King of the Bootleggers Read online

  Bain found it difficult to swallow. He reached out with a shaking hand and placed his hand on the photograph, pulling it across the desk and closer to himself. His voice was weak, "What...what do you want?"

  "Information."

  The stricken MPP raised his eyes to look across at Rocco, "What kind of information?"

  "I understand you have a new bodyguard or driver...or whatever job you claim he has. Tell me about him?"

  Bain licked his lips again as he leaned back in his chair, "Why do you want to know about him? He's...no one...."

  Rocco cocked his head as he looked across at the man, "Why do I have the feeling you're trying to avoid answering truthfully?"

  The man's jowls rippled as he shook his head, "I'm not. I'm just wondering–"

  Rocco pointed his finger at the photograph, "You can keep that." Then he stood up and zipped up his jacket, "I have a few more, anyway. They'll look good on your mantle at home. I'm sure that's where your wife will put them. Then again, they would look good next to a newspaper article–"

  "Alright, alright, alright," said Bain, nearly going into a panic, shooting forward in his chair, holding his hands out in a pleading manner.

  Rocco casually sat down and looked across at the man again, waiting.

  Bain sat back heavily in his chair again, his eyes closed. It took a few moments for him to speak, "The man's name is Lee Cressey. He's...a detective with the Pinkerton Detective agency." He opened his eyes and looked across at Rocco, "I was forced to take him with me to the Paradise Club–"

  "By who?"

  Bain hesitated for a moment, "By Chief Constable Denton Wherley of the Hamilton Constabulary."

  Rocco's eyes narrowed as he gave the information some thought. "Why would he do that? Is he a prohibitionist?"

  Isaac Bain only shrugged, "I'm...not sure...he never really said why–"

  "Keep the pictures in mind," Rocco said harshly.

  "I'm telling you the truth. Police forces in the province frequently bring in private investigators from the Pinkerton's Detective Agency to handle certain cases. I wasn't told anything about what the man was doing. All I had to do was take him with me to the Paradise club–"

  "How did Wherley even know you went there?"

  "He...apparently he was having me followed for some time...."

  Rocco now understood, "He was investigating you." When Bain didn't answer, Rocco pushed a little further, "So...what does the Chief Constable have on you?"

  Bain took a deep breath and let it out, "A few minor election discrepancies–"

  Rocco laughed. "So you rigged your election."

  "Not rigged so much...as tweaked a few things," Bain said with a sheepish smile.

  Rocco stared at the man for a moment, "So how did my name come up?"

  "It didn't really," Bain said.

  Rocco's eyes hardened, sending a signal not to screw with him.

  Bain shrugged and gestured towards the door, "I...I just happened to hear the Chief Constable talking to Cressey out there in the reception area as they were leaving. My secretary was at lunch at the time and they had left my door partially open when they left. I don't think they realized I could hear."

  Rocco gave the matter some thought. "Was the visit to the Paradise Club a one-time thing or...?"

  Bain shrugged again, "I'm not sure. Cressey told me he'd be in touch again. But he didn't say when."

  "Okay. Do you have any idea where he's staying then?" Rocco asked.

  "I'm not positive. But he had me drop him off at The Renaissance Hotel on King Street that night," Bain answered.

  Rocco considered the MPP for a moment, trying to judge his truthfulness. Could be a setup. Then again.... Bain started to look a little restless under the scrutiny. I don't think he'd have the balls to steer me wrong. After another moment, Rocco got up from the chair and headed for the door without another word.

  "Mr. DeLuca?"

  Rocco paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned to look back.

  Bain was standing up behind his desk, his hand caressing his chin, obviously thinking something over.

  Rocco waited.

  Bain finally slipped his thumbs into the pockets of his vest," Is it possible...that I could trade some information...in return for those pictures?"

  Rocco raised an eyebrow. "What kind of information?"

  "Just something else that I overheard between the Chief Constable and Cressey. Something you might find important."

  Rocco just stood there, looking at the man, waiting.

  Bain hesitated for a moment and then said, "There appears to be a second Pinkerton Detective being used by Chief Constable Wherley."

