The Starlight Club 4: Marilyn: Scarface, Goodfellas, Mob Guys & Hitmen (Starlight Club Mystery Mob) Read online

  “When I get everything straightened out in Hollywood, I’m going to Washington to meet with my lawyer. I’m gonna try and get my name cleared. I want to discuss my situation with him and find out what my options are. I want to ask him if, in his opinion, I’ll have to wait until Nixon is president or are there other choices? I’ve hired Hoffa’s lawyer Bennett Williams to handle this for me. Besides, by being in Hollywood, I can kill two birds with one stone. While I’m there, I can find out how Swifty is doing. I’ll give Tag a call before I leave and have him drop off some weapons at Swifty’s house for us. We can’t be walking around naked out there now, can we?”

  Tag Tagarelli used to run numbers for Red until he left to go out west to be with his ex-wife and kids. She told him that if he changed his wicked ways, she’d take him back. She insisted he stop his illicit endeavors. She made one exception, though, and that was because of his love of guns. She allowed him to continue selling them, which she didn’t consider a real crime. After all, weren’t stores and gun shops selling guns? And besides, if she took him back, what would they live on if he stopped selling his guns?

  CHAPTER 2

  Washington, D.C.

  SETI Unit Headquarters (Special Evasive Tactical Interagency)

  “Did you hire the men you need, Charles?”

  “Yes! I contacted the LA Dukes and as long as the money is good, they’ll do whatever we ask them to do. I’m using three of their men and I’ll be going with them.”

  “I had a man I was thinking of hiring. I was going to put him in charge. He’s part of the weather underground and he specializes in making bombs for them. He’s here because his factory on Broadway in New York blew up, killing three weather underground members. They were making bombs while he was out tending to some chores. When the bomb factory blew up, he had to get out of town fast, so he headed out west. He called me the other night and said he was available for work if I had anything for him. I told him I had a job planned that I might be able to use him for if he was interested. We met and I told him what we were planning.”

  “How much is he costing us?”

  “This guy is a revolutionary. He wants to bring down the government. He doesn’t care about money. Give him enough dough to build some bombs and some walking-around money, and he’d be happy. I don’t trust any of the gang members to be in charge of this operation and since I know him and not the others, I was going to put him in charge of the operation . . . but I changed my mind at the last minute. I decided that it would be better if I went instead of him.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I don’t need an explosion going off in an office building. I might use this man sometime in the future, but I don’t feel right using him on this job. I don’t want anyone killed needlessly.”

  “I’m glad to see that you’re using your head, Charles. Have you decided when you are going to grab her?”

  “One of the LA Dukes knows a woman that works as a housekeeper for her neighbor and she found out that our target has an appointment with her attorney next Thursday in Washington, DC. It should be a simple matter when she leaves the building to grab her and throw her in the van, which I’ll have parked nearby.”

  “Won’t she have her bodyguard with her?”

  “Sure she will. She never goes anywhere without him these days.” Reynolds absently stroked his chin. “Be careful. Make sure she’s not hurt; it would ruin everything if she was. She has a reputation of being a neurotic with a very fragile mind. The plan is to put her away in an asylum where she can’t talk to anyone and no one can get to her. She knows too much. She’s a danger to the presidency. And remember, the attorney general must be kept completely out of this. No one must know he’s involved in any of this; not even the gang members you hired. Do you understand? You are the only one besides me who knows of his involvement in this matter, no one else. Make sure it remains that way.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Reynolds. No one knows about him and it will remain that way.”

  “Make sure it stays that way. Good luck next Thursday. I want you to keep me informed, understand?”

  “Yes. I understand and don’t worry, I’ll keep you informed.”

  The Corona Gentleman’s Cub was closed for regular business. All the men knew that if you wanted to speak to Red, you had to enter through the back door and take the stairs to the second floor and that’s what Trenchie did. He used the back door, took the stairs to the second floor, and spotted Red sitting in a recliner, reading the newspaper. This was the same recliner that Moose took to the safe room to make Red comfortable when he was recovering from his gunshot wounds.

