The Starlight Club 3: The Vendetta,: Goodfellas, Mob Guys & Hitmen (Starlight Club Mystery Mob)

by Joe Corso

  Bobby pointed to the blackboard. There were five names, all members of the crime commission, written on it.

  Carlo Gambino

  Vito Genovese

  Sam Giancana

  Joe Accardo

  Red Fortunato

  “Gentleman,” Bobby began, “these names are the names that I want behind bars.” “There are others – make no mistake about that – but for now, these are our five targets. We’ll get the rest of them later after we’ve convicted these five and they’re safely locked away in a federal prison.”

  Bobby pointed to the names on the blackboard with the white end of the long stick that he had borrowed from a classroom down the hall. He wielded it like a sword.

  “The first four men we know about, but it’s the fifth man that I want to focus on – Big Red Fortunato. He’s the head of a large crime family that boasts over a thousand members, controls all the rackets in Queens. Keeps a low profile and prefers not to use violence, but we know that he has occasionally resorted to it. The one thing that has kept him out of the limelight is drugs. He doesn’t deal in drugs and comes down hard on his men who do. Nevertheless, he’s a mobster, he’s powerful, and I want him. That will be this task force’s job – bring in Big Red and dismantle his organization. Is that understood?”

  The men nodded in agreement.

  Bobby pointed to Lonegan.

  “Special Agent Lonegan, this is your assignment. I want you to bring Big Red Fortunato to me. Actually, his head. I want you to bring me his head.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lonegan said, smiling. His mind went into overdrive. They were going after thugs with little or no training. He was sure these guys would be no problem for his well trained elite ‘military’ unit.

  Lonegan leafed through the first couple of pages of the file that Kennedy had given him and began to speak.

  “When you’re hunting someone, gentlemen, you look for consistency,” he said as he shuffled the pages for effect, “and looks like Big Red here, if nothing else, is consistent. The club he owns, The Starlight Club, appears to be where he spends most of his time, so this is where we’ll find him.”

  Lonegan was speaking more to himself than to his Lieutenant and the other men in his unit who were standing by for orders.

  “He doesn’t know we’re coming for him, so this should be an easy take down. Okay guys, gear up. We’re gonna pay a visit to The Starlight Club.”

  Traffic was light and there were very few civilians on the street when the black van pulled up in to the front of The Starlight Club. The door slid open and six men in civilian clothes stepped out of the van holding automatic weapons, making no effort to hide them. Two old ladies walking by froze into place at the sight of men holding guns in plain daylight. They were too frightened to speak. The men ran past the women and rushed through the front door of The Starlight Club. A startled customer knocked over his beer as Moose put up his hands as if to say, “Stop.”

  “What the hell do you guys think you’re doin’?” Moose asked.

  Lonegan marched right over to Moose and wasted no time flashing his credentials.

  Moose smarted off, “Am I supposed to be frightened by that badge, you fuckin’ jerk, comin’ in here like that?”

  “Your insolence could get you arrested,” Lonegan retorted.

  Moose laughed, showing not a sign of backing down.

  “Go ahead, then. Arrest me, prick. Let’s hear the charge.”

  “I’m Captain Lonegan and I’m looking for Red Fortunato,” Lonegan said. “Where is he?”

  Moose looked at him, glanced around the room, and shrugged his shoulders.

  “And I’m Moose Caboose, Captain Lonegan, and I have no idea.”

  “Don’t get smart. Just tell me where he is,” Lonegan responded.

  “How the hell should I know where he is?” Moose said in an annoyed tone. “I’m not his caretaker. He comes. He goes. He’s not here, that’s all I can tell you.”

  “Where’s his office?” Moose pointed to the hallway. “Through that door and down the hall, first door you come to.”

  Lonegan turned toward his team and motioned with his gun.

  “Okay, men, follow me.”

  He made his way to the door.

  “Stand by.”

  He knocked once, then again. There was no answer. The Captain nodded to one of his men who began ramming his shoulder against the door until he successfully jarred it open. There was no one there.

