by Joe Corso
The kid finally summoned the words to speak. “Red, I don’t mean to sound greedy but I never had a break like what happened today. Does this happen every week?”
“Come back next Wednesday and place another bet because yes, this does happen every week.”
Red was a strange kind of criminal. He could shoot a guy in the head while eating a salami sandwich but couldn’t drive past a woman stranded in the rain with a flat tire, without stopping to help her. He was a contradiction like with the kid.
Red didn’t come across legit people very often. He had known Bobby for two years since he started delivering meat, six days a week, to The Starlight Club. Every stitch of clothing the kid owned was all part of the swag Red sold from the back room to his friends and a few wholesalers. The kid never thought that he was doing anything illegal. It was the mindset of the neighborhood. In his mind, he never robbed nobody of anything nor would he ever think of stealing anything that wasn’t his. But if you were selling something he needed, and he could afford it, he would buy it. He never felt guilty wearing it. Sometimes he’d walk in with a meat delivery and Frankie would be standing guard at the door and with a tilt of his head toward the back room would say, “Go in the back Bobby and get yourself a cashmere sweater. Five bucks.”
And so it was with suits, shirts, shoes, sweaters and other items too numerous to mention. Red, at times, made sure he had items the kid could re-sell and make a few extra bucks. Once he offered the kid a load of brassieres, three for a dollar, which the kid bought. The kid then resold them to his female customers, for a buck each, from behind the butcher store counter. He never felt guilty doing it. He didn’t rob the bras. He just sold them - warped logic, but in his mind it was all right because in his mind, he didn’t do nothin’ wrong.
The following week the kid placed another bet and the same thing happened. It was another happy payday for Bobby. Red’s horse won again and he couldn’t believe his luck. He had won almost three hundred twenty-five dollars this time. But when he placed his bet on the third week’s race, things didn’t go as planned. When Red returned to the club, he was in a foul mood. The kid asked, “Did something go wrong Red?”
“Yeah,” he said angrily. “Something happened. I got the combine’s money in and everybody else’s bets in, but not a dime of mine.”
“Then don’t pay me. You’ve been more than fair with me and I don’t want the money, not this time.”
“It don’t work that way kid. You place a bet with me, you get paid. That’s the way I operate and that’s the way it is. But from now on, it all stops. No more locals getting’ in on the action and that includes you. It’s gotten to be too big, too much and gettin’ everybody else’s bets in is takin’ my time. Sorry but that’s final.”
The kid had three great paydays and he learned something that day. Bobby took this as a sign and made a promise to himself to never bet on a horse race again. He worked hard for his money and he figured it was a sucker’s game and besides the race could be fixed. Outside of the meat delivery, there was one more business transaction between Red and the kid. One day Bobby asked to speak with Red.
“What is it Bobby?”
With his eyes down cast, Bobby replied reluctantly. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he finally answered. “I need to borrow some money, Red.”
Red’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “You, you wanna’ borrow money from me? Why? What happened? Are you in trouble?
“No, nothin’ like that. It’s my wife. We just had a baby but I don’t have enough money to get her and the baby out of the hospital. She don’t know about it and I don’t wanna worry her and I had no one else to turn to.” Red was touched.
“How much do you need?”
“Three hundred fifty dollars and I can pay you back in two weeks. I have a check comin’ in. I expected it by now but I can’t wait for it any longer. I need to pay the hospital and take my wife and my baby home.”
Red chose his words carefully because he knew Bobby wasn’t one of the other guys - a regular customer. He considered this kid a friend who needed a little help.
“Look, Bobby, don’t say you’ll pay me in two weeks because you don’t know if the check you’re expecting will be in by then. Understand this - I don’t care when you pay me. You can pay me next month or you can pay me next year, but whatever date you say you’re going to pay me, then I have ta get paid that day. Do you understand what I’m tellin’ you?”
Bobby knew exactly what he meant - take all the time in the world, but the veiled threat was, “Don’t make me look bad by not paying me on the day you say you are because I don’t want to be put into the position of havin’ to hurt you.” If Red wasn’t paid on time, he would have no choice but to lean on Bobby.
