King of the Bootleggers Read online

  Besha kept her eyes on the scenery outside the passenger car. "Who owns it? Now that Fat Sal is gone...."

  Rocco rolled his head on the headrest and looked at Tony, wondering if he knew.

  Tony made a face, indicating he had no idea.

  "Did Fat Sal have family?" Besha asked as she continued staring out the window.

  Rolling his head back straight, Rocco looked across at Besha, "Why are you so interested in his pedigree? And his place?"

  Maria opened her eyes lifted her head, looking across at the two men, "You know Besha. She's got something rolling around in that brain of hers." She looked at Besha, shaking her head with affection, "Out with it girl. What bee is buzzing around in your bonnet now?"

  Besha didn't say anything for a moment and then, "I was just thinking...."

  "What did I tell you?" a triumphant Maria said.

  "Why don't we buy it?" Besha said after another moment.

  Rocco's surprise was evident, "What? Buy the Paradise Club? Why would we do that? We got enough to do with the hooch and the distillery. And we haven't heard from the Buffalo mob at all–"

  "We will," Besha said firmly as she looked across at Rocco, "or you'll find a new outlet. I know you. You won't give up until you do." She sat up straighter, "But buying that Paradise Club would be a smart move."

  Rocco shook his head no, "I'm not interested in getting into gambling and that other stuff."

  "Think about it, Rocco. Genesio Marino wasn't just content with staying out there in Cootes Paradise like you told him to. He actually threw his lot in with Provenzano, probably figuring he'd take over Russo's old territory. If you leave a hole in the gambling out there, you're leaving it wide open for another ambitious man like Marino to step in."

  Tony rolled his head towards Rocco, "She actually makes sense."

  Rocco placed his hands in the pleading gesture, "So you're good with this, Tony? You wanna run a gambling place now?"

  "Rocco, you asked me to be a copper, because we thought it would get us some inside information. Now...the Paradise Club? That place attracted business types, industrialists, lawyers, judges, politicians...hell, even Hamilton Mayor Ambrose Killian was out there gambling and dabbling with the girls. Everyone on the force knew it" He lifted his hand and stabbed his finger to make a point, "You want some real information, some real leverage on people? Besha's got it right, that solidifies the territory and that place would be a goldmine of information."

  Rocco furrowed his brow, looking across at Besha.

  "If Fat Sal didn't have family, then more than likely the property will go up for sale at auction," Besha said, She glancing at Maria, "You and me can go to that office where Mr. Kippen took us to change the property deed for the distillery over to us. They should know what's happening."

  Maria nodded, eager to follow Besha into a new adventure.

  "That place is a mess after Dowd got finished with his raid," Tony said, "you know that, right?"

  "That's fine," Besha said. "If it's okay with Rocco, I think Gianni Reppucci should run the new Paradise Club. You trust him Rocco, and he's been a good friend since you were a kid. He willingly hid us in his apartment when Russo was looking for you. We could have Andrea work with him, getting the place ready again."

  Rocco nodded his head slowly, thinking back over the years when he and Skinny Reppucci played on the streets of the old neighborhood.

  "And I have to talk to Starkman about taking over his import/export business," Besha added.

  "You're killing me here with all these things," Rocco groaned.

  "Starkman Imports & Exports is close to going under," Besha warned him, "we need the contacts he has in Cuba, so we can continue to have legal addresses where the whiskey is supposedly being sent."

  "But...aren't we making fake purchase orders anyway?" Maria asked in confusion. "Can't we just continue–?"

  "If the customs people check, and I'm sure they will from time to time, we need real legal places they can check," Besha said. "From what I've seen, they don't push very hard if everything looks up-and-up on the surface. We need to maintain that surface."

  Rocco leaned his head back against the headrest, letting it rock gently back and forth as he considered what his wife was saying. "If you take over Starkman's that just gives you more work...."

  "Maria here can continue to handle the paperwork at the distillery," Besha said. She looked at Maria for confirmation.

  Maria nodded her head eagerly, "And if she puts in a telephone over at Starkman's, I can call her when I need her."

