by Joe Corso
“I found a little something. Big Red might be in the old club. Let’s go,” John called out to him.
Hank got out of his car and joined him. John filled in his partner all the way to the pay phone where they stopped and called Lonegan. Lonegan was excited to hear this news. Immediately, he called his men in Florida to tell them that he was leaving Washington to travel to New York.
“Stay there,” he ordered them, “and keep monitoring. I want daily reports.”
The flight from the nation’s capital to the nation’s financial hub was just a little over an hour. There was a car waiting for Lonegan. It whisked him away to the borough of Queens.
Lonegan was in a hurry to get into the building. He could break down the door with a battering ram, but that would draw attention to a man that didn’t exist. He decided instead to go through the house behind the club. He had Hank open the door the same way he had before by just prying it open. Once inside, he and his men gave the place a cursory search, but came up empty. Finding nothing, they headed out the back door with Hank guiding the way to the gate hidden in the ivy, vine covered wall. The team of men walked quietly to the building’s back door carrying their specialized lock picking tools that they had brought along this time. They easily opened the back door of the club and quietly entered.
The club appeared empty. Lonegan ordered two of his men to search the second floor and sent two others into the basement while he and Hank checked out the entry level, ground floor.
Moments later, the men started making their way back to the ground floor, rejoining their boss.
“Find anything?” Lonegan asked.
“Nothing,” said one of the agents who had gone upstairs.
“Nothing here, either,” answered one who had just returned from the basement. “No one’s here.”
“Damn it!” yelled an angry Lonegan. “He must have found out that someone suspected he was hiding here and took off. Where would he go?”
Lonegan’s eyes darted about until he stopped, thinking for a moment.
“I’ll bet he’s back at The Starlight Club. That’s his home away from home. He probably thinks it’d be the last place we’d look. Let’s go. Everyone, let’s go.”
One by one, they filed out, making their way back to their cars.
Red was a keen observer. His life’s profession mandated it. He had spotted John turning the handle of the backdoor to the Corona Club. But now, he had a different problem. In his haste to evade Lonegan, he had left behind the most important means to that end – his passport. It was still in his safe. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He had taken everything else of significance and yet had left that behind. This would necessitate a return to the club. There was no way around it.
Red hopped into the car he had parked down the street and drove over to The Starlight Club. He entered through the back door and quickly headed toward his office, calling out for Moose as he walked.
“What are you doing here, boss?”
“Had to get my passport. Forgot the damned thing. Stupid of me. I want you to close The Starlight Club and get out of here. They could be here any moment and I don’t want them to find you here, understand?”
“I’ve got two customers sitting at the bar,” Moose said, “and anyway, I’m not leaving without ya, so forgetta bout it . . . ”
At that precise moment, there was a thunderous crash through the front window, followed quickly by something else slamming and flying through the side window. It landed in the middle of the room.
“Bombs! Get down!” Red yelled as he tackled Moose to the floor.
The men took a couple of seconds to scan the room, their eyes fixed on the two contraptions lying motionless before them, trying to ascertain if the carnage was over or just beginning. They began to crawl quickly, aiming for the back door, but after only about a third of the way there, the first of the bombs exploded, destroying the front bar and blasting the two customers occupying it. And just as quickly, a second blast followed, taking out the main part of the ballroom. It was loud, the place was shaking, and all hell seemed to be breaking loose.
From there, it was nonstop, with mini torpedoes being launched through the windows, one after another, each firing off in succession. Bombs were going off everywhere. It seemed an eternity, reaching the door, and when they did, they were met by a man in civilian clothes.
“Stop right where you are,” the man ordered as Moose grabbed Red and attempted to pull him back from the smoke filled doorway back to the room.
But he was too late. Lonegan’s man emptied his gun into Red, hitting him multiple times in the upper body.
“Noooo!!” Moose yelled as he lunged toward the shooter, slamming him into the wall.
Bam! Another explosion instantly rocked the building, causing the wall beside them to collapse, burying all three men in brick and debris. The agent, injured and dazed, managed to raise his head slightly. The last thing he saw was Red and his bloody clothes being dragged back into the club.
If there was any luck to be had, it was the way the wall had fallen. It had somehow crashed and folded into an inverted “V,” protecting, rather than crushing, Red, Moose, and the strange man.
Moose looked up. Dust was hanging in the air like mist. A few feet ahead, there was a stream of light peeking through a broken window. Moose grabbed Red’s neck and felt for a pulse. It was there, weak, but he was still alive … barely. He wasted no time. Summoning every ounce of adrenaline, he hoisted all two hundred ten pounds of Red over his shoulder, placed him into a fireman’s carry, and huffed and puffed through the back alleys to the parked car a couple of blocks up from the club, as frightened neighbors peered through curtained windows, watching him. Carefully, he positioned Red into the front seat of the car. Red was bleeding profusely and Moose had to think fast. The only place he could think to go and get there quickly was the Gentlemen’s Club and the hidden room. If he guessed correctly, the feds would never think that he’d return there. Regardless, he had no other choice. He needed to get Red somewhere close and somewhere safe.
