King of the Bootleggers Read online

  He braked softly as he came parallel with Greenshields' home, lifted the weapon and pulled the trigger. He sprayed bullets across the front of the house first, taking out every window possible. Then he lifted the weapon and 'Machine Gun' Tommy worked the spray of bullets to the left along the upper windows. The roar of the Thompson filled him with delight and he laughed as it rained glass, wood and stone chips down the side of the house. The light snow drifting down made it look so romantic. Machine Gun Tommy wished he had a girlfriend to share this with. She would be so impressed. When the Thompson ran empty on the first clip, he changed to the second and continued spraying the home. When the gun began clicking again, Tommy quickly laid it in on the seat and drove away. Five blocks away, he stopped, expertly disassembled the Thompson into its main components of receiver, stock, fore grip and magazine and set them back in the violin case. He would clean the weapon later, making sure it would be ready for its next appearance in his orchestra of mayhem.

  WHEN TOMMY DROVE THE Oldsmobile into Cornwall, the newspapers had a nice front page article on the violent attack on a Montréal businessman. There were no eyewitnesses and the local constabulary had no answer as to how someone could shoot so many bullets into a home. No one had been killed but the family was terrified. Parking the automobile in the downtown area of Cornwall, Tommy went looking for a telephone. He found one he could use in the lobby of a hotel. Within a few moments, he was connected to the Greenshields & Sons Distillery in Montréal. He insisted on talking to the owner personally, saying he wanted to buy 2,000 cases of whiskey and he wouldn't talk to anyone else. After refusing the pleas of the personal secretary to speak to a salesman, he was finally put through to the man himself.

  "Hello? This is Keith Greenshields. I'm afraid this is not a good time right now. If you wouldn't mind–"

  "Mr. Greenshields, this is one of the men you tried to have killed several months ago when you objected to my boss selling liquor into Buffalo."

  The line on the other side went silent.

  But Tommy could hear the raspy breathing. "I'm also one of the men who paid you a visit at your home the other night. I hope you can make enough money to repair your house." Tommy smiled to himself.

  The raspy breathing also began to quake.

  Tommy waited

  "What do you want?" came the whisper finally.

  "For sending men to try and kill me...what I want to do...is visit your daughters."

  There was a sharp intake of breath.

  "You can't watch them all the time. Am I right?" Tommy let that sink in for a moment.

  Greenshields' breathing and voice were raspy and shaky, "Please, my daughters have nothing to do with this. It was Pierre Archambault, my sales manager's idea to–"

  "You're the boss, Keith. I won't go after your daughters...for now. But...the next time you piss on a pair of boots, make sure you know who's wearing them."

  TOMMY FOUND ANOTHER phone after lunch and called Rocco at the distillery telephone number he had given him, filling him in on the details.

  "You did a good job, kid," praised Rocco. "I'll let Cuba know. He can pick you up."

  "I still have the Oldsmobile, Rocco. I can drive all the way back–"

  "No, I want you to dump the car. Don't get caught with it," Rocco cautioned. "Better yet, leave it where someone can steal it. If the coppers down there ever go looking for the car in connection with the Montreal thing, somebody else takes the fall."

  "Okay, good thinking. I'll do that. I'll take a room down near the docks and watch for Cuba."

  "See ya when you get back, kid."

  Chapter 35

  ROCCO WAS STANDING at the back of the Glen Gael Distillery, enjoying an early morning cigarette. A foot of snow had fallen overnight and a number of the men were shoveling a path around to the front to allow the trucks delivering the raw material for the distillery access to drop it off at the back doors.

  "Morning, Rocco."

  Rocco turned to see Angelo Controni approaching from inside the distillery.

  Rocco just nodded a morning greeting.

  "How's the new apartment?" Angelo asked.

  "It's good."

  Angelo nodded and held out a folded piece of paper.

  Rocco took it and looked at it. It had Mutual 406 printed on it in pencil. "What's this?"

