by John Hudson
"So what's this Tonelli guy got to do with all this?" Dick asked Turner.
"Carmine Tonelli works for Mickey Cohen. If he killed Johnny Del Rio, he did it on Mickey's orders, which could mean Mickey is breaking the agreement, and the boys back east are not going to like that."
"Maybe Tonelli was working for someone else." Dick speculated.
"No, Mickey doesn't let his boys work for anyone else. If Tonelli killed Johnny Del Rio, he did it because Mickey told him to." Hoyt Turner took out a thick file and threw it on the desk. "That's Carmine Tonelli’s life story. I'll leave it with you. It'll take a while to wade through all of his misadventures."
"Are the Los Angeles Police looking for him?" I asked.
"Not really, the Los Angeles Police are in the middle of a drug war right now and they haven't got the men available to look for Carmine Tonelli. Normally, we could wait, but this incident with “Two-Ton” Tony changes things. Both the Attorney General and I agree we need to find Carmine Tonelli now." Hoyt Turner removed and envelope from his briefcase and said, "That why we're going to send one of your people to Los Angeles to help the L.A.P.D. find Tonelli." Hoyt Turner smiled and asked, "Which one of you wants to go?"
Before I could say anything, Dick said, "Have a nice trip Kelly."
Hoyt Turner handed me the envelope, "You'll leave tomorrow morning at ten on the West Coast Limited. We've issued a per diem of ten dollars a day for your expenses. Please get receipts and submit them with your report." Hoyt Turner closed his briefcase and said, "I'm looking forward to your report."
When Dick and I left his office, Ted Kemper smiled at me. It was a strange smile. It was the kind a gambler smiles when he has four aces and he knows you're holding a pair of deuces.
Hoyt Turner was right. Carmine Tonelli’s file took the rest of the day to read. Carmine started his criminal career when he was a kid. By the time he was eighteen, he was mobbed-up and working as a soldier for Luciano. He came west when Lucky brought the mob to California. After Lucky got deported, Carmine struck out on his own and worked in prostitution, drugs and loan-sharking. But Carmine wasn't a boss, he was muscle and when Mickey Cohen needed muscle to convince Jack Dragna he didn't want to reclaim what he lost to Bugsy, he hired Carmine. Carmine had a talent for doing Jersey neckties. In the file were several photographs of his suspected work. Normally, I had a fairly good stomach, but the photos of his victims made me a little sick. Each victim's throat had been cut from ear to ear and their tongue had been pulled though the wound leaving what looked like a gruesome red necktie, a crude but effective message to anyone who happened to see one of the victims. Carmine was some piece of work.
I was daydreaming about going to California and wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings on my way home. If a car hadn't blown its horn and got me to look around, I'd have missed Suzy Kurtz lurking in a doorway trying hard not to be seen. I hung a left and came back around the block. I parked down the block and kept near the buildings so she wouldn't see me. When she peeked out, I stepped out so she could see me. She jumped back and tried to open the door. I grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her around. She looked horrible. Her hair was tangled, her eyes were little pin pricks, and she had that whiter‑than‑white hype look.
"Hi," she said. "Long time no see."
"Yeah and I'll bet you're overjoyed to see me too. Where's Bottles?"
She shook her head, "I don't see him anymore."
I didn't believe her but I let it drop. "What are you doing here?"
She looked around like she expected someone else to answer the question. Then she said, "I'm waiting for a friend."
"Who?"
"Just a guy I know‑‑but I guess he's not going to show up so I'll be on my way."
I grabbed her arm. I wanted to shove up her sleeve and ask about the needle tracks I knew were there. I knew if I did, it would make her more afraid of me and I wanted to keep her as comfortable as I could for now. "You need a ride?"
"I don't have to go far...thanks."
