Rocco took out both of them with head shots.
The man behind the counter was coming up with a shotgun.
Rocco lifted a foot and shoved the table back against Corman and held it there while swinging his weapon to the right and shooting the counter man between the eyes.
The counter man fell forward over the counter and then slid off it slowly, the shotgun clattering to the floor.
Corman struggled but he was hampered by the table against his body and his weapon was only halfway out.
Keeping his leg up and the foot in place against the table, Rocco leaned over and stretched his arm out, placing the Colt against the man's forehead, "Hello Charles. So nice to meet you."
Charles Corman froze, his eyes focused on the weapon against his forehead, "W-what do you want?"
"For you to stop pissing off my friends."
"Done."
"And how do you know who my friends are?"
Charles Corman opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure of what to say.
"Remove your finger from the trigger. Good." Stepping back from the table, Rocco kept the gun trained on Corman, "Now slowly pull your weapon out and lay it on the table. And I mean really slow."
Corman complied, his hand shaking as he kept his eyes focused on the Colt.
Rocco took the gun and threw it to the floor on the right where it slid under a table, "Okay. Now stand up."
Corman complied, rising slowly with his hands up, his eyes never straying from the Colt.
Rocco pulled Corman out from behind the table and then pushed him towards the front door, placing the gun against the man's lower back, "Put your hands down. We're going to walk out of here real slow. I'll put a bullet in your spine if you do something stupid. Got it?"
Corman gave a slight nod, afraid to do more than that.
Rocco guided him outside where he stopped him and stood still, gun pressed against the man's back.
A moment later, a car roared down the street from the left and stopped in front of them. Marco Passantino was behind the wheel. Angelo Controni was in the passenger seat. Angelo got out and stood holding the door open, handgun held down by his leg.
Rocco pushed Corman towards the open car door, "Get in."
Charles Corman half turned, "Look. I can pay whatever–"
Rocco gave him a hard look, "Get - in. Or I pull the trigger."
Corman complied without another word.
"Slid over," Angelo instructed Corman. The man did as he was told and Angelo got in, pulled the door closed and Passantino drove away.
Slipping the Colt into his shoulder holster, Rocco crossed the street to his own vehicle and a moment later he made a u- turn and followed the others.
Ten minutes later across town, Passantino pulled over and stopped.
Rocco pulled up behind him and parked.
Angelo stepped out and motioned for Charles Corman to get out as well.
Rocco looked up and down the street as he got out. Everything was quiet. Pulling his Colt he walked up to Corman and placed the gun in the small of his back again, "That's your house across the street."
It was more statement than question but Corman answered a nervous, "Yes."
"Is there anyone home?"
Corman shook his head no.
"You better be sure," Rocco said and he gave a nod to Angelo.
Angelo opened the back door and set his gun on the seat. Picking something up from the floor, he then stood back next to Corman and showed it to him, "You won't be needing your house anymore so...."
Charles Corman looked down to see what Angelo was holding. His eyes went wide when he realized it was a petrol bomb.
Angelo jogged across the street to the front of the house. He dug into his pocket for a match as he took the two steps to the porch, looking in both directions to be sure no one was watching. Striking the match against the bottom of his shoe, he lit the rag at the end of the bottle. Lifting his arm, Angelo watched it burn for a moment to make sure and then threw it hard through the front window. He turned and ducked his head as the petrol bomb exploded. Behind him, the drapes began to go up in flames and fire licked through the broken glass.
Angelo jogged back across the street and retrieved his gun from the seat.
Corman was white as a sheet as he watched his home going up in flames.
Giving him a moment to let it sink it, Angelo then told him to get back inside the car.
But Corman had a hard time taking his eyes off the blazing house, no doubt wondering what else was in store for him.
Angelo nudged him with the handgun, "I said...get in."
Corman was startled from his black thoughts and he looked at the gun, expecting the worst. Then he realized was he had been told to do and he finally climbed back into the car.
