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

by Joe Corso

  Both men nodded in agreement.

  “I want an update from you guys every day. Decide which of you will follow him when he leaves here tonight. That means you’ll have to be in your car maybe all night or all day, but you stay with him . . . okay?”

  “Got it,” they answered almost it in unison.

  Piss Clams was parked up the block when he saw the black van pull up in front of Peaches’ house. Six armed men got out and stayed outside relaxing by the van, chatting among themselves, while one man entered the house. Piss Clams raised his binoculars to get a closer look. A few minutes later, the door to Peaches’ house once again opened and he saw a guy shake Peaches’ hand at the front door, reenter the van with the team of other men and drive off in the van.

  The following evening Peaches walked into the Zebra Club, as usual, and took a seat at the bar. He asked Jake, the bartender for a drink. Jake set down the drink and Shooter sauntered over to the bar and sat down right beside him.

  “Mind if I join you?” Shooter asked.

  “No, I don’t mind. I could use the company,” Peaches responded.

  Then, Piss Clams walked over and sat on the other side of him, sandwiching Peaches between himself and Shooter.

  “Come with us, Peaches,” Shooter said. “Somebody in the back room wants to have a word with you.”

  The two men helped Peaches to his feet, one man on each side, each tightly gripping an arm. Peaches didn’t say a word.

  When they entered the room in the rear of the club, the first person Peaches saw was Tarzan sitting behind a large desk. Peaches began to fidget. He looked nervously to his right at Shooter, trying to get a read on him, but he got nothing. Shooter stood there emotionless. He turned next to his left and saw Trenchie standing somberly in the corner looking like a gigantic gargoyle, his dark eyes boring into him like little death heads. His heart began to race and he could feel it pound all the way up to the top of his head. His breathing turned to chest-rising spurts. His eyes were bulging. He knew this wasn’t good.

  Tarzan spoke soothingly to Peaches.

  “Tell me, Peaches, what you told Lonegan.”

  Peaches tried to act calm and answered. “He came to my house and asked me a few questions just like he came to everyone’s house in Queens. He asked me if I knew where Red was hidin’. I didn’t. I didn’t cuz I don’t know anything. What makes you think I told him somethin’?”

  “Come on, Peaches,” Tarzan said in a sing songy tone. “Let’s not make this any more difficult than it has to be. I know you talked to him. What I want to know is what you told him.”

  “I didn’t tell him anything, I swear,” Peaches said desperately. “What could I tell him? I don’t know anything. Come on, Tarzan. Lonegan came to my house just like he went to every other house in Queens.”

  “Peaches, Peaches . . . why are you makin’ this so hard on yourself? You don’t want me to hurt you now, do you? Now . . . I’m askin’ you one last time. What did you tell the good Captain?”

  “Nothin’. I didn’t tell him anything. I swear!”

  Tarzan nodded toward his men. Shooter and Piss Clams took position. Each grabbed one arm and began to walk a pleading Peaches down a short flight of steps into a cellar. Against the right wall, there was a small desk and in the middle of the room was a tarp, spread out onto the floor, with a chair placed sitting in the center of it. The two men wasted no time strapping Peaches to the chair. Tarzan sat behind the desk and said nothing. Trenchie, his hulky frame blocking the light, stepped in front of the prisoner and stood there with a baseball bat dangling by his side. Trenchie took the bat, lifted it to his shoulder, and waited for Peaches to look into his eyes. When he did, without saying a word, Trenchie slammed the bat downward, shattering Peaches’ right knee cap, the force of the blow almost severing his knee from his leg.

  He looked at Peaches and asked unemotionally, “What did you tell Lonegan?”

  Peaches screamed in pain and began to babble incoherently.

  “What did you tell Lonegan?”

  Peaches tried to speak but couldn’t. Trenchie wasted no time. He picked up the bat, reared back like a baseball player at the mound, and slammed it into Peaches’ left knee. Just as he was about to swing again, this time aiming for the left collar bone, Peaches yelled, “Enough!”

  Trenchie held his position.

  “That’s enough. I’ll tell you,” he yelled again. “I’ll tell you what I told him,” Peaches managed to say, gasping between each word.