  "I see."

  "Wherley said he had received some very pertinent information about you. I have no idea what it was...but that's when I heard your name being mentioned."

  "Pertinent information?" Rocco repeated slowly. "Do you know the name of the second Pinkerton agent?"

  "Unfortunately, no on that as well," Bain said. He held up a finger, "However...that was when Detective Cressey said...and I quote...I still don't think a woman should be a Pinkerton agent."

  That was surprising information to Rocco. And something he had never thought about. He looked at Bain, considering where to take this. "What kind of evidence does the chief Constable have against you, Isaac?"

  Bain let out a sigh, "Some unfortunate correspondence–"

  "Which would you rather have in your hands? The evidence or the photographs?"

  Bain raised an eyebrow, "The evidence, of course."

  "Of course. That way you stay in politics and carry on."

  Bain gave a single nod.

  "Okay, I'll see what I can do. And when you go back to the Paradise club? Take Carmen out back to bang her. Stay put of the rooms upstairs so you don't get your johnson photographed again."

  Chapter 58

  THE EDWARDIAN-STYLE ROYAL RENAISSANCE HOTEL was an impressive looking, twelve-story structure. The ground floor facade was polished, gleaming limestone, dotted with large rounded windows facing the sidewalks on two sides. The outside of the second to ninth floors was reddish-brown bricks and the tenth, eleventh and twelfth floors consisted of terracotta tiles. The entire building was capped by a large overhanging cornice.

  Rocco left his car parked on the other side of the street and crossed over to the sweeping, canopied front drive outside the main entrance. Rocco had a bought new jacket and flat cap but still felt a little out of place with the dozens of well-dressed men and women coming and going. He hoped there was enough of a crowd that he wouldn't be that noticeable.

  Slipping through the front doors, Rocco found himself inside a large lobby, decorated in Chippendale style furniture, decorated glass, and rich mahogany woodwork. A sweeping marble staircase led to a mezzanine that had writing desks for gentlemen at one end, and a tea room for ladies at the other. The fragrance of women's perfumes danced with the rich smell of pipe tobacco. Signs told him there were a convention and banquet hall, a grill room, a bar, a barbershop, and a shoeshine parlor on the premises. Everything looked busy and sounded busy. How do I find this Cressey if he is here?

  As he walked across the large lobby area Rocco spotted the bank of elevators off to the left. A uniformed operator stood beside each one, waiting for passengers. Off to the right were two plush, gray love seats, set back to back on a large green carpet. He casually walked over and sat down. The perfect spot. If Cressey is here, I should see him coming or going. In the crowd of people going by, Rocco spotted a man who walked slowly, observing everything around him. Probably the house detective. Rocco got up, went across to the lobby counter and picked up a newspaper. Returning to the love seat, he sat down to read and watch. Whenever he saw the house detective coming back through, Rocco got up and moved towards either the grill room, the bar, the barber shop or the shoeshine parlor, trying to just blend in with the crowd. The chances of missing Cressey were slim but possible. But it was better to take the chance than b
eing asked to leave the hotel as a suspicious character.

  It took four tedious hours of waiting and moving back and forth to avoid the hotel dick before Lee Cressey showed himself. The man exited one of the elevators and walked across the lobby. The Pinkerton Detective was only wearing the vest and trousers of a three-piece suit, so Rocco stayed put, assuming he wasn't leaving the hotel. He was proven right when Cressey angled towards the front desk. He talked briefly with a young man behind the counter and a moment later the young man handed Cressey a note. The Pinkerton man walked away from the desk as he read the note and then slipped it into a vest pocket. Crossing back across the lobby and past Rocco, Cressey disappeared into the grill room.

  Rocco got up, folded the newspaper under his arm and walked in that direction. He wanted to make the sure the man wasn't simply going to slip out a back way. Glancing inside the grill room, he spotted Cressey sitting in a small side booth, menu in hand. The man was having something to eat. Rocco strolled on by. Just as he was about to turn and head back to the love seat to watch and wait for the man to come back out, he caught sight of the house detective. He was down by the bar but looked to be coming directly for Rocco. Is he suspicious? Sliding his hand up to the zipper on his jacket, Rocco readied himself to pull his gun.