* * * * * * * * * *
Trenchie picked up his suitcase and walked slowly past the long bar and through the door. He stopped before knocking and looked around. He couldn’t help noticing the large room to his right that was cordoned off. The size of it surprised him. It looked like it could hold three hundred people and still wouldn’t be crowded. His gaze moved from the large room to the door in front of him. He knocked twice. When the door opened, he was surprised to see a cop standing there. The cop, looking back at him, was equally surprised and in a quick motion, he grabbed Trenchie by the collar, and pulled him toward him, wrapping his arms around the big guy, squeezing the life out of him.
The cop was a friend, a neighborhood guy. He, Big Red, and Trenchie had grown up together and remained close friends throughout the years. His name was Frankie. Frankie came in handy. Being a cop, he could carry his gun legally and besides that, he was trusted by all the guys. He had moonlighted as Red’s bodyguard ever since Red became a made man. It was like having a legal hit man on your payroll. Wherever Big Red went to collect, Frankie went too. On one particular trip, they went together to see a guy that owed Red some serious coin. The loan was up and Red didn’t have his money back. Frankie simply hung the debtor out of his fourteenth story office window upside down. The man was dangling there by his heels, knowing Frankie was perfectly capable of releasing him at any moment to kiss the concrete below. He pled for his life and realizing that he was getting nowhere, screamed for the men to take his car - it was brand new and fully paid. That sounded okay, so Frankie and Red pulled him back into the room, helped him straighten his jacket and tie, and politely asked for the registration and the keys . . . which the man gladly handed over. As they left, Red simply said, “Nothin’ personal - just business.”
* * * * * * * * * *
“Trenchie how the hell are you? Man it’s good to see you. When did you get out?”
“I got out this morning Frankie. I called Yip before I left the joint and he gave me this address, told me to take a cab and . . . here I am.”
A voice behind them barked. “Frankie, for Christ’s sake, will you let the big lug in? Trenchie, come on in and have a seat. Frankie, tell Moose to bring us some drinks. We need to toast the big guy’s homecoming and if memory serves me right, make Trenchie’s a Johnny Walker Black, right?”
“Yeah - on the rocks. Okay, shots are good. I could sure use a drink. It’s good to see you too, Red. It’s been a while.”
Red really missed the big guy and seeing him sitting there after so many years was making him sentimental. Trenchie was respected by most everyone in the organization. Ten years ago, he was a made man, up and coming. That all changed the day he took a murder rap for his boss. Part of getting into this line of work was always knowing that something like this could happen. It was the life Trenchie had chosen and the old cliché held true - if you can’t do the time, then don’t do the crime. The problem here was that he served the time but he didn’t commit the crime, yet he never let on and he never complained. He was from the old school. He did the ten, never ratting anybody out. Ten long years had passed but here he was. He had a lot of catching up to do.
Big Red got up and embraced Trenchie with a bear hug that seemed to la
st minutes. In a low voice he said, “We all missed you and before we get started with the drinks, I need to do somethin’. We have a little surprise for you.” Red walked over to his desk, opened the top drawer and pulled out a large envelope.
“Yip set this up for you. You’ve been the owner of a steakhouse for a while now. It seems that the owner couldn’t come up with the money he borrowed from Yip. It’s in the posh section of Forest Hills, very legit, and it’s a moneymaker, doing real well. Here’s your checkbook. There’s two hundred and fifty thou in your account and here’s a credit card and the keys. Everything’s in the envelope, including the alarm code. The business is self-contained. Your manager is running the show. He’s well taken care of and he’s trustworthy. He’s always known what’ll happen to him if he’s caught skimming so much as loose change off the floor, much less anything else that doesn’t belong to him. So take your time adjusting to civilian life and when you feel up to it, go visit the place and get acquainted with your staff.”
Red hesitated a moment and asked, “Have you been to Yip’s club yet?”
“No, this was my first stop. I wanted to get settled in before I went to see anybody.”
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. “Who is it?” Red asked.
“It’s Bobby. I just delivered your order and I have your invoice.”
“Come on in Bobby.” No one said a word when the kid entered. These men never said anything in front of civilians. Red held out his hand.
