by Joe Corso
Swifty turned to say something to Red but Clancy grabbed his face and turned it back to him. “Don’t turn your face on me. You listen to what I’m telling you and this fight will be over quickly. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, yeah I understand, Gil. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.”
“Forget about being nervous. Just do as I tell you and we’ll all go home early tonight.”
The bell rang, and both fighters walked cautiously to the center of the ring. This was a feeling-one-another-out time, so they slowly circled each other, each trying to get the measure of the other man. Swifty was a proactive fighter who didn’t like waiting for anyone to come to him. He was like a tiger stalking his prey, so he threw caution to the wind and threw a left hook that surprised O’Neill. He staggered backwards, but recovered quickly and pawed like a cat with his left hand. Clancy had warned Swifty that O’Neill pawed with his left before throwing his left hook, so Swifty waited expectantly. O’Neill didn’t disappoint him. The left hook was a powerhouse blur that Swifty caught on his arm. As soon as O’Neill’s left hook landed, Swifty saw the opening Clancy told him would be there. Swifty threw his own devastating right hand, which caught O’Neil on the sweet part of his chin. Combined with O’Neill’s own forward momentum, the impact took him down. Even at the count of ten, O’Neill was still on the canvas and Swifty was the new middleweight champ.
Gil Clancy and Big Red leaped into the ring and swarmed over Swifty.
“I told you! I told you!” Clancy kept hollering.
Swifty turned to his trainer and hugged him tightly. “If it wasn’t for you training me, and Red believing in me, I wouldn’t be here now.”
Despite the roar of the crowd Clancy heard every word Swifty said. He leaned in closer. “You did good, kid. I’m proud of you. You listened to me and tonight you’re the new champ.”
Red was quick to add, “So am I, kid. I told you I would make you the champ someday and tonight I kept my promise to you.”
The fans were delirious, but there was one man far away in Hollywood who wiped his brow. He was very relieved that Swifty had won the fight so easily. Bernstein sat back, lit a Cuban Cohiba and turned off the television. His star’s face was still in one piece.
CHAPTER 34
Trenchie had a problem. He didn’t know who the contract on him had been assigned to. Danger always had a way of confronting you head on; at least, that’s the way it had always been with him. But since he didn’t know who had the contract, he couldn’t know when and where they would try to kill him. So to bring this thing to a head he decided to make himself very visible. In other words, he knew he needed bait to force these guys into acting, so he decided to be the bait. If they wanted him he wouldn’t be hard to find. And he believed in the old axiom “be careful what you wish for because you just may get it.”
Well, there was only one way of standing out and that was to hit all the top night clubs in Hollywood and act as if you were just enjoying the party life. That’s what Trenchie did. He hailed a cab and pulled up in front of the London Fog Club; but instead of going in he stopped next door at the Hamburger Hamlet and got a couple of hamburgers. He figured that since he would be having a few drinks in each of the clubs he’d be visiting, he’d better eat something first to absorb the alcohol. In the club, there was a new group called Peter, Paul and Mary entertaining the guests with their hit song “Blowing in the Wind”, written by Bob Dylan, a new young activist singer.
There wasn’t much action there so he took a cab to the Log Cabin and caught a guy called Frank Zappa doing his act. Not much action there either, so he took a cab over to Whiskey a Go Go over on Sunset Boulevard. Now that was more like it. The place was packed, so he sidled up to the bar and ordered a scotch on the rocks. He nursed it, just sipping it, while his eyes scanned the interior of the club, looking for anything suspicious. He stayed there, nursing two drinks, for about an hour, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. Just a bunch of kids having a great time dancing to the music.
Trenchie was becoming discouraged. He’d hate to be doing this for a number of weeks, just waiting for something to happen. He left the place and took a cab to Pandora’s Box but he didn’t remain there long. He decided to make one more stop, and if nothing happened he’d call it a night. So he took a cab to The Troubadour on Santa Monica Boulevard, just east of Doheny Drive, bordering Beverly Hills. Just like Whisky a Go Go, the joint was packed.
