by Joe Corso
“Red, the guy is a great fighter. His style is like Henri’s. Don’t worry about the fight, I’ll be all right.”
“All right, then. I’ll see you the night of the fight.”
Charlie Brown Bag walked in and sat down at Red’s table and leaned closer to Red. “Is it safe to talk in here, boss?”
Red pinched his nose as if he was staving off a headache. He hesitated a moment, and then said, “Take a walk with me.” They left the Starlight Club and walked across the street to the mechanic’s shack. Red opened the door and walked in and then he continued walking out the rear door and into the small yard and sat down at the picnic table. “What’s wrong, Bags?”
“It’s the Snake. He never left town. Instead, he went to the feds and he’s ratting everyone out, especially you.”
Red ran his hand through his hair. “Christ, just what I need; another federal investigation. Who told you this?”
“Ralph did. As you know, he’s with the Genovese family and they have a contact in the DA’s office. The contact called him and told him that the Snake was singing like a canary. Ralph said the guy was talking about things he knew nothing about. I mean, come on, Red. The guy was a nothing in our thing and none of the guys would ever talk in front of him when he was around. So he has to be making all this shit up.”
Red nodded and then slammed his fist on the wooden picnic table in a momentary fit of anger. “Yeah, but those lousy feds won’t give a rats ass if he’s telling the truth or not. They’ll use what he gives them to get me and everyone else the Snake mentions.”
“What do you want us to do, boss?”
“Richie the Snake has to have an accident and the sooner the better. Do you know where the Snake is staying?”
“No. But Ralph said he’d call me as soon as he heard something.”
“We have to get the Snake before he disappears into the witness protection program and then we’ll never find him. Don’t do anything. I’m going to call Ralph myself and find out what he knows. Locating the Snake has to be our top priority and we have to concentrate all of our resources and find that rat bastard. You better get back to your office just in case Ralph calls you.”
As soon as Charlie Brown Bag walked out the door, Red used the mechanic’s phone and called Ralph. One of Genovese’s men picked up the phone and Red asked to speak with Ralph.
“He’s not here right now. Who’s calling?”
“It’s Big Red calling from Queens. Tell him it’s about a wedding I’m inviting him to and it’s important that he call me.” Ralph knew Red would never call him at Genovese’s headquarters on Thompson Street in Manhattan. He’d wait until he got home and then call him. Ralph knew right away that something was up when the boys told him that Big Red Fortunato called to invite him to a wedding. He left his crew at the first opportunity and headed to the Starlight Club.
“Red, I got a message that you called me and I knew something wasn’t right, so I shot right over here. I figured it was about that rat who dropped a dime on ya.”
“You hit the nail on the head. I need to know if you have any more information about the Snake.”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. My source told me that they’re holding him at a safe house in Staten Island.” He handed Red a slip of paper with the address on it. “Do you want me to take care of this for you, Red?”
“I haven’t even told you what he’s done yet.”
“No need to. If you want him, that’s a good enough reason for me. Look, Red, I called Charlie Brown Bag because I thought with what was going on with Richie, your phones might be bugged, and I figured it was safer just to call him. I knew that as soon as he hung up, he’d come over here and give you the lowdown on what’s happening.”
“I figured it was something like that. I appreciate it.” Red took the next half hour bringing Ralph up to date on his problem with the Snake. When Red finished explaining, Ralph’s face had a look of disgust on it.
“You know, Red, hearing what this guy did turns my stomach. There’s nothing I hate worse than a rat. This bum deserves to get whacked.”
“Yeah, I know, but it has to look like an accident. He dies and the case dies with him.”
“So how are you going to handle it?”
“Gimme the OK and I’ll take care of this little problem for you.”
