by Joe Corso
Tag left his warehouse in Anaheim and headed to the Hollywood Hills address that Red had given him. Red wasn’t impressed easily but John Morgenstein’s sixty–five hundred square foot house, nestled on approximately two acres of land, was stunning. It boasted seven bedrooms, two kitchens, a large covered patio and a screening room the size of a small theatre.
Red had already prepped Morgenstein and had insisted on privacy in order to protect John’s position within the movie company as well as his livelihood as an attorney. Morgenstein’s butler greeted Tag when he arrived and escorted him straight to Red’s bedroom – a large suite complete with a bar and outdoor deck that looked out over the heated Olympic sized swimming pool. With all its amenities, it appeared to Red and the boys that the bed was added to the room as an afterthought.
Tag opened up a large duffle bag. It was identical to the ones the soldiers in Korea carried, only this one was designed to carry guns, all sizes of guns. The first package Tag removed from the duffle bag was a set of handguns wrapped in a large, chamois type cloth. This protected the guns from scratches. He laid the bundle on the bed and unfolded the cloth. The first gun he revealed was a forty–five caliber S.A.A. Colt, single action. Shooter’s eyes lit up.
“Red, you remembered. Thanks a million.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Tag here. He’s the one who found it for you.”
Shooter looked at Tag. “Thanks man. That’s pretty cool.”
Tag smiled and said, “I only got it for you because Red tells me you’re good with it. So when this is over, you’re gonna give me a little demonstration, right?”
“You got a deal. I’ll show you how this gun should really be used.” After all the handguns were unwrapped, Red’s eyes locked on a forty caliber Sig. He reached down and took that one for himself and he told his men to each choose one of the remaining guns for themselves. When the guns were divvied up, Tag reached into the bag and pulled out four of the new heavy bullet proof vests. He then pulled out another long package and unwrapped two AK forty–sevens. Tag was like a drill sergeant, a drill sergeant who was doing a television commercial, explaining the automatic weapons.
“The AK-47 is a selective–fire, gas–operated, 7.62×39mm assault rifle,” he explained, “and absolutely perfect for what Red has in mind.” Tag then lifted the duffle bag, which looked to be empty, turned it upside down, shook it a little, and out rolled two hand grenades right onto the soft folds of the bed. The men’s eyes all widened and Shooter shouted as he jumped back, “Shit, man. Are you crazy? Those are hand grenades.” Tag picked up the grenades and casually lobbed them about a foot into the air, just to make a point and caught them with ease as they came back down. Then he tossed the grenades to Red. Red caught them easily and smiled.
“You even managed to get two of these,” Red commented as if not at all surprised.
“Yep, I sure did, but you might not be laughing when I tell you the price of these big boy toys,” Tag added.
With all the weapons hidden safely out of sight, Red used the fancy little intercom that rang right through to Morgenstein’s study and asked him to join them upstairs in Red’s room.
“I need to go over a few things on the agenda for tomorrow,” Red stated. A few moments later Morgenstein was upstairs, his full attention directed toward Red.
“John, I want you to call Larry Bernstein and set up a meeting for us early tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll set it up right now,” Morgenstein replied and he picked up the phone, placed it on speakerphone, and dialed Bernstein. “Larry, it’s John. I just arrived and I’m with Red and a few of his associates. I have you on speakerphone. Red would like to meet with you at your office. What’s a good time for you early tomorrow morning? ”
“Red, I know you can hear me,” Bernstein replied. “Get here whenever you can. Anything you want is a priority. I’ll clear my calendar. Everything else gets put on hold.”
“Thanks Larry,” Morgenstein answered.
“We’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Red ended.
