Cuba took the bill and nodded, "It'll be curtains for him if he doesn't. Could be a hijack or Feds." Slipping the torn bill into his pocket, he looked out over the water, his mind anywhere but on the view now, "Speaking of Feds, I had to avoid the coast guard on the American side a few times when we were taking those boats from the Frenchies. I was figuring on getting something faster than an old tug at the time. And going through the canal with an old tug might look suspicious...."
"What have you got up your sleeve?"
"I saw a nice 50-foot Defoe cruiser that would work great. I'll cut down the wheelhouse to give it a low profile, a couple of small side windows. I could modify the innards to carry...oh...4,000 cases of whiskey. It's got good speed but it's a pleasure boat rather than a worker. Looks more natural."
"Are you going to look natural aboard a boat like that?"
Cuba laughed as he chewed on his cigar, "I guess we'll find out–"
"Okay, But don't steal the boat. I'll front the money to go buy it"
Cuba looked half-disappointed.
"And send someone else on the Cleveland run. I don't want to lose you to prison."
Cuba considered that for about a second-and-a-half, "I don't want to be one of them Generals that sends the boys to war and works from behind, you know what I mean?"
"Yeah. Saw enough of that through the war." Rocco watched the scow schooner disappearing across the lake for a moment, thinking, "If you have to modify this boat, how long is that gonna take?"
"Don't worry about that. I'll do it fast. I know you'll want to get the deliveries going."
Rocco nodded, "Yeah, I don't want to give anyone else the chance to slip in if we fail right at the start. I'll talk to Besha, we'll give you whatever money you need for tools, materials or workers."
"Okay. If I need it."
"And here's the deal on running the shipments," Rocco added. "I'll pay you a dollar for every case you deliver for us."
Cuba pulled the cigar from his mouth as he glanced at Rocco, "Yeah? Every case? You sure?"
"I'm sure."
The big man grinned and stuck his big paw out, "Then it's a deal, boss. I'll make a few runs to iron things out at the start, then I'll have the guys handle everything from there while I keep this wharf running like clockwork." He stuck the cigar between his teeth, "I can see Cuba's Navy making some real scratch."
Chapter 64
LISANDRO 'CUBA' SANTORO left Port Colborne after a ten-hour transit through the Welland Canal. It was faster than he expected and he grinned, chomping down eagerly on an unlit cigar as he steered his re-fit, 50-foot cruiser for the shores of Cleveland, Ohio. The white Oak frame and Louisiana red cypress planking were painted entirely black. The only other color was the gold lettering on the stern: Sea Dragon. The central bridge deck was totally enclosed by a wooden cabin. The raised forward deck was equipped with a 1-pounder cannon, bolted to the deck and hidden under a tarp. The aft trunk cabin and passenger quarters below deck were all gone, replaced by open space capable of holding 4,000 cases of whiskey. Today, he had the 2,000 wanted by the Cleveland mob. Cuba estimated his boat would be 2 knots faster than the American Coast Guard running the lake.
The six armed men traveling with Cuba sat behind him on padded benches. They had experience at both life on the water and violence, all veterans of WW 1.
As darkness fell over the open water, a 10-knot wind from the southwest picked up and two-foot waves parted for the Sea Dragon. The stars twinkled between dark clouds that skidded across the sky.
Two-thirds of the way across Lake Erie, Cuba's ears picked up a distant rumbling. He immediately cut his engines and listened.
The men behind Cuba went on alert. "What's wrong?" one asked.
Cuba put his hand up for silence as he chewed on his cigar. The rumbling sound was familiar. As the Sea Dragon rocked gently, Cuba smiled. Restarting the engines, he issued instructions to the men, "We've got company. Everybody out on deck."
The men grabbed their weapons and headed for the back door of the bridge cabin.
Cuba yelled as they began to file outside, "And don't forget to tie yourself down to the eye-bolts in the planking. You don't want to get thrown overboard during evasive maneuvers. We may never find you in the dark." Cutting the wheel to starboard, he began a tight loop back towards the middle of the lake. He applied full power, watching his instruments while listening for the rumble through the sound of his own engines.