  "Marco Passantino...from back at your old apartment building? He answered the telephone on the third floor. Someone was looking for you and they left that phone number for you to call. Passantino and me are friends and he was there with me when you moved into our building. But when he went to your apartment, you weren't home, so he left it with my pops."

  "Did he say who called?"

  Angelo shook his head no, "I went and asked before I brought it to you. He said it was a man but he wouldn't leave his name."

  Rocco nodded, still looking at the paper and wondering, "Okay, thanks. I appreciate this."

  "Rocco?"

  Rocco looked up.

  "Marco wondered if you might have a job for him. His wife Gabriella is pregnant just a month and he was laid off from his job...."

  "Can he handle a gun?"

  Angelo nodded, "Me and him joined the 40th Sportsmen's Battery in late '15. We were just kids and lied about our ages. We were at the Somme together in '16 when Major Southam was killed."

  Rocco nodded solemnly and then he flipped his cigarette into the snow beside the building, "Bring him around tomorrow and show him what to do. I'll go tell Besha to put him on the payroll."

  "Thanks, Rocco." Angelo hesitated, "Marco also...."

  "What?"

  "He was also wondering about his wife's brother, a guy by the name of Franco Catena," said Angelo. "I really don't know him, so I wasn't sure if I should bring it up. He's just back from doing a nickel in Kingston...."

  Rocco nodded, "I know what it's like to come back and have a hard time. I'll tell Besha to put both of them on the payroll." He looked down at the note, "Guess I'll go try out that new telephone of hers."

  THE TELEPHONE OPERATOR told Rocco the number was for the Toronto area. That confused Rocco even more. I don't know anyone there? Why would they be calling me? He listened as the telephone rang on the other end. It seemed to go on forever and he was about to hang up–

  "Hello?"

  Rocco tried to place the voice. But it didn't sound familiar to him.

  "Hello?"

  "Yeah. This is Rocco DeLuca. Someone left this phone number for me–"

  "Ah, Mr. DeLuca. I'm glad you returned my call. My name is Victor Cipriano."

  That surprised Rocco. Victor Cipriano was the head of the Toronto Outfit, the man who was supposed to be supplying whiskey to Provenzano. "I've heard the name," Rocco said simply, not wanting to give anything away.

  "I'm flattered–"

  "Don't be. What do you want?"

  There was a pause before Cipriano spoke again, "I was hoping we could meet–"

  "Why?" Rocco asked harshly.

  "I believe it would be to our mutual benefit."

  "I doubt you stay up nights thinking up ways you can help another guy."

  Cipriano paused again. "Mr. DeLuca...I have no idea why animosity should exist between us–"

  "Because you supply product to Roman Provenzano. Provenzano is my enemy. The friend of my enemy is my enemy."

  There was silence on the other end of the phone. The fact Cipriano didn't deny it, meant it was true. He was supplying Provenzano.

  Then Cipriano spoke slowly and carefully, "Perhaps...we have more in common than you think. Mr. Provenzano is presently interfering in my business dealings. I don't like it when someone interferes in my business dealings. That usually means they're no longer my friend. If you understand my meaning?"

  "Maybe."

  Cipriano didn't say anything for a moment. "I also represent the interests of Mr. Greenshields...of the Montreal Greenshields."

  "Sounds like a high-class fellow. Out of my league so I wouldn't know him." />
  "He feels he may have overstepped some boundaries–"

  "I'm not one of those etiquette guys, so I can't help."

  Cipriano was silent.

  Rocco waited.

  "Mr. DeLuca, I'd like to invite you and your wife to visit Toronto. My wife and I would be happy to take you to dinner and maybe some dancing–"

  "And when we get half way there, some of your jamooks come out of the bush and we get dumped somewhere along the bay? Do I look stupid to you?"

