by Joe Corso
The days of training passed quickly. One day the order to strike was given and the training camp was dismantled. The fight was drawing near. Everyone headed back to Queens to finalize the preparations.
The night of the fight Trenchie, Tarzan and Moose were once again seated at ringside. Big Red sat with Swifty and Ray. When the bell rang for the start of the fight, both fighters spent most of the round feelin’ each other out, just like they had done in their two previous fights. Man, these boys were in the best shape of their lives. When the bell for the second round clanged, it signaled war. Both men banged away at the other for three action packed minutes and they kept up this pace for the remaining eight rounds, fighting with a fury. At the end of the tenth round, the popular ring announcer, Johnny Addie, announced the judges’ decision. Guess what? It was another stinkin’ draw. Nobody – the fighters, the managers, nobody ever heard of two fighters fighting three draws. When they were interviewed at ringside, the fighters had nothing but praise for the fighting skill of their opponent and when asked if there would be a fourth fight, both fighters unanimously agreed that three fights were more than enough.
chapter two
Trenchie was quiet. He was always quiet but Red could tell that something was bothering him.
“What’s wrong Trenchie? Don’t bullshit me, now, ‘cuz I can tell when somethin’s wrong.” Trenchie thought for a moment. You could tell that he really didn’t wanna share it.
“Red, you know how I hate to talk about my personal life, but somethin’s come up and I don’t know if I can handle it.” This shocked Red because Trenchie was this real tough guy. Remember when he took on all those guys in The Starlight Club and always just smirked when he beat the tar out of anyone who got in his way? Well, Red starts thinking that maybe there’s a contract out on him, that the law was after him. Red’s mind was racing with all sorts of scenarios. Big Red was becoming exasperated with the way he was procrastinating.
“Come on Trench, are you going to leave me hangin’? Now what the damned hell is it that you can’t handle? Talk to me,” Red said.
Trenchie looked up at Red and said, “Red you know me. Nothin’ bothers me, but this… this is big.”
“Damn it! What the hell is big?” Red said, gettin’ more and more annoyed. “You’re drivin’ me crazy for Christ sake. Just spit it out and tell me and I’ll take care of it.”
Trenchie hesitated and looked at Red with doubt and a little bit of fear in his eyes and he finally blurted out. “I’m gonna be a father.”
Red was speechless. He stood there not makin a sound with his mouth frozen wide open not movin’ a muscle.
“What the fuck is wrong with you Trenchie,” Red said. “Damn you. I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ that somebody’s lookin’ to whack you, maybe take away a life and you tell me that someone’s bringin’ a life into the world. One’s bad, Trench, and one’s good – really good! What the hell? Don’t you see the difference? I’ve a good mind to slap you cross–eyed, but now that I know you’re gonna be a Dad, I don’t think it’s such a good idea. The kid deserves better than that – deserves a father in one piece!” And with that, Red walked over to his pal, wrapped his arms around him and gave him a big ole Italian bear hug. “So being a father is what was botherin’ you and you don’t know how to handle it, eh?”
“Well, not really. I’ve never been scared of being a father – it’s havin’ a baby that’s got me worried. Look at these mitts of mine. These are big hands. I’m afraid to touch the kid. I keep thinkin’ that if I pick it up, I’ll break it. I didn’t see this one comin’– it was never a part of my plan. I just never thought that I might have to hold a baby one day. I mean, it just never occurred to me. I can hold a gun, Red – that’s easy – but a tiny little baby, I just don’t know about that. How do ya hold a baby anyways?”
Red’s eyes lit up and he laughed. “Trenchie, you’ll figure it out. It comes natural, handlin’ a baby and all. This is great news. I’m gonna call everybody and I mean everybody and we’re gonna celebrate! I want you and Mary here next Saturday night because we are havin’ a party! We are gonna have the biggest damn party this joint has ever seen! So Trench is gonna be a papa,” Red smirked as he glanced at Trenchie. Trenchie’s face seemed paralyzed in time, as though he hadn’t heard a word Red said.
“Oh marone!” Red remarked. “Don’t look so down in the dumps. You’ll be a great father. Don’t worry about it. Ya know,” Red said, “you had me going there for a minute. I was worried – thought we were about to have a gang war or somethin’ and here you go and give me good news for a change.” Red slapped Trenchie on the back and then gave him a few playful boxing jabs. “My mother always said that babies bring good luck,” Red added, “and Mama was never wrong. Get ready Trench. You got good luck comin’ your way. This is good luck and Trench, you gotta work on somethin’, somethin’ besides that lousy attitude of yours,” he added.
“What’s that?” Trenchie asked. “I know,” he then continued, “I have to start thinkin’ about drawin’ up wills and papers and preparin’ for education, and all sorts of responsible stuff.”
“Nah, it’s more than that,” Red said. “It’s the way you’re talkin’, the way you’re talkin’ about babies. A baby’s not an ‘it’. A baby is a he or a she, so start addressin’ him properly.”
“Him? How ya know it’s gonna be a him?” Trenchie asked.
“Him, she, whatever, but start givin’ him respect,” Red laughed.
