by Joe Corso
The Gallo brothers arrived after everyone was seated and well into having dinner. They didn’t seem fazed that they were on everybody’s hit list. Instead, they acted like celebrities. The Daily News wrote stories about the Gallo’s every day. There was always something interesting and exciting going on with these boys and that made for good copy - good copy sold a lot of newspapers. It had been just a week prior when the boys, walking to their headquarters on President Street, spotted dense smoke. A house was ablaze. They rushed into the fire and rescued a lot of people from that smoke filled building, saving their lives. The Gallo gang heroics made front-page headlines across the country and Joey emerged as a darling of the media. Movie stars and producers fawned over the attractive blond, but quite dangerous, gangster. He became a part of the Hollywood elite - the exclusive inner circle. One friend was movie actor Jerry Orback who in the near future would film a comedy loosely based on Joey called The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight. The Gallo’s had a mystique that other gangsters lacked and although Joey was fast becoming a legend, the fact remained that he and his gang were dangerous mobsters. Joey, while good looking and charismatic, still had those dead eyes that make you uneasy. He feared nothing. Tarzan once offhandedly remarked that it would be great if dangerous Joey could be locked in a cage and let out only when he was needed.
The Gallo brothers followed Red to the corner table reserved for them. From their seats, they were in a good position to see anyone entering the restaurant. They placed themselves much the same as the old western gunfighters, with their backs against the wall, so nobody could sneak up on them. Their “men” were seated at tables on either side of them as needed for protection. The Gallo’s never had money problems if you listened to Joey and his boys. They were always laughing, drinking and having a great time. But Red kept his eye on Joseph "Joe Jelly" Gioielli, the bruiser who never smiled. His face had a look that screamed he wanted to hurt somebody. Jelly reminded Red of Thomas “Tommy Ryan” Eboli, a Genovese capo, who also had a hair trigger temper, and who also, always seemed mad at the world. The guy Red got along best with in this group was Genovese capo Anthony “Tony Bender” Stollo. He seemed to be a regular guy. He would chat with a waiter or discuss last night’s Yankee game with the guy next to him just out to buy a newspaper. Unlike Ryan, he never pushed his weight around. Tonight there wouldn’t be any trouble because of the Gallo’s. They had come to Red’s party to express their gratitude to him for all he does for them.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Right around ten in the morning, Ralph and Gibby found a parking space near the corner of Northern Boulevard. It had a good view of the pool hall. They waited in their car for hours. Rags entered the pool hall at two thirty in the afternoon and Ralph and Gibby waited for him to leave. They were hoping that he would leave sooner rather than later, but this wasn’t the first stakeout they had been assigned, so they were used to it. The heat in the car was on and a Sinatra tape serenaded them. Occasionally, one of them would leave the car to get coffee, a donut or some sustenance, while the other kept an eye out for their man Rags. Gibby never wasted time. He always returned quickly, but no matter - if Rags came out, Ralph knew to blow the horn to signal Gibby. But that never happened. It was six thirty when Rags finally exited. He was alone. That was good because if one of the other guys was with him, then both would be killed. Their job was simple - kill Rags when he walked out of the pool hall alone - easy and not messy. Ralph and Gibby were wearing dark top coats, collars pulled up, dark sunglasses and fedoras pulled low over their eyes, dressed identically. If anyone witnessed it, it would be difficult to identify the killers.
Deep in thought, and with his head hunched inside his coat in an attempt to keep his ears warm, Rags walked toward Northern Boulevard. He didn’t notice the man walking behind him until he got to the corner. Rags waited by the curb for the light to change and for traffic to pass. Just then a car with stolen plates pulled in front of him blocking his path. Suddenly, he felt a gun to his ribs. The gunman ordered him into the back seat of the car, warning him to make no sounds and create no scenes. Rags knew what was happening. His cocky cocaine high vanished in the blink of his eye and he started to panic.
“Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Wait! Can’t we talk this over?”
“There’s nothing to say. You said it all last week.”
“But I was high when I said those things. I didn’t mean any of it. I would never have talked like that if I was sober.”
The car made a u-turn onto Northern Boulevard and headed south toward the old empty Mets ballpark - Shea Stadium. It turned left into a deserted area behind the stadium and wound its way onto an abandoned street, originally built for the old world’s fair. They parked alongside an unused bridge that spanned a small lake. “Get out,” Ralph ordered while keeping his gun trained on Rags.
Rags’ eyes darted everywhere looking for a way out, hoping that Ralph might make a mistake. But Ralph didn’t make mistakes. He was a professional. He was in his element. This was his livelihood and he was good at taking care of his business.
“Get on your knees.”