  Trenchie put down the bat and stepped back into the shadows. Tarzan got up from behind the desk and approached.

  “What did you tell him?” he asked sternly.

  “I didn’t know much, but I wanted the reward,” Peaches began. “Lonegan wanted to know where Red was hidin’, but I didn’t know. So I asked him if he was interested in one of Red’s captains like you or Trenchie.”

  Tarzan just nodded.

  “Go on. What happened then?”

  “I told him one of the guys was meetin’ Hoffa in Red’s place. He wanted to know who it was and I said I wanted the reward before I told him anything. He told me he’d give me five grand if the information panned out. I turned it down, tellin’ him I wanted ten grand. He said he’d give it to me if I gave him somethin’ important. So I told him that Trenchie was the one meetin’ with Hoffa. He wanted to know when and where the meetin’ was takin’ place, but I couldn’t tell him because I didn’t know. I just told him to have someone follow Trenchie because I knew he’d be leavin’ soon.”

  “Did he give you the money?”

  “No, he said I’d get it when he caught you doin’ somethin’ illegal which was his way of tellin’ me I won’t get it.”

  Tarzan patted him on the shoulder.

  “That wasn’t so hard now was it? You could have spared yourself a lot of pain if you’d just told us what you said to him right at the beginning, but you had to go and make it hard on yourself.”

  Tarzan backed away from Peaches and sat back down behind his desk. Trenchie’s big body stepped out again, slightly blocking the overhead light, practically covering the area in darkness. Peaches raised his head just enough to notice the glint of light reflecting off the barrel of the gun but in the darkness, he never saw the bullet. It was like a light being turned off. It tore through his skull shrouding him in further blackness.

  Chapter Seven

  Hoffa signed the contract and sent it overnight to Red’s lawyers as he promised. They looked it over carefully, checked the intent, made sure of its legality, and found it good to go. After receiving his lawyers’ blessings, Red signed at the X’s and handed the document to Trenchie.

  “You better get going Trenchie,” Red said. “I don’t want you around when the shit hits the fan. Take plenty of cash with you. Don’t use checks or credit cards and don’t fly. Drive, but stay off of I-95. You’re better off driving on 301. It’ll take longer but it’ll be easier to spot a tail and you’ll be harder to find if they try following you. Spend as much time as you need with Hoffa. He’ll show you where he intends to build The Starlight Club South, so make sure you take plenty of pictures. When you get back, I want to see them. If he plans on putting up a hotel or motel near the club, let him show you where the location is in relation to it and take pictures of that also. Once you and Hoffa finish your business, get out of dodge. Take U.S. 10 West to L.A. Take your time driving and stop often. I do not want any of Kennedy’s boys after you, understand? Take my Caddy. It’s got the armored sides and bulletproof glass. If anyone takes a shot at you while you’re in the car, they’re in for a surprise.”

  “What about you, Red?” Trenchie asked. “Where will you be staying – here or at the house behind this place?”

  “I’ll stay at the house, but if I get wind of anything, I’ll come here and hide in the safe room.”

  “Did Angelo finish it?” Trenchie asked.

  “Yeah, he did a great job. He put a rush on it and practically lived here while he b
uilt it. Finished it yesterday. Come on, I’ll give you a tour.”

  Red pushed a hidden button. A part of the wall, that couldn’t be seen from the front, opened and the two men walked inside. Trenchie was pleasantly surprised. Angelo had really seen to everything. It had a small kitchen sink, cabinets stuffed with boxed foods above it, and a refrigerator stocked with frozen dinners. A small bathroom was in the corner of the room complete with shower. It had everything Red needed. Granted, it was a far cry from the Taj Mahal, but for a safe room, it fit the bill. It was well hidden.

