The Starlight Club: The Starlight Club (Mystery Mob Series Book 1)

by Joe Corso

  Lana’s eyes were catatonic, wide open from fright, not believing how merciless Jimmy was. Just as Jimmy was about to slam the wrench down onto his other knee, the guy yelled, “Okay, I’ll tell you! It’s in a box at the post office. I have a key - it’s in my pocket.” Jimmy rolled the man to his side, searched his pockets and found nothing. He rolled him onto his other side where, lucky for the guy, he found a set of keys, a wallet and another key - obvious that this one belonged to a bank safe deposit box. He was hoping that this key meant that Lana was safe. Jimmy pocketed the key and rifled through the wallet, removing the man’s driver’s license. Robert Gray. Jimmy wrote the name and address on a slip of paper and put it in his pocket.

  “If I ever see you again, I’ll kill ya. If anyone asks you what happened, you’re gonna say you were mugged. If you say anything about this to anyone, I’ll find you. Do you understand what I’m tellin’ you?

  Robert Gray grimacing in pain managed to utter, “Yes, I understand.”

  Shorty shut off his camera, jumped down from his station, and headed toward Jimmy, already standing by Lana. Jimmy, in his suave, graceful style, took Lana by the hand as if nothing had ever happened. Rubbing his stomach and said, “Let’s get some lunch. I’m starved.”

  Lana, mystified, replayed this scene over and over in her mind as the three of them walked toward the studio cafeteria. She kept asking the question - who is this guy, this fearless man who out of obscurity had waltzed into the role of her leading man?

  At lunch, discussion was all about checking on Lana but Jimmy and Shorty knew better than to push it. Lana would talk if she felt like it. Lana kept apologizing for what had happened. Her lunch partners kept reassuring her that it was no big deal.

  After lunch, the three of them returned to the studio where they were met by the studio head of security. Once inside a private room, they found Bernstein, ragingly angry. He wanted answers. He wanted them now. How in the hell did a bloody, beaten up, semi-conscious man end up on the set of his next major movie with a broken knee? Jimmy asked for a private moment with Bernstein who reluctantly agreed. When Jimmy had finished recounting his version, he handed Bernstein the key to the deposit box and suggested that he have someone retrieve the film. Once again, Bernstein was impressed. Jimmy’s cool, calm, confident demeanor was attractive and this young star had most likely saved the studio from major embarrassment and a tremendous loss of revenue. Meanwhile, the injured man was taken to the studio clinic and treated. Bernstein hoped he would never talk. Jimmy . . . wasn’t the least bit concerned.

  Shorty, before returning to the set, took a moment to privately review the footage he had captured and was astounded at the clarity. He headed straight to Bernstein’s office. Once there, he insisted that the receptionist allow him in to see the studio mogul.

  “Can it wait, Shorty?” Bernstein asked over the intercom.

  Shorty shook his head to the receptionist and said, “I think you better see this boss.”

  Together, Shorty and Bernstein made their way to the screening room, in the adjacent building. It took some time to get the film set up and ready for show. All the while Bernstein was peppering Shorty with questions - What is it? What is so damn important? This better be good, Shorty! Approximately a half hour later, the projectionist clicked a switch and the footage flashed before them.

  Bernstein sat in stunned silence as he watched the action unfold. At the end of the film, there was silence. Bernstein was pensive and suddenly, “This is fantastic!” he proclaimed. “This is real live footage. It is perfect for our movie. Perfect!”

  Shorty cut in. “Exactly. I think it can be edited into the picture. We’d have to cut out certain words and a few parts of it. The script can be re-written to include this footage.”

  “Shorty, you are absolutely right. It’s a great idea.”

  Bernstein picked up the screening room phone and asked his editor to join him now. Seven minutes later, the editor was carefully watching the great fight scene as they re-played the scene two, three, four times. The editor, a bit perplexed, asked, “What do you want me to do? Is this something that I need to edit now? I do see some things that are a bit out of place but I don’t get it.”

  Bernstein smiled and said, “This, of course, was not part of the script, but let’s just say it became a happy or convenient accident. Can you do it? Can you work this scene into the picture, have it fit seamlessly and make it look as if it was shot as part of the film? Can you do it?”

  “I’m sure I can Mr. Bernstein but the scene has to be re-written to accommodate the footage. But yes, I believe I can edit it so that it’ll appear to everyone that this was part of the action.”

  “Good,” Bernstein said, thrilled at this new turn of events. “This picture is going to be even better than I originally thought,” he murmured to himself.

  Chapter Twenty

  “The explosion rocked this normally quiet neighborhood killing three men. Among them were mob leader and underworld boss Yip Carnevale and two of his associates. The police attribute the bombing to the ongoing war between the Gallo and the Profaci crime families.”

  Red was tired of reading the crap the papers spewed out and he angrily threw it into the garbage can beside his desk. He sighed as he leaned back in his plush executive chair. He hadn’t prepared himself mentally to become the boss of the family and he especially didn’t like the stress his new position required. He wished he had more time to adjust to the job. He certainly would have preferred to remain alone for another half hour to collect his thoughts, but knowing the necessity of what had to be done, he took a deep breath to clear his mind, and said, “It’s time Frankie.”