  “Hey, Trenchie. What brings you here so early in the morning?”

  Trenchie never minced words. He always got right to the point and this morning was no different. “I heard you were going to California. Hollywood, to be exact. What the fuck is wrong with you. You don’t even tell me that your leaving. Well, I’m here to tell you that I’m going with you. Somebody’s gotta watch your skinny ass.”

  Red knew it was useless to try to talk him out of it, so he said, “We’re leaving Monday morning. I’ll call our travel agent and get a ticket for you.

  “Good, but I didn’t come down here just to tell you that. I came to tell you that we have a problem we have to take care of before we can go.” That got Red’s attention.

  “I have a funny feeling that you’re about to tell me something I’m not going to like.”

  “Yeah, and you’d be right. Sammy, Moe’s partner, found Moe dead in his store this morning.” Moe was an old time bookmaker who joined Yip when he organized the rackets in Queens back in the late thirties. When Yip was killed, he remained with the organization under Red’s leadership. They had a good working relationship. Red grew up hanging around Moe’s store and he grew to love the old man.

  “Do we know how he died? I guess it’s too much to hope that we might have some idea who the prick was who killed him.” Trenchie tightened his brow.

  “All I know is that I got a call from Sammy this morning, telling me to get to the store right away; he had something to show me. I stopped by here first because I knew you’d want to come with me to Moe’s place.”

  “You figured right. I sure as hell want to go with you. I hope Sammy has something besides Moe’s body to show us. It would be nice if he knew who killed him. Come on, let’s get out of here and go see what Sammy has to say.”

  Moe’s smoke shop was a losing proposition; it lost money and never showed a profit. And the reason it didn’t show a profit was because it was a front for the real money: the numbers racket and horse betting. How the hell could you make money selling a ten-cent cigar? But Moe sure took in a lot of dough handling the numbers and the ponies for Big Red.

  The front door had yellow police tape blocking the entrance to the store, so Red and Trenchie walked around the building and entered through the back door where Sammy was sitting behind Moe’s desk, waiting for them. He positioned his chair so it faced the back door, making it easy for him to see who came in. When the door opened, he recognized the two men and let out a sigh of relief.

  “Boy, am I glad to see you guys! I was afraid it might’ve been the cop who killed Moe returning to the scene of the crime.”

  “Wait a fuckin minute. Did I hear you right? A cop killed Moe?” Red asked incredulously.

  “That’s why I called Trenchie. I’m pretty sure it was a cop that killed him.”

  “You’re pretty sure . . . or you know? Which is it?”

  “When I came in this morning and found Moe dead, I called the police. After they left, I started going through his stuff. I went through Moe’s desk and I found nothing. I knew where his safe is hidden, so I opened it with the combination he gave me, you know – in case of an emergency. I took his ledger out - the one he used for his daily receipts - and when I opened the book, I found a note in the ledger with his handwriting on it. Here; you read what it says.”

  Red took the note and read it. It was dat
ed the previous day. Moe wrote this note yesterday. He must have been real worried, Red mused. Why didn’t he call one of us? Red looked at the note.

  “Sammy. If anything happens to me, see that Red gets this note. O’Malley is shaking me down for more money and I refused to give it to him. I’ve paid him enough. We had an agreement. He wouldn’t bother me if I paid him $100.00 a week, which I agreed to. Now he wants $200.00 a week and I refuse to pay it. He said he’d be back to collect and I better have it. I wanted to call Red and tell him, but after him almost being killed and what he’s been going through, I didn’t want to bother him with this.

  -Moe.”

  Red handed the note to Trenchie. “Poor bastard. Why would that son of a bitch O’Malley kill a harmless old man like Moe? Well, now he’ll get one in his head.” Red looked around the room. “Sammy, where’s the phone?”

  “It’s in the store, Red. It’s the pay phone on the wall to your right as you enter the room.”