“No please! Wait a minute! Listen, I was high when I mouthed off to Red. Don’t kill me. I have money - a lot of it. I’ll give it all to you. I’ll disappear, but just don’t do this.” Rags was now groveling, begging and crying - a pitiful sight, really. Only seconds stood between him and Ralph’s gun. Ralph leveled the gun to the back of his head. The colt 45 caliber bullet did its deed, taking with it a sizable portion of Rag’s brain, forming a pink mist, mixed with bone and grey matter that puffed in front of Rag’s head like a small mushroom, deflating when it met the chilly evening air. Ralph looked around for the expelled shell. The reflection of moonlight gleaming off the shiny brass casing made it easy to spot. He bent down in the grass a short distance from where he stood, picked up the shell, and in one smooth motion threw it into the lake. The two men then rolled Rag’s body a few feet to the edge of the lake and guided it into the dark cold waters. The current would soon carry his body at least a mile away. No one would know where the murder had taken place. Rain was predicted for tonight. It would cause the ground to absorb the blood and the bone fragments would wash away. There would be no evidence. The men watched silently, but attentively, as the current dragged the lifeless body slowly downstream. They waited until it was well out of sight then walked back to the car. Once inside, the driver flipped up the heat and switched on the radio. Tony Bennett was singing I’ve Got The World On A String.
Ralph asked, “Where to - Brooklyn or the Bronx?
Gibby replied. “Let’s go to Louie’s in the Bronx. I’m starved.”
“Yeah, me too.”
So off they went to Louie’s . . . far from Red’s grand opening.
Chapter Eight
Lt. Creighton was awakened by a call from his Captain. The order was for him to get down to the precinct ASAP for a meeting. The brass, high-ranking police department officials, would be there. Creighton, still half-asleep, groggily asked what it was about.
“A body was fished out of a lake by a fisherman. We identified him through his fingerprints as some small time hood.”
“Do we have a name?” Creighton asked yawning.
“Sam Garatello - nickname Rags.”
Creighton’s eyes widened when he heard the name Rags. Immediately he was jolted wide-awake and alert.
“Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be there.”
“Good. See you then.”
The meeting lasted for forty-five minutes. The moment it ended, Creighton rushed to the pay phone at the entrance to the men’s police locker room and called Yip to tell him the news of Garatello. Guarding his words, he then phoned Red, telling him that it was urgent that they meet somewhere, preferably at The Starlight Club. Red assured him that he was on his way.
On the other side of the long row of lockers in the police locker room, Lt. Randone
was checking his weapon and donning his bullet proof vest. While he couldn’t hear all of the conversation, he’d heard enough. He heard Creighton agree, with whoever he called, that Red should go to Florida for a week or two.
When the door closed behind him, Lt. Rocarro stepped out from behind his locker, took some change from his pocket and made a call to his buddy Randone.
* * * * * * * *
Trenchie was drinking his first cup of coffee of the morning, sitting at the corner table of the outer bar reading his papers and enjoying his quiet time. It was six thirty-five and old prison habits were hard to break. He woke at six am sharp, every day, and no matter how hard he tried, the old biorhythms just wouldn’t let him sleep. He was surprised when he heard someone banging annoyingly on the front door. This was his reading time. Trenchie walked over to the front bay window situated to the left of the door and pulled the shade aside to take a quick peek outside. It was Lieutenant Creighton. Both men walked backed to the solitude table.
“Want coffee?” Trenchie asked.
“Sounds good. A little cream and one sugar, please.”
Trenchie poured the coffee, stirred it, and handed the cup to him.
“Something important must be up for you to come here this early. What happened?”
“I called Red. He’s going to meet me here in a few minutes. Did you hear what happened last night?”
“No. What happened?”
“A guy called Rags was murdered.”
“Okay, so what’s that got to do with Red or with me?”
“His body was found this morning by a fisherman and Red was one of the last people to talk to him.”
“What time did it happen?”
“The coroner estimates time of death as somewhere between six thirty and eight o’clock last night.”
“So what? Red was here hosting his club’s grand re-opening. A hundred people can attest to that.”
Just then Red walked in.
“Okay, what’s going on? Why the meet?”
“Red, I’m glad you’re here. You have to get outta’ town for a week or two until the heat from last night blows over. I know you have an alibi, but the department’s gonna bring you in for questioning.”
Red played dumb. “Why? What happened last night?”
“Some guy named Rags was murdered.”
“So why do I have to get out of town? I had nothin’ to do with it. So what the department comes after me. I have nothin’ to hide. Look, Creighton, I was at my club, trying to make lemonade out of lemons. I remodeled the place and was celebrating its new look.”
“That’s not the point. Slats murder’s bad enough but they’re gonna pin something else on you. This is not coming from the precinct - this is from the higher ups. They got word that some of the Gallo boys are hanging out here and they’re not happy about it, especially after hearing of this killing. The department wants them back at President Street. They know a gang war is raging and they’d rather it didn’t spread to Queens. They’d like to remain in Brooklyn and Manhattan if possible and prevent it from spreading to the other boroughs, but if a war does erupt, they’d rather it happen in another borough, preferably Brooklyn. They’ll put pressure on you until you have no choice but to tell the Gallo’s to leave. If you don’t do what they want, they’ll come down hard on you, Red. They know about your activities, but they have no proof of you doin’ anything illegal, so they won’t bother you, yet. You don’t deal in drugs, which they respect, but I’m gonna tell you this - if you don’t cooperate, they will hurt you. Look, this doesn’t have to be difficult. All I’m asking is that you lay low until I can straighten this mess out.”