The armed men worked quietly under the dim starlight to tie themselves down. Once that was done, they waited quietly, trying to peer through the darkness, not sure what they were really looking for.
Long minutes passed as the Sea Dragon plowed through the dark waters of Lake Erie. The starlight glinted off the tops of the waves as Cuba listened and waited. The rumbling sound grew louder to the port side as he had expected. He turned the 50-foot cruiser in that direction and throttled back to half speed. Securing the wheel, Cuba stepped to the back of the bridge cabin, picked up a bullhorn and moved on to the outer deck. He tapped a man on the shoulder, "Take the wheel. When I yell 'now' I want you to put her on full throttle and make a sharp turn to starboard. Understand?"
The man handed his rifle to Cuba as he nodded and began to untie himself.
Once he was gone, Cuba tied himself down, one eye on the darkness. And sure enough, a few moments later a U.S. Coast Guard Cutter emerged from the darkness. The name on the side read: Seneca.
Cuba smiled as the 204-foot cutter turned on a parallel course.
An officer in a white uniform appeared at the railing and he spoke through a bullhorn as the two ships ran a parallel course at half speed, "This is Lieutenant-Commander Collins of the U.S. Coast Guard. Prepare to be boarded."
Picking up his own bullhorn, Cuba responded, "Sorry Captain, but we're in Canadian waters right now."
Collins responded, "I'm not a captain and I don't care where we are. And I don't think the American judge you go before is going to be too concerned on which side of the border you were arrested. Cut your engines and prepare to be boarded. I won't warn you again."
Cuba respondent, "And I doubt the Canadian coroner who autopsies your body won't care which side of the border we fished you from either." Cuba signaled to one of his men tied down on the braced forward deck.
"Are you threatening a–" Lieutenant-Commander Collins froze in position when he saw a tarp ripped off a bump on the forward deck of the Sea Dragon and a 1-pounder cannon appeared. He turned around and shouted through the bullhorn, "Cannon! Full throttle. Turn."
Cuba yelled 'now' towards the bridge cabin and then signaled to the forward deck again as he held on tight.
The 1-pounder cannon fired several times and the pom-pom sound sent 37 mm shells over the forward deck of the Seneca.
The Sea Dragon's engines roared and the ship plowed through the waves, heading for the Canadian side of Lake Erie. Cuba untied himself and headed back inside where he took charge of the wheel. He began a series of maneuvers to lose the Coast Guard. The 204-foot cutter was not as maneuverable as the smaller cruiser and that extra 2-knot speed put them behind. Once he was sure he had lost them, Cuba did another wide turn and headed for his destination again.
An hour later Cuba spotted lights on the shore up ahead. He throttled the engine back and listened for the deep rumble again. The only sound came from the engines of the Sea Dragon. He caught the signal from shore. A blue light was flashed once, followed by two flashes. That was the prearranged signal that he had the right spot on the shoreline just outside Cleveland. Cutting his speed further, Cuba slowly approached the shallow landing area. A few moments later he idled the engine and watched a man wading from shore. There was one more check that needed to be done. Picking up a shotgun, he cracked it to make sure it held shells. Then Cuba headed outside to the deck. Most of the men were kneeling low along the outer deck and watching towards the shore. Two of the men watched towards the middle of the lake, looking for the Coast Guard cutter.
As the wading man came closer he yelled, "Where the hell you been? You should've been here–"
Cuba ignored his questions as he shouldered the shotgun, "You got something for me? Or do we leave your corpse to float back to shore?"
"Oh, yeah, yeah," the man said as he fumbled in his jacket pocket, "we've been waiting so long I forgot." He passed something up to Cuba and waited, stumbling a bit as the waves lapped against his body.
Cuba took his half of the torn hundred dollar bill and placed it against the man's half. "Okay. We got a match. You can start unloading. We got 2,000 cases of whiskey for you."
The man turned and waved for the men on shore to come and join him. He turned back and accepted Cuba's hand up into the boat, "I'm Salvatore Bertucci. Sal for short."
"Lisandro Santoro. Called Cuba." He handed back the man's half of the torn bill, "Keep this. If you and I meet again, we know each other. But if either side sends a new man, they better have that half of the bill to match. If not...."