“You did your part, Ralph. You did me a big favor by finding out where he is being held. But I’m giving the contract to Piss Clam and Shooter.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Five men sat around the picnic table in the small area outside the mechanic’s shop in the lot across the street from the Starlight Club. Trenchie, Tarzan, Shooter, Piss Clam, and Red were discussing the demise of Richie the Snake. Red began the conversation. “I wish Richie Fingers was here right now. I need him to write the Snake’s suicide note. This has to look like an accident. We know where the DA has him sequestered. Now we have to figure out a way of getting into the building without raising suspicions. Any ideas, guys?”
“Do we have any cops on the payroll in the DA’s office?” Trenchie asked.
Red shrugged. “No, but we have a guy in police headquarters who is on my payroll. I’ll give him a call and see what he has to say. Remember, this guy likes to get an envelope every month, but he’s just a guy who passes information to me and he can’t know what we’re planning. I don’t see him being of much help, but…you never know. I’ll give him a call later. Then I want to take a ride to Nassau County and find a payphone and call Richie Fingers. Do any one of you have anything with the Snake’s writing on it?” All the men shook their heads. No one had a sample of the Snake’s writing. “Wait here a minute. I’m gonna call Charlie Brown Bag. Maybe he has something we could use.” Red slipped into the mechanic’s shop and used his phone to call Bags. “Charlie, this is Red. Do you have any receipts or invoices that our friend, the one who used to work for you, might have given you before he left?”
Charlie smiled. He knew exactly what Red needed. “As a matter of fact, I do. Would you like me to bring it over to you?”
“Yeah, that’d be a big help. I’ll be at the place where we had our talk the last time we met. Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Charlie Bags dropped a few sheets of paper on the picnic table. These papers are the tallies for each day’s numbers. They’re written in a way where they won’t incriminate any of us if they happen to be picked up by the law.”
Red gathered the papers and scanned through them. One of the papers had a short note on the bottom of the page explaining that the balance due would be collected the following day. “Perfect!” Red exclaimed.
“I’m overnighting a copy of this page to Richie Fingers with a copy of the note I want him to write.” He handed the note to Bags and told him to stop by Jack’s Malt Shop and use his Xerox machine to make a copy and bring it back to him. “I’ll be across the street in my office; bring it to me there.”
Ten minutes later, Charlie handed Red the copy of the note. Red took the note and placed it in an airmail overnight envelope along with his instructions to Richie Fingers. The envelope would be in Richie’s hand tomorrow morning. Richie would write the note and airmail it back to Red and he’d have it the following day. Meanwhile, Red and his men continued to plan the best way to kill the Snake. During that afternoon, Red got a surprise visit from Ralph. Ralph handed Red a note with the address written on it. “The DA has moved him to the New Yorker Hotel on 34th Street and 8th Avenue. They got him holed up in a room on the 35th floor of the hotel.”
“Boy, wouldn’t it be nice if we could pull an Abe Reles on the Snake?” Tarzan uttered.
“Yeah, but we don’t have any cops on the payroll who could assist us with it,” added Trenchie.
Tarzan turned to Red. “Who do we have that could tell us who the cop is that’s guarding the Snake?”
Red replied, “That’s easy. I’ll find out through our contact in police hea
dquarters.”
Trenchie told Red, “You better not wait. You might as well find out now, Red. And when you get the name of the guy, find out where he lives, okay?”
Red shrugged. “I hope my contact is working today. Come on; let’s go across the street and I’ll call him.”
The men walked across to the mechanic’s shack and used his phone. The mechanic always left his shack when Red used the phone. He was smart enough to know that if the police picked him up and they questioned him, he could never tell them things he knew nothing about. The men listened to every word Red said. He picked up a pencil from the desk and scribbled something on a pad and then he hung up the phone. “Here’s the cop’s name and address. My contact told me that he’s a single guy who lives in Jackson Heights and he likes the ponies. He thinks he’s a handicapper and he bets big and he told me the guy is deep in debt. He owes the bookies a lot of dough., which makes it perfect for us,” Red said, smiling. “Because I own the bookmakers.” He turned to Tarzan. “Who our book in Jackson Heights?”
“That’d be Willie Kearns.”
