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

by Joe Corso

  Lonegan stopped his car and looked around, checking for anything suspicious. All was quiet. So far, so good. He parked his car on the outer perimeter of the warehouse complex and took the slip of paper with the address that Chief Andrews had given him and checked it against the numbers posted on the buildings. Red’s eyes never lost sight of him.

  “Shooter and Bones, before he gets suspicious, I want you two guys to step out the front door and walk over to the warehouse bay doors. Shooter – I want you to point to another warehouse as if you’re giving Bones here instructions, as if you’re telling him to get something and bring it back. Here, put on this cap and use this clipboard and a pad and act like you’re writing something on the pad. Keep one eye on the pad and the other eye on Lonegan, and if he doesn’t come over to ask about the address, call over to him and ask him if he needs any help. As soon as he gets close, put some cold steel to his ribs and bring him to me. Got that?”

  Lonegan immediately noticed them. The two men were carrying on an animated discussion. One of the men pointed to a building and the fellow nodded and said something back. The man with the cap wrote something on his pad and both men purposely looked up to acknowledge Lonegan looking at them.

  “Can I help you with something?” Shooter asked.

  “Yeah, I’m supposed to meet someone at this address, but it looks as if there’s no one here,” Lonegan replied.

  “Let’s see what address you have.”

  They took a few steps toward Lonegan as he started to walk over. Shooter put out his hand.

  “Let’s see.”

  Lonegan kept advancing. In seconds, Shooter had a gun pressed into his back and Joey Bones had his arm around him as if they were old friends and they walked toward the warehouse. Joey casually reached into Lonegan’s shoulder holster and retrieved his gun.

  The three men walked into Building 3 straight to the office where Trenchie was standing guard at the door. Red was nowhere in sight. Lonegan’s eyes widened when Trenchie stepped into the light.

  “How ya doin’ Lonnie boy?” Trenchie said in a mocking tone.

  “You,” was all Lonegan could managed to say at first. “You kidnap and threaten a Federal Agent and think you can get away with it? Do you have any idea how much trouble you men are in?”

  “Cut the shit. Who do you think you’re talking to?” Trenchie howled. “Do you see us worryin’ about what anybody is or is not gonna do? You killed my friend, Lonny, and a couple of other people, too, who were just out to have a good evenin’. And you blew up The Starlight Club. Now, what I wanna know is why. Why’d you do it?”

  “I was under the Attorney General’s orders.”

  “I see, and how is the Attorney General’s brother, the President, doing these days? Oh . . . that’s right, he was killed. And how’s Bobby doin’ now that he’s been relieved of his duties? He pulled you off the case before he left office, but you didn’t listen, did ya?”

  Trenchie was bluffing. He didn’t know for sure that Kennedy had pulled him off the case, but it made sense and the look on Lonegan’s face told him he was right.

  “I’m right so far, aren’t I? And you sent a couple of losers to hurt my friend, Moose, who wouldn’t harm a fly. Didn’t work out though, did it? Well I have another surprise for you.”

  At that moment, Red stepped out of the shadows, moved quietly toward Lonegan, and stopped a few feet behind him. Red was normally a pretty docile sort of guy, like Dr. Jekyll, but once in a rare while, something or someone would trigger the Mr. Hyde dark side in him. When that happened, what followed was usually severe.

  “Turn around, Lonegan,” someone behind him said.

  There must have been a fifth man in the room all the while, Lonegan thought, as he slowly turned toward the voice. As if by design, an overhead light in the warehouse shined directly above Red casting a shadow and lending a demonic look to his face – much akin to the look created by placing a flashlight under your chin. Lonegan recognized him immediately, and though the specially trained agent was taught to never be caught off guard, his face said it all.

  “You look terrible. Need anything to drink?” Red asked.

  There was no answer.

  Red wasted no time.

  “Shooter, get the good captain here some water. Lonnie boy, have a seat,” he said as he dragged a chair from the side wall and placed it into the center of the room.

  Lonegan sat down.

  “Whatta you want from me?”

  “Oh, nothing much,” Red said as he took out a folded sheet of paper from his inside jacket pocket and placed it onto the desk.

  Lonegan never even noticed the rubber gloves Red was wearing as he handed him the paper.

  “Sign this, on the bottom of the page.”

  The paper was folded so that only the signature line showed.

  “What am I signing?”

  “Your resignation from the department. I don’t want you runnin’ around hassling innocent people any more. I want you out of commission. Sign the paper.”