“Let’s see the invoice.” Red studied it to confirm that everything he ordered had been delivered. Satisfied by what he saw he signed it and gave the kid the original. He nodded, an affirmation of his approval. “Good Bobby. Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
With that, the kid turned and left. “Good kid,” Red said to no one in particular.
He turned his attention back to Trenchie. “There’s a room ready for you upstairs. You can stay as long as you want and don’t worry about payin’ for a thing. Moose’ll take your bag upstairs and when you’re up to it, I’ll have Vinnie take you to the Corona Gentleman’s Club.” They raised their glasses for the toast. “ Now let’s knock back these drinks and get you on your way. Yip’s looking forward to seeing you, so don’t let the boss wait too long, okay?” And with that, the men toasted Trenchie and in one gulp, inhaled shots of scotch, as a sign of respect to the ‘big man.’ And for Trenchie, it was like liquid heaven. The old times were back and he had things to do.
“Red, since Moose is taking care of my luggage, how about Vinnie taking me to the club now while it’s still early?” Trenchie asked.
“That works for me.” Red turned to Frankie. “Have Moose take Trenchie’s bag to his room and tell Vinnie he’s gonna be Trenchie’s chauffeur for the day. The first stop is Yip’s club and tell him to stay with him until he’s ready to leave. I’ll catch you later, Trench. It’s good havin’ you back. If you wanna go anywhere else, just tell Vinnie and he’ll take you wherever. We’ll talk later. There’s been a lot of changes since you’ve been gone. We’ll sit down when you get back and I’ll bring you up to date on everything. We’re having a Latino wedding tonight so I’m not going anywhere. We’ll talk later.”
Chapter Two
The Corona Gentleman’s Club was a social club, complete with a charter, which meant that you couldn’t sell liquor, but you could drink it if you brought it in with you. Yip held court at the club and that was where his crew met when the boss called for a meet.
The front door opened. Trenchie’s large shadowy form, silhouetted against the bright daylight, filled the doorway. He hesitated a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the drab interior of the club. Ever since prison, his eyes needed more time it seemed to adapt to the extreme change in light. Trenchie had always thought the Corona Gentleman’s Club was depressing and now as he looked around, he was convinced of it. It wasn’t surprising that Yip kept it devoid of anything decorative that would help brighten the place. It was just the way he was. It wasn’t that he was cheap. It was just that this was a sanctuary, a place to conduct business, nothing more, and to add flowers or pictures would suggest something else. Yip liked the place barren, no frills. It was just a structure that served the families’ businesses. It was spartan and the place was spotless. It looked the same now as it did ten years ago. Yip ran the place like an army barracks. He had a few of the younger guys on committee room detail. Their job was to come in early each morning, straighten the place, clean the tables, and put the bar in order. The only place off limits was Yip’s office. No one was allowed into his office when he wasn’t present.
After stepping through the door, there was a long room that gave the illusion of being narrow. Bare tables lined both walls. The walls led to a bar recessed into the rear left wall. The club was not allowed to sell liquor. While you could bring your own bottle, you were required to pay for the glass, a drinking glass, which just happened to equal the price of a drink. That was how the club got around the liquor law. Even the cops knew that. The drink of the daytime was usually Italian coffee - espresso. There was always a card game on the second floor with considerable money changing hands. The players paid for the setups and all profits from the games were placed in a house fund that went to the upkeep of the club. Yip assigned a man to monitor this and to collect the club’s percentage.
If someone wanted to get to the back room, he had to pass the card tables. That was the only way to gain access to the command center of Yip’s operation. Trenchie walked slowly past the tables. As he headed for the stairs, he stopped to shake a hand or two and say a few words to someone here or there. As he passed, there were scattered whispers from guys who knew him from the old days, all informing the newer ‘members’ of who Trenchie was. The fact that he was a made man, having done ten years, said it all. It let them all know that he had made his bones - something that commanded respect in these circles.
Trenchie knocked once on the door and a voice answered.
“Come on in.”
He opened the door. Yip smiled, stood, walked over and in his Italian, loving way, embraced him long and strong.
“It’s good to see you Trench. Have a seat.”