Moose pulled up in front of the club and hesitated a moment as he checked his surroundings. There was no one in sight. Hurriedly, he rushed Red into the club through the narrow room that Red had told him about. He felt for the hidden trip mechanism and found it right where Red said it would be. The door clicked open and he carried Red inside where he gingerly laid his seemingly lifeless body onto the couch. Moose quickly set about ripping off the blood stained shirt and checking his wounds. There were five bullet holes in the upper right part of his body, forming a distinct pattern indicative of the way that the government agents were trained to shoot. The shots produced a grouping in the mass of Red’s upper body. Moose flipped Red over. Four exit holes were clearly visible in his back. That meant that one bullet was still lodged inside. He found some electrical tape and taped the wounds tightly to staunch the blood flow, hoping that it would suffice while he was gone.
Moose then bent over and whispered in Red’s ear, “I’m gonna get some help. Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”
Moose knew he couldn’t park his car near the club because Lonegan’s men would spot it. If they checked the car, they would see a river of blood. That could be good or that could be bad. On the one hand, they might think that Red had bled out and died, but on the other hand, it might indicate that Red had safely made it to a location where he could be treated. Moose needed to ditch the car, but first, he needed to get medical attention for Red. He knew just the person. He got into his car and drove to the corner of Roosevelt and a Hundred Eleventh Street. There, he parked in a small lot beside a fruit store and darted across the street, dodging cars, as he made his way to the pharmacy around the corner.
Back in those days, everyone in the neighborhood went to the pharmacist first, not a doctor or hospital. It was simply much less expensive. Ben was special. Once upon a time, he had been a doctor, but along the way had lost his medical license, the result of patching up one of the neighborh
ood “guys” who had been shot, without reporting it. Unable to practice medicine, he was fortunate enough to get a job as a pharmacist. But the guy he had treated for the gunshot was one of Red’s men, and Red made sure that Ben received a monthly “stipend”, matching what Ben would have earned as a doctor.
“Doc, you have to come with me. It’s an emergency,” Moose said.
He looked around. There were only a couple of customers lingering about. Ben was used to this. Everyone always had an emergency.
“Moose, I just can’t pick up and leave,” he said, but as he did, he noticed the seriousness in Moose’s face.
“What happened, Moose?”
Moose moved closer to him, out of earshot of the customers and whispered, “It’s Red. He’s been shot up bad. He’ll die if you don’t help him. You gotta come now.”
Ben looked down and saw Moose’s hand resting on the handle of the automatic in his belt. This was serious. He meant business.
“Give me a moment to get my bag and some supplies,” the doctor said as he headed to the back of the room.
Moose, meanwhile, leaned over, helped himself to the phone on the counter, and placed a call to the Zebra Club. Jake answered.
“Jake, it’s Moose. Red’s been shot bad. Tell Shooter to get my car right away. I left the keys in it. It’s parked in the lot next to the fruit store next to Jack’s on a Hundred Eleventh. Get it out of there fast and stash it somewhere. It’s got Red’s blood all over it.”
Just then, the curtain separating the back room from the counter opened and Ben appeared with a black doctor’s bag in one hand and a big brown shopping bag filled with supplies in the other.
Moose asked, “Where’s your car parked?”
“Around the corner. Why?”
“Cause mine’s full of blood and too many people know what my car looks like.”
The two men raced to Ben’s car. Moose was relieved to see it facing Flushing Meadows. The car was pointed in the right direction; there was no need to make a u–turn, saving them precious seconds. Moose spotted an empty parking space up from the club.
“Pull in here,” he said to Ben.
He was hoping that the car wouldn’t be noticed by anyone coming back to check the place. Once they were in the club, Moose stopped and faced Ben.
“I’m gonna show you something that no one but Red, Tarzan, Trenchie, and me know about. I like you Ben, but if I found out that you told anybody about what I’m gonna show you, I’m afraid I’d have to kill you.”
Ben had known Moose for years, and he knew he was serious. Ben nodded.
“No need to worry. You guys know me and you certainly know where I work. Not worth it. Your secret’s safe.”
“Good,” Moose said as he opened the secret entrance leading into the safe room.
Red was stretched out on the sofa, almost lifeless. A white pallor consumed his face. Ben knew instantly that he was near death, slipping away. Without wasting a moment, Ben knelt down beside him and hurriedly removed instruments and supplies from his doctor’s bag. He began checking his vital signs and examining his wounds.
“Boil some water quick,” he said to Moose. “He still has a bullet in him. It has to come out now before blood poisoning sets in.”