“Do you have his number on you?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Give him a call and ask him how much money…what’s the cop’s name again?”
“Marty Grossman.”
“Ask him how much Grossman owes him.”
Tarzan picked up the phone and made the call and he hung up five minutes later. “He owes us fifteen thousand dollars.”
“Whew, that’s a hell of a lot of money to owe a bookmaker on a cop’s salary. Tarzan, I want you to handle this. Meet the cop outside his home when he comes home from work. Tell him you’re just a messenger who was paid a hundred bucks to give him some good news. Tell him that he has an opportunity to make a lot of money. If he bites and asks you what it’s all about, take him away from his house, somewhere private where you can talk to him. Then mention that the Snake’s brother wants to talk to him privately about his case and he’ll need about ten minutes alone with him. Let him know that his brother is rich and he’s willing to lay out twenty thousand cash up front if he could arrange it. You might even mention that his brother would be willing to pay the debt he owes his bookmaker and even give him five grand cash. Now remember, you’re just a messenger delivering a message. And you don’t know anything more than that. Dangle the bait and he’ll bite. Once you hook him, arrange a time for the visit.”
Piss Clam asked, “But won’t we be in hot water when the cop finds the Snake dead after his brother leaves?”
“He’ll be in too deep to say anything; besides, he’d be a part of it…No, he won’t talk. He’ll take his money and hope no one finds out about it. Besides, who is he gonna rat on? He won’t know any of us, and Tarzan only delivered a message from somebody he met in a bar who paid him a hundred bucks to deliver it, so Tarzan won’t know anything either. No, this will work…and we know that the cop is hard up enough to take the bait, and if I were a betting man, I’d bet he’ll take it.” Red pointed to Piss Clam, who was seated in one of the seats in Red’s office. Do you still have the cop’s uniform?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Good. Make sure it’s clean and pressed because you’re gonna wear it again for this job.” Red picked up his phone and called Frankie the Cop. Frankie was a neighborhood guy and a boyhood friend of Red’s. Frankie used to be Red’s bodyguard because he carried a gun legally when Red was Yip’s underboss. “Frankie, are you free now?”
The voice on the other end of the line answered, “Yes.”
“Good. I have something to talk to you about and I’d like you to come over to the Starlight Club now.” Red hung up the phone.
Piss Clam asked, “Is Frankie coming over, boss?”
“He’ll be here within a half hour. He just has to finish up a few things.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Frankie walked into Red’s office. “What’s up Red? Why the urgency?”
Red just had the place swept that morning, so he spoke openly but quietly. “Richie the Snake is being held by the DA in the New Yorker Hotel on 34th Street and we know the cop that’s guarding him. Tarzan is going to approach this cop, who just happens to be deep in debt to us. It seems he likes to play the ponies and, if he accepts our offer, I want you and Piss Clam to visit the Snake. You stand watch outside his room while Piss Clam takes care of the Snake.”
Frankie nodded. “What about the cop who’s guarding the room?”
“Part of the deal is he disappears for ten minutes and when he returns, the Snake will have committed suicide. Now what’s your schedule like, Frankie? If I can tie up all the loose ends, can you call in sick for a day?”
“I have personal days coming to me that I can take whenever I want, so it’s no problem getting a day off.”
“Good, that’s one problem I won’t have to worry about. I’m expecting a package tomorrow and I can’t do anything until I get it. I’d like to do this in the next day or two if possible because I don’t know how long the bulls will keep Richie in that room. Go on home now and I’ll call you to tell you when to put in for that personal day.”
When everyone left, Red went to his safe and removed his personal phone book from the safe along with five thousand dollars in cash. He sat down and searched for one special name: Ed Lauter, known throughout the underworld as The Grim Reaper. Yip had used Lauter once and so did Red when he poisoned Profaci with a special poison in a special ring Lauter had given him and then trained him how to use it. Red used Lauter one other time and that was when he gave the men who killed Marilyn a poison enema, which wouldn’t show up in an autopsy like they gave to her.