  “I want this building searched,” Lonegan ordered. “Start with the cellar and work your way up to the roof.”

  Lonegan’s men fanned out and went their separate ways. They searched every inch of the building but Red was nowhere to be found. Each time they came up empty, the Captain began to fume more and more. Lonegan returned to Moose.

  “Where is he?”

  “I told you. He doesn’t tell me his business. I’m his bartender, for Chrissakes. I just work for the guy.”

  Lonegan’s face turned red.

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  Moose leaned his elbow on the bar and rubbed his chin, not the least bit intimidated by Lonegan.

  “Let’s see now. That would be the day before yesterday. He left to go to a meeting and he never returned.”

  Lonegan nodded. That fit. He knew about the meeting with Hoffa.

  “Was the meeting in Manhattan?”

  “Yeah, I think it was,” Moose said, nodding his head slightly.

  Lonegan grabbed a cocktail napkin and began to write on it.

  “When your boss comes in, tell him to contact me at this number. Tell him it’s important that he call me,” and he handed Moose the napkin. “Be sure he gets it.”

  “Sure,” Moose said. “I’ll give it to him as sooooon as I see him,” he said almost mockingly.

  Lonegan turned, spun his hand in a circle as a signal to his men to leave, and then left without saying another word. Moose looked at his customers nursing their beers and nodded his head at the men leaving.

  “Faccia di merda,” he said in a low voice, but loud enough for them to hear as they walked out the front door. He cared not if any of them understood Italian. He had just called Lonegan a bastard, low life, son of a bitch.

  Chapter Six

  Word traveled fast in Queens. By the next morning, it was common knowledge that federal agents had raided The Starlight Club looking for Red, hoping to take him in. No one was happy about it. Word was that Bobby Kennedy was the one behind it and they weren’t happy about that either. The fact was that The Starlight Club made the neighborhood safe. Red was known for his generosity and was highly respected in the area.

  Red was the type of man that everyone came to in times of need. Sometimes, he’d hand out a few dollars to tide someone over, which they always repaid, but he never made money on the money he loaned them. If the recipients tried to pay him back with interest, he’d tell them they weren’t customers, they were friends. There was always something – parking tickets, sons being arrested for brawling or for using a gun. Red, with his connections, managed somehow to work things out, but always with their assurance that they wouldn’t do it again. Because of the raid on The Starlight Club, their neighborhood security, meaning Red, was at risk.

  Lonegan’s men scoured the neighborhood, polling every man and woman in the area to see if they had seen the man in the photograph. Not a soul had. Most everyone who viewed the photo knew exactly who it was. Little did the Captain know their true opinion of him – Lonegan, that is. Lonegan was used to getting results, but in this case, he reached a dead end. As an incentive, as well as to accelerate Big Red’s capture, Lonegan even offered a ten thousand dollar reward to anyone with information . . . to no avail. Not a single person talked. But, there was always someone around the corner who might.

  Peaches got his name because he always ate a can of peaches during lunch and during dinner. He was a numbers runner and he had joined Red’s crew a few months prior. In front of his bosses
, he played the loyal soldier to perfection, but money always had an allure. News of a reward reached his ears so, he began sniffing around, asking questions, acting as though he was concerned for Red and hoping someone would slip up and tell him where he was hiding. Meanwhile, Tarzan was using the back room of the Zebra Club as a little office. Occasionally, he’d meet with Red’s Captains but only when necessary. He knew there were men watching so he made himself scarce. Besides, Tarzan had a rule to never fall into the trap of following a regular routine. Routines were trouble. Routines made it easy to be found.

  Peaches knew that since The Starlight Club was under observation, most of the guys had become regulars at the Zebra Club. Because he was the new guy, the guys clammed up about anything sensitive whenever he walked in. New guys always had to prove themselves. Peaches figured this out quickly so he made the Zebra Club his hangout, hoping he could earn their trust and eventually find out Red’s whereabouts. One day, Peaches began asking questions about Red. He acted concerned about Red, but the manner in which he asked his questions didn’t go unnoticed by Tarzan and his scuzzball detector. Tarzan decided to have someone keep an eye on him.