Once Angelo climbed back in, Marco Passantino put the car in gear and drove away.
Rocco followed them back across town where they all pulled over fifteen minutes later.
Corman was hauled from the car by Angelo and brought around to the far side, near a line of bushes.
Rocco got out and addressed Angelo as he approached, "Did he give you anything?"
Angelo nodded, "The goods on two judges, the city manager as well as the mayor himself."
"It's good information, too," Corman said quickly, "You'll see–"
Rocco kicked the legs out from under him.
Corman fell hard on his side and groaned.
Rocco squatted beside him and slapped his face, "Good. That information saved your life. Now pay attention...."
Putting his hand to his face, Corman looked up at Rocco with fear.
Rocco pointed down the street to a single level pavilion-style building, "Do you know what that is down there?"
Corman was reluctant to take his eyes off Rocco but he finally looked. He nodded, "It's...the train station...."
"Right. Good answer. We're getting somewhere." Rocco held out something to him, "This is a train ticket back to Montreal. Take it."
Corman looked at it for a moment and then snatched it.
Rocco put two fingers against the man's head like a gun, "Normally I would just put a bullet in you. Like I did to those others in the coffee shop. Remember that."
Corman nodded his head, fear shining on his face.
"Now...for some reason, I'm having trouble with people from up Quebec way. A man in Quebec City thought he could screw with me and he learned his lesson. Hopefully, you have as well. So do me a favor. When you arrive back in Montreal, make sure everyone knows to stay away from here. In fact, if anyone else comes down here, I might just assume you sent them–"
"I won't...I won't...they won't–"
Rocco stood up, "Good. Now, get going. And I would move fast, in case Angelo here talks me out of this. He wants to kill you so badly."
Angelo screwed his face up like he was holding himself back.
Corman turned and began scrambling away on his hands and knees. He fell and frantically got up and ran, tripping over his own feet and landing hard. He looked back in fear as he scrambled up again and took off running.
Rocco watched him running as he spoke to Angelo, "Give the information you got over to Vitale. He can use it to secure this area. I'll talk to him about letting us know if he gets any more like this guy. We don't need another asshole causing us trouble down here."
Chapter 62
Crystal Beach
ROCCO, BESHA, TONY, AND MARIA stepped into the lobby of The old Glasgow House on Derby Road. The wives had talked both men into wearing light summer blazers and neither felt comfortable, preferring their more casual working clothes.Two families with several young children chattered away about the different rides or sights they wanted to see first. Rocco looked into the dining room on the left and spotted Guido Vitale. He was sitting at a table with a dark-haired man in his forties and two women, one Vitale's age and one in her early twenties. Both men were wearing expensive looking suits and the women he assumed were the wives
were dressed in fashionable summer dresses. The teasing aroma of mint-cucumber sandwiches, iced tea, and banana frosted shakes drifted across the air. Rocco raised an arm to catch Vitale's attention as arranged beforehand. The ideas was to get the women off by themselves so Rocco could talk with Todaro in private.
Guido Vitale saw Rocco and raised his hand back in greeting. He then said something to the others at the table and they got all up and headed towards the lobby.
Rocco and Guido shook hands and then introductions were made all round. The dark-haired man was Samuel Todaro, known to the families in Cleveland as Black Sam. The younger woman turned out to be Todaro's wife Carmen and the other woman was Vitale's wife Emilia.
Rocco saw the two women carried wicker picnic hampers and wore beach boots, an item only the truly fashionable wore. He turned to Besha, "All right, why don't you take Mrs. Todaro and Mrs. Vitale down to the beach with you. They seem to have everything they need."
"Are you sure you don't want me, or Tony, to stay with you?" Besha asked, glancing at the man, the gangster, she didn't know.
"Yeah, Rocco," Tony said, "one of us can hang back with you."
"No, it's fine. Once we finish, we can meet you down there. Besides, I need a cold drink to beat the heat out there and the iced tea in there is calling my name."