  Tony snorted a laugh and Maria reached across and slapped him on the knee.

  "And I can run everything at Starkman's, keeping the imports and exports going, even at a minimum, to keep up appearances," Besha explained.

  Rocco rolled his head and looked at Tony, "All that money coming in from Cipriano is going right out again."

  "Not all of it. I'll make sure I make good deals for my part," Besha said. "And you two better buy a house with a big backyard."

  Rocco's eyebrows knit together, "Why would we do that?"

  "Well, you're gonna need a big place to flood so you can have a rink for your hockey team to play on."

  Tony laughed, "She's got you there, Rocco."

  "Me? You're the one who got us in this mess by telling her how much we love hockey. What're you gonna do for a rink?"

  Tony shrugged, "Not my problem. I'm not the owner."

  Maria put her hands to her face hand giggled.

  Rocco looked across at Besha, shaking his head in mock frustration, "What're we going to do if this whole thing falls apart? If we got no money left?"

  Besha shrugged, "Then I guess you better start rowing your ass across that river again and make more."

  Chapter 39

  IN THE MORNING, Rocco, Besha, and Maria made it into the distillery after a struggle through the deep snow. The workers were struggling themselves to clear the path from the back to the road for the trucks again.

  Andrea Reppucci was already in the office and popped her head out as soon as she heard the others stamping the snow off their feet inside the front door, "Morning. How was the trip?"

  "Snowy," Rocco grumbled.

  Besha hurried across to Andrea as she removed her coat, "Don't listen to old grumpy. It was great."

  Maria gushed as she followed behind Besha, "Yeah, you should have been there to see the King...Edward...Hotel."

  "Sound fancy," Andrea said. "Oh, Rocco? You got another call back at your old apartment. A man said he's been trying to reach you."

  "Another one? Who the hell is it this time?"

  "I've got the note Angelo Controni brought in. It's on the desk in here." Andrea disappeared into the office followed by Besha and Maria.

  Rocco stepped through the doorway to see Andrea searching through papers on the desk for the note.

  Andrea found it and passed it over to Rocco," Oh, and I almost forgot. There's also a man waiting in a car on the road to see you too."

  Rocco nodded as he looked at the note. It was the telephone number for Matteo Jacurso, Little Jack, in Buffalo. "Yeah, I saw someone in an old car when we passed. Why didn't he wait inside here?"

  "Apparently you told him you'd kill him if he came back in here. His name is Bruno Gagliano?"

  Besha looked at Rocco, "You mentioned that name. Wasn't he one of Provenzano's men?"

  Rocco nodded as he looked back at the note, "Yeah. He's the one who came in here talking about old country honor."

  Besha leaned in to look at the note herself. "Who is it?"

  "Little Jack in Buffalo."

  Besha's face brightened, "I guess he's looking for more whiskey. What are you waiting for? Aren't you going to call him?"

  "I guess so. Pass me the telephone. Might as well call him right now."

  "Why the glum look?" Besha asked as she turned to Andrea and gestured for the telephone.

  Rocco didn't say anything, he just flicked the piece of paper with
a finger, thinking.

  Besha struggling to get the cord around the corner of the desk as she passed the telephone to Rocco and complained, "We're going to have to do something different. This office barely holds two people at a time. We can't all be in here at once."

  Rocco ignored her complaints as he asked to be connected to the Buffalo number. He looked at Andrea, "Go tell that Bruno to come in. And get a couple of the boys from the back to watch him at the front door until I get out there."

  Andrea nodded and bounded out of the office.

  Rocco continued waiting. It took a few more rings before a gruff voice came on the other side of the call.

  "Hello?"

  "Matteo?"

  "No. He's right here. Who's callin'?"

  Rocco hesitated for a moment, "Tell him it's Rocco DeLuca."

  The telephone on the other side went through a series of bangs and knocks as if someone was scrambling to talk, "Rocco? Where the hell you been? I've been trying to get a hold of you."

  "I've been busy."

  "Busy? I'm going crazy down here. Rocco, I need your booze again. When can you start delivering?"