  Frankie walked to the door, opened it and motioned to the eight men who had waited patiently for their new Don. In unrehearsed cadence, they walked slowly into the room and took a seat. The transfer of power had taken place in an orderly fashion and all eight men had pledged themselves to Red. This morning’s meeting was business as usual, except it was Red who was conducting it, not Yip. Red was weary from lack of sleep. With tired eyes, he looked across his desk and studied each of the men. He then asked for their report. When the last man finished speaking, Red’s eyes spanned the room and once again, he looked into their eyes searching for any concerns.

  “Does anyone have anything to say?” he asked.

  One man stood and asked the question that everyone in the room wanted answered.

  “Do we know who killed Yip and the boys?”

  “I’ve heard Profaci had Yip killed.”

  “Do we know why?” the man asked.

  “My source told me they were killed because Yip allowed the Gallo’s to come into Queens. As all of you know, Yip was loyal to his friends and he always repaid a debt. When the Gallo’s asked for sanctuary for some of their men, Yip agreed because he was repaying a debt he owed them, but he never thought he would be killed because of it. He confided in me a short time after they first approached him that he intended to have a sit-down with the heads of the five families to explain why he made his decision, but . . . he was killed before he had a chance to talk to them.”

  Red knew the men sitting in this room wanted blood and he knew he had to retaliate or lose face and he couldn’t allow that to happen.

  “You men all know me. You know that I have no problem using force when it’s necessary. Well, I say it’s time to use force. I’ll act as soon as I know who was responsible for these murders and I promise all of you sittin’ in this room that those responsible will die. Have patience. Yip, Richie Pigeons and Jerry will be avenged. We weren’t involved in this war, we were neutral. We were bystanders. Yip made that crystal clear. Now he’s dead, killed by the Profaci’s. Make no mistake, we will retaliate, we will get involved and someone will pay for killin’ our men, but before we take action, we have to know who did it. I want everyone in this room to tell your men to keep their eyes and ears open. Tell your men that I’m offering a $10,000 reward to anyone who can tell me who was res
ponsible for this. I want the names of the guys who gave the order and the names of the guys who rigged the bomb. If you hear anything, anything at all, even if it’s just a rumor that may not seem important, let me know immediately. Is that clear?”

  Just what the men needed to hear. Perhaps the transfer of power had gone to the right man.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Joey Gallo was celebrating his forty-third birthday with sister Carmella, his newlywed wife Sina Essary, her daughter Lisa, and his bodyguard Peter "Pete the Greek" Diapoulas. Umberto’s Clam House was an institution nestled in Little Italy and Joey had been warned to stay away from Little Italy, but threats like this meant nothing to him. As he was just about to dig into a king sized platter of calamari, two gunmen burst in through the rear entrance opening fire with .32 and .38 caliber revolvers. Crazy Joe, hit five times, managed to overturn a butcher block dining table. In doing so, he drew fire away from his dining party and ran toward the exit. Diapoulas, caught by surprise, was shot once as he dove for cover, but was able to draw his pistol and fire at the getaway car.

  Gallo, badly wounded, stumbled into the street. He died in the emergency room before surgery could begin.

  Red set the newspaper aside. First Yip, now Joey. His thoughts ran right to a dark place - retaliation but the timing wasn’t right. As he glanced at the newspaper on his desk, his eyes locked onto a sentence there. He held the paper closer as the words rolled around in his mind as he read them.

  “Retiring head of New York’s Detective Bureau, Albert Seedman referred to Gallo as ‘that little guy with steel balls.’"

  Red agreed. Seedman’s assessment of Joey hit the nail on the head.

  In the weeks and months that followed, Red gradually settled into the business of running Yip’s empire. He made Trenchie his underboss and was managing his crime family like any business and as successful as it already was, Red began to take the business to new heights. If a crew wasn’t earning, Red appointed a new captain, or that crew was merged into a crew that was earning. He continued to stay away from the big business of drugs and warned all of his men to do the same. It was tempting - the fast bucks and the lucrative profits that a small amount of cocaine could produce. Some of Red’s men strayed and when they did, they were punished. It was important to make examples so others would not be tempted to do the same. It was a looming attraction - the drug industry- so Red had to find a way to compensate his men for avoiding it, which meant a greater share of the approved illicit businesses that were part of the family. Over time, the family’s earnings continued to multiply exponentially. His generosity ensured loyalty and loyalty meant profit.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mob Enforcer opened to rave reviews. Critics doled lavish praises on the studio’s new star, “James Roman - the young man with no previous acting experience who gave such a realistic performance. Especially convincing was the fight scene with a man who was threatening his girlfriend. It was impressive that an unknown could so easily translate an orchestrated fight scene into something so flawless. Fight scenes were tricky.”

  “He made a believer out of this critic with some truly convincing acting. Without giving away the plot, there was physical brutality that made me scream ouch several times - so real that I almost felt the other man’s pain. It was the most convincing piece of acting I’ve seen since Marlon Brando’s performance in On The Waterfront. This is definitely Academy award caliber and a feather in the studio’s cap.”

