Taking Jim’s advice, I began moving in a new direction. The process was long and slow, however. Oddly enough, my biggest problem breaking into this business was my face. Not much credence was given to a woman in that world, especially to one who looked as I did. Only a certain kind of person was cut out for this type of work: one who understood the art of driving on the edge—and surviving it. I qualified, but directors dismissed the possibility that there could be more behind my face. What they didn’t know was that Georgia Black lived in there too.
Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
It seemed as if a lifetime had passed as I anxiously looked out the airplane window. Viewing Rochester from above made the chaos in the city seem distant and surreal. What a tangled mess. Nevertheless, for the first time in a long time, my future looked promising. I couldn’t wait to see Toni again.
I tried to get in and out without seeing anyone—almost impossible in Rochester. I ran into Sammy G at the Flagship Hotel, as he lunched with F. Lee Bailey.
“Georgia!” Sammy exclaimed as he spotted me walking by. “Whatta you doing in town, kid?”
“Georgia?” Bailey said quizzically.
“Yeah, Lee. This is an old friend, Georgia Durante. She’s living in California now. Left her old friends in the cold,” he said with a wink.
I was only twenty-seven, and he was making me out to be ancient. But I guess fifteen years constituted being an old friend.
“Are you the same Georgia that’s a friend of Sheila Sisco?” Bailey asked.
“One and the same,” I answered.
Sammy’s mouth hung open slightly as he turned his head back and forth between me and Lee. “You two have a mutual friend?”
“Yeah, Sam.” I laughed. “You can’t make a move without me finding out about it—even three thousand miles away.”
“And vice versa, my friend,” Sammy replied with a raised eyebrow. “Small world, huh?” he added.
“It’s only small when you’re living in Rochester,” I stated.
“You got that right,” Sammy said, sighing.
“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you,” said Bailey. “Sheila talks about you all the time.”
I knew his attorney’s fees had to be at least $500 per hour, judging by his appearance more than his reputation. He was even more immaculately dressed than Sammy, and Sammy was tough to beat. Nevertheless, Sam insisted I stay and have a drink.
“Still drinking Scotch, kid?”
“No, Sam, now that I’m all grown-up I’ve switched to wine. But I’ll have a Scotch anyway, for old times’ sake.”
“How’s Joe?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him lately.”
“Don’t tell me—you left ’im?”
“Yep, I did.”
“It’s about time,” he said with a wide grin. “Is he givin’ you any crap?” he questioned, creasing his brow.
“Nah, he doesn’t even know where I am,” I lied. Sammy had enough problems of his own. He certainly didn’t need to be concerned about mine. “What about you, Sammy, how’s it looking?”
His smile disappeared. “Grim. That fuckin’ Mahoney . . . lying bastard that he is. I wasn’t even in town when he says the meeting took place to kill that slimy little prick. But I’ve got an ace in the hole—I have an alibi,” he stated with a confident grin. “The desk clerk at the hotel in Florida where I stayed the night in question remembers me. I don’t know how she could forget me—I left her a $200 tip!”
My mouth hung open in disbelief. “Why do I continue to be shocked at these crooked cops? I should know better by now. Anyway, it looks like your generosity served you well for once, Sammy,” I said, noticing Bailey’s somber expression.
For some reason, Bailey wasn’t pleased with using this girl as a witness. I didn’t know all the details, but I knew Sammy well enough to know that he was going to do it his way.
“It’s a gamble, Sam,” Bailey said. “I strongly advise against it.”
“Not on this one, Lee; this one I gotta have,” he said sternly.
Bailey shook his head and took a sip of his drink. He turned to me with a defeated shrug. “Can you talk any sense to this guy? He pays me a pretty hefty amount for my advice, and then refuses to take it.”
“That’s just Sam—a born gambler,” I replied. “I’ve seen him bet on two raindrops running down a window. He always wins. No matter which way the dice come up, Sam comes out a winner.”