Bertucci nodded as he stuffed the bill back into his pocket, "Got it. Makes sense. Can't be too careful in this business. What the hell happened? You get lost out there in the dark?" He turned to watch his men wading from shore.
Cuba stuck the torn half of his bill in a pocket as he watched the man for his reaction, "We were intercepted by a US Coast Guard cutter."
Bertucci turned back around, "What? How the hell–?"
"That's what I'm wondering," Cuba said as he chewed on his cigar, "one of us might have a rat."
Bertucci looked down at the deck, thinking, "You could be right. We had some problems with the Feds when we were trying to make our own beer–"
"No, I know I'm right. The fact they wanted to board us means they knew we were carrying contraband."
"I'll talk to the boss," Bertucci said firmly. He made a fist, "If it us on our side, once I find out who it is...."
"When you do, bring them to me," said Cuba, "I'll drag them out into the middle of the lake and tie stones to their feet."
Chapter 65
Hamilton Herald
August 26, 1920
Major-League Hockey Comes To Steeltown
THE CANADIAN HOCKEY LEAGUE is in the works. Hamilton will be represented in the newly organized professional hockey league. The directors of the Pure Ice Company, after wrestling with the professional problem for some time, last night decided to operate. Toronto, with two clubs, Hamilton and one American city, probably Cleveland, are already assured, and the chances are that Ottawa will also be included. Next year it is planned to have four American clubs represented – Boston, Pittsburgh, Cleveland and New York. The artificial ice plant in New York is to be erected in connection with the new baseball grounds being built by the New York American League club. The new league is a certainty. Those connected with the Toronto club have control of the Toronto arena, and they say that the National Hockey Association, which has operated for many years, cannot place another team in the Queen city. The officials feel that the NHA is none too popular and that a general housecleaning is in order. The owners of the franchise are already working on bringing several stars to the team.
ROCCO PUT DOWN THE newspaper and looked out the window of the passenger car as the train pulled into Union Station in Toronto. Steam rose in clouds and swirled across the station platform, caressing the men, women and young ones who were there to meet incoming passengers. Several children laughed and passed their hands through the white clouds.
Tony threw his copy of the newspaper to the seat across from him, beside Bruno Gagliano.
Bruno picked up the newspaper and looked at the headline they had been reading. The big man had been brought along to serve as extra muscle if it was needed.
Tony watched Bruno scan through the article and then shook his head, "Something's not right, Rocco. Pops McMillan and his Pure Ice Company have the only arena in Hamilton. And he won't rent to us. Maybe these NHA guys know that. Maybe they asked you to come to tell you the Quebec Voyageurs are being sold to Pops McMillan instead of us–"
"If that happens, Greenshields is a dead man," Rocco growled, "I don't care if we even play one game. Like Besha said, we just want Greenshields to feel the pain of giving up something he loves."
"But from what I understand, the NHA wants to cut this new league off at the knees and they need a team in Hamilton. If we can't–"
"Then we'll play on the ice in Burlington Bay."
"But–"
"I'll kill every man in the meeting as well if they screw with me."
Tony noticed the only other passengers at the far end of the car were looking to see what the raised voices were about. He held his hands up in surrender, "Okay, Rocco, okay."
Rocco's jaw muscles worked overtime as he glared out the passenger car's window.
The train stopped and pushed huge clouds of white steam out over the platform.
"Okay, let's go," Rocco said. "Cipriano said he'd meet us outside the station."
"I don't trust that guy," Tony said as he slid off his seat, "I'm not even sure why you agreed to let him take us over to the hotel."
"I'm not sure why either," Rocco admitted. Just keep your hand loose and ready to grab your piece. You too, Bruno. Stay sharp."
"I will, Mr. DeLuca."
CIPRIANO WAS STANDING on the sidewalk next to a car on the edge of the busy road in front of the train station.
Rocco's attention went to the car just behind Cipriano's. A hard looking man stood next to it, hands clasped in front and a tell-tale bulge under the suit coat. Rocco assumed the man was a bodyguard but in this business you didn't assume anything. He prepared to pull his own iron at the slightest hint of danger.