"Okay," Besha said as she kissed him lightly, "we'll see you gentleman down at the beach later."
Rocco whispered a 'don't worry' to assure her and then watched as they headed out.
Todaro's young wife was the first one the front door, eager to get going. The others followed behind, discussing the amusement park and the rides they planned to try after a swim.
"Your wife is always so enthusiastic for everything, Sam," Vitale observed, "I predict you'll die of a heart attack in bed."
Todaro laughed, "I hope so. That's the only way I want to go."
"Let's go sit down," Vitale said as he led the way back into the dining room. He raised a hand to a young lady, "Miss, can we have three of those cold lemonade things over here? Thank you."
Returning to the table, the three men waited for the young lady to bring three tall glasses of lemonade, condensation running down the outside from the ice cubes. There were only three other customers in the dining room. A dozen others had taken the opportunity to sit at tables on the shaded veranda that ran across the front of the hotel.
Once the young server walked away, Todaro took a sip and wasted no time, "Guido here tells me you might be able to supply me with some...product. Right now I move some low-grade alcohol from bootleggers in my area that have stills–"
"I supply top grade Canadian whiskey," Rocco said firmly.
Todaro considered Rocco for a moment, "That's what I was hoping for. And...you can assure me delivery? I would hate to–"
"I own the distillery," Rocco said firmly. "You're not dealing with a middle-man."
Vitale nodded as he held up two fingers, "Two distilleries, in fact." He took a gulp of his drink, smacking his lips.
That surprised Todaro. He placed his hands around his glass and felt the coldness. "Barrels or...?"
"Cases. Easier for me. That way I'm not constantly looking for oak barrels. The ones we have are old and perfect for giving some quick aging to get the proper taste."
"I understand," Todaro said, "it's just...I'd heard alcohol was being sold for 60 cents a gallon in barrels. That would work a lot better for me. I'd cut that 3 or 4 times and sell it wholesale for $15 to $18 a barrel–"
"Sounds like you'd make a nice profit, but I'm going to stick with cases for now. Maybe in the future, if I can be sure the oak kegs are easier to get than now, I'll consider it. But for now...."
Todaro nodded, "Okay, I understand. And the price per case...?"
"$50 per case. Cash on delivery, no exceptions."
Todaro nodded, "That's no problem. He drummed his fingers on the table lightly and then asked, "How much can you supply?"
"How much do you need? How much per day or per month?"
Todaro looked up at the ceiling, "Well...I guess...I could use a thousand cases a day–"
"A city like Cleveland? You should be able to move two thousand cases a day."
Mild surprise crossed Todaro's face, "Are you able to supply that much?"
"As long as you pay cash on the barrel whenever we deliver."
"And...how do I get it....?"
"We'll send it across Lake Erie by boat. You have a secluded, shallow place along the shore where we can land it?"
Todaro nodded as he gave it some thought, "Yeah. There's a number of good places just to the east of the city. There's a nice spot where Marquette Street meets Marginal along the shore."
"Good. I want your men to use a simple signal system from shore. Get flashlights that shine blue and red. A blue light flashed once, followed by two flashes means the coast is clear. A red light would mean coppers are nearby. Got it?"
"Got it. A blue flashlight and a red flashlight."
Rocco held his hand out, "Do you have some money on you?"
Todaro looked at Vitale and shrugged, "Of course...."
Rocco gestured with his fingers to get it out.
Todaro dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. His brow furrowed when Rocco reached across and took a $100 bill.
Rocco proceeded to tear ragged mountains and valleys across the bill. He passed half the torn bill to Todaro, "When we make the first delivery, have one of your guys bring that out to the boat first. My guy and yours will make sure the bills fit together. Otherwise...."
Todaro took the bill and carefully put it in his inside pocket, "That sounds good. Can't be too careful with the Feds. Can you supply beer as well, Rocco?"