  Moose, with Trenchie as his passenger, entered Trenchie’s gated community. It was time for Trenchie to say goodbye to the woman he loved and explain his departure. Mary knew that business sometimes necessitated travel and, having been clued in by Trenchie, she was waiting for him with a neatly packed suitcase that included a suit, several shirts, a tie, and all the grooming essentials necessary to sufficiently fill a gentleman’s Dopp kit. Trenchie, meanwhile, said little about the trip, just explaining that it was one of those infrequent routine business obligations. Mary didn’t pry. She had learned long ago that some things were better left unasked and ultimately better unknown. Trenchie grabbed his suitcase, told Mary that he’d be back in a few minutes, and headed to the elevator, suitcase in tow. He rode down to the garage level where Moose was waiting by his car. The men then began to walk together, through the garage, glancing at vehicles along the way, looking for anything suspicious. They checked areas where an agent or a shooter could potentially hide, but found nothing. They would need to repeat this routine every day, several times a day, until Lonegan was off the street and safely out of their hair. The men walked to a car where Moose placed Trenchie’s luggage next to his inside the car’s large trunk.

  With the suitcases stowed in Red’s Cadillac, Moose left, reminding Trenchie that pick up time was at seven a.m. the next day. The following morning, Trenchie informed Mary that he wouldn’t be calling her at home for a while as it was too risky.

  “I’ve made arrangements with Jack’s Malt Shop, right there at a Hundred Eleventh Street near the El. You can go there to call me on his pay phone. I’ll call Jack from whatever hotel I’m stayin’ at and leave a phone number where I can be reached.”

  Mary smiled hearing this. She adored Trenchie and was relieved to know that she’d be able to talk to him frequently.

  “That was thoughtful of you, Trenchie. Now don’t you go and get yourself hurt. I want you to come back in one piece for our baby and me. Now, tell me you’ll take care of yourself and not let anything happen to you. Give me your word.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Mary,” Trenchie assured her. “This is a simple business trip. I have to take care of some business for Red. When we finish our business in Florida,” he continued, “I’ll drive to California to set up the movie studio for Red, so I’ll be gone for a little while. But we’ll talk every night and I’ll give you an update on what’s happenin’.”

  “All right,” Marry answered. “You make sure of that, hear me?”

  “You have a deal, beautiful. Stop by Jack’s in the evenin’ and he’ll have a phone number for you. Well, I guess Moose should be downstairs in the garage waitin’ for me.”

  He pulled Mary close to him, kissed her hard, and told her he loved her.

  “Gotta go. Lock the door behind me.” And he left.

  Moose drove slowly out of the underground garage. Once on the road, he kept checking his rear view mirror but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He entered the Long Island Expressway and just to make sure, exited the expressway several exits up, doubled back, and eventually arrived at the empty house behind the Gentleman’s Club. It was the long way there, but there was no room for chances.

  Moose parked the car a few houses up the street where they waited a few minutes. Seeing nothing suspicious, they left the car and walked the short distance to house. Moose took the spare key Red had given him and unlocked the door. They entered the house, closed the door behind them, and locked it. Red was waiting for them in the living room. Sitting on the leather recliner was Shooter. Trenchie nodded, acknowledging Shooter, and told Red, “I’m ready to leave.”

  Red nodded his head.

  “Good, but Shooter is going with you. Moose is staying with me.

  “Moose, get your luggage out of the trunk and put Shooter’s in.” Red turned to Trenchie. “You know the rules – pay cash at the hotel and when you check in, use an alias. No paper trails anywhere. Got that?”

  “Red, I know this already,” Trenchie said.

  “Hey,” Red added, “it can’t be said too much. Don’t let your guard down Trench, not for a second. Watch yourself.”

  Trenchie liked Shooter. He would be good company on the long drive ahead.

  “How much money did you bring?” Red asked.

  “I took twenty–five,” Trenchie answered. “It’s plenty. If I need more, I’ll call Mary and she’ll wire it to me, but I feel sure that twenty–five g’s will do it.”

  He patted the shirt that hid the money belt he was wearing to emphasize his point.

  Chapter Eight

  Captain James Lonegan was under tremendous pressure by the Attorney General of the United States, Robert Kennedy, to bring in Red Fortunato. Most of the other New York crime family bosses were either under indictment or in jail, as was the case with Vito Genovese now doing time in the Atlantic Federal Penitentiary for heroin trafficking. Bobby had his sights on Fortunato, the head of the largest crime family in Queens. With Big Red, he could further boast of his successes. This would be the beginning of the Kennedy legacy; the one that the father of both the President of the United States and the U.S. Attorney General had lobbied so hard to secure. It was all planned – the vision of Joseph P. Kennedy – John as President, with Bobby, after proving himself with his headline making, no–nonsense crime crackdowns, following him. Rounding it out would be Teddy. All in the family. Yes, the makings of Camelot.

