by Joe Corso
“Check the cellar,” Red said, “and the second floor, the attic, everywhere. Look the place over and find a way to build me a safe room. You know – a secret room, a place where I can hide out and no one can find me. It must be completely invisible. No one should be able to find it no matter how hard they look. Can you do that for me Angelo?”
Angelo nodded yes. In his thick Italian accent, he responded, “Let me look at-tah this place and I will lett-ah you know what I think-uh.”
Red left him alone to wander around the building for the better part of a half hour. Angelo descended the stairs, smiling, and said, “I can builda you what you want but howuh soonuh you need it?”
“You have to start it immediately, Angelo,” Red said, wasting no time. “People are after me. People I can’t defend myself against. They’re coming after me with trumped up charges.”
Angelo looked at him and shook his head. Then he looked up at Red.
“Bobby Kennedy? Izzah he the one hoozuh comin’ after you?”
Red was surprised.
“Yes,” Red answered.
Angelo had questions, but he kept them to himself. Red was a brilliant strategist and in his mind, Bobby Kennedy couldn’t shine Red’s shoes when it came to planning Machiavellian moves. He didn’t know much about politics or the legal system in America, but he did know one thing – Red was a smart businessman who was never to be underestimated. A guy like Red didn’t get this high up, in what might be considered the criminal hierarchy, without brains. Red was the padrone, the boss, who took care of his people’s problems. Angelo would never forget what Red had done for him when his son Roberto was being shaken down. He knew Red could have asked those boys at the brokerage house for money or a piece of their company in exchange for the favor he did for them, but he didn’t. Most of the other bosses were motivated by pure greed. Not Red.
Angelo took Red to the rear of the first floor where the bar on the left ended. He explained how he would remove a good portion of the back wall and make a wall where the bar ended to make it a part of the room.
“You see-uh where the bar-uh izza recessed into the wall-uh? And you see-uh the stairs leading to-uh the second floor? It’s very natural to-uh walk-uh to the back-uh the room, make-uh left-uh before the bar-uh and walk uppa second floor. No one will-uh know that the wall-uh hides another room-uh.”
“Good, Angelo,” Red said, “just what I’m looking for. How long will it take to build?”
“Not so long-uh, Red,” Angelo answered. “Simple to build a wall-uh. I build-uh in one-ah day. This-uh way you can-uh use the room-uh right-a way. What take-uh time is the plumbing anna electric in-uh the room. If you stay-uh here long time-uh, you need-uh kitchen anna toilet so that will-uh take-uh few days more. Don’t-uh you worry. I-uh finish the basic room-ah fast so you able to enter it if-ah you have to. Then I take-ah my time and finish the rest away from-uh prying eyes-uh.”
Red put his arm around the old man and squeezed him.
“You’re a good friend, Angelo. Now how much money do you need to do the job?” Angelo scratched his head as he mentally calculated the cost of materials.
“I think I need-uh about six-ah hundred dollar. Red reached into his jacket pocket and took out an envelope filled with cash. He took out ten one hundred dollar bills and handed them to Angelo.
“If you need more, come see me.”
“Don’t worry Red. I do the job quick-uh. I no ask-ah anyone to help-uh. I do it
all-uh by myself. This way nobody know-ah what I do-uh here. Capiche?”
“Understood,” Red said.
Red walked to the pay phone in the rear of the old dusty club to call Moose.
“Listen carefully,” he said. “Come to the place where we used to meet as soon as you can, but use the back entrance and make sure you’re not followed. It’s important that you understand what I’m telling you”
“I understand,” Moose replied. “See you in a little while.”
When Yip bought this building, he had converted the store downstairs into the Corona Gentlemen’s Club. The other rooms were where he ran his operation. Yip knew that there might be times that the club would be watched, so he built a secret entrance. Also, by using a dummy corporation untraceable to him, he bought the house behind the club. The house had a garden in the back, full of fruit trees, but the grape trellis that surrounded the back door as he stepped out onto the stoop was what interested him. He made sure it was always cared for. The older Italian man who owned the house used to make wine so he built trellises everywhere and a pergola for the grape vines. The pergola extended from the rear of this house to the back wall that abutted the Corona Gentleman’s Club. When Yip took ownership of the house, he carved a door into the wall that separated the two structures and had a gardener plant foliage all along it, covering the door, making it virtually invisible to the casual observer. Now, given the present circumstances, this well thought out door would come in handy to Red, as would the empty house behind the club.
Moose entered the front door of the house on Forty–Second Avenue, walked straight through it and out the back door. There, he found the key hidden inside a false rock nestled among a cluster of similar looking rocks. He opened the door and entered into the back of the Corona Gentlemen’s Club. Once inside, he found Red sitting at one of the tables reading the newspaper. Moose sat down at the table and immediately took note of the somber look on Red’s face. Something was wrong.
“What happened, boss?” Moose asked. “What’s wrong? Why are you here and not at The Starlight Club?”
