King of the Bootleggers Page 20

  Chapter 42

  Hamilton Farmers & Mechanics Bank

  ROCCO AND BESHA sat patiently alongside Andrea Reppucci in a large, plush office inside the bank. Gianni Reppucci, Tommy Giachetti, and Bruno Gagliano stood sternly just outside the open door. Each man stood guarding large, beat up suitcases with corroded locks.

  A man with curly white hair, a white handlebar mustache, wire-rimmed spectacles and wearing an expensive, pinstriped suit came hustling into the room, clearly bothered.

  He was followed by a man 20 years his junior, with a receding brown hairline and whining in a nasal voice, "I assure you, Mr. Delancey, they wouldn't talk to me–" He shut his mouth when Delancey stepped around to the far side of the large oak desk and gave him a harsh wave to shut up.

  Instead of sitting, Delancey removed his spectacles and looked across the desk, his disdain for the poor working-class clothing of the people sitting on the other side of the desk very evident, "Mr. O'Shaughnessy here tells me you want to make a deposit and to get a loan." He paused as if to determine how best to approach the obvious stupidity of the people he was talking to. "There are certain requirements that you would need to even be considered for a loan." He looked at Rocco, considered the battered flat-cap he held and raised an eyebrow, "You have to understand that a good job and strong work ethic for a man can go a long way–"

  "Are you the bank president?" Rocco interjected forcefully.

  Delaney looked insulted at the interruption, "Yes, of course. I'm Wynn Delancey, President and co-owner with Mr. Rickard Nesbit in the Hamilton Farmers & Mechanics Bank–"

  Rocco jerked a thumb towards Besha, "Then why don't you shut up and listen to my wife?"

  Delancey blinked, a shocked look on his face, unaccustomed to anyone talking to him without what he considered to be due respect and deference.

  Besha suppressed a smile, "Mr. Delancey. I know you're a very busy man, but so are we. If you'll just give us five minutes of your time, we can explain everything."

  Delancey looked from Besha to Rocco, took a deep, imperious breath and nodded, giving approval to take a few moments of his precious, moneymaking time.

  Besha turned and looked over her shoulder, calling to the men outside the office, "Can you bring the suitcases in here, please?"

  Gianni, Tommy, and Bruno picked up the heavy suitcases and stepped into the bank president's office.

  Besha pointed to a spot to the left of where Delancey stood at his desk, "Set them down on the floor over there. And open them up."

  Bruno grabbed a clothes-tree from the corner and moved it roughly out of the way before setting his heavy suitcase down.

  Delancey looked disturbed at the rearrangement of the furniture in his office. He opened his mouth to complain and then decided to indulge them.

  Gianni and Tommy set their suitcases down beside Bruno's and then the three proceeded to undo the latches and open them up. They left each suitcase top lying back on the floor and stepped back towards the door.

  Delancey's jaw dropped.

  O'Shaughnessy moved forward to take a look and he gasped.

  "You'll find $1,200,000 in those suitcases," Besha said calmly. "Please have it counted...carefully."

  Delancey had a hard time regaining his composure.

  O'Shaughnessy reacted by turning and running out the door. Only a moment later, he returned with three young women behind him, leading them over to the suitcases where they gasped in shock themselves.

  As the three young women squatted on the floor to count the money along with O'Shaughnessy, Delancey turned his head towards Besha, "I...imagine you want to make...a deposit...."

  "Please wait until we have privacy before we begin to discuss our business," Besha said sternly. "Your door behind me is still wide open."

  Delancey nodded, still in shock over the whole episode, "Of...course." After a moment, he moved quickly to the door to his office and closed it. He moved back around his desk and sat down hard, his eyes watching his employees continuing to count the money.

  O'Shaughnessy reached up to his boss's desk and grabbed a piece of paper without asking. Pulling a pencil from a pocket he began to keep count, scribbling as the young women reported the amount in bundle after bundle of money. Eventually, he looked up at Delancey and nodded, reporting said in a hushed voice, "As they said. $1,200,000...."

