King of the Bootleggers

by Eugene Lloyd MacRae

  The screaming and frantic waving continued.

  Bruno jerked him up and down to get the man's attention again, "Listen."

  McMillan heard the order and struggled to calm down. His heart was racing and his breath was raspy, "What...yes...yes... I'm listening...I'm listening... what do you want? I have money–"

  "My boss is Mr. Rocco DeLuca. You were very rude to him." Bruno pretended to drop the man.

  McMillan's scream was cut off as his fall was abruptly stopped."I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he cried.

  "I doubt you would survive the fall."

  "What?" McMillan wasn't sure what the man had said in his heavy Italian accent.

  Bruno let his arms fall, and the man's body dropped a foot before he lifted him back up.

  McMillan screamed at the sensation of falling.

  Bruno held the man steady again, "Mr. Digby and Mr. Chivers wouldn't listen to me."

  "What? They wouldn't–?" It suddenly struck McMillan. Thomas Digby and Sherwood Chivers had been his partners in the Pure Ice Company. They had both been killed. It was their funeral he was going to. And now he knew why...and who. Terror struck his heart.

  Bruno let his arms fall again.

  McMillan screamed.

  Bruno held the man steady, "Do you want to end up like them?"

  McMillan's voice was quavering, "No, no. Please. Whatever you want–"

  "Mr. DeLuca needs this arena for his hockey team."

  "H-his..his what? I...I c-can't understand...."

  Bruno let the man fall the foot again.

  McMillan screamed, "Just tell me again. Please. Just tell me what you want."

  "Your arena and Mr. DeLuca's team," Bruno said slowly. "He needs your arena so his team has a place to play–"

  "DeLuca can have it," McMillan screamed. "He can have it...whatever he wants...whatever...just don't drop me...just don't....oh gawd...."

  Bruno waited another moment, pretended to drop the man again for emphasis and then stepped back, banging the man's head on the window sill as he brought him back inside. Turning, Bruno walked to McMillan's desk chair where he dropped him head first down on the old, wooden chair.

  McMillan yelled in fright and pain as his chair bounced on the concrete floor under his weight and then shifted to the side, unceremoniously rejecting its owner onto the floor.

  Bruno walked calmly to the door, leaving the man sobbing in relief on the concrete behind him. Opening the door, Bruno turned his head, "Don't make me come back."

  McMillan waved frantically from the floor, whatever he was saying hidden in his crying and babbling.

  Chapter 69

  ROCCO DELUCA WALKED along the planked sidewalk of his old neighborhood. Children were laughing and skipping rope in the middle of the road. Just like when we were kids. Nothing changes. He stopped in front of the old brick building where old man Rigatoni used to run a small store. He remembered the man's big black mustache and how he used to stand outside the door, shooing the kids away in a gruff voice. But the old lettering on the window had been replaced. It now announced the place as Giachetti's Café. Rocco peered between the letters. Beyond the booths against the glass, there were more than a dozen tables spaced around the inside. Beyond that were eight stools against a counter. And behind the counter stood a beaming Tommy Giachetti, his father Tommaso Giachetti Sr. and his mother Rosa. Besha was laughing along with Tony and Maria and more than thirty men and woman from the neighborhood, all of them presently working in the two distilleries or driving truck for them. Rocco stepped to the door and inside, a small bell over the door announcing his arrival and he was greeted by the smell of rich espresso and Italian pastries.

  Donato Tinti and his wife Angelita and Guido Feraco and his girlfriend Adriana Moretti turned and greeted him.

  Rocco's smile faded slightly at the sight of Elena Borrasso in the crowd, standing beside Tommy Giachetti. He saw a beaming Tommy touch her arm, say something and then slip through the crowd to stick his hand out, "Hi, Rocco, glad you could make it."

  Rocco's eyes were still looking at the crowd behind Tommy, where he also spotted Marco Passantino edging over to Elena now that Tommy had moved away. He didn't see Marco's wife Gabriella anywhere.

  "Rocco?"