  "I thought you had a supply of liquor?"

  "The damned Frenchies couldn't supply. They kept claiming someone was hijacking their boats. They couldn't get anything through, Rocco. We lost the whole Christmas season. Monterosso is some pissed. Shit, I had to go up to Plattsburgh to hijack some of the loads the Frenchies were sending down through there to Schenectady. Vermont is damn cold. And it's such a long trip, we hardly got anything. The Frenchies were bringing through 2,000 cases a night 'cause we branched out to the Falls and Rochester. And Monterosso is sending me to set up in Syracuse. How soon can you start again, Rocco? Can you do that for me, Rocco?"

  Rocco opened his mouth to speak and then realized he had more thinking to do.

  "Rocco? You there?"

  "Yeah," Rocco said finally. "Look. The thing is...I made some commitments since the last time we talked. I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

  "Rocco? Don't do this to me, Rocco. Rocco?"

  Rocco hung up the phone, looking down at the floor and thinking.

  Besha looked at him, "What's wrong?"

  Rocco looked up after a moment, "Buffalo wants 2,000 cases a night."

  "Isn't that great!" Maria said.

  Besha looked at her, a concerned look on her face now, "It would be, except we can only produce 1,000 cases a day."

  Mario blinked, "Oh...yeah. So...what do we do?"

  Besha pushed the blonde hair back on her forehead, "Yeah. What do we do?"

  Rocco just shook his head slowly, "How do we supply enough to Buffalo and all the places Monterosso is supplying? And how about our own North end? And Vitale in Cherry Heights and Stoney Creek? And with Provenzano out of the way, we could move into Hess Village and Little Racalmuto...."

  Andrea came back into the little office and said in a quiet voice, "The man who wanted to see you is at the front door."

  Rocco took a deep breath and shook his head, "See if you ladies can come up with a plan to multiply our 1,000 cases of whiskey while I go talk to him."

  Besha shrugged, "Jesus did it with wine."

  "And fishes and loaves," Maria added.

  "Great," Rocco grumbled as he left, "let me know when you two come up with your miracle."

  BIG BRUNO GAGLIANO stood just inside the front door, his hands clasped in front of him.

  Rocco gestured with his head for the two men to go back to work with whatever they were doing. He glanced at the big man's coat and saw the telltale bulge of a weapon. Rocco unbuttoned his own jacket slowly, getting ready to reach for his own weapon, if necessary, "So...what can I do for you?"

  Gagliano watched Rocco unbuttoning his coat but kept his hands clasped together, "With Mr. Provenzano...and Mr. Marino...gone... I'm looking for work."

  Rocco didn't say anything. He just waited.

  "I know all of Mr. Provenzano contacts for moving liquor into Little Racalmuto and Hess Village. It would save you time in setting up your own distribution. I can also supervise the collections of money...."

  Rocco still didn't say anything.

  Gagliano waited another moment and then turned to leave.

  "One question for you, big guy."

  Gagliano had his hand on the door handle and he turned his head.

  "Provenzano was working with Cipriano to get his whiskey supply. Do you have any idea why Cipriano would have to deal with someone all the way up in Quebec? A big place like Toronto should have one or two distilleries."

  Gagliano looked at Rocco for a moment and then turned to face him again, "There is no place in Toronto to obtain whiskey. It is all brought in from somewhere else." He paused to think, "Places called Corbyville and Waterloo. But the families in Toronto have gone to war over who will control the supply from them. Cipriano has chosen to stand on the side and be the strongest when the others have weakened themselves."

  "I see."

  Bruno glanced towards the archway, "Mr. Russo had this place for his own supply but it was too small to share. Mr. Provenzano had been bringing product from Hespeler before buying from another place farther away."

  Rocco cocked his head, "Hespeler?"

  Gagliano nodded, "It is a small town to the north. I drove a truck for him when I first came to this country. I used to do the pickups and deliveries for Mr. Provenzano. Then I moved up."

  "Why did Provenzano stop bringing it from this Hespeler?"

  "The place I went to, it was shut down by the devoto."