Red then began to explain the plan to everyone in the room. “Tomorrow morning, you, me, Trenchie and Tarzan will attend the meeting,” Red answered. “Shooter and Piss Clam will stay with your family, John, until this is over. They will go wherever your family goes. If your wife goes to the store or to the hairdresser, one of ‘em will go with her and the other will stay with your daughter. Now as for your other daughter in New York, our guy Frankie will be there for her protection. Tell your family that if any suspicious calls come in, just hand me the phone or Frankie in New York and we’ll talk to them. If I’m not here, get a phone number and tell ‘em I’ll call ‘em back. Are we good?”
“Yes. We’re all good. Everyone will cooperate with you and your guys fully,” Morgenstein responded.
Red continued, “We’ll just take this as it comes. Tomorrow mornin’ I’ll speak with Larry then I want to pay a visit to Bob Gray and hear what he has to say.”
chapter fifteen
Swifty and his two comrades were busy working up a sweat at Stillman’s Gym. It was a seedy, rat hole of a gymnasium, but it was the gym of the champs. They all came here to endure weeks of endless kick–ass training. When Gil Clancy got his hands on you, word was you were gonna be a champion whether you wanted to be or not. He didn’t give up. You could spot a guy in the ring and tell if he had that Clancy mark stamped on him. It was a signature style of training and fighting that led to winners.
Swifty was in the ring sparring with a young prospect. He had been away far too long and was working on getting back his timing. He had on his protective face piece and wore a sweat stained jersey with the sleeves cut off and was banging away with his usual in–your–face power punches, all under the watchful eyes of Gil.
“Okay Swifty. Take a break. I’ve seen enough,” Clancy called out. He looked around for Gonzo but didn’t see him. “Gonzo,” he yelled. “Where are you Gonzo? This is a working gym. I need you ready at all times.”
“I’m coming Gil,” Gonzo replied. “Had to get my head gear from the locker.”
“Get in the ring and let’s see what you got.” The bell rang and Clancy nodded to Gonzo’s opponent. Okay, Gonzo, Clancy thought to himself – let’s see what you’re made of. Gonzo’s sparring partner had a peek–a–boo style of fighting. He hid his face behind his hands while his shoulders hunched over a bit. He was a good looking, well–conditioned black fighter who was right at home in the ring. Gonzo’s sparring partner wasted no time and came at him with a strong combination of lefts and rights, just hitting him non–stop seemingly not even working up a sweat. Gonzo was getting frustrated at his inability to stop the guy. He was being pummeled relentlessly. Geez. Try as he may, Gonzo just couldn’t escape the guy and Gonzo was getting madder and testier by the second. Finally, he had had enough. Gonzo waited, accepted a few more punches, and waited for the opening he was looking for. His opponent missed a left hook and then it came unexpectedly – Gonzo timed his right hand perfectly and hit the guy flush on the chin, scoring a flash knockdown but lo and behold. . . the guy jumped right back up and was ready for more.
“That’s enough,” Clancy yelled out. “Floyd,” he called the guy, “I’ve seen enough,” and Floyd walked over to Clancy. “Thanks Floyd,” he continued,
“I appreciate it.”
“Your man is rough,” Floyd said, still rubbing his chin. “Real rough, but also tough. Yep – rough and tough – got a lot of heart for the sport too. Gil, this kid hits like a mule. He’s hardly a pro for Chrissake and he knocked me off of my feet. This kid’ll do good with you trainin’ him.” And with that he leaned over and shook Gonzo’s hand and headed back to the locker room.
“I appreciate that Floyd. Good luck on your upcoming fight.”
“See you at ringside,” Floyd said still walking.
“Who was that guy?” Gonzo asked the moment he was out of sight.
Gil smiled and said, “Oh, he’s nobody special, only Floyd Patt
erson the heavyweight champion of the world.”
“What the hell? What? You had me sparring with the heavyweight champion of the world?”
“I sure did and guess what?”
“What?” Gonzo asked.
“You just knocked him down, in the ring, right here at Clancy’s gym. Put that in your memory book and store it for a while,” Gil said smiling.