He spotted a small table over in the corner by itself and took it. A couple of young guys got to the table at the same time, but Trenchie looked them in the eye and told them coldly, “This table is taken.” The two men were about to say something, but they noticed the don’t-fuck-with-me look he gave them and backed off. Instead they took a seat at the bar and every few minutes glanced sideways at the big man. They weren’t looking for trouble, but they thought trouble may find the big man before the night was over.
They happened to be right, because about an hour later four Latin men walked in and remained at the entrance while their eyes adjusted to the dim light in the room. How they found him Trenchie would never know, but he watched them walk over to a table that had just become vacant and sit down with about six tables separating him from them. A mean looking guy with a large mustache and a low brow over bushy eyebrows looked around the room until his eyes fell on Trenchie. He nudged the guy to his right and motioned with a tilt of his head to his left. The other three men looked past the tables at Trenchie, sipping his drink and staring back at them. They weren’t sure if this big man knew about the contract on him, but if he did he certainly didn’t look worried. Well, it didn’t matter to them. After tonight he would be a dead man.
Trenchie thought there would be two, maybe three of them. He was surprised to see a fourth shooter, and he knew that could be a problem for him. He hoped he would get to kill all four men, but he was a realist. He knew the odds of that happening were slim to none. No. He figured he’d be lucky if, after killing them, he’d just get shot and live. But the odds of that happening were also very slim. Well, he figured that if he was going to die tonight, he’d sell his life dearly. He knew he would kill two of them and maybe three, but that fourth one was a real problem. He hoped he’d still be standing when the shooting was over.
He called the waiter over and paid his bar tab, then left by the front door. Instead of hailing a cab, he walked away from Santa Monica Boulevard and up Doheny Drive. It was a lot darker there than on Santa Monica Boulevard. The four men quickly paid their bill, rushed out the door and spotted Trenchie as he turned the corner. They broke into a trot to catch up to him.
When Trenchie turned the corner he spotted a row of hedges facing the street, lined up in front of a chain link fence. He slid his hulking body between the hedges and the fence and edged his way about six feet along until he came to a gap or thinning in the hedge. It was like someone forgot to plant anything in that spot. He was still well hidden and could see anyone who passed by, but they couldn’t see him. He was not only well hidden by the thick hedge but also by the darkness of the night. He watched as the four men raced around the corner and stopped in front of him, looking all around to see where he might have disappeared too. They never suspected the man they were hunting was a mere three feet from them, hiding in plain sight.
“Come on. He must have ducked into one of the buildings. Let’s check them.”
They raced away in single file but, as the fourth man passed him, Trenchie reached out through the narrow opening, grabbed him by his face and pulled him into the hedge. His ham-sized hand covered his mouth so he couldn’t yell out to his friends. The man was more surprised than afraid, but his surprise didn’t matter nor did it last long, because Trenchie snapped his neck like a twig and left his body lying hidden behind the dense hedges. His little trick worked once. Maybe it could work a second time, allowing him to thin out the herd a little. So he remained where he was, hidden by darkness and foliage, and waited patiently for the men to return.
The three men checked the first building but the doors were locked. They rushed to the next building but that door too was locked. Then they noticed that one of them was missing.
“Hey, where’s Pablo? Come on. Let’s see what happened to him.”
They backtracked to where Pablo might have disappeared but were disappointed. He was nowhere in sight. It appeared that Pablo had disappeared into thin air, yet they were standing no more than six feet from his body.
As the three men turned to leave Trenchie pulled the man closest to him just as he had pulled Pablo into the bushes, only this time he wasn’t fast enough, and the other two Cuban assassins spotted him. They pulled out their guns and opened up, but Trenchie was holding his quarry in front of him as protection from the hail of bullets. In their haste to kill Trenchie, most of the lead hit their man, killing him instantly; but two bullets managed to nick Trenchie, one in the arm and another in his hip, just above the bone. Because of the wound to his arm, Trenchie’s gun clattered to the cement sidewalk and the man who appeared to be giving the orders smiled for the first time that night.
“Lupo, go get the car and bring it here. I’ll make sure this hijo de una puta stays right here.”