I let go of her and she hurried off. I called after her. "I'd be careful around this neighborhood. Lots of vice cops work this area. They might get the wrong idea if they see you hanging around doorways!" Suzy looked back then took off. I hated it when a kid got sucked into narcotics. Usually, you can't do anything but watch, but this time maybe I could do something. One thing was for sure, I was going to have another little talk with Bottles.
Finding him was a different matter. He'd been avoiding me for several days even though I'd been leaving messages for him. If Suzy tells him about our encounter, he might be real hard to find. I played a long shot and stopped at the Northern Club and asked for Blind Willie. In a couple of minutes a huge Negro walked out of the back room. He smiled when he saw me and said, "Damn, if it isn't Kelly come to pay old Willie a visit. Just what can I do fours you Kelly?"
"I need to find Bottles Malloy. Can you help me out?"
"I don't really know. He's been making his self scarce recently. Maybe I could pass on a message, fours you."
"No, I need to talk to him personally."
"Let me call a few people who might know. I'm drinking Scotch these days you know." Willie disappeared into a phone booth and returned looking triumphant. "The little geek is hanging out at the Boulder City Bar and Grill."
I pushed a double shot of Scotch over to Willie and he smiled. I observed, "You know Willie you walk real good for a blind man."
Willie rolled his eyes back up into his head just like he did during the depression when he sold pencils as a blind man and said, "Oh, won't you buy a po' old blind man's pencils? I'm powerful hungry."
Before I went chasing Bottles, I called Billie and asked her if she'd do me a favor. It took her about an hour but she called back with a name and address. Then I drove south toward Boulder City.
The Boulder City Bar and Grill, a gin joint and low-rent casino, sprung up while they were building Hoover Dam. In those days the only spot in the state that didn't have legal gambling was Boulder City. The Federal government wanted the good folks who came to build the dam to have a chance to send their paychecks home, but right outside the city limits, was a different story, and for a while the Boulder City Bar and Grill, did a land office business. Unfortunately, once the dam was finished, things changed and now the Boulder City Bar and Grill held on by running a few hookers and gambling equipment that wouldn't pass close inspection. It was rumored, that certain illegal substances could be gotten there as well.
I watched the neon night fade in my rear view mirror as I drove into the desert. I'd only been to the Boulder City Bar and Grill once, and all I remembered was it was a brown abode wart on the desert floor that smelt of sweat, cigarettes, cheap perfume and sale beer. The people who went there didn't care. They went there for intoxication, not atmosphere.
Once I arrived, I could see Bottles wasn't there. I asked the bartender about him, and he looked at me like I was speaking Lithuanian. A different approach was called for. I shoved my badge in his face and said, "Tell me where I can find him or I'll have your customer's empty their pockets on the bar. Who knows what I might find!"
Suddenly the bartender understood me perfectly. He said, "Who was that you were looking for?"
"Bottles Malloy."
"Oh, sure, I know him. He's not here right now. Give me your name and I'll have him call you."
He looked disappointed when I told him I'd wait. I ordered a beer and sat where I could see everyone who entered without them seeing me. Hour and a half later Bottles staggered in. I tapped on the bar and pointed at Bottles. I’d arranged with the bartender to tell Bottles someone was waiting to buy dope from him in the store room. In return for his help, I told the bar keep I wouldn't arrest the majority of his customers.
The store room was small and illuminated with a bare bulb. I sat on a crate with my back to the door. The door opened but I didn't turn around. I tell from the chicken shit smell--it was Bottles.
"Hey, man, you want
to buy some stuff?
I turned around and Bottles lurched for the door. I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back.
"Sure what do you have to sell?"
"Nothing! Nothing at all!"
"Sure you do...maybe you just forgot where you put it. Let's check your pockets." Bottles twisted free and tried to run. Grabbing him by his belt, I jerked him back to me and stuck my hand in his jacket pocket. He grabbed my arm and I slapped his hands away and took out a match box. Inside were five toy balloons with something inside them. I knew it was dope, probably heroin. I held a balloon up, "What's this? Party favors?"