  At this point, what the note said didn’t matter. Lonegan picked up the pen with his right hand and signed the paper, a detail noted by the men. To Lonegan, this was easy – he could explain to Commander Arlington that he signed under duress. Red’s eyes then sparkled an eerie blue color. He checked the signature, nodded approvingly, folded it back up, and placed it back into his jacket pocket. Red smiled a sinister sort of smile.

  “Get up, Lonegan,” Red said.

  Lonegan complied and rose from the chair. Red walked to the side of the desk in the room and pointed.

  “I want you to come over here and sit in my chair.”

  Red’s men purposely stood on the right side of the desk, facing the chair. Lonegan sat down now, facing the men.

  “Look, you had your fun,” Lonegan protested. “You got your wish. I’m off the case. I won’t be bothering you again.”

  “I know you won’t,” Red said as he sidled up next to Lonegan, moving slightly behind him. In almost slow motion, Red raised Lonegan’s gun to his temple and pulled the trigger of the old 1911 forty–five caliber Colt automatic. The gun made a small entry wound, but did its damage as it exited, taking with it the entire left side of his head, spewing the wall with bone and brain matter. Red then meticulously wiped the gun clean and placed it into Lonegan’s right hand. He took out the paper with Lonegan’s signature and placed it onto the desk in front of him, careful to avoid the blood splatter on the desk. The note explained his depression with the changes that had affected his career since Attorney General Robert Kennedy had been fired.

  Moments later, an anonymous phone call was made from a pay phone to the local police, saying that it sounded as if a gunshot was heard coming from a warehouse. The man reporting it said nothing more and hung up the phone. Minutes later, the police found a dead body, the product of an obvious suicide as explained by the note left on the desk. An ID check indicated that the deceased was a Captain James Lonegan, Federal Agent. The on scene investigating detective called the number on the captain’s business card and reached Commander Arlington. Arlington rushed to the warehouse to find Lonegan lying face down on the desk, the gun still in his hand. The detective handed Arlington the suicide note. The Commander read it a few times, unable to understand why Lonegan had written that he was depressed over the Attorney General being fired. Odd, he thought, he never mentioned his thirty day suspension in the note. Arlington shook his head. Lonegan had listed a sequence of events and had put Kennedy being fired at the top. Arlington had no idea that Lonegan felt this way.

  Arlington asked the detective who owned the warehouse.

  “Well, I don’t think the owner matters so much at this point. It was rented for a month by James Lonegan the day before yesterday.”

  The day before yesterday Arlington pondered. In his mind, he replayed the scenario over and over, but it didn’t add up – Lonegan had planned his suicide before being placed on paid leave.

  Chapter Twenty–Seve
n

  Red called Tarzan at the Corona Gentleman’s Club.

  “When ya coming back?” Tarzan asked, a little anxious.

  “We’ll be leaving in a little while. Why, what’s up?” Red asked.

  “Benny Spinozza, Sunnyside Gardens matchmaker, called. Wanted to speak to you. Said he has an opening for your fighters on his upcoming fight card if you want it and I didn’t know what to tell him. It’s for Saturday night three weeks from now. Whatta you want me to tell him?”

  “Don’t tell him anything. I’ll be back tonight and I’ll give him a call at home after I talk to Gonzo and Henri.”

  “And what about the boys? What should I tell them?”

  “Tell Gonzo and Henri what Spinozza said and you can tell them for me that I said they better be in shape for this fight. I’ll call Swifty and ask him if he wants this fight, and if he does, I’ll let him know he has to get back as soon as possible to train at Stillman’s with Clancy. If Gill Clancy tells me he’s not in shape, then I won’t let him fight.”

  “He’s not gonna have enough time to train, boss. Maybe we should give him a pass on this fight and let the other two boys have their bouts without him on the card.”

  “You could be right about that,” Red answered, “but I’m leaving the decision up to Swifty, and then, I’ll have a talk with Clancy and see what he has to say. I’ll give Swifty a call as soon as I get back.”

  Many Hollywood celebrities disguised themselves when they went out in public, but that wasn’t Swifty’s style. Like Jimmy the Hat, he dressed to the nines, but unlike Jimmy, he didn’t care for the fan adulation, although he handled it graciously. With the one exception of meeting Trenchie and Moose at the airport with a shoreman’s cap covering his eyes, whenever Swifty traveled, he dressed as if he were attending the symphony or a premier. Tonight he was dressed like the movie star he was. The Prize Fighter, his first picture, had been a smash hit earning him an Academy Award nomination. His second picture, Sparring Partner, had just been released to great reviews. And with the release of Sparring Partner, Swifty had solidly secured himself as a Hollywood force with which to be reckoned, proving to his fans and critics alike that he wasn’t a one movie flash-in-the-pan. He had made it. He had earned it – the title of movie star.