“This bothers the hell out of me. Can I help it if some punk gets himself whacked? I have an airtight alibi. I’m innocent and I’m the one that has to leave town? This doesn’t make a bit of sense and I resent it.”
“Look, just do it - if not for me, do it for Yip.”
“You talked to Yip?”
“Yeah, this morning right after the meeting. We went over your options and he figures the best thing for you to do is to get outta town and lay low for a while and I agree with him. Don’t worry, I’ll have it straightened out in a week or two so take a vacation, go to Fort Lauderdale where there’s ten pretty girls to every guy. Hang around the beach, have some fun, get a little sun. Come back in a week or two with a nice tan and no problems.”
“I don’t like it one bit but if all of you think it’s best, then I guess I don’t have much of a choice. So, when do I leave? I have to talk to Yip first. ”
“Ten minutes ago would be nice.”
“Trenchie, do me a favor and look after the place while I’m gone. Frankie knows what collections need to be made and Tarzan can run the place, but I need someone to be in charge. Frankie will drop by with collection money from time to time. Take what he gives you and keep it in a safe place. Write the amounts and dates on a sheet of paper and I’ll enter ‘em in my ledger when I get back. Tell Frankie I’ll call him when I’m on the road to let him know that he’s to give you the money he collects.”
“Sure - don’t worry about anything. I’ll handle it. What about the Wednesday horse action? Who’s gonna handle it?”
“No one. Look, we all go through something like this in our line of work. I’ll make a few phone calls to my contacts and explain what’s happenin’ and let them know that I have to get outta of town for a couple of weeks. I’ll tell ‘em that I’m puttin’ off the action until I get back. They’ll understand. Well, I guess I better go pack and go see Yip. I need to hear it from him. I think I’ll drive. That way, I can take a weapon with me just in case you’re right that someone may wanna’ take me out. And Trench, I appreciate you helping me out.”
“I told Yip you guys were gonna need me.”
Red went to his safe. He counted out ten thousand dollars in one hundred dollar bills which he put into an envelope and placed in the inside pocket of his jacket. Next he took out a Beretta 951 with a suppressor and two extra clips, and slipped the gun into his belt. It fit snugly and was hidden by his jacket. Next, he went to the pay phone and made a call.
“I’m taking Jimmy The Hat with me. He didn’t appreciate being woken up so early. I told him we’re goin’ on a vacation and listen to this, he had the balls to ask me where we were goin’. So I said we’re takin’ a trip to pussy land. He told me if that’s where we’re going, what’s taking me so long, his bags are packed and he’s ready to leave right now.”
The three of them had a good laugh over that.
Chapter Nine
Jimmy the Hat was waiting outside his apartment in Corona Heights with his luggage and a suppressed fixed-barrel colt .22 pistol in a shoulder holster under his coat. He carried the assassins’ gun - the one Red told him to bring. With the 22LR, there were no cycling issues to worry about and, with a good suppressor, a 22LR could be ridiculously quiet, sounding-like-a-BB-gun-quiet. Red opened the trunk of the Caddy convertible and placed their luggage into the large well. With the luggage stored, they got comfortably seated. Before starting the car, Red pressed a button hidden under his dash. This triggered a solenoid that released a portion of the dashboard, designed to hold two guns. This was 007 shit. Big Red had the dashboard taken apart and customized by one of Yip’s men and it was a work of art. Looking at the dashboard, it was impossible to tell that it hid a stash of weapons. But there was more. He also had a secret compartment built into the trunk that held an AK47 assault rifle. It used a 7.2x39mm cartridge, but he wanted his handguns where he could get to them in a hurry, without having to leave the car. Another modification was to have the Caddy’s windows replaced with bulletproof glass, the sides of the car reinforced with armor plating. He had left the undercarriage unmodified. After all, he figured this wasn’t Korea and he didn’t expect to hit a landmine. All he wanted was an edge - a little protection if he was attacked and the modifications he had built into his car gave it to him. But there was a flaw, a weakness that the car had.
This was the very same Cadillac convertible that was given to him in lieu of money owed to him, and because it was a convertible, they couldn’t make the whole car bullet proof.
Jimmy the Hat got his name because of his love for hats especially the king of all head coverings - the Stetson. He was six feet one, late twentyish, movie star handsome, with dark, almost black hair and should have been in pictures. He had the blue eyes of a northern Italian which was unusual because both of his parents were from Sicily. Red had been meaning to talk to Yip about sending Jimmy to a contact of Yip’s in Hollywood, but he never got around to it and he never mentioned it to Jimmy. He had contacts of his own in Hollywood but he deferred to Yip because of the respect he had for him. It would be wrong to go over Yip’s head, but there was another reason he didn’t want Jimmy to leave - pure selfishness. He just didn’t want to lose Jimmy. Red liked the kid and depended on him. There wasn’t anything Jimmy wouldn’t do for him. Still, he thought, it would be nice to see Jimmy get away from this life. He wanted him to have that chance so he made up his mind that when they got back, he would call Yip and ask him for this favor.