Stepped forward through the other people coming and going to the station, Cipriano extended his hand to Rocco, "Welcome to Toronto again. And I hope you had a good trip?"
Rocco reluctantly shook the man's hand, "It was okay." He watched as Cipriano shook hands with Tony and then introduce himself to Bruno. If something was up, the man was playing it cool.
Cipriano turned back to Rocco, "How about if I drive you over to the King Edward hotel myself?" Before receiving an answer, he gestured to the man Rocco had assumed was a bodyguard, "Frank here can follow behind in the second car with your man there. I wanted to talk privately to you and your partner anyway so this works out nicely."
Bruno didn't budge. His gaze was steady on Cipriano as he waited for instructions.
Rocco didn't blame him for being cautious but he relented after a moment and gave Bruno a nod.
"You sure, boss?"
"Yeah."
The big man grunted acknowledgment and headed to the second car.
Cipriano had Rocco sit in the front and Tony in the back seat. He pulled out into traffic and turned at the next the corner, heading towards the hotel. After a few minutes of driving, Cipriano glanced back at Tony, "See that suitcase on the floor beside you?"
Tony looked down, "Yeah?"
"Take it. There's $7,000 in there. Greenshields sent it. You'll meet with his lawyer upstairs in Room 202. That's the money you're paying to buy the Quebec Voyageurs."
Tony reached down, picked up the case and the claps thumped as he undid them and lifted the lid, "It's money, Rocco. Just like the man says." He reached in and thumbed through the top stack of banded bills.
"This way everything looks on the up-and-up, the sale looks legit and no one asks any questions," Cipriano explained.
"Shouldn't Greenshields be there?" Rocco asked. "You know, to make it look legit?"
Cipriano laughed, "You have the man scared shitless. He doesn't ever plan to see you face to face."
"Smart man."
IN ROOM 202, THE TRANSACTION went quickly. The lawyer had the paperwork ready, complete with Greenshields' signature and within twenty minutes the lawyer put his copy of the sale in a briefcase along with the $7,000 payment. He talked without looking up, "Mr. M.J. Quinn was the Vice-President and Manager of the Voyageurs but he's decided for
some reason not to move with the club. Have you got someone to replace him, Mr. DeLuca?"
Rocco was surprised by the question. He jerked a thumb at Tony, "Yeah, Mr. Genovese here is part owner in the team and the manager."
Now it was Tony's turn to be surprised. He looked at the lawyer as he leaned closer to Rocco, "What do you mean manager?"
"You got me into this–"
"That was Besha, not me," Tony protested with a grin.
"And you didn't protest very much–"
The lawyer pulled out a file folder and dropped it with a thud on the table in front of Rocco, "Those are the player contracts."
Rocco picked the file up and handed it to Tony.
Tony's eyebrows pulled together as he flipped open the file and took a look at the papers inside, "Contracts? I don't know anything about contracts."
"Then I suggest you learn," the lawyer said.
Rocco's eyes flashed anger at the comment.
But the lawyer didn't notice as he closed his briefcase, pushed his chair back and stood up, "My job here is done."
Tony looked up at the lawyer, "Malone's contract is in here?"
The lawyer nodded as he slid the chair back in, "Yes it is. You have Johnny Malone, George Carey, Goldie Prodgers, Jack McDonald, Harry Mummery, Dave Ritchie and goaltender Frank Brophy all under contract. It's now up to you to sign any of the others you want on your team." He turned and headed for the door.
Tony looked at Rocco and then called out, "What do we do now?"
The lawyer opened the door and looked back, "You're now the owners of the Quebec Voyageurs. I suggest you go down to the lobby and find the MacDonald Room on the far side of the hotel. That's where you'll find the league meeting and the other owners. Good luck. You'll need it."
Chapter 66
BRUNO INSISTED ON OPENING THE DOOR to the MacDonald Room and going in first. Rocco and Tony followed and found themselves in a room thick with cigar smoke. A group of men in expensive suits was standing around the room and the conversation was loud and boisterous
King of the Bootleggers Page 29