  Bernstein had plans for Swifty. He dug out the script he had written for James Roman – a light comedy that he had filed away when his star died. Swifty would now play the part. Bernstein knew Swifty was about to leave for New York for an upcoming fight. He wouldn’t talk to him about the script now. He’d wait until he got back. Meanwhile, the studio head would have his writers tailor the script to Swifty’s personality.

  Swifty didn’t mind traveling now that he had Moose with him. He introduced Moose to everyone as his secretary and got such a kick out of watching the reactions. What a crock – big guy like that who stayed by his side. Moose had a confluence of interchanging duties assigned to him. And while he was indeed Swifty’s personal assistant, he was also his valet, his bodyguard, his chauffeur and his friend. He was the buffer between Swifty, the media, and his fans. No one got to Swifty without going through Moose.

  Swifty wanted to fight. This was who he was – a fighter. He wanted to get back in the ring doing what he did best – fighting, knocking out opponents. Swifty looked forward to this fight. What he didn’t know is that this fight could mean the Middleweight Title of the World, a belt he’d long set his sights on.

  Thanks to Bernstein and the gym that he installed for Swifty, training each day was no problem. At first, Bernstein had balked at the idea, but the more he thought about it, it was a win–win. Swifty’s musculature was sure to make the ladies swoon and his fighting was good PR for the studio and would especially be good for ticket sales, should Swifty ever win something major.

  Most actors had some way to pass the time between takes. George Sanders developed a knack of instantly falling asleep during breaks, others read books, and still others drank or indulged in drugs. Swifty used the time in between to train. This fight was a reprieve for him. He couldn’t wait to get off the set, pack his bags and head back home.

  Moose was sitting in Swifty’s director’s chair behind the camera when Swifty motioned for him to come over. Swifty uttered his last line and the director called it a wrap.

  “The fight’s in three weeks, Moose,” he said. “Go ahead and call the airlines and buy us two tickets on tonight’s flight to LaGuardia. Then pack the suitcases. That way, when I get back, we can get the hell out of here right away, head right to the airport, and be on our way home. Put three of my suits and four shirts in my suitcase and throw in a few matching ties. When I get home, I’ll pack the small stuff like my socks, underwear, and jewelry in my overnight bag.”

  Epilogue

  Present

  Lynn was waiting for her father to continue.

  “Go on, Dad, finish the story.”

  She looked at her watch.

  “Oh my God. Where did the time go? The kids will be home any minute. Dad, when I get back, you have to finish the story. I want to hear all of it.”

  “Lynn, you don’t understand. I told you just about everything. There’s not much more to tell.”

  “Stay here and relax,” she said, “while I get the kids. When I get back, I’ll make dinner. I have a lot of questions.”

  Bobby hit the power button on his remote and the large TV screen lit up and flashed to life. He switched channels until he found Fox News and sat back and listened to Charles Krauthammer explain in his usual common sense way why the President was wrong spending trillions of dollars that he had convinced the people he needed in order to stimulate the economy.

  A little while later Lynn walked down the five steps into the den carrying a tray with two cups of espresso, the coffee that her father loved so much.

  “Here you are,” Lynn said as she handed him a cup. “I put a little Sambuca in it.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  “Dad, you did it again.”

  “What did I do again, hon?”

  “You didn’t finish the story. Did Swifty win the championship? And what about the other two fighters, Henri and Gonzo? Did they win their championship titles too? You told me that Henri wanted the title badly and you said he was the first one to win it, but you never told me how he did it. And what about Starlight Studios? Did Red ever make pictures there? If he did, what pictures were they? Did I ever see one of them? And I know Red loved The Starlight Club, so did he ever rebuild it? And what happened to Red, Trenchie, Tarzan and Shooter and Joey Bones and even Piss Clams? Did Moose have a relationship with Sophia Feldstein? You never said what happened to any of them. Dad, you left me with so many unanswered questions. You have to tell me more.”

  “Oh, Lynn, my, my, I would need another week, right here in this incredibly delicious recliner, in order to answer your curiosities,” he laughed. “Good excuse to stay,” he said with a wink. “Stories for another time, my dear. Stories for another time.”