  One of the hotel staff was just coming out of the bar and the house detective stopped to talk.

  Rocco edged his hand away from his jacket, waiting and watching from the corner of his eye. Trying to look casual, Rocco started to move back towards the lobby while keeping his eye on the hotel dick.

  A moment later the house detective left the conversation and started walking right towards Rocco again.

  Crap. Rocco turned quickly and ducked into the grill.

  The Pinkerton agent saw Rocco come inside.

  Rocco waited for a reaction.

  None came.

  Not wanting to get closer to the man, Rocco slid into the first booth. He turned his head slightly to see if the hotel dick was coming in after him.

  A waitress appeared at the side of the table, "What can I get for you, sir?"

  The hotel dick didn't seem to be coming in.

  "Sir?"

  Rocco looked up, "Oh, right. How about a coffee." As the waitress left, Rocco glanced ahead.

  The Pinkerton man was sipping a coffee and looking at a newspaper on his table.

  Rocco tried to relax as the waitress brought him a coffee.

  "Anything else, sir?"

  Rocco saw the Pinkerton digging into a plate of food. "Uh...yeah...a sandwich...egg salad?" As the waitress left, Rocco sat back a bit. He realized all the other men had removed their hats. Should I...? He took his cap off and set it on the table, trying not to glance towards the detective. The waitress brought him his sandwich and he went to work on it, keeping his head angled down.

  It didn't take long for Cressey finish his lunch. He got up, paid and walked past Rocco without a glance at him.

  Rocco put on his cap, left several bills on the table and hustled out of the grill.

  Cressey was heading for the elevators.

  Rocco moved closer behind the man, glancing around for the hotel detective as he did. He didn't see him anywhere.

  An elevator was loading passengers, the young elevator operator greeting each person as they boarded.

  The Pinkerton man took a few long strides to make sure he didn't miss it.

  Rocco had to do the same but timing it to step inside the elevator car just as Cressey was turning to face the front. Rocco turned his head as he moved to the back of the car and stood between a man and a woman.

  The young operator closed the doors and set the elevator in motion.

  Rocco resisted the urge to look at Cressey, keeping his eyes up and watching the floor indicator.

  The car stopped at two and the young elevator operator opened the doors.

  Two people left but Cressey stayed on.

  The elevator car passed floors three, four, five, six and then stopped at seven.

  Cressey got out.

  Rocco hesitated a moment and then stepped forward as the young elevator operator was closing the doors, "Sorry, fell asleep for a moment."

  The young man smiled, "No problem, sir." The doors opened and Rocco stepped out.

  Cressey was walking down the hall to the left.

  Rocco followed, keeping his steps as light as possible but moving to catch up.

  Cressey stopped at a door on the right side of the hall and fished for his key in his right pants pocket.

  Rocco moved to the left to stay away from the Pinkerton's side view and then glanced back. The hallway was clear.

  Cressey inserted his key. The sound of it turning in the lock echoed lightly.

  Rocco slipped his hand into his jacket and pulled out his modified .22 caliber pistol.

  The door cracked open.

  Taking the Maxim silencer from his pocket, Rocco expertly attached it to the .22, checking behind him again as he did, while also moving up behind Cressey.

  Cressey caught the sound of a shoe whispering across the hall carpet and turned to fight.

  Rocco had no choice. He brought the weapon up under the man's chin.

  Pfffft.

  Rocco grabbed the dead man's vest material as he started falling and slid him inside, letting the body drop with a muffled thud to the carpeted floor several feet away from the door. Moving back to the open doorway, Rocco checked both ways in the hall and saw no one. Removing the key from the door and closing it, he slipped the key into his pocket.