"It's nothing man," Bottles sputtered as he grabbed for the balloon. "It's just flour I was going to sell the GI's."
"Why would they want to buy a pinch of flour, to bake a miniature cake?"
Bottles grabbed for the balloon and I pushed him away. "Okay, I told them it was dope. I was going to steal their money."
"Shame on you Bottles. What's this world coming to, if you can't trust your pusher?" I opened the top of one of the balloons and said, "If this is only flour, you won't mind if I pour it out. That way you won't be tempted to steal someone's money." I turned the balloon over, and white powder started to pour out. Bottles shrieked and grabbed at the air. "You win. It's dope."
"You're under arrest." I took out my handcuffs. When Bottles saw them, he took a swing at me. He missed and I used his momentum to propel him into the wall. I grabbed him and put the cuffs on him--tight--real tight.
"Hey! What's this? We got a deal," Bottles screamed.
"No, we don't. Our deal was for you to tell me what I wanted to know when I wanted to know it and you haven't been doing that."
"Yes, I have."
"No, you haven't. I asked you several days ago to find out about Johnny Del Rio being out a Jake's and I haven't heard from you since."
"Hey, I got something. The guy who saw him that night said about an hour after Johnny arrived he heard what sounded like an argument in Jake's apartment. He couldn't hear what was said but it sounded angry."
"That ain't much considering the amount of time you've had to come up with something."
"Come on man! You know those guys don't talk to guys like me. That's why I didn't find out more."
"This means you’re of no use to me, so I might as well run you in."
"You've let me off in the past--why not this time?"
"Because you haven't been doing what I told you to do. I told you to find out more about Johnny and you make me come all the way out here to track you down. You're not worth the trouble."
"Hold on man, I got something else for you. It's not about Johnny but it's about Tony lard-butt."
"Like what?"
"I overheard Southside Sammy saying he knew who killed Tony."
"Who did Southside Sammy say did it?"
"He didn't but I think he knows."
"That's it? You think he knows. That's nothing! Come on I've had enough of your brand of crap. You're going to jail."
I drug Bottles out of the Boulder Bar and Grill and pulled him toward my car. He dug his heels in and yelled, "You really like playing God don't you?"
I stopped pulling him and said, "What in the hell are you talking about? All I'm doing is my job."
"No, you're playing God and you like it."
I grabbed him and pulled him toward my car. "I'm tired of listening to your crap. Shut the hell up! Or I'll stick a rag in your mouth."
When we got to my car Bottles started to cry. "Okay man, you've made your point. Let me go and I swear I won't give you anymore problems. Just don't take me in. I'll do anything." I opened the car door and Bottles started blubbering. "Please..please..please man don't do this."
"This is your last chance. If you do exactly what I tell you, I'll let you go, but if you don't, you're going down."
Bottles stopped crying and said, "What do you want me to do?"
"I told you about getting that young girl living with you hooked and you didn’t listen to me did you? So now I’m going tell you one more time and if you don’t listen to me you’ll be flying cold turkey in the county lock up and when you get all sober, you’ll be spending the next few years baking in the Nevada sun breaking rocks.”
Bottles started shaking so bad I thought something might fall off. “You got it all wrong! I’m not the one giving it to her. She got a guy who has it bad for her. He’s the one, I swear he is.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s a bad guy who will kill me if I tell you.”
“I don’t care what he’s going to do. I’d worry a lot more about what I’m going to do to you. Now, I want to know who and where he is.”
“Man, I can’t tell you. He really will kill me.”
This guy must be really bad for Bottles to try and protect him. I wondered just how far he was willing to go. “Enough of this B.S. you’re going to jail. I’ll bet by about this time tomorrow you’ll be begging to tell me but it will be too late because by then I’ll have found out on my own and all you’ll have is the Jones for a fix.”
It took a bit of thought on Bottles part but he finally said, “Alright, you’re a bastard you know that?”
