by Joe Corso
“Frank Avilone.”
“Frank, let me introduce you to someone. His name is Angelo Torelli. Have you heard of him?”
The name was familiar to him and Frank rubbed his chin absently, wondering where he’d heard it before. But it was Angelo who spoke for him.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of me and, if you haven’t, your boss certainly has. I’m known as the mediator and Red called me and asked me to mediate this problem for him before it escalates into a full fledged gang war. I am going to ask you a few simple questions. I expect answers. How many men are down here with you?”
Frank’s eyes darted from the mediator to Red, then to Trenchie, Tarzan, Bones and the rest, and all he saw was cold, dead eyes staring back at him. “There’s four of us right now. More will be coming next week.”
Angelo nodded. “Good, that wasn’t very hard now was it? Is Patriarca himself coming to Queens?”
“No, I don’t believe so. He’ll probably send Vincent Teresa, his second in command.”
“Excellent. Now, I’d like you to call Mr. Patriarca, but don’t give my name on the telephone. Just tell him that someone would like to speak to him for a moment. Tell him to remain where he is and I’ll call him right back.”
Avilone dialed Patriarca’s private number and the latter answered on the second ring. “Yes?”
“Uh, Ray, it’s Frank. We have a little problem.”
Patriarca sat up in his chair and leaned forward. “A problem? What problem?”
“There’s a man who asked me to call you. He said to stay where you are and he’ll call you right back.”
Patriarca bellowed into the phone. “Why are you wasting my time whenever someone tells you to call me?”
Angelo motioned for Bernardi to hand him the attache case he was holding. He placed it on the desk and opened it. To everyone’s surprise it contained an attache case phone. These were available for $10,000 at the time. The attache phone had encryption capabilities which made listening to a conversation practically impossible. The mediator looked through his little black book until he came to Patriarca’s name. Every time a new boss was chosen the book was modified to make it current.
Torelli dialed the number and when his call was answered he asked in his refined manner, “Is this Mr. William Mays?”
Patriarca recognized his code name. Now he knew for sure he may have stepped over the line. “Yes, and you, I assume, are the mediator?”
“Yes, but even though I’m calling you from a secure line, from this moment on we will not use names again. Do you understand, Mr. Mays?”
“Yes I understand. Now what is this phone call about?” Although Patriarca knew very well what it was about, he acted contrite and innocent.
“I would have preferred to have this conversation in person between the two parties, but since you are quite a distance away I will try to reconcile this matter by phone. If we fail to come to an agreement I will recommend that you appear before the council along with Mr. Ted Williams.”
Patriarca sorted through his cluttered desk for his black code book. He found it and skimmed through the pages until he came to Williams, Ted = Queens, Red Fortunato. There it was, Big Red Fortunato. He probably wanted to avoid a gang war so he called the mediator. Pretty smart of him, Patriarca thought. He remembered what happened to John Magiardi, the boss of the Detroit mob, after the mediator was called in. Everyone in mob land had heard about that hit, and Patriarca wanted no part of that scenario.
“No, I’m sure we can come to an agreement. What do you suggest?”
Angelo was silent for a moment before speaking. “The rules are quite clear, Mr. Mays. If Ted Williams was to leave his home base then you would have the right to open your establishments in the vacated territory. But Mr. Williams has assured me he has no intention of leaving. He has secured two long term contracts which require him to remain here. He has also informed me that he intends to open businesses in another state, which his representatives will supervise. And since that is the case, you are required to order your men to vacate whatever premises they now occupy and return to your home base. There is no need to be more specific than that. Now, if you disregard what I’ve just ordered you to do, there will be consequences. Do you understand what I’ve just told you?”
“Yes.” Patriarca, who was ruthless and unafraid of anything, was sweating. He wanted no part of what would happen to him if he were to disregard the mediator and disobey his orders. “Yes. I understand and will comply with your request. My men will leave Mr. Williams’ territory and we will no longer be in competing businesses.”
“That’s an excellent decision. When can I expect you to initiate closing your competing businesses and leave the area?”
“I will telephone my associates and tell them their services are no longer required in that area. They will be gone by tomorrow. Is that acceptable to you?”
Torelli didn’t know if Patriarca was being sarcastic, but as long as he left Queens he didn’t care. “Yes, that would be acceptable.”
Patricarca slammed down the phone, which startled Vincent Teresa. “What happened, Boss? What was that all about?”
“That phone call was from the mediator. That guy has the power of the five New York family’s and the national council behind him. If I had disobeyed his order to leave Queens, I would have been terminated. You remember what happened to John Magiardi who ran the Detroit mob?”
“Yeah. He was found dead at a construction site in LA.”
“That’s exactly right, but the hit was by order of the mediator. That’s one man you don’t fuck with.”
“So I take it we’re not making a move into Queens, then.”
“You got that right. Look we’re making a ton of dough here in Boston. I would have liked to have made the move into Queens, but since Red has decided to remain there it would mean war, and the council doesn’t want another war so soon after the Gallo-Profaci war. Now, with the mediator involved in this, I no longer want any part of Queens.”