“Listen to me carefully, Moose,” Red said, tilting his chin down and looking up with his eyes. “Get everyone out of The Starlight Club now. Have them meet me here and tell them to use the rear entrance just like you did. The feds, mainly Bobby Kennedy, are after me and they’ll be looking to take all of you with me. Tarzan and Trenchie can’t afford to do another stretch in the slammer. I want them out of there. You’re clean Moose. You’re the only one who can stay there. I want you to carry on as if nothing’s wrong. If I’m right, you’ll be getting a visit from some men soon, probably identifying themselves as federal agents. They’ll ask you where I am, so you’ll tell them that the last time you saw me was when I went into the city for a meeting. If they ask you if I was meeting with Jimmy Hoffa, you tell ‘em ‘yeah I think that’s where he went’, but nothing more … understand? You don’t know anything more than that.”
Moose didn’t show any emotion.
“What are you thinking, Moose?” Red asked.
Surprised at the question, Moose shrugged and said, “Me? I’m so pissed off right now I’d like to strangle that little bastard Bobby Kennedy.”
Red laughed. You could never tell that Moose was that pissed off by looking at him. His face didn’t show it. In that respect, he was a lot like Trenchie.
“Relax, Moose,” Red consoled. “This sort of thing has to happen ever so often. I’m just surprised that this time it’s the feds. Every ten or fifteen years, something like this comes along and there’s nothing we can do but ride out the storm. A few years ago, it was the Gallo–Profaci war. Now it’s this. Always something. Just goes with the territory. They’ll be coming to The Starlight Club soon so you have to be ready for ‘em. I’m gonna have to visit club tonight, but I’ll do it by going in the back way.”
Going back there meant going through the alleys and backyards and hoping all the time that no dogs barked.
“As soon as you get back to the club, call Trenchie and Tarzan and meet them somewhere, then bring them here,” Red instructed. “Watch out for a tail. I don’t need you being followed. I don’t want anyone finding out about this place, understand?”
Moose nodded and said, “I understand. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure no one follows me here.”
“Good. Now get out of here and find Tarzan and Trenchie and come back here with them.”
Chapter Four
Trenchie, Red, and Tarzan sat at a table in the cor
ner of the long narrow room near the bar that once housed Yip’s business, the Corona Gentlemen’s Club, discussing their earlier meeting with Jimmy Hoffa. Red was silent for a few moments as if thinking of what to say. He looked at his two captains and in somber tone spoke.
“The Starlight Club is finished.”
The men all looked at him in amazement. Somehow, they hadn’t expected that. Sure, the message they’d received was serious, but this was a bit profound. Over? Finito?
“But that’s not important,” Red added, seeing their faces. “What is important is the family. We must not let the feds destroy it. Tarzan I’m putting you in charge. From now on, you’ll be me. I’ll put the word out to my men that I’ll be unavailable for a while. They’ll be reporting to you until this blows over. It’s me that Bobby wants. If we’re careful and make it hard for him to get anything on us and we stay out of his way, he might not have the time to dig too deep. There are a lot of people out there who are a lot more visible than me who love to see their pictures and their names in the papers and who are screaming ‘here I am, come and get me’. If we’re hard to find, it might take some of the heat off us and he might decide to go after them instead of us, especially when he finds out I’m not around. Bobby’s looking to make a name for himself to justify a run for president when his brother leaves office, but he can’t do it without having some sort of proven record like prosecuting and winning cases in court. That’s why he’s going after Hoffa. Hoffa had the balls to defy him and he’s not layin’ down. He’s fighting back. Jimmy has a genius IQ,” Red said admiring the guy. “And Bobby’s tried him twelve times in court without convicting him, but this time the President’s brother is not taking a chance on losing. He’s pulling a thug out of jail, promising him his freedom if he testifies against Jimmy. That backstabbing bastard is gonna get him and this time Hoffa’s convinced he’s going to prison for sure. Hoffa’s conviction is all Bobby has, but if he can get me on something and get a conviction, that’ll be another feather in his cap. My name’s on his short list, another name to add to his successes to prove what a damn good Attorney General he is. But . . . in order to convict me, he has to find me and that won’t be easy because I’ll be hiding in plain sight.”
“What is it you want me to do?” Trenchie asked.
Red smiled.
“You, my friend, will be my eyes and ears on the road. You’ll be handling our end of the Florida deal with Hoffa. I hope he can make it happen before he goes away. After that’s finalized, you’ll go to California to set up our movie production company. First, find us a location and check with Larry Bernstein for what else you’ll need to get production started. I’ll have my lawyer set up the corporation in the meantime.”
Trenchie looked concerned.
“Red, you have to be kidding me. I’m not a goddamned lawyer. I’m an ex-con for Chrissakes. What the hell do I know about any of that shit?”
“Don’t worry Trenchie. I’ll have it all set up so all you have to do is follow the dots.”
Red got serious for a moment.
“Look Trench, hard times are coming and with Bobby boy breathing down my neck, I won’t have the freedom to handle everything by myself. I need help . . . your help. With the feds coming after me, my hands will be tied and I won’t be able to do anything, not a damn thing. I’ll be locked in a room where I can’t leave. I trust you and I know you can do this.”
