by Joe Corso
“We got company, guys.”
Tarzan looked out the window. He walked over to one of the tables, picked up one of the chairs, and pulled off the legs just as he did at The Starlight Club that famed night that he had trouble with the Latino gang.
“Keep this out of sight,” Tarzan said as he handed one wooden chair leg to each of four men.
He then reached in and pulled out two bats from behind the bar.
“You guys who don’t have anything else to use, have your guns ready.
The men took out their guns and checked them to make sure they were live.
Seconds later, a group of men, dressed as civilians, entered the Zebra Club. They wasted no time asserting their authority, first by holding up badges and next by walking around the club confidently, almost arrogantly as though there was a sense of entitlement. One man spoke.
“Where’s Trenchie? I need to see Trenchie.”
Trenchie stepped forward, flashed a half smile, and said, “I’m Trenchie and you are?”
“Lieutenant Haggarty,” the man responded as he held up his badge, still clasped in his hand.
The light from the club caught the gold of the badge at just the right angle, causing it to glisten and in an odd way, creating a more noble or important look about it.
“You’re under arrest,” the man continued. “You’ll have to come with us.”
He had barely finished his sentence when Tarzan headed for the door. Another man, standing off to the right, reacted quickly by stepping in front of him, using his body to block the door completely.
“You’re not going anywhere,” the man said firmly, with authority.
Tarzan just looked at him and smiled.
“I have no intention of going anywhere,” Tarzan answered. “I’m just locking the door to make sure you guys don’t go anywhere.”
Tarzan noticed that Haggarty’s face twitched a little as he said this. Perhaps he’d pulled a nerve or maybe this guy had a temper. That would be good – a temper would expedite this little tea party, Tarzan thought.
Trenchie held out his big hand.
“Let me see that badge closer,” he said.
Haggarty took it out again and showed it to Trenchie.
“This doesn’t look like a real badge to me. It says Federal Agent, but it doesn’t say which agency.” Trenchie looked around the room. “These guys are phonies.”
The boys, the club guys, then began to mill around the “agents,” slowly moving in until they had them encircled. The visitors went for their guns, each training his directly on Trenchie. It didn’t faze the boys. They just kept on moving in. Trenchie calmly reached over, took Haggarty’s gun from him, and lobbed it over to Piss Clams who put it in his pocket. He reared back and punched Haggarty hard on the side of his jaw with all his two hundred forty–five pound six foot five frame might. The force of it knocked him backwards into the circle of club men who stepped back, allowing him to slam unceremoniously onto the floor. The man’s peers, one by one, lowered their guns and did nothing to assist their fallen one.
“Get up,” Trenchie ordered.
As Haggarty struggled to his feet, Trenchie grabbed his jacket lapels and punched him again. This time it was the parting of the men as he was propelled backwards into the wall near the door where he fell hard and slumped to the floor. Trenchie walked toward another man. The pretenders, fearing that this little scenario was going to play out again, all went for their guns. It was just the cue that Trenchie wanted. The bats, the chair legs and the fists all came out until one by one, Lonegan’s team of men were struck down, battered and bruised, lying on the floor, whimpering like hurt puppies.
The visitors, even though they were this elite group of combat veterans were outnumbered by the neighborhood boys and outplayed by their street fighting skills. Combat and the streets are different.
Trenchie walked over to Haggarty, pulled him up by his shirt, and shoved him into a chair.
“Now talk to me. I want to know where your scumbag boss is. Is he in the truck?”
Haggarty shook his head.
“He stayed back,” he murmured.
“So why are you here? What’s the reason, the real reason?”
“He’s pissed off about his motor home being destroyed.”
“Oh, he’s pissed off about the motor home, is he? Well I’m pissed off that he killed my friend by pumpin’ five bullets into him at the same he was blowin’ up his business and killin’ two innocent civilians!”
Haggarty didn’t reply.