  Days and weeks passed. Peaches was getting nowhere, but he did get a whiff of conversation that said that Trenchie was taking a trip down south somewhere. There were rumors circulating about where he might be going, but no one knew for sure. Red planned it that way. Red had made it clear at their last meeting that Trenchie and Tarzan would be on a need to know basis, but the meeting was important and Red indeed told Trenchie that he would be the ambassador to the Hoffa meeting. Peaches, in his quest to secure any information that he could, happened upon a private conversation at the Zebra Club between Trenchie and Tarzan at the bar. They were speaking in soft tones, almost whispering. Peaches seated himself a few seats away, ordered a drink, and strained to hear what they were saying. That’s when he overheard Trenchie mention to Tarzan that he was leaving soon and somewhere in there, he heard the name Hoffa. Bingo! Peaches began mentally to count the reward money. This was big, really big but once again, the fact that Peaches had become such a regular patron was duly noted.

  Lonegan and his men continued to canvass every house in Queens, concentrating on Corona and the surrounding towns of Jackson Heights and Woodside, for anything, any lead that might assist them with Red’s whereabouts. There were no snitches in these parts.

  Just as Lonegan was about to expand his search into the surrounding areas, he got word that a guy wanted to see him, said it was important. The guy lived in Woodside and his name was Peaches. A quick run of the guy showed that he was a lowly numbers runner who had had a few brushes with the law. The message stated that it had to do with the man that he was looking for. Lonegan halted everything and headed straight to his house. Once there, Peaches invited him to come inside, but asked Lonegan to keep his men outside, stressing that he wanted the conversation to be private. Lonegan motioned to his men to station themselves around the house, and ordered them not to enter unless given a signal.

  “I want to come to an understanding with you,” Peaches said. “I have something that you might be interested in.” Lonegan just sat there, emotionless.

  “But I don’t want to discuss it here,” Peaches insisted. “If you follow me, we can talk in private in the cellar. That way, I’ll be certain that we won’t be overheard.”

  Lonegan looked at Peaches with amusement.

  “What sort of understanding did you have in mind? And what did you mean when you said you have something to tell me? And most of all, why on earth would I want to go down into a dark, isolated cellar to talk to you?”

  “Well,” Peaches said, “I have something that might help you and I have no idea if this place is safe or not, but one thing’s for sure, the cellar is probably safer than any place.”

  “Look, buddy,” Lonegan said, “I have a lot of men here. Don’t think about any funny stuff.”

  “Well now, Mr. Lonegan,” Peaches replied, “that would be just plain dumb now, wouldn’t it, seeing as how my house is surrounded and fifteen guys have seen my face, know my name and know where I live?”

  Lonegan nodded. Maybe this guy was a little brighter than he had given him credit for. He followed Peaches into the cellar.

  Peaches flipped a switch at the top of the steps. He led the way as they walked down crickety old stairs, past cobwebs and into a dirty, dark room with nothing in it. Peaches stood in the middle of the cellar, watching, as Lonegan’s hand remained trained on his gun the entire time. Peaches wasted no time.

  “First, tell me about this ten thousand dollar reward you’re offering.”

  There it is, Lonegan thought. The money.

  “It’s simple, Peaches. The person who gives me Red Fortunato, and I mean gives me, where I have his body, either dead or alive, in my custody, will receive ten thousand dollars.”

  “Are you also offering a reward for two of big Red’s captains Trenchie and Tarzan?” Peaches asked.

  Lonegan hadn’t thought about anyone but Red. He was ordered by Bobby Kennedy to get Fortunato, and only Fortunato, so that had been his sole focus, but come to think of it, three were better than one, and another two feathers in his cap could make for a pretty nice headdress.

  “Tell me what you have and I’ll let you know if it merits a reward,” Lonegan replied.

  Peaches thought about it for a minute.

  “I’m protected?” Peaches asked.