  Rocco cursed as he looked down at the dead Pinkerton agent. He had planned on questioning the man. So much for that. He leaned over and slipped his fingers into the man's vest pocket, pulling out the note he had gotten from the front desk: Rocco stood up and read the note: 'Will be at hotel 2PM for your report. Wherley'. Looking across the room at a clock, Rocco realized he only had twenty minutes before Wherley showed up. If that.

  Cursing the way everything was playing out, Rocco headed for the closet. Finding a suitcase, he pulled it out, opened it and searched quickly. Nothing. Pushing it back into the closet, he checked the man's suit coat and overcoat, finding a couple of receipts for meals at restaurants in Little Hess. He stuffed them back in and checked the extra pair of pants. Nothing. He checked the nightstand next to the bed. Nothing. Heading back to the body, Rocco pulled out the man's wallet and looked through it. Nothing much of interest, except for a receipt for another restaurant, this one near Little Racalmuto. He left it in the wallet, pulled the cash and threw the wallet on the floor. Then he took the room key from his pocket and placed it near Cressey's hand.

  Rocco took a step back to the door, surveying how everything looked. Satisfied it would be interpreted as a robbery attempt that ended in death, he turned and cracked the door open, carefully slipping his head out to check the hallway. It was clear. Stepping out of the room, he closed the door softly and then headed for the exit stairs at the back of the building. He cursed to himself all the way out.

  ROCCO AND TONY SAT in the front corner of a crowded coffee shop near his station house. The conversation around them was lively as the two men sat somberly across from one another.

  Tony shook his head, "So...you found nothing. And now we have a dead Pinkerton man. A Pinkerton man who just happened to be investigating us."

  "Doesn't sound so good when you put it that way." Rocco took a sip of espresso.

  Tony looked out the window, thinking. "Those receipts down in Hess Village and Little Racalmuto suggests he was looking into Provenzano and the deaths down there."

  Rocco felt the warmth of his cup, "And maybe he was trying to tie them to me."

  "Probably. But it also tells us this second Pinkerton, the woman, is probably investigating in the North End."

  "We'll have to make sure we only hire people from the neighborhood that we know," Rocco said. "That way we don't let her get on the inside."

  Tony nodded solemnly in agreement, "That's a sma
rt move."

  Rocco changed the subject, "Were you able to get that information?"

  Tony pulled a file folder from inside his coat and set it on the table, "Got it right here. I just pulled out the most crucial evidence, leaving the other stuff. That way they'll just figure it's misfiled. At least for a while." He slid it across to Rocco.

  "Good thinking."

  "You want to bring it up to Bain now?" Tony asked.

  Rocco thought about it and then shook his head, sliding the folder back across the table, "No. Why don't you bring it up to him? That way, if the Pinkerton's find something and I end up in jail or something, you'll still be able to leverage him to help if need be."

  "You got it."

  Chapter 59

  The Racalmutese Social Club

  THE SOCIAL CLUB WAS DECORATED for the Gagliano/Pacelli wedding reception in an abundance of colorful flowers and ribbons. All around the edge of the club sat tables holding Italian delicacies; prosciutto, olives, stuffed mushrooms, pickled peppers, salami, calamari, pastas, breads, meats, fruits, salads, and cheeses. Wine was still legal in Ontario and there was lots of that. But Besha made sure there was more than an abundance of hard liquor, much to the delight of everyone.

  And now, one week after being released from the hospital, Bruno Gagliano stood nervously on the edge of the dance floor as the music played and the crowd clapped and cheered. Being the groom in the wedding itself had been unnerving for the socially backward Bruno. But the real terror for him was the first dance in a traditional Italian wedding. That belonged to the bride and groom, alone on the floor in front of everyone, and he preferred to be fighting those gunmen to the death again.

  Concetta Pacelli stepped up beside Bruno. Now officially Concetta Gagliano, she slipped her hand into her husband's and squeezed gently as she smiled up at him, "It'll be fine Bruno."

  Bruno's smile was weak, "I tried real hard and I think I have the steps down."

  Concetta shook her head, "My big husband. You can take on twenty men but a little dance is a tremendous difficulty." She squeezed his hand and her eyes glittered, "I hope you're not going to be like this when I get you in bed?"