  The three young women stood up, still looking in awe at the pile of money they had just counted.

  Delancey swallowed and then stood up, using his hands to shoo the young women away, "Would you young ladies please excuse us?" He followed them to the door and closed it behind them before heading back to his chair, "I'll...I'll have Mr. O'Shaughnessy make out the deposit slip for you."

  O'Shaughnessy stood up and looked at Besha, "I...I just need your name and...."

  "Andrea Reppucci here will go with you to get all the paperwork filled out," Besha said. "She'll be handling our banking activities here. Once you're done, we can add our signatures to the account. We're also going to need a line of credit to operate, Mr. O'Shaughnessy."

  "Of course," O'Shaughnessy said. He nodded at Andrea as he headed to the door, opened it and closed it softly behind them.

  Besha addressed Delancey again, "We own and operate the Glen Gael Distillery–"

  Delancey stiffened in his chair, "But...it's illegal–"

  "To sell into Ontario," Besha said sternly, "it's not illegal to manufacture alcohol for the export market."

  "That's true," Delancey admitted, "but–"

  "If you're a prohibitionist or you side with the temperance movement, then tell us now and we'll leave with our money," Besha added sternly.

  Delancey swallowed again, looking down at the money. He gave them a feeble, "No...."

  Rocco couldn't help but shake his head as he watched the bank president's morals crumble. Money talks no matter who you are.

  "We also own and operate Starkman Imports & Exports," Besha added. "That allows us to move our product out of the country, as well as bring product in to Canada."

  "I see," Delancey said weakly.

  "As I said, we'll need a line of credit to operate and loans to expand our operations," Besha said. "And I repeat again. If you're uncomfortable in extending us either one because of your temperance beliefs, tell us now and we'll pack our money in the suitcases and leave–"

  Delancey put his hands up, waving them, "No, no, that's fine. I understand–"

  The office door opened and Andrea Reppucci stuck her head in, "Sorry Besha, Mr. O'Shaughnessy needs some information that I don't have...."

  "Of course. I think we have a complete understanding of matters in here," Besha said as she got up.

  Rocco waited for his wife to leave the office and then he turned his attention to Delancey, "Wynn?"

  Delancey blinked at the use of his first name.

  "If you ever talk to my wife like that again...you and I will have a very...special...meeting. Do I make myself clear?"

  Delancey gulped, suddenly aware of the bulge beneath Rocco's worn jacket.

  Chapter 43

  ROCCO SLOWED THE CAR as he neared the beaten up old dock at the far end of Hamilton Harbor. Unlike last time, there were several boats anchored just off the dock where a single boat was tied up before. Snow sat like a knit cap on the deck of each boat.

  Cuba was wearing only coveralls as he worked to move something across the back of his black, 56 ft. fan-tail fishing tug and he turned at the sound of the car. The 6 foot-four, barrel-chested man grinned, the ever-present cigar stuck between his teeth. Despite his size, he moved off the boat and onto to the dock with ease and headed for the road.

  Besha stretched her neck to look, "Is that the man?"

  "Yeah. He's the one who was hijacking Greenshields' boats to Buffalo for us. Tommy put us together. They had a drink last night and Tommy mentioned the new equipment we brought back from Hespeler and how we spent the last two days trying to get a builder lined up to put an extension on the dist
illery."

  "And he has a better idea," Besha said skeptically.

  "If it works, we get everything up and running faster."

  "If it works...."

  "Let's just hear him out," Rocco said. "The last two builders I talked to weren't interested in starting in this cold any more than the others. What do we have to lose?"

  Besha grumbled under her breath.

  Rocco and Besha got out, hunching their shoulders against the cold as Cuba approached. The crisp air of the harbor mingled with the smell of a nearby wood fire.

  Cuba gripped Rocco's hand and shook it vigorously, "Good to see you, Rocco. Good to see you again."

  "Sorry about stopping the hijacking–"

  "No problem," Cuba said as he chewed on his cigar with delight. He turned and gestured to the boats, "I'll work for you anytime. Me and the crew made some dough on the whiskey we took and I made a lot more when I sold a couple of 100-foot, 2-masted gaff schooners they tried to use. I sunk most of the work tugs but I got others anchored out there. That's in case I want to do some honest work." Cuba laughed.