“When you see Lonegan, tell him that I’m comin’ for him and tell him that when I find him, I’m gonna kill him. Tell him that for me. You go back and tell him to make it easy on me, to come and get me himself. I’ll wreck him first and then every other man left standing. Tell him he won’t die quickly. He and everybody else’ll be flattened like pancakes, slow and painful like, compliments of my super duper auto compactor. Do you understand what I just said to you? Nod your head and tell me you understand what I said.”
Haggarty stared into Trenchie’s eyes. Somehow, he believed him.
“Now where does Lonegan live?”
Haggarty didn’t answer. Trenchie pulled out his gun out and pointed it at Haggarty’s foot.
“I’m gonna ask you one more time and if you don’t answer, I’m gonna shoot you in your right foot. If you don’t answer then, I’ll shoot the other foot, and we’ll just keep on going, working our way up to the knees. So let’s go. I have all night.”
Haggarty stared at him.
“Now where does Lonegan live?”
Haggarty looked around at his men then at Trenchie. With his head down, never making eye contact, he said in almost a whisper.
“He lives in Virginia, near the DC line.”
“What town does he live in?”
Haggarty shook his head.
“I don’t know. None of us visit him at his house. When we meet before an assignment, it’s usually in DC or at the airport. None of us knows where he lives and that’s the truth.”
Trenchie looked into his eyes trying to ascertain truth from deceit.
“My guess is you’re not real cops or agents or anything. You must be operating under the radar, rather off the radar, am I right?”
Haggarty nodded in the affirmative.
“So if that’s the case, then only a handful of people know about you. That’s why no one came after me when we killed your two buddies that were sent after me.”
Haggarty nodded again.
“Well,” Trenchie continued, “I don’t normally give anybody a second chance to try to kill me after they missed the first time, but I’m bending the rules a little this time. I seem to have the information that I need. You were following orders. Don’t let us see you again. Understand? You only get one get out of jail free card.”
Haggarty’s face changed. Trenchie helped him up from his chair.
But Joey Bones interrupted.
“Trenchie, I think we should kill ‘em all now and be done with it. Do you really want to look over your shoulder constantly worrying about this gang of guys comin’ after you again? I sure as hell don’t. They’re all hidin’ behind the power of that double crossin’ bastard Bobby Kennedy and his brother. That’s a whole lot more power than we got. We don’t want that pressure on us, do we? I say let’s kill ‘em all now and get it over with.”
Tarzan, quiet until now, looked at the faces of his men.
“How many of you guys feel the same way?”
Everybody in the room raised their hands. The agents knew their chances of getting out of there alive were getting slimmer by the second.
Trenchie spoke up again.
“Piss Clams, get their wallets and ID and give ‘em all to me.”
Piss Clams walked over to the first guy, thinking he’d be crazy to have any ID on him, but he did. And so did the rest of the government hired guys.
“You guys keep your guns on them while me and Tarzan have a little talk,�
�� Trenchie said.
Trenchie and Tarzan then walked to the back room.
Trenchie asked, “What are you thinking?”
Tarzan replied, “I’d like to kill ‘em, but it’s just not smart to do.”
The two men chatted a bit and went back and forth several times before coming to a conclusion. They returned to the middle of the room where everyone was waiting.
“Haggarty, get over here.”
Haggarty staggered over to Trenchie.
“Have a seat. My men wanna kill all of you because they don’t want you comin’ after them again and they have good reason to feel that way. You killed our boss Red. You bombed his building and didn’t give a damn about two innocent civilians minding their own business, having a beer for Chrissakes. I have your licenses, your ID’s and I guess these keys belong to your ride.”
He waved a handful of plastic in the air with his right hand and dangled the keys in his left.
“You see these men with their guns pointed at you? Don’t test me on this.”
Joey Bones insisted once again, “Why don’t we kill one or two of ‘em just to show ‘em that we’re not playin’ games, we mean business?”