"Beer? No. But I've been asked that before. I thought the US government still allows breweries to operate down there? I thought they just banned the hard stuff."
"They let the breweries run, but they neutered them," Todaro said. "The beer they're allowed to make is weaker than piss. I bought a brewery figuring I'd make some dough but I couldn't sell enough of the crap and couldn't make ends meet." He laughed, "I can't even make enough money to bribe the fed inspectors to let me make the good stuff."
"What kind of money you talking for cases of beer?" Rocco asked.
"We were only working in barrels," Todaro answered, "I let other people put it in cases or just put it on tap." He scratched his chin, thinking, "You'd be getting...for the good stuff...$50 to $60 a barrel."
The opportunity interested Rocco. "I'll see what I can do about beer," he said.
"But...you realize if I get a source, I have to act...."
"I understand," Rocco assured him, "it's a business decision you'd have to make."
Todaro looked relieved, "Good, I wouldn't want to jeopardize our whiskey deal. How about wine? The churches are allowed to buy and use it for communion and that but I'm in Little Italy. People want it for their meals and parties. You know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I know," Rocco said, "but I'm not interested in that. I'm not interested in having my guys shot at for the little we can make on the stuff."
Todaro nodded as he scratched an ear, "Okay. You know...while we're talking...once prohibition came in and I began buying from the bootleggers...well...I saw another business opportunity. One of the ingredients they needed, as you would know, is corn sugar. I studied the industry and started a corn sugar business to supply them. This allows me to make money on both ends. If you ever need something like that...."
"Do you have access to ship it by boxcar?" Rocco asked.
"Yes," Todaro answered slowly.
"Good. I have a railroad spur to the side of my building," Rocco said. "We'll talk to my wife about it later."
"Your wife?"
"Yeah. She can discuss what we need and if you can supply what she wants, we can talk price. Okay?"
Todaro reached out and shook hands with Rocco, "Okay." Then he then looked at Vitale, "I guess I owe you for putting us together, my friend
."
"You owe me nothing, Alfredo. Actually, I have to be honest with you. Rocco made a nice deal with me for putting you two together. So I'm a winner too here," Vitale said.
Todaro lifted his glass, "Very good. Here's to a profitable relationship all round."
The men clinked glasses, finished their drinks and headed out to enjoy the beach and the amusement rides with the others.
Chapter 63
Two Days Later
BIG CUBA SANTORO stood on the wharf in Hamilton, thumbs tucked in his work coveralls, smoking a cigar and watching a scow schooner cut across the dark waters under a clear blue sky. Seagulls whirled and squawked overhead, adding flavor to the atmosphere he loved.
"Morning, Cuba."
Santoro turned to see Rocco DeLuca approaching, the old boards squeaking under his step, "Morning, boss."
Rocco stopped beside the big man and looked out over the water, watching as the heavily laden scow schooner made a slow turn to make a run across the lake.
Cuba blew out a puff of smoke and watched it curl into the air, "What's up? This don't seem like a social call."
"No, it's not. I need your help. I'm going to be sending whiskey down to Cleveland but I don't want to take the guy we got off the Buffalo run. Can we send a boat through the Welland Canal from here? Or do we need to worry about customs?"
Cuba chewed on his cigar, "Once we get my buddy to clear everything here, we should be okay. We won't be offloading anything anywhere in the canal so we're fine. Transit time through the canal from Port Weller to Port Colborne is about eleven hours...another four or five hours to Cleveland, depending on the weather...and Erie can get dangerous real quick...." He moved the cigar around in his mouth, "How much you sending?"
"Two thousand cases to start. They'll use the colored light signals and you'll meet them on the shore at the end of Marquette Street where it meets Marginal along the shore."
"Cleveland. Marquette and Marginal, I'll check it out on a map," Cuba said.
Rocco passed over his half of the torn $100 bill, "As an extra measure of caution, when you land, their first guy out will have the other half. If it doesn't match...."
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