  "I'm glad it worked out for you," Rocco said.

  Cuba got excited, "Rocco, I even got a passenger-freight steamer they tried to slip by on me at the end. It's 220 feet long and 40 feet wide." He looked at Besha, "It's not a side-wheel either, it's propeller driven."

  Besha smiled, not really sure what he was talking about. She rubbed her hands together to keep them warm.

  Rocco put his hand on the small of her back, "Cuba, this is my wife, Besha. She's the brains of my operation. Besha, this is the man I told you about, Lisandro Santoro from the old neighborhood. They call him Cuba around here."

  Cuba wiped his big paw off on his work pants and shook her hand, careful to use a light grip pressure, "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mrs. DeLuca. And I can see you also have the looks in the operation."

  Rocco shook his head good-naturedly, "Stop flirting with my wife. We want to take a look at that building you told Tommy would be good for our new distillery."

  Cuba laughed, the cigar clenched between his teeth as he held his hands up in mock surrender, "You got it, boss." He jerked a thumb to his left, "It's down that way."

  "Okay," Rocco said. "Climb in the back and let's go see."

  Ten minutes later, Cuba pointed his arm between Rocco and Besha, "That's it right there." He was pointing to a large, two-story, Victorian-style stone building, resting on a four-foot-thick stone foundation. Snow had piled up ten feet on the wall facing them. The building sat beside a large single wharf with multiple berths. "That building has been sitting empty for a number of years. I was told that the company that owned it went bankrupt during the war when the wheat production shifted out west."

  "It's a massive building. What's it look like inside?" Besha asked as Rocco pulled to a stop in the road.

  "Let's go look," Cuba said, "the door locks haven't worked for years and you can see where homeless people used it to stay out of the cold."

  Rocco turned into the snowy parking area and they got out, Cuba leading the way to the door at the side. He pulled hard on the door handle, sweeping a foot of snow aside as the door opened and he stepped inside. The entire place was open right to the heavy rafters, twenty feet above them. The heavy wooden plank floor was dark with age and charred spots were evident where fires had been lit to keep someone warm.

  Cuba pointed to a door off to the right, "There are some rooms over there I think were used for offices. The building was steam heated and I guess you could get it working again. C'mon, I think you'll like what you see back here," he said as he walked towards the far end of the building.

  Rocco and Besha followed him, their footsteps echoing throughout the empty building.

  "These large doors back here on this side are where they loaded the wheat onto the ships sitting at the wharf outside," Cuba explained. Then he pointed to the far side, "And the doors on that side open to the freight siding the Toronto, Hamilton and Buffalo Railway put in at the start of the war."

  Rocco turned as he walked, looking over the building, "This thing seems to have everything." He looked at Besha, "What do you think?"

  Besha crossed her arms against the cold, "Depends on what it costs to get it, I guess. But we could probably buy even more equipment down the road to expand. If we need it, that is." She looked up thinking, "We could have the men get the grain ready while we put up everything. Maybe in a few weeks...." She put her head down and wandered away.

  Cuba and Rocco watched Besha walk across the heavy plank floor, deep in thought. Cuba looked at Rocco who winked back at him.

  Besha turned and walked back, head still down. Then she looked at the large doors on the left, "And you say ships can dock outside there...?"

  "Yeah, that's right," Cuba said. "Even large freighters could sail right up the wharf outside...." He looked at Rocco, wondering what she was thinking.

  Rocco just shrugged. "So...you think it'll work? I do."

  Besha didn't answer him. Her mind was somewhere else as she wandered up towards the office area.

  Rocco and Cuba followed without a word, letting her think.

  Reaching the door, Besha opened it, stuck her head in to look and then stepped through.

  All three looked throughout the front area, only a few words spoken. There were two large spaces and a number of smaller, dusty rooms spread across the front of the building. Besha then led the way back into the warehouse area and walked with her head down for a few moments again.

