roman Provenzano. Vitale ran everything in Cherry Heights and Stoney Creek on the east side of the city. Provenzano was the man in Hess Village and Little Racalmuto in the center of Hamilton. They weren't so much friends of Russo as rival bosses who agreed to stay out of each other's way.

  Fat Sal turned his attention back to Rocco, "So I ask you, my friend. Where are you moving the liquor?"

  Rocco stayed firm, looking at Russo as he tried to maintain a neutral expression.

  Silence fell over the restaurant as Fat Sal waited for an answer. When it didn't come, Russo gave a slight gesture with his head to Meatball.

  Rocco saw Meatball head towards the back of the restaurant and disappear through the swinging door where the sounds of pots and pans had been coming from when they first came in. Is he bringing back a meat cleaver to open my head? Is that how this ends?

  The swinging doors slammed back against the wall and Rocco saw what Meatball was bringing out of the kitchen area. It was Tony. He was wearing his copper's uniform, minus the hat. Meatball held a gun to Tony's head as he pushed him towards the table where Rocco stood. Two other men, probably men who were guarding Tony inside the kitchen area, were following behind.

  Russo looked at the other two mob bosses, "I also wondered who had the balls to steal cases of whiskey from members of my organization. Who was this policeman who was rousting my people, while someone did the stealing?" He glared up at Tony who was now next to Rocco, "And they identify this one. Who, I find out, is friends with this one." He looked at the two mob bosses shaking his head, "So I put two and two together...and I realize these two friends are interfering in my business." He raised his voice, looking at Rocco and Tony, "Interfering in my business."

  Meatball pulled the hammer back on his gun, the clicking sound loud and ominous.

  Tony's eyes blinked His voice was hoarse, "You do realize killing a copper–"

  "–has been done before and will be done again after this," Russo sneered. He looked deliberately into the eyes of Rocco, "If you don't want your friend to die...."

  Rocco gave a slight shrug, not wanting to make too big a movement that might cause bullets to fly. "You'll probably kill us anyway."

  Russo looked at the other two bosses and made a frown, "Maybe. Maybe not. You tell us what we want to know and you can walk out of here. We're men of honor." He looked back up at Rocco, disdainfully, "We're not like your father, who died because he cheated at dice."

  A low laugh came from Roman Provenzano.

  Rocco had heard the stories as a kid. His father had been killed by Provenzano in a back alley in the North End. His mother had said no, that it was someone else, that it was done by an unknown stranger. But now Rocco knew the truth. His mother was afraid he would've gone after Provenzano some day and she would lose her only son as well. His mother had died during the first year of WW 1 when Rocco had been deployed overseas and unable to get back. If I get out of this–

  Russo waited for an answer, watching both Rocco and Tony. Then he looked at Rocco and said in a low voice, "You want...I can have my men go and visit that Jew woman you're with. What do you say? They can have a little fun...."

  Rocco clenched his jaw but stayed quiet.

  Fat Sal sat back, considering the two men for a moment. Then he tried a different tack, "Look. I'm a generous man. You obviously have a very nice business situation going. Even though you're not one of us...I'm willing to let you keep 10% of the take. 10% of the take! Who else working for me would get such a deal–?"

  "But as you say, we're not one of you," interjected Rocco. "We're not Cosa Nostra, we're not Sicilian."

  Russo shrugged his huge shoulders and made a face, "Not everyone can be so lucky. We're going to adopt you, like a puppy." He looked at Vitale and Provenzano and they broke out in derisive laughter for a moment. Then Russo looked back at Rocco, lifted a fat finger and screwed it against his own temple, signaling to Rocco to 'use your head'.

  "He's right. Don't be stupid. DeLuca," Provenzano said. "Take the offer when the man is being generous."

  Russo nodded solemnly, "You just continue to take the cases from the distillery–"

  But Rocco wasn't listening. Something caught his eye and he was looking out the front window of the restaurant.

  The same thing caught Meatball's attention as well and his eyes grew big in a flash, "Look out."

  Standing outside the window on the wooden sidewalk was Tommy. He was holding the Thompson submachine gun in both hands. Machine Gun Tommy pulled the trigger and opened fire.

  Glass and wooden windowsill shattered and exploded inwards.

  Rocco moved to his right, driving his shoulder into Tony and taking both of them to the floor.

  The two men who had guarded Tony were reaching into their suit coats for their weapons. They never made it. Bullets ripped through the brown woolen material and the two men, along with Guppy, began a macabre dance as a steady hail of .45 caliber bullets were the only things that kept them on their feet.

  Rocco rolled along the floor before coming up on his feet. "Out the back way," he yelled at Tony, his voice barely audible above the constant rat-tat-tat of the Thompson. Rocco ran low, his hands still tied behind his back. Bullets ripped into the tables, chairs, and furnishings of Marsala Ristorante. Pictures on the wall of old Sicily were turned into Swiss cheese. Rocco dove into the hallway, sliding headfirst across the old wooden boards of the flooring.

  Tony landed on the floor right beside him.

  "Untie me, quick," Rocco yelled.

  Tony got to his knees and quickly worked the knot free. Both men were up and running low when the back door to the restaurant slammed open.

  The other two men from the ambulance appea
red one behind the other in the doorway, their guns drawn.

  Tony slammed into them, followed by Rocco and they drove them backward, all four bodies landing hard in the alleyway.

  Rocco landed hard on top of his man and quickly lifted himself sideways to bring a knee up. The man groaned in agony as he clutched between his legs. Rocco drove a fist into his jaw, knocking the man cold.

  Tony finished his man at the same time and leaped into the driver side of the ambulance, "Get in." Then Tony swore when he realized this was a 1914 model. "Bitch is a hand crank," he yelled as he leaped out and ran for the front of the model T.

  Rocco realized that the Thompson had stopped firing and he heard voices and men scrambling over furniture back inside the restaurant. "No time. Run for it," he yelled at Tony. Rocco started running for the end of the alleyway and then he stopped after twenty feet and went back to the two men. One of their handguns was lying in the dirt and he picked it up. The other peeked out from under one of the bodies. Rocco grabbed the man's shoulder and lifted it just enough to get the handgun out. Then he turned and followed Tony toward the end of the alleyway. Just before they hit the dirt street at the end they slid to a stop in the dirt. A vehicle pulled to a stop and blocked their exit. Rocco fumbled to get one of the two guns up–

  "–it's Tommy," Tony yelled.

  "Get in. Hurry," Tommy yelled at them.

  Both Rocco and Tony didn't hesitate as they both quickly climbed up and into the cargo box.

  Tommy floored the gas pedal and the wheels of the one-ton truck ripped up the dirt before gaining traction.

  The sounds of gunfire exploded behind them and bullets chewed off pieces of the wooden cargo box as they pulled away.

  Chapter 14

  TOMMY SLAMMED ON THE BRAKES and the one-ton truck slid to a stop in front of Rocco's apartment building. He jumped from the truck without stepping onto the running board and landed in the street, looking back to see if anyone was chasing them.