Trenchie shook his head. He didn’t like being questioned by Joey and was getting annoyed by now. Trenchie motioned for Tarzan to come closer and whispered something as he handed him the keys. Tarzan left and made a phone call. Trenchie then turned his attention back to their visitors.
“Keep ‘em here until I get back. Don’t hurt ‘em, not a hair on their heads. Give ‘em something to eat and drink.”
Nicky and Shooter were outside waiting. Upon seeing Trenchie, they hopped into the fancy box truck parked across the street, the one that transported the club intruders, and started driving. Trenchie followed closely behind in his car. They arrived at their destination and Nicky in it on the field in the same spot next to where the now demolished motor home was originally parked. Trenchie parked about a hundred feet away. Nicky took his time wiring it. With Shooter’s help, he set the dynamite charges, the timer, and backed away. He and Shooter joined Trenchie in his car and the three men began driving away from the field. Once the car had safely cleared the area, Nicky pulled the lever. Trenchie smiled when he heard the explosion.
Shooter repeated his performance of a week before. Once again, he called the local media, telling them that the big, bad gas leak seemed to be contagious. First, The Starlight Club, next the RV, and now . . . this high tech truck. He knew the gas explosion story was running thin, but his calls were for that purpose – to make the gas leak stories all the more ridiculous.
Nicky and Shooter entered the club first. Trenchie was last. He entered and nodded to the boys and walked right over to Haggarty.
“Tell Lonegan that this isn’t over between us. Tell that son of a bitch that he’ll wish he never killed my friend. Trenchie grabbed Haggarty and pulled him close.
“You tell him what I said, you understand? I’m comin’ for him. I’m gonna get him – Kennedy, no fuckin’ Kennedy – he’s a dead man.”
“I’ll tell him,” Dugan responded. “I’ll make sure he knows.”
Trenchie released him from his grip.
Chapter Thirteen
The men walked the three blocks to the One Hundred Tenth Precinct where Lonegan was given an office to work out of by the request of the President. Captain James Lonegan listened with interest to every word his badly bruised Special Agent Chuck Haggarty was telling him. Haggarty had committed every detail of last night’s events to memory. He wanted everything to be clear in his mind. The recitation unfolded as naturally as a bedtime story, from the time they raided the Zebra Club to the moment they left. At the very end of it all, Haggarty dropped the bomb. Word for word, he told Lonegan what Trenchie said he was going to do to him.
“He’s going to do what?” Lonegan asked.
“He said he’s comin’ to kill you. He said you killed his friend Red and now he’s going to kill you.”
“And you believed him? You believe that he would actually attempt to kill me, a Federal Agent?”
“Yes sir, I do,” he said without hesitation.
The affirmation sent a bit of a chill up Lonegan’s spine, but he said nothing and instead maintained a stoic expression, showing no weakness to Haggarty. He held this countenance as he listened to Haggarty complete his report.
“We went into that place ready to kick ass, all full of ourselves, but from the time that fellow Tarzan locked the door behind us so we couldn’t get out, things went downhill. Those guys in that room were not the least bit intimidated by us and when we took out our guns, they already had theirs pointed at us, and there were a hell of a lot more of their guns than there were ours. Then they surrounded us and as they did, they kept their guns leveled on us. As they closed in on us, a few of them took chair legs and bats and began beating us with them. We couldn’t fire our guns because it would have been suicide with all the guns they had pointed at us. If we’d fired a single shot, we’d all be dead now. You see . . . you killed his friend . . . and he’s taken it personally and now he wants his revenge. I suggest you call the Attorney General and tell him that you killed Big Red Fortunato, the man he ordered you to bring in dead or alive, and then my advice to you is get to get the hell out of town now while you still can. It’s over. You did your job. You won.”
Lonegan processed the information for a few seconds, turned around and said, “Listen up, men. I want every man back here today at four p.m. sharp for a target briefing. Then later tonight, we’re raiding the Zebra Club. We got these vermin on the run and just because Big Red is dead doesn’t mean our job if finished. We’re raiding the Corona Gentleman’s Club first, then the Zebra Club when they’re at their busiest.
