“Fine. She sends her regards.”
“Strange that she is not here in person. Matters are so difficult you need to see an old wizened fool like myself, yet Mary Lou stays at home. Talk to me, Bobby Trevisan.”
“We are in a dangerous situation and I am seeking your advice. We have no idea what to do.”
“Go on.”
Bobby explained the Markov war and outlined the issues with Mary Lou‘s decision making. Once he had finished, Pasquale took small sips from his wine glass and contemplated the problem in silence. Bobby knew his job was to not speak and give Pasquale the time to think things through. Five long minutes later, Pasquale cleared his throat and had another sip to moisten his tonsils.
“Forgive me. My medication gives me a dry cough. It‘s for my blood pressure, so the doc says, but I‘m the most relaxed I‘ve been since the day I was born.”
Pasquale slipped into silence and pondered more. And Bobby waited - politely and with the utmost respect for this once-powerful old man.
BOBBY DID HIS best not to hold his breath or tap his fingers with impatience. Pasquale had been the firm hand supporting their efforts through thick and thin. He had been there in the early days and gave Mary Lou her big break when she first drifted into town. Five years earlier, the fella had been the only person to try to save his children. He was solid as a rock and deserved the time to think. No matter how long that took.
“You have exhausted your options through violence, you say.”
“The Markov men are real tough and whenever we cut one down, another appears in his place. It‘s like they‘re lining up in Russia waiting to join the fight over here.”
“They probably are. The break up of the Soviet Union strengthened the Russian mob. Khrushchev never allowed crime families to get too strong. With freedom comes chaos.”
“Khrushchev?”
“Whoever. My point is the same and I hope well taken.”
“Yes, Pasquale.”
“As far as I can see, you have two options. First, find reinforcements and destroy these foreigners. Second, make your peace with them and merge your activities. Half of a large pizza is better than all of a child‘s portion.”
“Where would these extra men come from?”
“Is there anyone else who has a beef with these guys?”
“I don‘t know.”
“Worth finding out then, wouldn‘t you say?”
A nod. Bobby was embarrassed that none of them had thought of that. They were too close to the trees to see straight through the forest.
“And is a merger the only other option you can see for us?”
“On what you‘ve told me: yes. From what I hear, it‘s the way of the world. We have always had to adapt to survive. Shed your old skin to let your new one come alive.”
“Doesn‘t that make us a bunch of snakes?”
“And what of it? When the mammals are long gone from this stinking planet, we‘ll be left with the reptiles and the insects. Snakes and cockroaches will rule the Earth, my friend. Rejoice that you are a snake and not a disgusting roach.”
Pasquale knocked back the dregs from his glass and got Bobby to refill it. After he put the bottle down, he mulled over Pasquale‘s words, sifting through his prejudices to find out if he could deal with the consequences of working with Nikolay. The options: do that or die. Not much of a choice.
He spent another thirty minutes with Pasquale talking about the good old days with both catching up on who had died in the other‘s circle - Fabio was one of the many names. Then he thanked the great man and took his leave. Pasquale occupied the rest of the afternoon reminding himself of happier times when the Feds didn‘t have wiretaps and could barely match fingerprints.
WHEN BOBBY ARRIVED home, Mary Lou was already asleep, so he waited until morning to tell her what Pasquale had recommended. As ever, they sat in the summerhouse to talk business, having used breakfast for couples conversation.
“First the good news: Pasquale is doing fine, living out his days in the Miami burbs. The rest is less good.”
“Spill.”
“He says we should stop the war before it gets out of hand. Either we find a group with aligned interest in the destruction of Nikolay Markov or we make peace and learn how to work together.”
“Peace is not an option.”
“Only if we ignore it and Pasquale was very clear. We need to give peace a chance.”
Mary Lou sat and thought. Then she shook her head.
“I can‘t do that. What Markov has done is not forgivable and needs to be punished. Milton is dead because of him. The guy might not have been the brightest spark in the fire, but he was decent to his wife and to his mistresses. And that should count for something.”
“It does, but some things you have to suck in and that‘s one of them. I‘m not saying we ignore what he did to Milton, just that we don‘t have to act now. His revenge can be served cold - later this year or the next: whichever is more convenient for us. Today we need to make money and spill less blood.”
BOBBY COULDN‘T TELL if Mary Lou was thinking, sulking or both. He could not read the taciturn puffing of her cigarette. All he knew was her silence. When she stubbed out the remains, he received her response.
“We can win the fight if we carry on and don‘t give up hope. Look what Frank has achieved in only a handful of days. He and his sidekick have thrown sand in Nikolay‘s face and set up a cathouse under his nose. That proves we should attack Markov and grow our business interests without the need to sit down and talk. Let alone share the profit from our hard work.”
“Short-term gains. Two guys on their own? Of course, they can make early inroads. Will the story be the same in a month‘s time? Nah. The whorehouse'll be shut down and the girls will have their throats cut. And we shouldn‘t wait four weeks just for me to be proved right. Me, Alice and Pasquale. We‘ve all reached the same conclusion. It is time for a peace conference.”