  Taking his eyes off Passantino and Elena, Rocco realized Tommy's hand was just hanging there and he grabbed it, "Yeah, sorry. Everything looks to be going good for the big opening–"

  "Rocco!" Tommaso Giachetti engulfed him in a bear hug. Then he stepped back and allowed Rosa to slip in and apply her own hug.

  Besha waved from behind the counter where she and Maria were putting on aprons.

  Tony appeared through the crowd, smiling at him.

  Tommaso Giachetti pulled Rocco from his wife's arms, "Let him go. He already has a wife."

  Rosa laughed and clapped her hands together before disappearing into the crowd and back towards the counter.

  Leading Rocco by the arm, Giachetti led him over to the table in the corner, against the window. "Sit here." He turned to Tony who was following behind, "You too. Sit."

  Tony sat opposite Rocco at the table, scraping a chair closer on the wood floor.

  "This is your table, Rocco. From now on," Giachetti said. "Anyone sitting here when you come in, I throw them out," he added with a flourish of his arms. "Now. Espressos on the house?"

  Rocco shook his head, "We'll pay, Mr. Giachetti. You have to make a profit now that you're in business."

  Giachetti waved the thought away, "Not today." Then he leaned forward conspiratorially, "But maybe after this, I charge you double." He laughed and disappeared into the crowd.

  Tony looked across at Rocco, "Remember that truck Tommy picked us up in on that first day? The one his pop bought before his heart attack? Well, apparently, Besha paid old man Giachetti three times what he paid for the truck. She told him it helped us to get started and she wanted to thank him properly."

  Rocco shook his head with an amused smile, "I never would've thought of that and she's right. But that's my Besha."

  Tommaso Giachetti appeared with two espressos and set them on the table.

  Rosa came right behind him and set a plate of cannoli in the middle of the table, "You enjoy." She disappeared back through the crowd.

  "Thank you again, Rocco," Tommaso said. "If it wasn't for you and your wife, I wouldn't be able to start this place. At my age and with a bum heart, no one gonna hire me. And the truck would have been too much work. But this I can do. I still have to make a success but you give me the start. And you gave Tommy a job." He swept his hand, "You give all these people jobs. You help the neighborhood. You too, Tony. You help my son. Thank you."

  Tony acknowledged the sentiment with a simple nod.

  "You're welcome," Rocco said. "How's the heart?"

  Tommaso tapped his fist against his chest, "Okay. Still working." He made the sign of the cross. "You need anything else, you just call." He disappeared back through the crowd who were now beginning to sit down at the tables.

  Besha and Maria were helping to take orders, both of them enjoying themselves.

  Tony picked up his espresso, "Here's to his success. And to ours."

  "And to the success of our hockey team," Rocco added.

  "That is going to need a lot more than a couple of espressos," Tony lamented.

  "You try Pops McMillan on his arena again?"

  "I went over there a few days ago but he won't talk to me. I can't even get by his guys."

  Rocco took a sip of espresso and looked at Tony over the cup, "You want us both to go over there again? We'll get by his guys together...."

  Sipping his own espresso, Tony considered it.

  The bell over the door rang and Rocco took a look to see who was coming in. "Hey. It's big Bruno and his new bride."

  Tony turned to see Bruno Gagliano and Concetta standing and talking to the couple sitting at the first table inside the door. He took a second look at the voluptuous Concetta from head to foot before he tur
ned back to Rocco, "I'm surprised he didn't have a heart attack while she was nursing him back to health. That's some woman."

  Rocco looked her over as well before looking back at Tony, "Why don't you ask her? She's heading this way."

  Tony didn't turn, "Shit. Maybe she saw me looking at her legs and she's coming over to slap me–"

  "Hi, Tony. Hi, Rocco. Isn't this place great?"

  "Yeah. The espressos and cannoli are great, too," Tony said.

  Rocco looked up at Concetta, "Did Bruno get all his errands done?"

  "Errands?"

  Rocco nodded, "Yeah. He took three days off, saying he had some things to do. I thought he was working with you around the house."

  Concetta shrugged, "No. I didn't see him much for the last few days. I thought he was working with you–" She turned as Bruno put a hand on her arm.