  “You’re protected,” Lonegan answered.

  “Okay,” Peaches began, “I heard one of Red’s men is taking a trip somewhere down south. He’s going in Red’s place because Red can’t make the meeting himself with you looking to grab him.”

  “If a man decides to take a trip down south why should that be of any interest to me?” Lonegan asked.

  “Normally it wouldn’t be. But what if I told you that the person he was meeting with is Jimmy Hoffa himself?”

  Lonegan’s eyebrows raised. Peaches smiled, knowing he had Lonegan’s interest.

  “You have my attention. Go on,” said Lonegan.

  “I didn’t hear you tell me any numbers yet about the rest – the other guys,” Peaches answered. “What sort of ‘bonus’ are you offering?”

  “If your information checks out, I’ll give you another five thousand on top,” Lonegan said, volunteering agency funds. He’d find a way to justify it with those above him. This was big. It was worth it.

  “You want me to put my life on the line for a five lousy grand?” Peaches huffed. “Not on your life. Ten G’s or you get nothing.”

  “I could take you in and sweat it out of you.”

  “Yeah, but you won’t,” Peaches countered. “Why should you? I can be a good friend to have. Wouldn’t you like to be tipped off when there’s something about to happen? You can use this information and I can use the money.”

  Peaches could see Lonegan’s wheels spinning. Lonegan needed someone on the inside and it was clear that the loyalty to Red and his organization was practically impenetrable. Peaches would be a valuable asset to have. He’d have eyes and ears inside Red’s operations.

  “All right,” Lonegan consented, “ten grand it is, but . . . only if you give me something important.”

  Peaches nodded. Life was about to change for the guy. In 1963, ten thousand dollars was a year and a half’s salary to the average guy. This was a big score.

  “The guy’s name is Trenchie. Since Big Red can’t go, he assigned the job to his right hand man Trenchie Savarola.”

  “And he’s going to meet with Jimmy Hoffa?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I heard. Big Red is keeping everything close to the vest. He don’t tell nobody nothin’ except Tarzan and Trenchie. Everything filters down through those two guys. But Trenchie’ll be leavin’ soon so if you have somebody watchin’ his home, the Zebra Club and watching The Starlight Club, you’ll find him easily enough. You can’t miss him. He’s a big guy – six foot five inches tall and tough as nails. Now when can
I expect my money?”

  “We’ll follow Trenchie and if and when he meets with Hoffa, and if we catch him doing anything illegal, you’ll get your money.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute. That’s not what we agreed to. You said that if I gave you importan’ information, I’d get ten grand. Nothin’ was said about them doin’ anything illegal. I told you I would give you a man that was meetin’ with Hoffa and you agreed to the deal and now you’re renegin’ on it?”

  Lonegan smiled. He liked torturing this little criminal snitch.

  “Call it what you will, but you’re not getting a dime until I find them doing something illegal.”

  Tarzan briefed a couple of Red’s other faithful men, Shooter and Piss Clams, regarding his suspicion of Peaches. He told them that he couldn’t confront the guy until he had something on him. Piss Clams was always at the Zebra Club and pretty much knew everything that was going on there. Peaches had specifically asked about Big Red on several occasions while sitting at the bar. Piss Clams didn’t think anything of it at the time because a lot of the guys were concerned about Red, and often they would ask around, wanting to know where he was and what he was up to. Now that Tarzan had told him of his suspicions, he had to admit that the questions Peaches asked were more of a personal nature than the others.

  “Yeah, now that you mention it,” Piss Clams said, “he was actin’ a little suspicious, but he made it seem like he was concerned for Red, but when I think about it, he was askin’ questions more about Red’s whereabouts.”

  “Okay,” Tarzan said, “here’s what I want you to do.” He pointed at both Piss Clams and Shooter. “You two guys take turns watchin’ him. I want you guys with him twenty–four hours a day. You decide between yourselves how you’re gonna split the day up, but I wanna know who he talks to, who he meets, and where he goes. Got it?”