For the first time, Trenchie managed to smile a little and right then, right there in the club, the idea seemed to be growing on him. He adored Mary so having a baby was good and being a dad was probably good too, he mused. He had a lot of dough, was married to a great gal, and life was good. Yeah, what am I worrying about, he thought. A baby is a good thing.
Red sat down at his desk and pulled out his private address book – the one with the names and the telephone numbers of his special customers. He started making calls and inviting everybody to come celebrate Trenchie and Mary’s good news. Ralph and Gibby, remember those two – well, they were now with the Genovese family. They had always been fond of Trenchie. Red surprised them with the news and asked them to rearrange their schedules in order to make it to this event. Their answer was instant. They didn’t even have to think about it – that’s how much respect they had for Trench. Meanwhile, Trenchie just sat there watching Red act like a proud grandpa or somethin’.
When Red finished inviting all of his guests, he smiled and said, “Trench, I’m not gettin’ soft on ya or anything, but this baby is gonna bring a whole lot of joy, a spark into The Starlight Club.” Just as he finished his sentence, the phone rang.
Moose answered the phone. “Starlight Club. Sure, who’s callin’? Okay, hang on a minute. Hey Trench, it’s for you.” As he walked toward the phone, Trenchie knew that the only two people who would normally call him at the club were Mary or his restaurant manager, Richard. He picked up the phone.
“Trenchie here.” He listened silently for a long moment and eventually responded, “What? Okay, I’ll be right over. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll handle this.” Red couldn’t help overhearing the conversation. Trenchie’s face fell a bit.
“Trouble Trenchie?”
“Yeah, some wise guys are leanin’ on my manager. I guess they don’t know who the real owner of the place is. I’m headin’ over there now.”
Red looked over at Tarzan. “Come on. We’re takin’ a little ride. And Frankie,” he said, “maybe you should come too.”
Moose called from the other side of the bar. “You want me to come boss?”
Red answered, “No, somebody’s got to stay and watch the bar. I’ll call you if we need ya. Meanwhile, hang tight here.”
chapter three
Red and his men walked into the rear of Trenchie’s restaurant where they found Richard, Trenchie’s longtime restaurant manager, anxiously waiting. They entered his office and sat down on the chairs that Richard had br
ought in.
“What time are these guys supposed to come in?” Red asked.
“Ten o’clock,” answered Richard.
“Okay, it’s nine–thirty. We have a half hour before they get here so why don’t you tell us what happened?”
Richard began recounting the story. “Nine o’clock Saturday night – there was a knock at my door and I told whoever it was to come in. Two men walked in and sat right down, took seats without even being offered.”
Red interrupted him. “Did they tell you that they intended to take over the place?”
“No. They told me that they were organizing business establishments in this part of town and every store had to pay a small ‘fee’ for their protection.”
“What was the amount they asked for?” Trenchie asked.
“They said that they would be back here every Saturday morning to collect fifteen dollars from me. I tried to explain to them who owns this place but they said they didn’t care. They just wanted the fifteen bucks.”
“Jesus,” Tarzan said. “They’re charging ten bucks more than us and we provide a real service for our customers.” See, if any of Red’s customers were ever robbed, he always made a concerted effort to find the culprits and when he did, which was usually the case, and if he recovered the stolen items, which he normally did, Red and his men always returned the goods to their rightful owners. So, you see, they did provide a service for the money they collected from the store owners. Strange rationale, but true.
At exactly ten am, two men walked into the restaurant and knocked on the office door. They barged right in without waiting for permission but stopped
mid–stride upon seeing four men and the restaurant manager staring back at them. Trenchie looked at Richard and said, “Richie, I think you better go and take care of business up front.” Richard didn’t say a word, got up, and walked out the door avoiding eye contact with anyone. Richard could sense the danger and the tension. It was as if fireworks were about to explode and he couldn’t walk out of that room fast enough. He wasn’t used to this kind of drama and was beginning to wonder if maybe a career change might be in order.
Trenchie spoke first. “I’d like to know your names and who you guys are.” Then he continued, “And are you the guys that threatened my manager?”
One of the men spoke without fear. “My name is Rocco and my partner here is Mike. We’re from Detroit and we’ve opened a business here in Queens. Do you have a problem with that?”
Red looked at him. “Do you know who I am?
“No.”
“And you’ve never heard the name Big Red?”
“No, I can’t say that I have. Is it supposed to mean something to me?”
“Maybe not in Detroit, but in Queens, yes. What organization do you belong to? You say that you’re from Detroit so who vouches for you? I want the name and phone number of your boss because I want to speak with him right now.”
Rocco smugly smiled and said. “His name is John Magardi.”
“Good,” Red said. “Give me his telephone number. Let’s get John Magardi on the phone right now.”
Rocco reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “He can be reached at this number.” Red walked over to the desk, picked up the phone and dialed the number on the card. “Hello, who is this?” a gruff voice asked.