Back at the Starlight Club, Red and Torelli sat at the same table in the ballroom.
“Thanks, Angelo. I was impressed with the way you handled the situation.”
Angelo smiled reassuringly. “Patriarca is an intelligent man, but he’s also a predator, and if he senses weakness he’ll go for the jugular. As the mediator I have no weakness because I deal from a position of absolute strength. Besides having the backing of the five families, I also have the backing of the national council. All the bosses, including Patriarca, agreed to the creation of the position of mediator. I’m sure he’s aware of John Magardi and what happens when you defy the decision of the mediator, and that thought must have been going through his mind as we spoke. So it was a foregone conclusion that once we completed our discussion he would have to agree to pull out of Queens. Now Meyer is another story. He had the backing of Lucky Luciano, but of late their relationship has become strained.”
Red hadn’t heard about any of this. “Oh? And why is that?”
“Meyer was shorting Lucky’s monthly pension check, and when Lucky questioned him about it he said business was bad, which Lucky knew was bullshit.”
Red took a drag of his cigar and sighed. “Well, just so you know, I’m going to have to confront him at some point because he’s put a contract out on me, Trenchie and Tarzan. He feels Vegas belongs to him.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you intend doing there and let me be the judge of whether it’s right or wrong.”
Red took a deep breath and began to explain everything that happened while he was in Vegas, and what he intended to do with the two casinos he’d invested money in. When he was finished he looked at Torelli pensively, waiting for his decision.
“Mr. Fortunato, I have rarely had to use my position as mediator, but when I need to, I act according to the laws that govern our nation and apply them to our unique fraternity. The only difference is I’m using dictatorial powers in a democracy where I’m the judge and jury, and there is
no chance of a reprieve once my decision has been made. I’m happy to advise you that if you continue in your quest to open two casinos in Las Vegas, you are operating within the law. I have made a note that you have brought the matter of your problem with Meyer Lansky to my attention and that I have advised you that you are within your legal rights to open such businesses. You have invested your money to purchase and improve two casinos for the purpose of advancing your family’s needs and 2 percent will be forwarded to the commission on the first of each month. I will also make this agreement known to Mr. Lansky. I assume you are in agreement?”
Red stifled a grin. He nodded in recognition of how Torelli manipulated the situation into a 2 percent deal for the commission. Man, this guy was a sly old fox. But he couldn’t complain because the Boston mob was out of the picture and he had a tacit agreement to go ahead with the construction and renovation of the two casinos. A word of caution would be sent to Lansky, telling him to back off because the commission was getting a percentage of every cent Red made in Vegas. Now if Lansky would only listen to the mediator’s decision.
“Is there anything else you would care to bring to my attention, Mr. Fortunato?”
“Yes. There is one more thing.”
Torelli’s eyebrows furrowed. “Oh? And what would that be, Mr. Fortunato?”
“I plan on having a special party at the Starlight Club when everything is worked out and I thought you might like to come.”
Torelli hadn’t expected this, and for the first time since Red had known him he lost his composure. “Why, yes, I would like to attend your party. I have heard a lot about these parties of yours and I must say that now that I’ve seen the club’s ballroom I look forward to attending one.”
Bernardi, while having said nothing, looked expectantly at Red, and Red noticed his look of anticipation. “Of course, Mr. Bernardi, you are invited too; and you’re welcome to bring your wives or girlfriends if you like. All I ask is that you let me know how many are coming so I can make suitable arrangements.”
Bernardi asked, “Will there be any entertainment?”
“I always try to have the best entertainers available. For entertainment at the last party I had the rat pack, with Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis and Joey Bishop here; and before that I had Jerry Vale. Don’t worry, I’ll have something special for you. I always do.”
CHAPTER 31
When Bobby Kennedy’s committee hearings on organized crime ended the mob kept a very low profile, preferring to let the mediator take a larger role in handling disputes, at least until the heat died down. The mediator was given the authority to determine the punishment of those that perpetrated crimes against their brothers in crime. But even with the power given to him, the mediator had his limitations. If he couldn’t find a solution to a problem within the power granted him, he was obligated to pass the problem upstairs to the council, which was comprised of the five New York crime families, Chicago, New Orleans and Florida, and other bosses of the major crime families. These men would sit at the council table to consider what penalty should be given to one of their members who violated the commission’s rules.
The mediator was ordered to attend a meeting of the crime commission at the Erb Strapping Company, Vito Genovese’s headquarters on Thompson Street in the West Village in Manhattan. At the meeting he was asked to explain in detail the meeting he’d had with Big Red Fortunato. Torelli told them of the contract Lansky had placed on Red.
“Do we know who he gave the contract to?” Joe Bonanno asked.
Torelli shook his head. “Not yet. I haven’t had an opportunity to speak with Meyer. I had intended to call him to set up a meeting but I was told you wanted to speak to me, so instead I reported here.”
“Good. It’s better this way. We need to know who Meyer hired for the job and prevent it from happening. We didn’t sanction this hit and we don’t approve of it.” Carlo Gambino waved his hand at Torelli. “And I heard approval was given to the Boston mob to take over the action in Queens because Big Red is investing money in the film industry and casinos in Las Vegas. As long as he abides by the rules, no one has the right to interfere with another man’s business.” He looked directly at Genovese as he said that.