I hit him in the ribs and he went down and squirmed around on the ground. “Watch your mouth Bottles. It could get you hurt.”
“Oh, Lord, that hurts,” I pulled him to his feet and acted as if I was going to hit him again. “Okay, okay, his name is James Caldfield and he’s got a crib at the end of Fifth Street. Don’t hit me any more, okay?”
I unlocked the handcuffs. Turned him around and said, "Not a word to him and make sure she doesn't get anything from anyone one else either. You got that?" I let got of him.
Bottles rubbed his wrist and replied, "Okay." He held out his hand and asked, "Can I have my dope back?"
"Hell no, I'm going to flush it. Maybe I ought to make you do it just so you'll catch on I'm serious."
"Please don't. I owe people for it and they'll hurt me if I don't pay them. And if I don't have anything to sell I can't pay them."
I shouldn't have but I opened the match box and threw it into the bushes. Bottles scurried around picking the little balloons up and stuffing them into his shirt pocket. “Get the hell out of here or I might change my mind.” Bottles stumbled off into the night. I knew I couldn't stop Suzy if she wanted to disappear into dope but I wasn’t going to give up without a fight. At least she’d have a chance. If she took it, that was up to her--not me.
The information Bottles gave me wasn't much. I already knew from, Jake's maid Charlene, there was a fight that night. Jake told her it was between a couple of guys over a girl, but now Bottles said the fight happened in Jake's apartment. Charlene also said it was a lot of blood she cleaned up. It couldn't have come from Johnny. He didn't have a mark on him except for the hole in the base of his skull and Jake didn't look like he had been in a fight either. So where and from who did it come from?
What Bottles told me about Southside Sammy knowing something about Tony's death could be nothing more than Bottles lying about Sammy knowing who killed Tony. I didn't have time to look for Sammy and even if I did, Sammy made a career out of not being found by the police. I'll tell Dick and he could look for him while I'm in Los Angeles. I also told the main narcotics officer, Wally Parks, about James Caldfield. Parks knew who he was and I told him Caldfield sold me a dope-filled balloon I palmed from Bottles. I told him Caldfield was a bad hombre and to be careful. I figured Mister Caldfield was going to get visitors and if he was holding some dope, none of it would be going into Suzy’s arm and if he was a real bad guy, maybe he’d be stupid enough to fight it out. Then none of his dope would be going into anyone’s arm.
At nine a.m. Dick pulled up to the curb and honked his horn. I grabbed my bags and started my voyage to la, la land. The West Coast Special took four days to run from coast to coast. It was on its last leg and it wouldn't stop until it reached Los Angeles. I found a seat in the observation car and watched miles and
miles of desert roll by under a cloudless blue sky. Little did I know that just over the horizon storm clouds were waiting for me.
Chapter Ten
Love is Strange or is it Strange Love
I arrived at Union Station a few minutes after four. I was anxious to make contact with the Los Angeles Police. I hailed a cab and told him to take me to the police headquarters.
Hoyt Turner told me to talk to Captain Gant. The desk sergeant told me I could find him on the third floor. I gave Gant the envelope Hoyt Turner gave me. He read it and said, "You need to talk to Officer Davis. He handles all the information on the mob guys. You'll find him down the hall in office two fourteen. Just tell him I said to help you with this."
Officer Charlie Davis was a fire plug in a shinny suit. I couldn't help but observe that the Los Angeles Police Department must allow their officers to stay on the job as long as they wanted because Patrolman Davis was a lot older than I expected. Apparently they didn't care if they stayed in very good shape either, because, even though he was big, he was also fat.
He wasn't impressed I came all the way from Nevada to find Carmine Tonelli. He threw my letter on his desk and told me to wait while he proceeded to make several phone calls. When he finished, he looked at me like he wasn't quite sure why I was still here. He said in his thick New York accent, "Who was dat you were looking for?" ‘
"Carmine Tonelli."
Davis shook his head. "Can't say de name means anything to me, who is he?"