“Hello John. My name is Red Fortunato and I’m callin’ from Queens, New York. I’m in a meeting with two men who tell me that they are under your protection and you’ll vouch for them. They’re tryin’ to shake down one of my businesses and I just can’t let that happen, John. If they are part of your organization, we need to settle this misunderstanding peacefully. That’s why I’m callin’ you. Here, I’ll put them on.”
Rocco spoke to his boss for a few minutes and then handed the phone back to Red. The voice on the other end sounded pissed off. “Look Red, or whatever your name is, I’m gonna check you out before we do any more talkin’. Gimme a number where I can reach you.” In the interim, Red and Trenchie showed their true class – they served their ‘guests’ lots of cocktails. “Geez,” Red whispered to Trenchie. “These guys don’t know enough to stop slamming back drinks! Makes it easier for us if we have to take ‘em out. Elementary rules, though, while on the job – no drinkin’ and workin’.” About an hour and a half later, the phone rang. Red answered. It was John. His tone was accommodating and contrite.
“Look Red, I checked you out. My boys made a mistake comin’ to your joint and it won’t happen again.”
“John, “Red answered, “I own Queens. Don’t make that mistake again. Next time, I won’t be so understanding.”
“Okay, look, there’s no need for threats. Put Rocco back on the phone.” Rocco listened without speaking. It appeared to Red that he might be getting a tongue lashing. Rocco was a bit pale when he hung up the phone. He, too, had adopted a conciliatory tone.
“Look,” Rocco said. “I had no idea who you were. I would never have come here if I did. My mistake and it won’t happen again.”
Red was almost paternal as he spoke. “Look Rocco, I understand that you wanna make a few bucks but attemptin’ to do business in Queens could have been and would have been bad for your health. Do your homework before you go havin’ stupid attacks. I own Queens. I’ll kill anybody who tries to move into my territory, take over one of my businesses, or strong-arm my people. You would be dead already if you weren’t connected. Thank your lucky stars for John Magardi answering that phone because he just saved your asses.”
Richard watched as the two men exited the building. Trenchie walked over to Richard and patted him on the back. “Relax,” Red assured him. “You won’t have to worry about those guys again. If it does happen again, you call Trenchie and me just like you did this time.” Trenchie chimed in. “Hey Richie, you did good kid. I’m giving you a fifty buck a week raise. Now, can we have some lunch please?”
Richard smiled. He was now back in his element, the restaurant business, right where he belonged. The manager headed straight to the kitchen and started dictating orders to the chef – calamari fra diablo, bruschetta, caprese, a little three cheese tortellini . . . .
Chapter 4
Red was a loyal friend to the neighborhood. Most everybody loved Big Red. Each year at Thanksgiving, he donated enough turkeys to the Salvation Army to fill the bellies of every hungry soul. When early December rolled around, he bought truckloads of Christmas trees, set them out in the vacant lot across from the club, and sold them for pennies above cost. For the Fourth of July, he secured all the proper permits to put on nothin’ short of a mini Grucci – like fireworks display in Flushing Meadows Park. He would help anyone who came to him with a problem. Red was what some in the neighborhood called a ‘benevolent dictator.’ His neighbors loved him and his enemies knew he was the boss of a crime family that numbered a thousand men or more. It was just a given that no crime would take place in this neighborhood, Red’s territory. The outcome was well known – a reprisal called ‘the wrath of the Red Head’ – yeah, that name always made me chuckle – double meanin’ and all. Head of the mob, if you didn’t get that. Pity the poor guy who attempted something stupid. Red would always handle it. Because of his presence, the neighborhood was safe, safe for everybody, old and young alike.
When Red first purchased The Starlight Club, it quickly became his hobby. He was constantly making changes to the look, the design of the place, but he was never really satisfied with the results. Money wasn’t a problem so he called a number of so–called specialists, from architects to interior decorators to carpenters – all who sketched, measured, and presented their ideas. But none were ever really what Red wanted. They just weren’t his vision. One day Red called Angelo, a carpenter who had learned his trade from a master builder in the old country. When Angelo arrived, Red was quick to mention that a number of carpenters had given him their ideas, none of which he liked.
“I want this room to be somethin’ special,” Red explained. “When my cus
tomers enter this room, I want them to feel like they’ve been transported. I can’t tell you what exactly I want, Angelo, but I can see it. I want this place to be a creative masterpiece, a conversation piece that’ll make people wanna come back.” Angelo said nothing. He just began to walk around the large room, pad in hand, checkin’ out the walls, the ceiling, floors, doors and windows. He studied every inch of the room, never spoke, just scribbled on his pad. After a few minutes of this, Red broke the silence and remarked, “I like this room. It has a lot of personality. I see something great here.” Angelo just nodded, indicating that he understood.
Angelo continued to walk and study the room and after this went on for a while, Angelo just stopped, looked intensely at Red’s eyes as if he was studying those too, and asked in his thick Italian accent, “Do youuh trusta me?”
Normally, Red would have responded hastily to any other man who might have asked this, giving him a lecture about how trust has to be earned the long and hard way and he only trusted his small group of friends . . . but Angelo had a great reputation for his craft and there was something about him that Red liked. “Yeah, I trust ya.” Red answered. “Why?”