  “Shooter, it’s Red. Get Joey Bones and get over to Moe’s place right away. Come in the through the back door. We’re waiting for you, so get your asses down here like right now.”

  Shooter heard the urgency in Red’s voice. “Okay, Red. We’re leaving now. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Ten minutes later, Shooter and Joey Bones were seated at the desk, listening as Red explained to them what happened to Moe. Red turned to Sammy. “Make yourself scarce, Sammy, I need to talk to my men for a few minutes and I don’t want you listening to what I’m going to say to them in case the cops come back to question you. When Sammy stepped out of the room, Red told the boys, “I want you two to go out and get that fuckin O’Malley right now because I’m gonna to bury that cocksucker. Get out of here and earn your money. Grab that fuck the first chance you get. Call me when you have him and bring him to my warehouse in Ridgewood. Take Sammy with you to identify him. Now go get Sammy.” When Sammy came back into the room, Red’s eyes locked on him.

  “Pay attention Sammy. You know exactly what’s going to happen to that prick O’Malley but you never heard us talking about it so I don’t give a shit what the cops ask you, because you don’t know jack shit about what’s gonna happen. But here’s the lowdown. The boys are going to grab O’Malley and since you’re the only one who knows what he looks like, you’re going with them to identify him. Once that’s done your job is finished.” He turned to Shooter. “As soon as Sammy identifies him, drop him off back home. You got that?” Red motioned to Sammy. “Okay, now that that is settled, get lost for a few minutes while I finish talking to my men.” Red waited until the door clicked shut behind Sammy, and then he directed his attention to Shooter and Joey Bones. “When O’Malley leaves the precinct, follow him home so we know where he lives. The following morning when he leaves his house be there waiting for him. Time it so that you’ll get him while he’s opening his car door. You can’t nab him at the precinct – too many cops there. One of them is sure to see you. Your safest bet is to grab him when he’s getting in his car, but use your own judgment. If you see an opportunity to grab him sooner, then forget about the plan and just go for it – but however you do it, I want him brought to the warehouse. Don’t disappoint me. I can’t let this corrupt greedy bastard get away with murdering one of my men. Understand? He’s gonna find out the hard way that payback is a bitch in this business.”

  “We understand, boss. Don’t worry. We’ll get him.”

  “I’m not worried and I know I’m repeating myself, but take Sammy with you to identify O’Malley. then drop Sammy off. But once he identifies O’Malley, burn his image into your mind. Then, after you drop Sammy off, head back to the precinct and when he leaves work follow him home and either grab him when he gets out of his car, or wait until the next day. Any questions? None? Good. But remember. Call me as soon as you have him so I can meet you at the warehouse.”

  Red knew he didn’t have to tell his men to be careful. They were professionals who didn’t make careless mistakes. Once they had O’Malley, he was as good as dead.

  CHAPTER 3

  Henri parried a right hand and countered with a left hook, followed by three jabs reminiscent of Willie Pep. He danced around the ring, dazzling his opponent with his fancy footwork without really intending to put on a show. He was so talented that he didn’t realize how good he was, but his opponents found out how the hard way-- when they weren’t fast enough to hit him. One minute he was there, banging away at their faces, and the next minute when they opened their eyes to take a swing at him, he wasn’t there-- he was behind them. It wasn’t magic; it was just that his boxing talent came so naturally to him. He jabbed, dancing away. He jabbed coming in, looking to create an opening for his devastating left hook. His jab opened the door for either his left hook or his right hand and he took advantage of any opportunity his jab created. The fact that he appeared to be able to do all this effortlessly without burning energy was due to his conditioning. The sportscasters and analysts were right on the mark when it came to Henri. He was an athlete approaching his prime and tonight it appeared to everyone in the audience that no one in the world could beat him. As they say, styles make the fight. The audience clapped as he slipped punches while countering with his own. He danced and jabbed so effectively that when his opponent tried to parry the next blow, Henri wasn’t there. His opponent was swinging at air because Henri was behind him – just like his hero Willie Pep used to do. The referee stopped the action in the ninth round of the fifteen-round championship fight. Henri Valesquez was crowned the new Welterweight Champion of the World. The first man to raise his hands in victory and to congratulate him was Big Red Fortunato. He was in his corner, and he had been encouraging him all night long. Red was delirious with pride. He couldn’t remember when he was more excited, or more proud. One of his boys was now the Welterweight Champion of the World.