Red then looked over at Tarzan, “And, Tarzan, that goes for you too. You two guys are my lifeline. I have to depend on the two of you and I don’t want you guys sent away again on some trumped up bullshit charge – ain’t gonna happen – not on my watch.” He pointed to Tarzan. “Even though you’ll be running things, I want you to make yourself hard to find. Change houses often and stay with people you trust so the feds can’t find you. They’re not after you, but act as if they are, and it will keep you sharp and out of trouble. Let’s not make this easy for them. Trenchie, when you’re on the road, you’ll be a lot harder to find. I want you to be careful too. Don’t make it easy for them to zero in on you. Change hotels frequently and remember to pay cash and sign in under different names.”
The following day Red received a call on the pay phone at the Corona Gentleman’s club. It was Hoffa. Red explained to Hoffa that Trenchie would be representing him as a result of what they had discussed during their meeting at the Waldorf. Red hung up the phone. He was impressed with the way Hoffa laid out the package. He did it in a simple, easy–to–follow, chronological order. A few hours later Hoffa called Tarzan.
“Tell Red I’ve sent copies of the contract to his lawyer by courier. He should have them today sometime. Tell him to sign them then have Trenchie bring a copy with him when we meet. We have to get this deal done before my trial. Once I go away, I’ll be almost powerless.”
The meeting was set for nine the following Tuesday morning at Lester’s Diner near Route One on State Road 84 near the airport in Fort Lauderdale. Lester’s was the only New York style diner in South Florida that Red knew.
Chapter Five
Big Red slipped into The Starlight Club through the back door, walked to the front window, and pulled the shade carefully to the side to check for any suspicious vehicles parked nearby. He did the same thing with the side window. There were plenty of cars parked along both streets, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Next, he walked to the back room and took out the carryon luggage that he kept at the club. Once inside his office, he walked to his filing cabinet and sorted through his files. He pulled out the important ones and placed them on his desk. He reached down, spun the dial to his safe, and removed his little black book where he kept his contacts and his ledger. Those, too, he placed on his desk next to the files. The passport was important so he grabbed that, gave it a second thought, and decided he wouldn’t need it. If he had to leave the country, he could always come back for it. He reached his hand into the rear of the safe and retrieved his emergency stash – two hundred fifty thousand dollars wrapped in five thousand dollar packets. Everything went into the suitcase. He picked it up and made his way out through the rear of the building, the same way he had entered.
Light on his feet, he walked through the back alleys, the low hanging trees creating an umbrella effect, walking in the shadows, until he made his way up the block to where his car was parked. He stood still for a moment, checked both directions, and stepped across the sidewalk, making sure to check the full three hundred sixty degrees around him. He got into his car and immediately locked the door. The Cadillac purred to life. Still cautious and not wishing to give time to the other side that might be lurking about, Red quickly put the car into gear and slowly guided it out onto the quiet residential street where he drove it a short distance to the empty house. The garage door opened and he pulled the Caddy inside, sheltering it from the street. Once outside of the car, he pushed the red button on the wall and waited beside it until the garage door completely closed. From there, he walked straight through the house without stopping and left through the back door, checking the knob to make sure it was locked.
He stepped into the yard and walked underneath the grape covered pergola, hidden by the vines growing on its latticework. The pergola provided cover all the way to the back door of the club. He opened the door, stepped inside and stopped to listen for any sounds that shouldn’t be there. Everything was as it should be. Red flipped the hidden switch and stepped into the room, his safe room. It was sparse for now, but it was still a good place for hiding out. Off came his jacket but as for the rest of his clothes, he didn’t bother. He walked to the chair beside the cot, nestled against the wall, folded his jacket, and laid it over the back of the chair arm. He lay down on the cot, his hands folded behind his head, and stared blankly at the ceiling, thinking of Robert Kennedy and wondering why he, Red, had to hide from the Attorney General, finding it impossible to sleep.
The following day, Bobby Kennedy welcomed his special unit, the one he had requested from his brother, President J
ohn F. Kennedy. The men, each assigned the title of Federal Agent, were a mixed group tasked with acting as enforcers, all with no record of employment – no payrolls, no traceable paper trails – men who didn’t exist, men who wouldn’t be missed should anything happen to them, but men on a serious mission. Bobby was one of the few men who knew anything of their backgrounds – he and the captain here, the agent in charge.
Captain James Lonegan was an ex Special Ops guy who had won numerous citations for his work. Misfortune had brought him to this place in life. One evening while having dinner at a restaurant in Manhattan, his brother was killed by a couple of contract hit men, a case of mistaken identity. He was angry for a long, long time about the senseless murder and as a result, Lonegan’s fury turned into a long held vendetta for all criminals. His disdain for the mob, in particular, was all consuming. They were known for contract hits so the similarity was not lost on him. Being assigned to Robert Kennedy was a gift. With each assignment, the captain had indirectly been granted a license to kill – a sick way of avenging his brother’s death.
The meeting was being held in the Justice Department’s offices in lower Manhattan. Bobby was discussing the plans to take down Hoffa, but Lonegan wasn’t that interested. Hoffa was too visible, too well known and . . . besides, Hoffa wasn’t a killer. To Lonegan, Hoffa was just a corrupt labor leader, not worthy of his time, but . . . if Bobby wanted him brought in, then so be it.