It was true. I hadn’t really thought about that before.
“Sammy!” I blurted, “were you loading the dice all those years?” They both burst into laughter.
Since I was interrupting valuable lawyer/client talk, I finished my drink and rose to leave. Sammy stood too. I didn’t have a good feeling about his trial, but I displayed a positive attitude for his benefit.
“Good luck, Sammy. I’ll be praying for you.”
“Thanks, kid,” he said, trying to appear unaffected by the severity of his situation. “You take care, and if you need anything, let me know. You can always reach me—no matter where I am.”
I knew what he meant, but refused to acknowledge it. My eyes began to tear, so I quickly kissed his cheek and turned my attention to Lee. “Gotta run. Nice to meet you, Lee. I’ll be in touch. Sam, I love ya.”
I began to cry as I walked toward the stairs. I wanted to look back for a final wave and smile before disappearing down the steps, but I couldn’t let him see me cry. Sammy was my closest connection to the world I had left behind, and I sensed that this would be the last time I would see him for a long, long time.
The truth came out a few months after the trial. Bailey was dead right about the witness from Florida. Mahoney had gotten wind that Sammy had an alibi, and his detectives were on it right away. He sent them down to Florida to do some “fishing.” It turned out the girl’s family was using their fishing boats to do a little drug running. As the story was related to me, they were told that, in exchange for a little altering of the truth, the heat would not be turned up. The woman took the stand—and she lied! Said she’d never seen Sam before. I wouldn’t want to be in that girl’s shoes if Sammy ever saw the light of day again.
The upper echelon of the Rochester syndicate was now off the streets. In the ongoing battle between law enforcement and organized crime, the victory of the “good guys” in this case made history. Agencies from all over the country sent congratulations. I heard that the president of the United States personally called Bill Mahoney to acknowledge his achievement. The FBI was in line at the handshaking ceremony, but felt slighted that their participation was minimal. That was because Mahoney closed the door on them whenever he could find a legal way to do it. The FBI’s suspicions, however, started the ball rolling with the investigations into Bill Mahoney and the Rochester Police Department.
The Democrat and Chronicle was having a field day as each day passed. The newsstands were sold out for the next few years. I wish I’d had stock in that newspaper back then.
It was only a matter of four or five months before the steel bars slid open and freedom was granted to the five convicted murderers. It was an incredibly bizarre twist of events. The Rochester detectives were found guilty of perjury and fabricating evidence and traded places with the mobsters behind bars. Even the people whose lives were never touched by the Mob were actually cheering for the bad guys, and rightly so. This could happen to any citizen. Right or wrong, everyone is entitled to a fair trial—even the Mob.
As little time as Sammy spent in prison, it was still too long. Those left behind couldn’t hold the fort alone. The big guns weren’t around for the reinforcement they needed. Frank Valenti’s old pals were back on the streets. Little by little, they took over the gambling joints, the vending machines, the trucking. The juicy city construction contracts were all going into another pocket now. The same cops were getting paid to look the other way, but this time by the new regime. The newspapers labeled them “the B Team.” Sammy G and his soldie
rs were called “the A Team.” Nothing was really accomplished with all of Mahoney’s efforts. Organized crime will always be.
Sam believed he could step right back in where he had left off. He did, but not without a fight. He managed to take back control of all the gambling clubs, but his enemies started to bomb them, one by one. After a while, patrons were afraid to go into the gaming haunts. Business fell off considerably.
Sammy G was a creature of habit. To plot his death wasn’t difficult. He was bold and brazen, refusing to keep a low profile, living the flashy style that he had always known. He never walked alone those days, however, accompanied by his two trusted bodyguards, Tommy Taylor and Tom Torpey. Sam made a show of power by being blatantly visible. That was his style. Hollywood would have loved him.
The lunch crowd at the Blue Gardenia had long since gone. Just a few stragglers remained. Sam finished his meal and was relaxing quietly with a drink. It was one of his favorite stomping grounds, and he could be found hanging around there on an average of three days a week.