Trenchie settled into the large comfortable sofa opposite Yip’s desk and turned and looked at the other three men in room. He took in everything about them, without saying a word. Yip pointed to one of the men.
“Trenchie, this is Lieutenant Creighton of the New York City Police Department.”
Creighton stood up and extended his hand. Trenchie hesitated, giving him a slight nod of acknowledgement.
“Nice to meet you, Trenchie.”
“Likewise.”
“And Trenchie, say hello to two of my men. Jerry and Richie Pigeons.”
Trenchie shook Jerry’s hand and gave him an almost imperceptible but recognizable nod. He did the same with Richie Pigeons.
Creighton, sensing that he should give the men privacy, stood as if to leave but stopped, scribbled something onto a piece of paper, and handed it to Trenchie.
“This is my private phone number, Trenchie. Put it somewhere safe. If anything comes up, anything at all, and you can’t reach Yip, then call me at this number. I can always help you, after you first go through Yip.” Creighton gave him a look, waiting for a response while Yip, pleased with Creighton’s respect for protocol, looked on.
Trenchie glanced at Creighton as if hardly interested and answered, “Sure. I understand. Thanks.”
“I have to go. I’ll catch up with you guys later. Nice to meet you, Trenchie.” And with that, he turned and left the room.
Trenchie turned to Yip and asked. “Who the hell’s that guy?”
“He’s on my payroll and watches my ass - that’s who he is. He’s loyal as long as he gets his envelope every month, which I make sure is substantial. He handles the things I have no control over. I could use Doc, I guess, but I’d rather use this guy and keep the doc out of it. He’s my inside guy. Ya always have to have the insid
e guy. ”
“The only cop I trust is Frankie,” Trenchie made sure to comment.
“Don’t worry about Creighton. I have enough on him to put him away for a long, long time. He likes to live beyond his means and with me, he can enjoy that lifestyle. Remember this: he’s very useful, he’s a Lieutenant detective and handles a lot of shit for me and besides that, he’s corrupt as hell, which I love.”
“Did Red give you the envelope?” he asked.
“Yeah, he did. Thanks.”
“Thanks? It’s you I have to thank. There aren’t many guys who would do what you did and that’s a fact. Look around you. I got all these new guys who talk a good game, but I wonder if the chips were down, would they do what you did? I’d hope they would, but I don’t think so. That’s why I take the precautions I do because most of these guys haven’t proven themselves to me. Sure, they’ve been tested a bit but not to the extent that you have. Look, you just got out after doing ten long years. Take some time to relax, maybe take a vacation, a trip to Florida or Hawaii and when you feel up to it, go check out your restaurant and get used to making money again. Then come and see me. We’ll ease you back into the business and make sure that you make a lot of money. Now, do you have a place to stay?”
“Red fixed me up at his place. Told me to stay as long as I like. I’ll stay two or three weeks then I’ll take some of that money you put in the bank for me and buy a place.”
Yip paused a moment, “Trenchie, we have a lot to talk about. I hate to hit you with this right now, havin just got out and all, but these are troubled times. The Gallo brothers have broken away from the Profaci family. They’ve gone rogue, on their own now. They split their gang into several small groups and spread them out over the five boroughs - self-preservation - so they can’t all be taken out at the same time. I did time with two of Joey’s men - an old-timer name of Ernie Zundel, a capo of theirs who’s a legend in the rackets, and Tarzan, who’s camped at The Starlight Club and fills in part time as bartender. Hoffa himself handed Ernie a state charter for vending machines with the expectation of the State’s approval of slot machines and gambling but, unfortunately it didn’t happen. Think about it - a state charter, not town or county, but a state charter. They got themselves into some hot water when they started charging a quarter a vending machine. Christ, you’d think they’d know better than to charge a tax on every vending machine that came into the state. They got away with it for a while, but eventually it brought a lot of heat down on them. They were arrested by the feds and had the largest trial in history. Hoffa paid all the expenses. He even sent Bennett Williams to Mineola to defend them, but in the end, they lost. Both him and Tarzan did ten years. We met in prison. I think the deck was stacked against them but that’s how I met the old man.”