  "I took a table on the far side. Maria is wanting to know what you want," Bruno said.

  Concetta looked across the room to see Maria near a table, waving hello to her. "Oh. Okay." She turned back to Rocco and Tony, "Bye for now."

  Bruno watched his wife walk away and then turned, "Concetta wanted to come up and get to know everybody better."

  Rocco nodded, "Did you get your things done...?"

  "Yes," was all he said. He looked at Tony, "When the hockey team plays, can I get a good seat? I like hockey. It's not as good as Italian football but this is my country now and I like hockey. I want to see this Johnny Malone play that I read about."

  "I'll see you get a front row seat," Tony said with amusement. "When I get an arena–"

  "You will. And if you don't get one soon, please let me know."

  Tony glanced over at Rocco, "Okaaay."

  Bruno turned to walk away.

  "Hey, Bruno," Tony said. When Bruno looked back he gestured with his head towards Concetta, "She's not wearing you out, is she? Rocco's worried you might not be able to handle your workload."

  Bruno looked at Rocco seriously, "No. No problem, boss. I let her be on top and do all the work...so I can rest." He then looked back at Tony and winked before he left.

  Tony threw his head back in a laugh. "I wasn't expecting that."

  Rocco shook his head in amusement as well. Then his face took on a serious note, "I wonder what the hell he was up to for the last three days?"

  Tony picked up his espresso, "I have no idea. Maybe someone looked at Concetta the wrong way."

  Maria appeared beside their table, "Would you gentleman like a refill?"

  Tony looked up with his wife and then made an overt display of checking out her body, "What I would like...is to know if you have a place back there where I can bang you?"

  Maria put her hands on her hips and looked serious, "When you say bang me back there? Are you referring to the building...or my body?"

  Tony looked up at Maria, a surprised look on his face.

  "While you're figuring it out, big boy, I'll go get you more espressos and cannoli."

  Tony looked across at Rocco, a bewildered look on his face, "Where the hell did that come from?"

  Rocco finished off his espresso, "I have no idea. She's your wife."

  Tony laughed and picked up the last of the cannoli.

  Maria returned, set everything on the table and picked up the empty cups and plate. When Tony didn't say anything she hit him on the shoulder, "Just like all men. All talk and no action. She turned and walked away with an exaggerated wiggle, looking back at her husband.

  Tony shook his head and picked up his espresso, "Something else I've been meaning to tell you, Rocco. It looks like my career on the police force is over."

  Rocco stopped with his espresso cup halfway to his mouth, "What? What happened?"

  Tony set his cup down, "Chief Constable Wherley found out I was the one who got Dowd to raid the Paradise club."

  "How did they find out?"

  "I have no idea. Could have been Dowd himself. The two always hated each other and I bet Dowd stuck it to Wherley, telling him how one of his own constables undercut his authority. Doesn't matter, I guess. The Chief Constable had already been putting pressure all the way down to get rid of me. I thought I could stick it out but the information from Dowd put the final mail in the coffin."

  Rocco cursed the situation. Then he lowered his voice, "How about that disappearing evidence on Bain? Have they realized it's gone yet?"

  "Oh, yeah. The Chief Constable just about had a heart attack over it. He had everything in turmoil for a week as they searched for it."

  "Did that have anything to do with it? Is he looking at you?"

  Tony shook his head, "No. He's not looking at anyone on the inside as far as I know. The theory going round is that Bain had someone sneak in and steal it. They even have a name. A low level break and enter guy."

  "Any idea how that rumor got started?"

  Tony smiled, "Nope."

  "What if they find the guy?"

  "They won't." Tony glanced around and then leaned in, "Two of my pals on the force found him up at the garbage dump a week before. Somebody shot the guy and dumped his body. They didn't want to do the paperwork on a dumb goop who probably deserved it so they made sure he was buried under a mound of garbage that gets deeper every day. Even if they find him now...."

  Rocco nodded in understanding as he took a sip of his espresso. As he set his cup down, he blew out a breath of frustration, "That Wherley still pisses me off, though. I have a good mind to send Bruno over to visit Wherley."