“Hi, Ed. This is Red. How are you doing?”
“Fine, Red, it’s good to hear from you.”
“Same here. We haven’t touched base in a while and I thought it would be nice to drop by and have a cup of coffee with an old friend. Would you be free any time today?” There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Tomorrow would be better for me.”
Red sighed and Lauter picked up on it. “Tomorrow is a little rough for me, Ed. My schedule is kind of full…but if that’s the only time you’re free, then it will have to do.” Red could hear papers shuffling, and then Lauter got back on the phone.
“Can you be here within the hour, Red? I have a little time before my next client and I would so much enjoy having that cup of coffee with you.”
“Sure. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“That’s even better,” Lauter said.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lauter guided Red into his living room. “This must be pretty important for you to have to see me today, Red.”
“Yeah, it is. I have a rat problem and it has to be handled immediately.”
Lauter leaned forward and asked Red, “Tell me exactly how you are going to handle this job. Don’t tell me names or places. I don’t want any information other than what I need to know. Now tell me what your plan is.”
Red told Lauter that he would have access to the mark. “The person guarding him thinks his brother will be visiting him. I need an untraceable spray to knock a guy out and then I need something that’ll put him to sleep forever. I need it to look like a suicide. Do you have what I need to make this happen?”
Lauter nodded. “Will you have a chance to pour the poison into a drink like you did with the other gentleman you serviced?”
“No. That won’t happen. I need to give it to him manually.”
“You are making my part easy. I’m going to give you something that you can leave in plain sight and it will look as if the mark committed suicide. Wait here a moment.” Lauter went through a door into another room and, a few minutes later, he was back. He placed two items on the coffee table. “This is a knockout spray. It’s an aerosol spray of my own design. This ingredient was supposed to be used in a pump spray, but I’m a perfectionist and from past experience, I found the pump spray to be chancy and erratic. If you don’t push the pump down just rig
ht, it could fail and that could be bad for your health.” Ed held up the canister with the knockout spray. “But this little canister will not disappoint you. Just remember to shake it before you enter the room, and as soon as you approach the target, lift the canister and press the spray button. The mark will collapse instantly and fall unconscious to the floor…unless of course you have someone there to catch him or you might be able to catch him yourself.” He handed a small bottle to Red. “Once the mark is unconscious, if possible, pour three drops of this liquid under his tongue and then leave the bottle on the table.”
Red narrowed his eyes. “What if I can’t get the drops under his tongue? What do I do then?’
“Don’t worry, the poison acts faster when it’s placed under the tongue, but as long as the drops are placed in his mouth, the result will be the same but just not as fast. The police will either believe that he had the bottle on him or that his brother brought it with him when he visited him.”
Red grinned. “I like it. Now what do I owe you?”
“One thousand dollars will cover everything.” Red reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills and he counted off ten of them and handed them to Ed. “Here you are, Ed. I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.”
Ed Lauter was a businessman. He lifted his hand and waved the bills he was holding. “In the end, Red, it’s all about business and I’m always looking to make a buck, and if it means adjusting my schedule to accommodate a customer, then I will do my best to make it happen.”
Red now had the items he needed to kill the Snake and make it look like he committed suicide. Lauter was right. Even the cop guarding him would think that he had committed suicide. Now all he had to do was to wait for Tarzan to tell him that the cop agreed to the deal. He was pretty sure he’d take the deal, but you never knew with a cop. However, this guy was deep in debt and a guy that desperate would think long and hard before turning down a way to dig himself out of the hole he was in. No, he’d take the deal, especially if he thought he was just doing the guy’s brother a favor by giving him a few minutes alone with him. But Red wondered as he second-guessed himself. Maybe the cop would question why the guy’s brother offered so much money to be alone with him for just ten minutes. Maybe he should have offered him less money? After all, twenty thousand was like two years’ salary. Then he shook those thoughts from his mind. No, I did what I felt was right, and now I have to wait for Tarzan to tell me if the cop accepted the offer.