Red had ensured that the room was well equipped with the basics required for survival. That included canned goods, pitchers of water, and a sparse few pots and pans. Moose grabbed a jug of the emergency water and set it on the small cook top. Ben, meanwhile, kept about his work, carefully looking over Red’s chest and torso, talking to him all the while. Red was unresponsive.
“He’s lost a lot of blood and we have to get some back into him fast,” Ben said.
The doctor took out a unit of whole blood, connected it to some tubing, watched as the blood flowed toward the needle that he had expertly inserted into one of Red's veins.
Moose brought the pot of boiling water close and set it down next to Ben. Ben grabbed the instruments and placed all of them into the hot water for cleansing. Ben checked the first unit of blood to see that it was flowing properly into Red’s body.
“Hold down his hands,” he said to Moose. “I have to get this bullet out of him. As weak as he is, even though he’s unconscious, he’ll instinctively find the strength to fight the pain.”
The doctor inserted a probe into the wound, and after a few attempts, he felt the bullet. Red’s body arched in response. Next, Ben inserted forceps into the wound and once again, located the bullet. Red groaned and arched again. Moose leaned over him with all his strength.
“Hold on,” Ben said. “Here we go.”
Gingerly and precisely with the steadiness of a surgeon’s hands, he tightly grasped the bullet with the forceps and yanked it free from Red’s body. The force from Red’s body almost landed Moose on the floor. The reflexive strength that he felt from Red seemed almost supernatural. Ben cleaned and sterilized the wound using hot water and alcohol and began to close the sutures. By the time the last suture was in place, he was dripping in sweat.
“Someone has to stay with him for quite a while, watch him, make sure there’s no fever, tend to him until he gets his strength back,” Ben said.
“Doc, does that mean he’s gonna live?” Moose asked.
“It’ll be touch and go for a while. He’s lucky – the bullets didn’t hit any major organs or arteries. Stay with him through the night. If he makes it through the night, I’d say he has a much better chance. He should really be in a hospital. Here’s my card. Call me at home if you need me.”
The doc then handed him three bottles.
“If and when he wakes up, give him these. These are for pain. These are antibiotics and these are sleeping pills. Let’s just hope that he wakes up enough for us to worry about him sleeping. Except for the sleeping pills, see that he takes one each of the other pills three times a day until all the pills are gone. Give him a sleeping pill if he has trouble sleeping, which won’t be the case for the next few days.”
Ben showed Moose how to change the units of whole blood so that no air could get into the tubing.
“I left three additional units of blood in the refrigerator. Use them all. Make sure you replace each one the moment it’s depleted. It’s important he gets this blood into him.”
Moose just stood there, dazed, staring at the blood. All this was outside of anything he knew. Using guns was one thing, but cleaning up the mess left from them and tending to the sick was another.
“Doc,” Moose added, “there may be some men who’ll be asking some questions, maybe the ones who shot up Red. They may have seen us here, don’t know. Might be waiting for you outside. If so, all we can hope is that they don’t figure out this room. But if they have this place surrounded, they’re gonna know that two of us came in and only you left. They can’t know where Red is, where I am. No one can know.”
“Don’t worry about anything else,” Ben added. Just take care of Red. I’ll tell anyone who asks that you were pretty banged up and thought you might have been shot. You called me to examine you. Normally, I would have come over to The Starlight Club, but since there is no more Starlight Club, I suggested we come here. I left you here and you said you were going somewhere else for a while until everything blew over. Where? I have no idea. When I left, you were here.”
Moose smiled. “I like the way you think Doc. Yeah, that’s good. But what if they found out that you treated me without telling the authorities about it?”
Ben smiled. “What are they gonna do . . . take away my license?”
Moose slapped Ben on the back. “Take your license away. That’s a good one.”
Moose opened the door just enough to peer out. With no lights on to give them away, he gave the all clear and gently nudged Ben out the door. He quickly locked it and rushed back into the safe room. Once inside, he filled a pail with water, grabbed a rag and some soap, and walked to the front door. He opened it, scanned the outside of it, and checked the grass, looking for any signs of blood.
Nothing caught his eye. Back inside, he locked the door again, flipped on the lights for a few seconds, and examined the inside floor for any blood that may have dripped while carrying Red into the hideaway. About half way to the safe room, he spotted a few red droplets. Odd, he thought, about how much blood Red had lost and how little evidence there was here of that. He shut the lights off, hoping no one had noticed, and used his flashlight to illuminate the area of the floor where he saw the blood splatter and perched on his knees. Using the soapy water, he scrubbed until there were no traces of blood anywhere and emptied the dirty water into the sink. While there, he scoured the sink until it was sparkling clean. Moose hated a dirty sink.
Chapter Ten
“How’s Dugan doing?” Lonegan asked as he crossed the room over to the agent’s bed.
“Pretty good. Considering a wall fell on him, not too badly,” the doctor responded. “Two cracked ribs, some bad bruises. We’ll tape him up and send him home. Give him about three weeks and he’ll be just fine.”