  Tony's jaw clenched as he lifted his cup, "I'd like to have that honor myself, if you don't mind."

  Rocco smiled. Then he drummed his fingers lightly on the table before he said, "You know...this might work out better. If the liquor businesses keeps growing like it has, me and Tommy will probably need some help."

  "Yeah. And then there's the hockey club. I can spend time on that." With that said, Tony turned his head and glanced in Bruno's direction, still wondering what that conversation had been all about.

  Chapter 70

  TOMMY STEPPED INTO the front door of the Acme Motor Carriage and Machinery Company. Six of his men followed, reacting with sour faces as the smell of gasoline and oil hanging heavy in the air assaulted their noses. The loud racket of hammering and the buzz of machinery made hearing anything difficult.

  Anton Caden stepped out of the side office, scratching his beard. His face lit up and he yelled over the noise, "Morning there, Tommy."

  Tommy simply nodded in return and he shouted back, "You called the distillery about those trucks?"

  "Yep. Got all seven done." Caden turned and waved at Tommy to follow him, "Got 'em out back."

  Tommy indicated for his six men to follow as well and all they threaded their way through half-built vehicles and stacked parts to the back of the building.

  Stepping through the large open doorway at the back, Caden led the group over towards the line of seven black trucks. "I brought in–" Caden realized he was yelling and he didn't have to. He grunted and then turned to Tommy, "Like I was saying, I brought in seven truck chassis from Gray-Dort motors in Chatham instead of the model TT's from Ford."

  "You sure they'll do the job?"

  "Yeah. I had to strengthen the springs and the frame, but the biggest thing is these Gray-Dort guys adapted everything for Canadian conditions. I tested one out last winter and these things start easily in all weather conditions, but especially winter. I also added a Jumbo gearbox to give you intermediate gears. That'll help in climbing hills better."

  Tommy jumped on the running board of the first truck and got into the cab while the men gathered around, discussing the truck.

  Cade watched Tommy checking out the truck, "My wife had a hard time starting the Ford car I put together for her the last two years. That's why I decided to try these. I'll modify the body on one for her–"

  Tommy stepped out of the cab and headed for the back of the truck, "What about the carrying capacity?"

  Caden stepped back with Tommy to
the wooden cargo box, "Basically the same size as the last truck you got. You can get 300 cases on each one. Can't build the cargo bed any higher as she has a tendency to tip when you turn–"

  Two tarps hung from the top of the cargo box, hiding anything inside. Tommy stuck his head between the parts and looked into the cargo box, "The seats?"

  Caden nodded, "Just like you wanted, a single padded seat on each side in there."

  "What about the shielding?" Tommy asked as he headed back towards the front of the truck.

  "We riveted V-shaped pieces across the front to protect the engine," Caden said as he followed Tommy.

  Tommy stepped around the front of the truck and ran his hand along the metal, "Why V-shaped?"

  "Me and the boys did some testing," Caden explained. "If the metal is too thin, a bullet can go right through. But when you use thicker metal, it makes the damn truck too heavy and the engine works too hard. This is the thickest sheet of metal we can use and it turns out the V-shape has a tendency to deflect the bullet."

  Tommy nodded, impressed as the other men ran their hands over the shielding, "Let's just hope we don't have to test out your theories."

  The men laughed and agreed with that.

  "Payment is already taken care of," Caden said, "and I got the next set of parts and chassis coming up."

  "Sounds good," Tommy said. "Okay boys, mount up." He walked to the lead truck and was soon leading the convoy towards the Sherman Street Warehouse. An hour later, each truck was loaded with 300 cases of whiskey, headed for the docks in Port Maitland and the final boat trip to the shores of Buffalo, New York.

  TOMMY'S HEADLIGHTS illuminated the way ahead as they headed for the last stretch of tree-lined road before the flat and open farmland north of Port Maitland. Steering with his elbows, he lit a cigarette and tossed the match out the open side window. He took a deep drag as the man sitting next to him lit his own match, illuminating his face. Tommy glanced over at him, "You nervous, Paolo?"

  Paolo Paoletti held the match to his cigarette as he spoke out of the side of his mouth, "No, why?"