Everyone on the commission agreed it was illegal for Lansky to put a hit on the boss of a major crime family without the approval of the commission.
Carlo Gambino shook his head. “This is not good. If Big Red is hit, his captains will retaliate with all of their power, and we can’t afford for this to happen. We cannot bear another gang war happening so soon after the Gallo-Profaci war, just as things are quieting down.” Gambino seemed to be taking charge of the meeting. The old Don rubbed his chin, deep in thought, before continuing. “I’d like a show of hands. All here who are against Lansky’s hit on Big Red raise your hands.”
Everyone in the room raised their hand, even Vito Genovese. Carlo nodded. “Now, we could call Lansky here to explain himself, or we can give our mediator the authority to meet with Lansky and handle it the way he deems proper. Remember what happened at the Apalachin meeting a few years ago. I for one don’t want a repeat of that debacle. I want another show of hands of all who agree it would be wiser to use the mediator in this particular instance. We can’t chance something going wrong and finding ourselves in the uncomfortable position of being detained by the police. That would be rather embarrassing. All in favor of sending Torelli out west to meet with Lansky raise your hands.”
Again, everyone in the room raised their hands. The old man pointed a boney finger at Torelli.
“Go and see Lansky. Talk some sense into him and convince him to retract the contract on Red or suffer the consequences.” Gambino sat back in his chair and took a sip of the strong, black Medalia Doro demitasse coffee. He put the cup on the table and took out a card. “Now that that’s decided, when you’ve settled this matter call me at this number and only this number.” He handed Torelli the card. “Memorize the number and destroy the card.”
Torelli wasn’t a mobster, he was an attorney. His father, Lucio Torelli, a made member of the Luchese mob, always admonished his son not to become a man of honor but to study and further himself in school, and become a professional man that he could be proud of. “Go to school. Become a doctor, engineer or lawyer and better yourself. You don’t want to wind up like your father.”
The Sicilians believed in the vendetta. If a man was wronged it was up to him to seek vengeance; and if something were to happen to him, it was his oldest son’s responsibility to exact vengeance. If he were killed it fell to the next son, and so on. The philosophy of the vendetta may have started when the French occupied Sicily. Lucio told his son Angelo a story that his mother told him.
“When a Sicilian girl was to marry a Sicilian boy, before she could marry him she first had to sleep with a French officer. The Sicilian men, with a culture of honor, refused to accept the French insults to their women, so they would lie and wait for a man in civilian clothes, then grab him. Since they couldn’t tell by looking at him if he was French or a native Sicilian they would ask him to say Chichita, which is a bean that Italians cooked and ate. The French could not pronounce that word like a native, so any Frenchman the Sicilians caught was asked to say Chichita. When he couldn’t pronounce the word they’d castrate him, put his private parts in a barrel and salt them. When the barrel was full they shipped it to the Queen of France. Needless to say, the practice of a Sicilian girl having to sleep with a French officer before she could marry the boy she loved stopped rather abruptly. This story is what my mother told me,” Lucio explained to his son.
Angelo did as his father requested and attended the finest Ivy League schools money could afford, and he graduated top in his class. He worked for a top Manhattan law firm before successfully defending one of his father’s colleagues. Soon, other mob guys began coming to him for advice and, for his father’s sake, he was generous with his time. It soon became apparent that he could serve a useful purpose working di
rectly for the commission. A mediator position was created with the purpose of offering advice to men who were arrested and about to go to trial, but it soon became apparent that the mediator could be more useful. He could, with their approval, be positioned a step below them and represent the commission in certain cases pertaining to a legal judgment, and not one of retribution. And so the position of mediator was created and given to Angelo Torelli, along with a substantial salary.
The mediator’s private number had never been called until Big Red telephoned him about a problem he was having with the Detroit mob. The second call came when Red called him about the Boston mob encroaching on his territory. The mediator quickly settled that problem. Now he was faced with the task of convincing Meyer Lansky to rescind an active contract on a major crime boss. He didn’t think he’d have a problem convincing Meyer to pull the contract, because Meyer was an intelligent man who, with the help of Lucky Luciano, helped organize the mafia into the crime organization it now was, complete with rules and laws that, if they weren’t followed, could incur the death penalty.
Torelli picked up the phone and dialed a very private number that only two or three people knew.
“Hello, is this Hank Greenberg?”
There was silence on the other end, then, “Yes. And who is this, please?”
“This is Mr. Mantle calling requesting a meeting.”
Lansky knew the mediator wouldn’t have asked for the meeting unless something very important was about to happen. “Yes a meeting can be arranged. I’ll check my calendar. What day would you prefer?”
“Whatever time and day is good for you will be fine with me.”
“Is tomorrow or the following day all right with you?”
“The day after tomorrow would be fine. Is 11 a.m. good for you?”
“Yes. I’ll see you then at eleven.”
“Are you still staying at the same hotel in Las Vegas?” Torelli was careful not to mention the Flamingo.