“Sí, jefe.”
Both men watched as Lupo raced to the club’s parking lot to get their car. Trenchie smiled at him.
“You shouldn’t have let him go for the car, because now I’m going to kill you.”
The Cuban smiled. “But it is I who has the gun and not you, and you are going to kill me?”
Trenchie’s smile rattled the little man. “Yes, I’m going to kill you. Even if you empty your gun into me I will still kill you.”
Instead of just shooting Trenchie, the man looked around nervously. But it was the gun barrel he felt in his back that really frightened him. Johnny Eight Fingers reached over and took the Cuban’s gun, then nodded at Trenchie and shrugged his shoulders.
“Red thought you might need a little help.”
Trenchie’s face contorted into a grimace of sorts which was his way of smiling. “You’ll have to excuse me for a minute while I remove the garbage.”
Trenchie grabbed the Cuban assassin as if he were a rag doll and snapped his neck as easily as if he were snapping a twig in half. Johnny picked up the assassin’s hat and put it on, hoping to look like him when his buddy pulled up with the car.
“Hide the body. His partner will be here with their car any minute now.”
Trenchie picked up the Cuban and dragged him behind the hedges near the other two bodies. Just then a car raced around the corner and screeched to a halt by the curb in front of them.
“Quick, Jefe, put the big man in the car and let’s get out of here.”
Johnny nodded then spun around to face the man. At the same time he fired two shots. Both hit the driver in the head, killing him instantly.
Trenchie and Johnny turned and walked towards Johnny’s rented car, which was parked on the corner and was much closer than Trenchie’s car. But Trenchie was limping badly because of the gun shot that hit him in the hip.
“Come on, put your arm around my shoulder. Anyone who sees us will think you had too much to drink. Take your time. The car is just ahead. I parked it near the corner.”
Johnny managed to get Trenchie’s hulking form in the front seat of his car and drove off, careful of the speed limit.
Johnny pulled into Swifty’s driveway, walked quickly to the door and rang the bell. Before anyone opened the door he rushed back and helped Trenchie out of the car. Moose answered the door and, seeing Johnny struggling with Trenchie, rushed to help him. Their driveway and the house were secluded from their neighbors, so they weren’t concerned about anyone seeing them.
Swifty ordered Maria to get a blanket and lay it over the couch. He wanted Trenchie on the couch and not in a bed, where it would be difficult to treat his wounds.
Johnny told the guys to stand back. “While I’m not a doctor, I was a medic in Korea and I treated a lot of soldiers with battlefield wounds. Help me get his pants and shirt off.”
Trenchie wasn’t used to all this fuss over some minor wounds. He had trouble walking because the wound affected the pressure he put on his leg. He had been lucky. The assassin had shielded him from the onslaught of bullets. If he wasn’t such a big man he wouldn’t have been shot at all. But because he was so large, parts of his body couldn’t be hidden by his human shield.
“Let’s take a look at your hip. Hmm, the bullet just creased it. No major damage there. Swifty, get me some bandages and iodine if you have any.”
“Yeah, I have iodine and I’ll cut up a sheet you can use as a bandage.”
“Yeah, that’ll do. Now let’s take a look at your arm.” Johnny smiled. “Looks like you went down this road before, eh.” He pointed to the two puffed up bits of scar tissue on Trenchie’s chest, the result of two bullets hitting him when he shot the guy who was about to kill Yip. Trenchie had shot and wounded the guy and Yip finished him off, but not before Trenchie was shot twice by the dying man. “Well, the bullet went clean through your arm and you didn’t lose much blood, but I have to cauterize the wound before you get an infection. Swifty?”
“Yeah, Johnny?”
“Do you have a bottle of Vodka?”
“Yeah.”
“Get it for me. I’ll use that on his arm.”
Johnny poured the Vodka on Trenchie’s wound.
“Now get me a needle and thread.”
Maria went to her room and brought back a needle and white thread. Johnny took it and, after putting the needle over a lit match, he sewed the small wound closed.