“Frank is leading the way. If we each set up a small group and chip away at their businesses, in a few weeks we‘ll be in a very different situation. We will starve them of money. Without that, they are nothing.”
“Aren‘t you forgetting their connections?”
“Huh?”
“In Russia.”
“Russia ain‘t America. Fuck his Russki paymasters.”
“They have deep pockets and an army waiting to ship overseas. We mustn‘t underestimate them just because they don‘t speak our language.”
“A bunch of chimpanzees in suits. I‘m not underestimating them: just discounting them instead. They are thugs and no more. If we want, we can hire our own ape army, but the better approach is to destroy them slowly while generating cash. That‘s more than they are be able to do. Frank has cut off narcotics supply lines already. Every day they lose money, the weaker they become. In less than a month they‘ll have nothing. Nada. And then we move on Nikolay Markov.”
MARY LOU COULD be stubborn, but Bobby felt there was something more at work here. Yes, she was digging in her heels, but her argument was based on Frank‘s minor success and ignored what had gone on before. As though it had never happened. As if she couldn‘t remember that it had occurred. Bobby shook his head. His desire to remain loyal to Mary Lou pulled him in one direction and his mind tugged him in another.
He could not deal with the thought he needed to countermand her plan - again. Perhaps he wasn‘t strong enough, grown weak after years of easy street. Also, this was the first instance in over a year that he could remember when Mary Lou had passion, fire in her belly. That had to count for something. She was so sure of herself - in a way he hadn‘t seen for a very long time. Like these dark times were bringing out the best in her.
The last thing he should do is rain on her parade. Now was the moment for the whole family to come together as one, including him. For richer or poorer, better or worse. His job was to stick by Mary Lou and support her. This was her show and, despite his misgivings, she gave the orders and
her position was clear.
32
CRIMINAL ACTIVITY IS cyclical like so many businesses which is why Frank worked his girls hard during the weekend and came home to visit Mama on Tuesday. Sammy had returned to Boston but his mind was not focused on her ass despite what she might hope. Unlike Alice, his desire for her was entirely physical and he was too tired to fool around.
He rested in the conservatory after a hearty Irma-fueled breakfast and waited for his Mama to appear. Bobby had left the house at the crack of dawn and the place was silent, apart from Irma‘s hustle and bustle, which Frank plain ignored. When Mary Lou appeared, she still looked tired and Frank gave her the time to revive before talking shop.
“How‘s it been back here?”
“Difficult. The Markovs continue to hit us hard: attacking our labs and they once tried to take our trucks coming out of Bakersfield.”
“But we stopped them?”
“Yes, for the past two weeks, armed guards rode in the cabins so the Markov goons were met with a hail of bullets. Didn‘t come back the following day - the ones who survived.”
“There‘s nothing like a steel toecap in your face to focus your mind.”
“Amen to that.”
“Huh?”
“What?”
They looked quizzically at each other, neither understanding the other‘s response. Frank shook himself out of the conundrum first.
“I‘ve applied the same strategy in SF and set up two whorehouses along the way using fresh girls. If we work to the side of their operation, we can eat away at their territory and fight them at the same time.”
“That’s what I‘ve been telling Bobby and Alice but they won‘t listen.”
“I hear you loud and clear, Mama. The business is safe with me.”
“I know, dear and I won‘t forget what you‘ve done. Never you mind.”
Frank glowed inside. So much of his life had been spent being bailed out or disappointing his mom, he‘d forgotten how warm positive words could feel.
“And now we must step up our campaign and you‘ve shown me you are the one I can rely on.”
“What do you want me to do, Mama?”
“It is time to chew through the heart of their operations: prostitution. You have started well but we need to hit their lap dancing venues and cathouses. If we succeed, all that‘ll be left of any substance will be narcotics and you've already started to nix those supply lines.”
“Hit them hard.”
“Without restraint. Either destroy the buildings or take out the resources.”
“You mean kill the goons running the joints.”
“The goons. The girls. If we leave the johns alone then the cops won‘t touch us: we‘ll be doing their job for them.”
FRANK RETURNED TO the Bay City and followed Mama‘s orders. Isaak continued to lay waste to the Markov whores. While Naldo had used a knife, Isaak waded in with automatic weapons and a total disregard for human life, but he always attacked the staff rooms or hit the place after hours. Mama had been clear about that and it made perfect sense.
The San Francisco Police Department didn‘t know what to do with itself. Local precincts were reporting mass murder one day followed by a total lack of low-level crime the next. The only people who were disappointed were the men hoping for an easy fuck on the way home from work or after sinking a beer or two. They were forced to put more effort into their illicit carnal desires.
Isaak continued his reign of terror until the Tenderloin was free of brothels. Even the independent operators got the message and decided to go on unexpected vacations. What‘s the point of running a joint, if at the end of the night you're face down in a pool of your own blood and excrement?