Sammy G may not have been educated, but he was far from stupid. A sense about the guy standing at the phone booth made him stiffen. The man acted nervous. Catching Sammy’s suspicious stare, he made a quick exit. Something was up. Sam weighed what he had felt and stood to leave.
He was halfway out the door when glass shattered as the bomb exploded. The blast threw him off his feet, and he landed in a snowbank six feet away. Miraculously, his injuries were minor. But his vengeance became severe.
This was the first of many attempts on Sammy’s life. The enemy had now drawn first blood. Shaken but coherent, Sam knew what he must do. He never wanted it to come to this, but he had no choice. Sammy G called out his soldiers, and the retaliation was fierce. The war began.
One of the many to be riddled by bullets was Tommy DiDio. Hiding out in a secluded motel room near exit 45 of the New York State Thruway, Tom DiDio violently lost his life. Tom came from the old regime—one of Frank Valenti’s boys. He had gone underground for years, and hadn’t openly surfaced until Sammy G and the rest of the upper echelon were securely behind bars. Unfortunately for him, he went underground again—this time for good.
That day in the Overlook, the day I spied on DiDio for Sammy, did my findings cost any lives? I never fully realized how close to this world I was until I was removed from it.
In the end, Mahoney would visit Frank Valenti in prison, now old and bedridden, and ask him to stop the reign of death that Mahoney himself had started. Valenti would probably never see the light of day again, yet he still possessed the power to pull the strings from his prison cell. Bill Mahoney and Frank Valenti had been friends in the old days. Some speculated that Bill had started this entire crusade on behalf of Valenti to begin with, but that was never proven.
Richard Adray called shortly after I returned to where I now called home, Los Angeles. I could have killed Susan for giving him my number.
“Would you like to have dinner Friday?” he offered for the fourth time. He was persistent—I had to give him that.
“Thanks, Richard, but I don’t have a babysitter.”
“You don’t need one. Your daughter is welcome to come.”
I couldn’t think fast enough to get out of it, so we went out to dinner with Toni in tow. Richard seemed to be a kind soul. My initial fears faded after a few dates, which always included my daughter.
Richard was a short, stocky man, only five-eight in height, but his money made him taller. He validated himself by the vast fortune he possessed. Only as I developed into a healthier-thinking person would I begin to see this. Contrary to his Middle Eastern background, Richard’s skin was light. His curly dark hair had far too much gray for his thirty-five years. His best feature was his blue eyes, the windows through which I had allowed myself to pass.
I found it nice to have a friend to talk to, and I began to look forward to our dates. I really didn’t like the dating scene, mainly because I wasn’t sure know how to handle it. Richard made my phobias disappear; he would go away happily at the end of the night without so much as a good-night kiss. I felt comfortable with him, and Toni liked all the attention he showed her.
Then I got a call from Nelson.
“Hello, Black Widow. How’s life been treating you?”
“Great, Nelson. I’ve got my daughter back with me. I’m working. It’s going great.”
“Well, I hate to burst your bubble,” he said, “but our friend Steve is up to his old tricks again.”
My heart sank. “Oh, no. What now?”
“Well, fortunately, this time we were able to intercept, but I don’t know if we’ll be so lucky the next time.”
“What? What’s going on, Nelson? Is he out?”
“Oh, no. But he’s playing his games from behind bars now. He was sharing a cell with an informant who was released this week. Long story short, he offered the man $10,000 to kill you.” He hesitated, waiting for some reaction, but I was too numb to speak. “There’s no danger to you at the moment, but I think you’d better start looking for another place to live—with an unlisted number and no forwarding address.”
“When is it going to end, Nelson?”
“I’m always looking out for you; you know that.”
“I think I could make the Guinness Book for the most number of moves in one year.”
“Yeah, you probably could. Do me a favor. Save the Bureau some time and money and let us know where you land, okay?”