  Rocco and Cuba waited patiently.

  She turned and looked at Cuba, "We could also move the product we make out by boat through the wharf as well. Right?"

  Cuba nodded, "Yeah, we could."

  Besha turned to look at Rocco, a twinkle in her eye, "This would work well with the import-export business we just bought." She looked at Cuba, "You don't know a friendly customs officer who could work with us at the wharf, do you?"

  "I know someone I paid under the table to look the other way a few times," Cuba said. "And you never heard that from me...."

  Besha looked at Rocco, "We can ship whiskey out on boats here instead of using trucks. And we can bring in a lot of Jamaican rum, hidden with other goods, to go with our whiskey. The customs man could clear things both ways."

  "Rum's pretty cheap," Rocco said as he shook his head. "Probably a lot more profit in whiskey."

  It's all relative, Mr. DeLuca," Besha said. "Didn't you say Little Jack was looking for beer?"

  "Yeah, but...."

  "Beer is cheap compared to whiskey as well," Besha pointed out. "But there's still money to be made. And we have an entire market on the other side of the American border, just waiting to get their hands on alcohol, no matter if it's whiskey, beer or rum. As long as they drink it, Mr. DeLuca, we get paid."

  Rocco glanced at Cuba, "Now you know why I said she's the brains."

  Cuba chewed on his cigar and laughed.

  Besha shrugged, "I guess we just need to go down to the land office and find out if we can buy it. I can talk to the same man who sold us the Paradise Club."

  "Sounds good," said Rocco.

  Besha turned to Cuba, "Just one more thing. You obviously know your way around boats. If we do buy this place, we'll need your help. I have someone who could run the distillery, making the whiskey. But if we do bring in rum and other things to cover our operation or send alcohol out by boat, we need someone to supervise everything on the wharf. We can pay you well, if you're willing to take on the job."

  Cuba chewed on his cigar for a moment and then nodded, "Yeah, I guess I could do that." He paused for another moment, "There were eight guys helping me with the hijacking for your husband. Now that it's over...?"

  Rocco looked at Besha, "They could help with the loading and unloading out there."

  Besha nodded her head in agreement, "Yeah, I think that's a good idea." She narrowed her eyes and looked up at Cuba, "Rocco said you were living on your boat?"

  Cub
a nodded as he chewed on his cigar, "Yep. Cheap housing."

  "That can get cold, especially this time of the year. If we can buy this, why don't you move all your boats over to this wharf? There's lots of room out there. And then...move yourself into one of those spaces up front. Make yourself at home."

  "Yeah?"

  Besha nodded and looked at Rocco, "Cuba can also work with his men to guard this place at night."

  "That's a good idea," Rocco said, "You never know when someone might want to break in and take our product–"

  "They'll end up floating with the fish in the harbor," Cuba said harshly.

  IT COST THEM $20,000 and payment of back taxes. But as the land office closed, Rocco and Besha headed for home, the owners of a property that encompassed the building and the wharf.

  "I'll have the men start to take the equipment we brought from Hespeler over there tomorrow," Rocco said.

  "I think we can even have some cheaper rye brought in from the United States through that wharf," Besha said. "We just send it back to them as whiskey."

  Rocco laughed, "That's my Besha, always thinking."

  "And I have the perfect name to put on our new building."

  Rocco glanced across at her as he steered around the corner, heading to their apartment.

  "DeLuca Distillery."

  Rocco smiled broadly, leaned over and gave her a kiss.

  Chapter 44

  ROCCO AND TONY stood on the sidewalk on Barton Street in front of the Barton Street Arena. The frigid air bit at their lungs and clouds of white swirled over their heads with each word spoken.

  Tony stamped his feet and lifted his collar against the bitter cold, "I hope that McMillan guy shows soon, I can't feel my feet."

  Rocco hunched his own shoulders up against the cold, "Why don't you buy a new pair of winter boots, you cheap bastard."

  "Me and Maria are saving for a house."

  "A house? What you want a house for?"

  "Kids. It's better for kids. Me and Maria want kids some day."