THE MARKOV RESPONSE was predictable - much as Bobby and Alice had said. Nikolay put his best fellas on to track down Frank and Isaak. In the absence of any success, all the people found in a Lagotti venue were shot. The two men went into hiding outside the Tenderloin but soon Frank realized the jig was up.
Not enough guns to finish Markov and insufficient men to maintain control of the new territory they’d won. Their early gains had turned into a series of losses and the splatter of human remains lay all over the streets. Isaak waited until after dusk, stole a car and the pair got the fuck out of Dodge.
OVER THE WEEKEND, Mary Lou flew down to Miami for a break. Bobby chose to stay at home because he didn‘t want a vacation while chaos loomed all around. He sent Naldo with her to watch her back.
On Saturday morning, word reached Bobby that two meth labs in the depths of LA had gone up in smoke overnight. That afternoon, the Markovs attacked their main heroin processing lab. Fifteen pounds of uncut opium and ten pounds of heroin had been stolen and everyone in the building had been whacked.
Bobby tried to contact Mary Lou, but she wasn‘t in her room to answer the phone. Nor was Naldo. Under ordinary circumstances, Bobby wouldn‘t have been concerned, but this hit was the kind of incident he had feared would happen and there was no way to protect Mary Lou. In the early evening, he got through to Naldo.
“There‘s been action. Check out of the hotel and find somewhere quiet to stay tonight. Tell her to come home tomorrow. Let her know supply lines have been hit and that I am insisting. She should understand what that means.”
While the tentacles of the Feds had yet to reach their corner of Palm Springs, Bobby used caution when on a public line. He and Mary Lou had agreed to insist on something only if it was a matter of life or death. No questions asked. And for Bobby, this was one of those times.
He briefed the guards in the house to expect trouble and he told Alice what had happened.
“Do you think we‘ll get through this?”
“For sure. Your mom and I have dealt with worse in our time. If we remain sensible and don‘t do anything stupid then we‘ll nail Nikolay Markov.”
“Has anyone explained that plan to Frank?”
Beat.
“I‘m having a Scotch. You want something?”
“Too early for me.”
Bobby poured two fingers into a tumbler and added four cubes of ice. Then he raised his glass like he was giving a toast.
“Here‘s looking at you, kid.”
33
BOBBY AND MARY Lou sat on the summerhouse couch with Alice and Frank in separate armchairs. The events of the past week had permeated through all of them. The stress caused by being at war had taken its toll. Everyone looked fraught even Mary Lou, fresh from her weekend in the sun.
“Let‘s get started. What‘s the latest?”
“Same as the whole of the month: we‘ve been hit hard in Los Angeles and surrounding areas. Narcotics, prostitution. There has been some disruption to our gambling operations too. Revenue is down and so are the number of live bodies on the payroll.”
“In return, we've disrupted or decimated Markov whorehouses in San Francisco. We‘ve hit their heroin supply and destroyed their pussy product.”
“Nicely put, Frank.”
“Get over yourself, sis‘. We are hurting them. Causing them grief.”
“In summary then, they‘re bleeding us dry on the west coast but there's been zero impact on Las Vegas, Chicago, Boston or Atlantic City.”
“‘Yet‘ is the key word here. The longer this goes on, the greater the chance they will expand their horizons. Once Nikolay escalates his actions, it‘ll be a matter of days before the casinos fall. He can call on an enormous number of men and we won‘t be able to defend ourselves.”
“The good thing about the Lucky Lady is that it‘s in the middle of the city and local police won‘t be pleased with anyone who disrupts the tourist trade.”
“Same for AC.”
“The Queen of Sheba is vulnerable: it‘s a boat on a river.”
“Can we find reinforcements to last this month?”
“I‘d love to say yes, but I have no idea where to get the right guys. Our best are six feet under and the rest heard what happens when you work for us.”
“And what are we to do?”
MARY LOU SPOKE for the first time since opening the meeting.
“We must assassinate the Russian. With him gone, all our problems dissolve like sugar in a hot cup of coffee.”
“That is not an option: we‘ve been through this before.”
“No, we need to cut off the head of the snake. His men will fall in line when he‘s lying bleeding in the dirt.”
“There are no opportunities for us, Mary Lou. We‘ve ruled out a sniper, a bomb and a good old-fashioned drive-by shooting. No-one can get close enough to Nikolay to slit his throat or plant a slug in his heart.”
“We need to reach an accommodation, Mama, to take us to a new normal.”
Frank snorted, his derision visible on his expression.
“Death is the end of all things. We just carry on what we‘re doing - only more so. We have casino money rolling in to support us but he does not. Another week, maybe a month. The longer we can last, the sooner his power will be lost. He might enjoy contacts back in Russia, but he is living in the US of A. And that is where he will die.”
“Brave words little brother, but saying it doesn‘t make it so. Yes, we have the money to keep going but not the men. That‘s what we repeatedly say and no-one seems to disagree. Our best are dead and what remains: they are scared and they should be. I know I‘m scared. Everyone in this room should be - we are living in fucking dangerous times.”
“DARLING, IS YOUR primary objection our lack of fellas?”
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