  Swifty’s fight was next and the main event would feature Gonzo. Although he was fighting the main event, he and Swifty weren’t fighting for a title. What Swifty didn’t know was that Red had a talk with Frankie Carbo and if he won this fight, Carbo agreed that Swifty’s next fight would be for a title shot at the Garden against Bumpy Wright, the Middleweight Champion of the World. You couldn’t fight for a championship at the Garden unless Frankie Carbo, a made man, gave his approval. Since Big Red was also a made man, he agreed to allow Red’s fighter have a title shot, but the price for that title shot came high. Carbo hedged his bet and demanded a much larger percentage of the purse. This way, no matter who won, he’d make a ton of money.

  As for Gonzo, Gil Clancy felt he needed at least three more fights before he’d be ready for a title shot. If you asked Gonzo, he’d tell you he was ready right now. Clancy wanted more time to work out some kinks in Gonzo’s fighting style. A few times in his last fight, he forgot himself and started to brawl and at the end of each round, Clancy had to read him the riot act. But to be fair to Gonzo, he had come a long way with Clancy training him and Clancy knew that. He was no longer a bar room brawler, but Gil wanted to see him fight without lapsing into the brawler he used to be. So far, his last two fights had been textbook Clancy. There was no question of the influence Clancy had on Gonzo. He encouraged and motivated him to be a better fighter than he was, and he rose to the challenge. Gonzo could see himself holding the championship belt high above his head in triumph after defeating the reigning champ. Clancy gave him Napoleon Hill’s book Think and Grow Rich to read. Gonzo locked onto Hill’s sentence “Whatever the mind can see and believe it can achieve.” Gonzo pictured himself wearing the championship belt and he believed it. He saw it as clear as day and he knew that if he was given the opportunity, he would become the champ. He couldn’t wait for Red to tell him his next fight would be for the belt. He knew that when that fight came, the only way he could lose was if he went into the ring dead. That’s how much he wanted it.

  To the delight-- and disappointment-- of his fans, Swifty was true to his name because the fight lasted for 2 minutes and 1
7 seconds of the first round before he swiftly knocked out his opponent. The women cheered and the men wished the fight would have lasted a few more rounds. But it didn’t matter how many rounds the fight lasted because no one in the arena or in the television audience was disappointed with Swifty’s performance.

  When the bell rang for the start of the main event, Gonzo forgot one of the main tenets of Clancy’s training. He rushed to his opponent, looking for a quick knockout and ran into a right hand that dropped the big heavyweight. Two minutes and ten seconds remained in the round and Gonzo’s opponent, a big Dutchman by the name of Bert Hoffmann from East New York knew there was plenty of time left. He was sure he would knock Gonzo out before the round ended. Gonzo was on Queer Street. He was fighting on instinct now. All of Clancy’s instructions and training went out the window and, in a way, it was the right thing for Gonzo to do. He reverted to his bar room survival brawling style and started swinging wildly at anything that resembled a man through his hazy vision. In his rush to finish, his opponent threw a flurry of lefts and rights in his zeal to knock Gonzo out before the bell rang, ending the round. Gonzo was lying against the ropes and Hoffmann, his opponent, was banging away with non-stop punches; hitting him in the mid-section but having difficulty landing a clean shot to his jaw. Gonzo saw, through blurry vision, referee Ruby Goldstein watching him closely and he knew he’d better start throwing some punches before Goldstein stopped the fight.