  For Bobby Kennedy, using Lonegan and his men for domestic purposes was risky. This team hunted international terrorists, and they were good, but to do it on U.S. soil was chancy – one slip up and the powerful Republicans in Congress would make sure that Bobby’s Presidential dreams would be just that – dreams. In order to assure the covert nature of this assignment, the use of Lonegan and his crew had to be carefully manipulated, monitored – their activities kept well under the radar. The mystery of ‘who’ was taking down the crime lords could never be learned. Bobby’s mandate was not a word leaked to the press, no chatter outside the members assigned this mission. Bobby explained, that upon Big Red’s capture, the local police would be given credit for the arrests – the names and activities of Lonegan and his men never revealed. He went on to say that should the press discover the names of the government unit and its men, that he’d personally disavow any knowledge of them. Lonegan and crew were on their own.

  All Lonegan needed to do was shadow Hoffa and wait for Trenchie to join him. Red knew that. Lonegan was well aware of a meeting, but the “where” was a mystery. Now it was simply a waiting game. Trenchie would need to arrive before there could be any action. For Lonegan, planting a listening device at their upcoming meeting was a priority. He would need something on tape, something clearly referencing illegal activities but he couldn’t do that until he knew the meeting location.

  Shooter drove south on 301. It was indeed much slower than I-95 but Trenchie and Shooter took their time, stopping often as an excuse to check to see if they were being followed. It would most likely play out as Red said it would – Lonegan’s men would be waiting for them in Florida, but still, old habits die hard. They continued to monitor all other vehicles around them.

  Twenty–three hours later, the men touched down in Hollywood, Florida and checked into their Diplomat Hotel room. They spent the following day relaxing on Hollywood Beach, sipping tropical drinks, and soaking up rays, while Shooter ogled the bikini clad girls prancing around on the sand in front of them. What a co
ntradiction. They were stretched out on the white sandy beaches enjoying life as they waited for the country’s most powerful teamster to call. For dinner, the men stayed close by, never leaving the hotel. They did venture into the lounge, however, to see the legendary Sammy Davis Jr. Davis was a staple there – singing, dancing, and doing his impersonations of various famous entertainers. They enjoyed the show and the rum runners weren’t so bad either.

  Hoffa called on a Thursday morning, two days later. A car would pick them up in an hour. The driver would take Trenchie and Shooter to the site of the proposed Starlight Club South where Hoffa would be waiting. This was the way things worked – always on guard, arrangements and details given on a moment’s notice. The car arrived on schedule. Hoffa’s business agent/bodyguard was the driver. He introduced himself as Tony Napoli. The drive took a little over a half hour.

  Shortly after arriving at the future hotel site, Trenchie handed Hoffa the signed contract. Hoffa carefully scanned each page, smiled, and placed it into his attaché.

  “Good,” he said. “Get your camera ready so you can take pictures for Red.”

  Hoffa guided the men around the perimeter of the site pointing out details of where this would go and where that would be placed as Shooter clicked away.

  “Come on over here,” Hoffa said.

  “You see that area to the right?”

  He pointed to a large area where orange flags, stapled to wooden sticks, were staked in the ground. They created a long pattern indicating where the club’s walls would be.

  “The hotel will be built adjacent to the club with a portico extending from the hotel to the club and restaurant,” he explained, “so customers can walk directly from the hotel straight into The Starlight Club for breakfast or dinner and be protected from the rain. And, of course, Red will have the best entertainers in the world performing here, just like he sometimes has at the one in New York, only we’ll have top entertainers performing here every night. This club will be the go to club for anyone visiting Florida. We’ll have the Rat Pack, Vic Damone, Judy Garland, Jerry Vale – all of the top entertainers performing right here. Now, if only that meddling Kennedy boy would lay off me long enough to see this become reality.”