I found a cute little house just outside the Beverly Hills city limits. The white picket fence was what drew me. I’d always wanted to live in a house with a white picket fence. I still believed that life could be like Ozzie and Harriet. Even without the Ozzie, I wanted to create such an environment for my little girl. She had missed so much of her childhood due to my bad choices.
The rent was $1,200 a month, but the money was flowing now. I had paid back everyone who had loaned me money. Being debt free, I splurged on the house.
Shortly after I moved in, Joe called.
“Hi, honey,” he said in a mellow, loving voice.
“Hi, Joe. How are you?”
“As good as can be expected, I guess. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, just settling in.”
“Are you sure you can afford that place?”
“I’m working.”
“Why don’t you let me help you? Christ, you’re stubborn.”
Yeah, I can see it all now. If he pays the rent, he’s buying the right to control you again. You’re smart enough to understand the “good guy” tactic by now. You don’t need him.
“Thanks, Joe, but I’ll be fine.”
“My mother is coming out next week. She asked if she was going to see you. Why don’t you and Toni come down for the weekend? She’s planning on making Aunt Fannie’s famous baked macaroni.”
“Joe, we have to talk about the divorce. You need to stop avoiding the subject.”
“Why? Are you dating someone?” he asked suspiciously.
“No, but we have to deal with this sometime.”
“You better not be dating, Georgia. You’re still my wife,” he snapped.
“Joe, we have a legal separation. I can get the divorce without your consent after a period of time anyway.”
“Then that’s the way you’ll have to do it. Are you going to come down this weekend or not?”
“Joe, I don’t think—”
“Honey, don’t make my mother suffer just because we have problems. You know how much she loves you and Toni. Let’s just have a nice weekend while she’s here, okay?”
“All right, Joe, I’ll be there—but let’s not get into any heavy dialogue, please.”
I loved Joe’s mother, Sue. She was the kind of mother-in-law women dream of having. Joe was on his best behavior, and the reunion was a good one. We laughed and reminisced—a rare happy time. The smell of Sue’s cooking brought back memories of being happy with Joe. How had it gotten so twisted? Joe showed no signs o
f the demons, but I knew they still lurked inside him somewhere. I had changed, grown strong and determined. Joe knew the old ways no longer worked. I was past the point of ever turning back. All I had to do was convince him.
While visiting her son, Sue was diagnosed with a brain tumor. The news devastated us both. Joe researched every possible cure, finally accepting that her death was inevitable. I spent the next three months driving to San Diego on weekends. Sue looked forward to my weekend visits. I washed her hair, helped her bathe, and shaved her legs. The simplest things brought her happiness. To do them for her made me feel good.
By the time Sue died, Joe and I had reached a whole new level of understanding. We both came away from that sadness as friends. Through his mother’s death, Joe had painfully begun to learn how to let go.
I continued to date Richard. Toni had become quite attached to him by this time. He knew how to win over a child. He always brought her some expensive toy when he came to take us out. Slowly, he set the trap.
He’d point out people in restaurants, where Hollywood’s finest hung out. “Look at all these people,” he’d say. “None of them are happy. They’re all chasing rainbows. Where it’s really at is having a family.”
A family, what a wonderful concept.
That level of happiness doesn’t exist in reality, White. Don’t listen to him. He’s full of crap!
Against my better judgment, I began to take Richard more seriously. Eight months had gone by and we had now graduated to a kiss at the door. I felt I was no prize for any man, and I was afraid to open my heart. That would be giving up all that I had struggled so hard to attain. But Richard kept pressing all the right buttons.
I was surprisingly happy, I had to admit. Richard treated Toni and me like royalty—an unfamiliar but welcome experience for us. I felt special being with Richard, as if I really did have something to offer. He was like a savior during an emotionally difficult period of my life. He knew about my past with Joe, was aware of the troubles I’d had with Steve, and he didn’t seem to judge me.
The Company She Keeps Page 31