  Cipriano waited a moment to reply and then said, "Give me one moment." He turned away from the telephone and asked for something. Then he came back on the telephone to talk with Rocco, "Here is a show of faith, Mr. DeLuca. Pay a visit to a place called the Paradise Club on Longwood Road in Cootes Paradise. It sounds like a lovely vacation spot. If it wasn't winter, of course. Once you have talked with Provenzano, if you want to take me up on my offer, telephone me again at this number. Goodbye, Mr. DeLuca."

  Rocco set the telephone down in the cradle and gave the conversation some thought.

  Angelo appeared in the doorway, "You find out who was on the other end of that number?"

  "Yeah," Rocco said without looking over. His eyes were still on the telephone. A moment later he looked over at Angelo, "You know if Tony is walking his beat or at home?"

  ROCCO STOOD ON THE flat area overlooking the waters of Cootes Paradise again. The snow was a foot deep and his feet were cold, his shoes little insulation against the frozen ground underneath. But he wasn't moving. He lifted the collar on his jacket against the wind as he watched the activities taking place at the two-story Paradise Club. Twenty minutes earlier, most of the patrons had fled down the front steps, their cars skidding once they hit the icy road, desperate to put distance between themselves and the lawmen conducting a gambling and prostitution raid. He knew the lawmen were now inside, smashing and breaking the roulette wheels and gambling tables. They would leave the place in a shambles. But that didn't matter.

  Tony had come up with the idea of a raid to flush out Provenzano, if he was there. Tony simply put a bug in the ear of Commissioner Farrin Dowd of the Dominion Police Force. When it was suggested the local authorities were allowing prostitution and gambling to go on by turning a blind eye, the pious Dowd had gathered a group of constables and descended on the Paradise Club in force.

  One half hour went by before Rocco, freezing but determined to wait it out, saw what he wanted.

  Dowd and his constables exited with seven men in handcuffs. The men were put into the back of a truck the Dominion police force had brought along. Dowd himself walked over to another vehicle parked near the tree line and he shook hands with someone inside. Then the Commissioner headed back to one of the four police cars they had arrived in and the entourage headed for the road.

  The vehicle from the tree-line moved out after a few moments and followed them at a distance.

  Rocco stepped over and leaned against his truck to shield himself as the Dominion police force passed.

  The vehicle following behind slowed down and then pulled halfway off the road beside Rocco's truck and stopped.

  Rocco made sure the line of police cars were far enough away before he stepped around to talk to the driver.

  A grinning Tony sat in the driver's seat and touched the brim of his constable's hat in salute, "It worked to perfection. I saw Dowd put Provenzano and Marino in the back of their truck along with some of his mooks. Dowd's going to charge them all under the federal law against the white slave trade, claiming the working girls were being held against their will."

  Rocco glanced at the disappearing vehicles, "But wouldn't he need some of the girls to testify? He didn't take any–"

  Tony smiled and shook his head, "Dowd doesn't care if the charges don't stick."

  "Why not?"

  "Because the Dominion police and the Royal Northwest Mounted Police are going to be merged next month into one and called the Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

  "Sounds fancy. But what does that have to do with it?"

  "Dowd knows he's going to be transferred. Any of his present superiors protecting the club won't be able to rap him on the knuckles and hinder his career. My tip-off gave him one last kick at the can to clear out a gambling and prostitution den. His wife is a member of the local chapter of the Women's Christian Temperance Union. He'll probably get laid every day for a month."

  "But only in the missionary position."

  Tony laughed and then turned serious, "He's taking them right to the Gore Park Courthouse."

  "On King and James?"

  "Yeah. He'll try to get them before a judge as soon as possible, just to play it out. But he knows the judge will likely refuse to allow the charges on the grounds of jurisdiction or some such nonsense. But he got what he wants. Now you have to be ready to get what you want."

  Rocco slapped the top of the truck in thanks as Tony pulled away.