It didn’t all quite sink in with Gonzo. He just walked away, headed toward the showers, all the while just shaking his head, saying, “I just decked the heavyweight champion of the world.”
“Valesques, where are you?” Clancy hollered. “Henri dashed out of the locker room.
“Oh man, Gil. What you got in store for me now? I just heard what you did with Gonzo. Hey Gil, I don’t like surprises,” he said as he smirked a bit.
“Just get your headgear on and show me what you have,” Gil ordered. Henri took to the ring and sparred just as Gil had anticipated. Clancy already knew about Henri – knew he was a natural. All he had to do was refine the fighter’s technique. The kid had a picture perfect left hook – the best Clancy had seen in years.
Then there was Swifty. He was just the opposite. He was a smaller version of Marciano – rough but powerful, but he too showed promise. Red had told Clancy that all these boys needed was to believe in themselves and after Gil observed them, he believed that to be especially true. Gonzo was going to be his challenge. Gil would have to convert a bar room brawler into a professional prize fighter – something he excelled in.
Swifty walked to the water cooler, took off his drenched sweatshirt, revealing his finely toned musculature. He splashed water over his chest and face in an effort to cool down before taking a shower. June and two of her girlfriends had been watching from behind a beam in the upper area. All were a little speechless at the sight of these three men engaging in such a brutal sport. There was something intriguing about a sport that most women could not understand – a sport where grown men get paid to beat the crap out of each other and claim victory when they’d rendered their opponents unconscious. It was barbaric, it was rough and it was . . . manly. Swifty was a combination of all of the above but he was a sweet and thoughtful man, June thought, who could turn on a dime into this tough guy. She wanted him all for herself.
Swifty threw his towel around his shoulders and turned to walk to the showers when June called out to him. He looked around and spotted her in the gallery with two of her friends.
“Hey, what are you doing here? This isn’t a fight.”
“Well, I heard you were training at Stillman’s and well, there’s only one Stillman’s, so I asked my girlfriends if they would like to see how fighters train. So here we are. Would you like to join us for lunch?” she asked.
“It would have to be a late lunch,” Swifty said. “I have to wait for my buddies to finish their workouts. If you’re in not in a hurry, we can do a late lunch.” June squealed with delight.
“Oh that’s no problem at all. We’ll drop back by, what in a couple of hours?”
“Sounds good,” he answered.
June was ecstatic. The men who usually asked her out to lunch were, more often than not, the nerdy types – not that she didn’t like intellectuals, it was just that they didn’t ignite that same spark in her as the tough boys did. That spark had been ignited the moment Swifty burst onto the scene by coming to the rescue of her father. Waiting for two hours would be one of longest waits of her life.
chapter sixteen
The five men enjoyed a good night’s rest at the Morgenstein home. The following morning, Red instructed Shooter and Piss Clam to stay with the women and cautioned them. “Do not leave them alone for a minute. If one of them has to leave the house, then one of you guys goes along. Go everywhere with the women except into the ladies room and if they happen to go there, then you stand right by the door until they come out. Never let ‘em out of your sight. You and you alone are responsible for their safety. If something happens to ‘em, it means that someone had to kill you in order to get to them. Understand? I don’t want anything to happen to any of you but you get the message.”
Red told Tarzan, “Put the four bullet proof vests in the trunk. We just might need ‘em.” He, Tarzan, and Trenchie then left for the meeting with Larry Bernstein.
Red and his guys arrived at Larry Bernstein’s office at exactly six–thirty in the morning. They buzzed from downstairs. A voice asked them to identify themselves. Inside, they found Larry behind his desk, tending to paperwork. When Bernstein saw Red, he got up from his desk and rushed to greet him. “Thank God you’re here. I’ve been concerned as to when I might get a visit from those goons.” Red looked around.
“Larry, how could they get in here?” Red asked. “It’s pretty fortified around here. You have the studio security team, you have outside security on the payroll, a buzz–in system for the office, so what are you worried about?”