  Rocco thought about it for a moment and then understood, "The pious you mean. The Women's Christian Temperance Union."

  Gagliano shrugged, "If that's what they are called...."

  Rocco thought back to Kippen's reference to his own problems with the local chapter. And he helped us get some equipment from that distillery the Union had closed down in the East End. Maybe.... He looked at Bruno, "How long to drive there? To this place in Hespeler?"

  "On a day like today... maybe...three hours."

  Rocco nodded, "Okay. You got a job. And the first thing you do, as soon as the snow storm passes, you show me this closed place in Hespeler."

  Chapter 40

  STARKMAN IMPORTS & EXPORTS was on the second floor of a run-down building near the docks. The air had an old-wood smell to it and everything about the place was beat-up. The desks, the chairs, the filing cabinets, even the owner, thin and reedy Cosgrove Starkman, looked ninety and beat up, not the sixty-two years old he really was.

  "Besha, you've been such a good employee over the years," Starkman said in his high pitched, "I can't really let you throw away good money after bad, trying to keep this old business going just to have a job. I'm sure the shops in town can use a woman who works as hard as you do."

  Besha put a handkerchief to her eyes, dabbing away a tear, "I've tried Mr. Starkman. Believe me, I've tried on the days I've had off."

  "I'm sorry," Starkman said in a voice a little above a whisper. He obviously felt bad at having to cut back her hours at the beginning of the company's slide economically.

  Maria sat in the chair beside Besha and patted her knee in sympathy, "There, there, dear. I'm here for you."

  Besha flashed her a sad, grateful smile, "I know you are. You've been such a good friend." She looked at Starkman, "As I said, if it's the money you're worried about, Mrs. Genovese is willing to help...."

  "That's right," Maria said, "my husband has done quite well and moved up in the Hamilton Constabulary. We've saved some money. And my father left me a bit....if you would just let us know how much you would be asking for the business, maybe...."

  Starkman rubbed a thumbnail along a well-worn scratch on the top of his well-worn desk, "I do have money put aside for Mrs. Starkman and myself." He glanced up at Besha sheepishly, "That's why I cut back, you see. The business was starting to put a drain on what I've saved. And if I try to keep the business going...."

  "I understan
d perfectly," Besha said, "I don't blame you, I would do the same myself."

  "Mr. Starkman," Maria said earnestly, "I know how difficult it is for a man to talk business with a woman."

  Starkman looked embarrassed at that suggestion but didn't refute it.

  Maria gestured to papers on his desk, "Perhaps if you wrote down a figure, we could look at it and maybe just move on with our day."

  Starkman ran his thumb nail in the groove again and then reluctantly reached for a blank piece of paper, picked up a pen, paused a moment and then scribbled a figure. Then he slowly turned and slid the paper across towards Besha.

  Maria stretched her neck to look at the paper.

  Besha bent her head to look at the number herself but didn't get a chance to say anything.

  Maria quickly reached out, turned the paper around and slid it fast back across the desk and in front of Starkman again, "All right. If you would just write 'bill of sale for Starkman Imports & Exports' at the top, and 'to Besha Margit DeLuca under that and sign it, we have a deal."

  CLIMBING THE STAIRS back down to the street, Besha glanced back up and then whispered, "Did you really see the figure he wrote?"

  Maria shrugged casually, "Not really. Why would I care? It's your money."

  Besha put a hand to her mouth to smother a laugh.

  Maria gave Besha a cheeky grin, "Was it a good deal?"

  Besha glanced back up the stairs as they reached the bottom, "Actually, it was a lot less than what I thought he'd ask for."

  "You and your fake tears. The man didn't have a chance," Maria chastised her, a smile on her lips.

  "Yeah, well let's go over to that deed place while I still have a few. I might need them."

  Besha and Maria hurried down the street, heading for the land office.

  THE REGISTRY AND LAND office smelled old and musty. The workers looked old and musty. Dozens of men in suits were poring over various old, large books at small tables. A middle-aged man, wearing thick, heavy glasses, dropped a heavy deed book with a thud on the counter in front of Besha and Maria.