No one moved. One man raised his hand.
“Yes, what is it, Agent Thomas?”
“Sir, why raid the Corona Gentleman’s Club? There’s no one there. It’s been closed for a number of years now.”
“You don’t get it,” Lonegan shot back. “They want it to look as if it’s not being used, but it is. Believe me, they’re using it.”
“Excuse me, sir,” the man countered, “if you remember, we searched the place and we found no one there, so what makes you think someone will be there now?”
Lonegan was losing the confidence of his men. Not good. They were beginning to question his leadership. He knew that it was important to regain control before it got out of hand again.
“We’re going back to the Corona Gentleman’s Club, but we’re not going for the reasons you think. Let’s just say I want to eliminate it from my list. We’ll give it a thorough going over, and if we fail to find anything, we’ll cross it off our list and then we’ll go to the Zebra Club. I want to hit it and destroy it. Does that answer your question, Agent Thomas?”
“I don’t understand the logic of revisiting the Gentleman’s Club but yes, I guess it does.”
“Anyone else? No one? You’re dismissed.”
No one moved. It was as if they didn’t hear a word he said.
“I said you’re dismissed,” Lonegan repeated. “You can all leave now.”
The men remained rooted in their seats. Haggarty shook his head and raised his hand to be recognized.
“Sir, I think I’m speaking for all the men when I say we feel we did our job. We accomplished our mission which was the capture or killing of Big Red. He was our primary objective, not Trenchie, and now that Red Fortunato is dead, we’ve complied with your order and there’s nothing more for us to do here.”
Lonegan jumped up from his chair.
“Bullshit! Trenchie killed two of our men and we’re just gonna let him walk away and do nothing about it?”
“Sir, those two men were under orders to kill Trenchie – assassinate him might be a better term. He just defended himself. Any of us would have done the same thing in his position . . . including you.”
Lonegan was seething. His lips were pursed, his jaw was tight, and hi
s eyes were bulging.
“You work for me and you will follow my orders or you’ll face a military tribunal for insubordination and dereliction of duty. Now, we will all meet here at four p.m. . . . and then we’re raiding the Zebra Club.”
No one moved. No one left the room.
“What the hell is wrong with you men? Get moving. We have a job to do.”
“Sir,” Dugan said, “we were warned that if we came after them again, they would kill every one of us and they even hinted that our families aren’t safe.”
“And you believed him? Those guys don’t touch families. Are you kidding me?”
“They took our licenses and ID’s. They know where we live. The men in that club voted unanimously to kill us, but Trenchie refused. He told us that he never gave anyone a second chance to kill him when they failed the first time because that person(s) will always try to kill again. He said in our case he was making an exception because we were just following your orders, but before we left, he warned us one last time not to come back, said he’d keep his word and kill us all.”
Lonegan stood for a moment staring into the faces of his men, not believing what he was hearing. His men questioning an order? These disciplined, time-tested warriors were questioning him? He was losing control of his men. Not good. He took a deep breath.
“Okay. Let’s take a step back for a moment and look at the big picture. I understand how all of you feel. I know that you’ve all been under a lot of pressure lately, running on steam, working overtime, so let’s take the rest of the day off. Tomorrow night, we’ll conduct the raid on both clubs. Command headquarters will be back here at the precinct. We’ll be using unmarked cars on loan from the NYPD. Report here tomorrow afternoon at four.”
The room cleared out, except for Haggarty who lagged behind.
“Sir, I’d like a word with you.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“Sir, what I said to you before about this mission having been successfully completed . . . is true in my opinion. The men you are attempting to arrest have an underground network that extends across the country. I wouldn’t be surprised if the names and addresses of the men that participated in last night’s raid aren’t already in the hands of some pretty bad dudes. Take my advice sir and don’t go forth with tomorrow evening’s raid.”