“I’m on edge Red. I’m jumping at shadows. Not like me but I admit it – I’ve been on edge.” Red could see it. He was visibly nervous.
“Take it easy. Let me do the worryin’ from now on. Your problems are now my problems. Look, Trenchie’s gonna stay with you around the clock. They’d have to get past Trenchie first and I’d personally pin a medal on the guy that does that, to be honest, and then of course I’d whack him,” he chuckled.
“Hey,” Trenchie spoke up. “Having a little fun at my expense, are we?”
Red just smiled. “He’ll stay with you until we find the guys behind all this. Feel better now?”
Bernstein looked up at the giant, rough–looking hulk of a man towering above him – the man who would be his companion for the next few days and muttered slightly under his breath, “I’m glad he’s on our side.” He then said aloud, “Yes. He looks like he can do the job. And yes, I feel a whole lot better now.”
Red asked, “Have you received any more letters?”
“No, but I got a phone call telling me that I’m being summoned to a meeting today. Also told me to be prepared to sign a contract stating that I am turning my company over to these men. They insisted that I would be kept on as President and given a salary, but made it clear that I would have no say in the company. Seems to me that there is someone behind the throne and that these guys are just the front men. They warned me. They stated it twice. “If you don’t show up for this meeting, you will never have an opportunity to attend anything, anywhere, ever again.”
“I see,” Red mused. “Sounds like a threat to me. Did they say when this meeting would happen, what time?”
“I’m expecting a call this morning telling me where to meet them.”
“When they call, tell ‘em you’ll send someone in your place with the power to speak for you. If they insist you come yourself, then tell ‘em ‘no deal.’ Tell ‘em that you have a studio to run and you’re in the middle of a big production – you don’t have the time to go, so you’re sendin’ someone in your place with the authority, as your representative, to sign papers on your behalf. Tell ‘em something along those lines.”
Larry instructed his secretary to hold all of his calls and cancel all of his appointments while he waited with Red for the phone call that he knew was to come. At eleven ten his private phone rang – the one which bypassed his secretary and came directly to his office. Before picking up the phone, he pressed the speaker phone button so that everyone in the room could hear what was being discussed. Then he hit the talk.
“Yes. Yes. I understand, but I can’t meet you now.”
“You better make time to see us. We have documents, information that can destroy your company. We’re prepared to use them. ”
“Look,” Bernstein insisted. “I’m in the middle of a very costly production and I can’t just leave, but I can send someone who has the authority to act on my behalf.”
“Are you talking about the lawyer? There won’t be any productions to worry about if you don’t drop whatever you’re doing and make it to this meeting.
”
“No, he doesn’t have the authority to speak for me, but the person I’m sending does.”
The caller said, “I don’t like it. Let me make something very clear. No funny stuff, you hear. Don’t get any ideas. Hold on.” The caller was back in a few short seconds. “Okay, we’re gonna let your substitute meet with us only because we have a contract that needs to be signed today. Here’s the address, write it down. Tell him to be there in an hour.” The phone went silent. Bernstein searched Red’s face for any sign of hope.
“What do you think?”
Red just shrugged and said, “I think we need transportation, that’s what I think. Do you have a limo we can borrow?”
“Yes, of course,” Bernstein replied.
“Have it brought to the front of this building. Trenchie, you’ll drive. I’ll sit in the back.” Trenchie looked concerned. This was unusual for him as he never showed any emotion.
“Red,” Trenchie said, “you’re the boss of a large organization. You can’t put yourself in the line of fire like this. Let me and Tarzan handle it.” Red put out his hand and asked Morgenstein for the keys to his car. He tossed them to Tarzan and told him to go down to the car and take the vests out of the trunk to bring back upstairs. Upon his return, Red instructed the men to don the vests under their shirts. As the men started unbuttoning their shirts, Trenchie tried to reason with Red.