  ROCCO HAD CONSIDERED the different ways it could be done. A drive-by shooting when they came out was one way. Maybe even with Tommy and the Thompson taking aim, for maximum effect, to send a message. Maybe a petrol bomb tossed in each car as they drove away. Again...spectacular...a message. In the end, Rocco decided not to involve anyone else. Too many coppers around a courthouse. No need to lose men who would be willing to follow the orders despite the risks and low odds of getting away without being shot. Besides, at least half of this was personal. No, Rocco would do it himself.

  Rocco had joined the 13th Hamilton Royal Regiment at the beginning of WW 1. He had hoped the army would give him a better future than the tough neighborhood streets he grew up in. But it didn't. He came back like all the other young men, bitter at the men in power who had sent men like him to battle while they stayed behind, bitter at the generals who used young men like him as cannon fodder. Literally. Sending them again and again over the trenches to gain a few measly feet of ground while they stayed at the back in some tent, moving their little wooden soldiers around a map.

  Rocco climbed to the rooftop of a nearby building with his weapon in a burlap sack. He settled his back against the parapet and pulled out a Ross Mk. II straight-pull bolt action .303 rifle with a 5.2X Warner & Swasey Model 1913 prismatic telescopic sight. The weapon had exceptional long-range accuracy out to 600 yards. Rocco had been trained as a sniper. He wasn't the best. But at 450 yards, he would be deadly. In the battlefield, mud and dirt on the bullets would often jam the weapon. That wasn't a problem here, but out of habit, he made sure the bullets were perfectly clean before he loaded. Four men were at different points in and around this building and they would signal if anyone was coming close and he would abort. In a few minutes, he was ready and he lay the barrel of the weapon across the parapet and shouldered the stock.

  Looking through the sight, he found Angelo Controni standing on the steps right outside the front doors of the courthouse. Gianni Reppucci was inside. These two were his spotters. They would signal when his targets were coming out.

  Fifteen long minutes later, Angelo coughed into a white handkerchief. They were coming out.

  Rocco readied himself.

  The men who had been arrested came out the front doors. Genesio Marino was the first to appear, scanning the front steps. Roman Provenzano was right behind him. Marino turned and said something to Provenzano who laughed. The two men walked side by side as the others came out behind them.

  Rocco set his sights on Provenzano. He was more important. He could get Marino later, if necessary. He slowly squeezed and the shot rang out as he put a bullet between the man's eyes.

  Provenzano's body slowly began to collapse to the ground.

  Pulling back on the bolt, Rocco shifted his aim left and pulled the trigger.

  Marino was just turning his head to look at Marino at the sound of the second shot and the bullet entered over his right eye. Rocco reloaded and aimed back at Provenzano who was almost on the ground. A bullet in the heart was his final goodbye and then he put another one into Marino
's head.

  Rocco rolled over and slipped the weapon into the burlap sack.

  At the courthouse, Angelo was yelling that the shot came from across the street. Any coppers who had ducked or hit the ground were up with their guns drawn, working their way to the edge of the street, looking for the shooter in the buildings just across from the courthouse.

  Rocco was down and being driven away within minutes. Just like he had been trained by his country.

  Chapter 36

  Gore Park Courthouse

  HAMILTON CHIEF CONSTABLE Denton Wherley stood next to Inspector Rufford Crawley and Inspector Finn Moore. They were all to the left of the steps of the courthouse, watching the chaotic scene. Their constables were having a difficult time keeping the enormous crowd of onlookers from trampling past their lines and overwhelming the scene of two dead bodies in front of Hamilton's main hall of justice. News reporters and their photographers were fighting for the best positions to take the pictures that would grace the front pages of the next newspaper editions to hit the streets. Mayor Ambrose Killian and several prominent city councilors were in heated conversations with the Chief Magistrate and other court officials not far away. The Inspector handling the shooting scene pushed his way past them and approached Wherley to report the details of the events that had taken place.