“I’m going to leave your thigh alone. I’ll dress the wound and wrap it with a bandage. Hey wait a minute,” Johnny said, and looked at Swifty. “Would you happen to have any crazy glue in the house?”
Swifty looked a little confused but he nodded. “Yeah, I always keep a tube of that stuff in the house. Why?”
Johnny laughed. “I heard about this stuff in the army and I’ve been dying to try it out.”
Swifty handed Johnny the tube of crazy glue and he opened it. “Now we’ll see if this works like I was told it would.” Before Trenchie could ask what he meant, Johnny had squeezed a straight line of crazy glue along the furrowed wound in Trenchie’s thigh. He then squeezed the wound shut and held it closed for ten minutes. When he took his hands away the wound was closed. “Hot damn. It worked. The wound is closed and it looks like it will remain closed. Now it’s important to keep the wound clean, so we’ll have to change the dressings every day to prevent an infection.”
Trenchie looked around the room at the anxious faces of his friends and shook his head. “Before this guy starts going crazy, putting that crazy glue on other parts of my body, do you guys mind if I put my pants back on? I feel kinda naked sitting here like this with you guys gaping at me. Now how about getting me a drink. A stiff drink. Pour some of that vodka in a water glass and give it to me. I can sure use it right about now.”
Henri poured Trenchie the drink and handed it to him. He took a long gulp and smacked his lips. “Damn but I needed that.”
“I could use one of these too right about now.” Johnny poured his own drink.
“So, Johnny, tell me again what you were doing there.”
Johnny shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing much to tell. Red was worried about you and he asked me to do for you what I did for him and Jimmy the Hat when they were in Florida.”
“I never saw you following me, nor did I see you when you came up behind that prick that was about to kill me.”
Johnny smiled. “That’s what I do, Trenchie. I’m like a ghost. I guess I learned that in Korea, because when I follow someone, I’m invisible.”
Trenchie nodded and that grimace, which was his way of smiling, again formed on his face. “Well, I just want to tell you that I appreciate what you did for me tonight, and I won’t forget it.”
“Forget about it, Trenchie. No need to thank me. I�
��m glad I was there to help. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to call Red and let him know that you’re all right.”
CHAPTER 35
Johnny Eight Fingers stayed at Swifty’s house for another week, tending to Trenchie, figuring that he’d leave with Trenchie when he was well enough to travel. A week later the two men boarded an American Airline flight to New York’s LaGuardia airport. They were met by Piss Clam and driven to the Starlight Club, where Big Red Fortunato waited nervously for his pal Trenchie to arrive. Red knew that even if Trenchie was badly hurt he would never admit it to anyone. But Red was more relaxed than he would have been if he hadn’t been forewarned by Johnny that Trenchie’s injuries were not serious.
Trenchie wanted to go home to be with his wife Mary, but he had obligations he had to take care of first. Then he would go somewhere with his wife and son and try to enjoy another vacation, if his wife felt up to it.
Cigar smoke hung heavy in the air and dimmed the small dark office even further. The men didn’t seem to mind it as they discussed the events that had occurred since they bought the casinos.
“What about Lansky, Red?” Trenchie asked. “What are we gonna do about him?”
Red gave him a dark look and dismissed Lansky with a wave of his hand. “It’s over. Lansky was ordered by the mediator to pull the contract on us but he couldn’t do it even if he wanted to. He did try to reach the guys he gave the contract to, but they had left Cuba and he couldn’t get in touch with them.”
Trenchie raised an eyebrow. “Couldn’t, or wouldn’t. Which is it, Red?”
“Lansky was powerless to stop it. When the commission and the mediator ordered him to pull the contract he told them he’d already tried, but the Cubans couldn’t be reached. Because of Castro they were forced to hide in the hills until they could escape to America, and it took them some time to get here. Lansky had no way of knowing they had left Cuba and were in the United States, but even if he did know, he had no way of contacting them. Lansky was worried the commission would read him wrong and think he was defying their wishes, but that was never the case, except when he put the contract out on us without the commission’s approval. He wants to make peace with you, Trenchie.”