  Another critic wrote, “A new star has burst onto the horizon.”

  Another one, “Move over Cagney, Roman is here.”

  And yet another wrote, “What did it for me was Roman’s ability to turn from a decent young man into a vicious brute in one brilliant celluloid moment.”

  The reviews proved once again that Larry Bernstein was the King at what he does - gifted in choosing a script and selecting the perfect actor. It was exactly what the studio needed. No one was happier about this than Bernstein. He was pleased with himself and the stroke of genius he used by using that film clip that Shorty Davis had shot. No one suspected that it was filmed live.

  After Jimmy had given Bernstein the key he had retrieved from the battered man who was threatening his star actress, Bernstein had promptly sent his head of security to the locker. Bernstein destroyed the film to protect his studio and his star. His investments were safe.

  With so much momentum from Mob Enforcer, Bernstein assigned his award-winning writers to begin work on a sequel. The title would be Mob Hit Man. Bernstein was determined to strike while his star was still hot. You never could tell about these things. He remembered seeing the movie The Legend of The Lone Ranger. The young star of that movie, Klinton Spilsbury, was on the brink of superstardom, but shortly after the picture was released, he faded into obscurity. Bernstein didn’t think it would happen to James Roman, but you could never predict the public’s taste. Today a star, tomorrow a has-been. He needed to make this picture fast while his new star was still a hot property and he believed in the old axiom, “If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.” He decided to follow the same formula for the sequel as the one used in the first film. The budget would remain the same and if John Huston was free, he would direct it. Bernstein had his Scarface with Mob Enforcer. Now he wanted Scarface 2. Mob Enforcer was projected to rake in ten million and that didn’t include foreign rights, television, and product. A big budget never bothered him when it was justified. This sequel warranted it. He felt that lightning couldn’t help but strike twice, in the same place, and he was willing to throw the dice that it would.

  Jimmy reveled in his newfound celebrity, but really couldn’t believe this was happening to him. He still just didn’t give a shit, yet he was making a pile of dough and it was all legal. He didn’t have to use a gun or his fists. It was easy money. Jimmy, with his pleasing personality, made the talk show circuit, signed autographs and continued to rake in the money.

  One month after the movie’s release, Larry Bernstein called Jimmy into his office for an early Monday morning meeting. Bernstein presented a new contract for the soon-to-be-shot Mob Hit Man. Jimmy, being the con man he was, asked Bernstein about his fee. Bernstein, agitated by the question sternly replied, “You signed a contract for four pictures at $950.00 a week and that’s what you’re going to be paid.”

  “Look, Larry,” Jimmy said, “ I don’t want to seem ungrateful but I did save your star from falling from grace, and I saved you a ton of money in legal fees. I think a quid pro quo is needed here. Pay me $1200.00 a week for the next three pictures and we have a deal.”

  “We have a deal now, James. You signed a contract and you’ll live up to that agreement. I don’t think you want me to call Yip and tell him that you reneged on a contract. That just isn’t looked upon fondly.”

  Bernstein was a real pro when it came to negotiating a deal or haggling over money. Jimmy was in checkmate and he knew it. He thought for a moment. “Okay, you win Larry. I think I’m entitled to more money, but we’ll let the original deal stand.” He took his pen from his pocket and with his usual charm said, “Hand me the contract.”

  The new film was scheduled to start in a month. It would require two weeks of rehearsal and that left Jimmy with two weeks free.

  By the time Red called Jimmy with the news that Yip had been killed by a car bomb two days ago, Jimmy already knew because Shorty had heard it on the radio and told him about it, but he had to be careful. He had to watch how he talked, when he talked, and who he talked to. Yip’s death was big news all over the country and Jimmy knew that he needed to attend the funeral. It would be nice to see the guys again. Impulsively, he decided to grab a red eye flight east and surprise Red. Jimmy packed two suitcases, dressed in his daily uniform of suit and tie, and scraped his face smooth. Gosh, he hated shaving, but there were some things he had learned to do because of his stardom. He had to always dress for his legions of fans, each day pretending that it was another opening day in his actor’s life.
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  Jimmy called for a cab to the airport. The driver, recognizing his fare, kept staring in the rear view mirror until finally, “Hey James. I saw your picture. You was great in it.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.” The cab pulled up to the LAX terminal while the driver waited patiently until Jimmy’s luggage was taken by a redcap. Jimmy gave the driver a tip that he would never forget. The driver couldn’t get home fast enough to tell his wife whose hand he had shaken.

  When Jimmy entered the crowded terminal, all eyes were on him. People in line nudged their friends and family. He was instantly recognized everywhere he went. In LA, it was different. People stared, but they respected your space. They wanted to approach, but were content just to stare admiringly from a distance. The stewardess, while accepting boarding passes, noticed curious fans starting to crowd him. She could sense Jimmy’s uneasiness, yet he never once complained or showed annoyance. It was admirable, she thought, the ability to be pleasant and sociable to those who tried to get close to him, but how uncomfortable. She asked if James would please follow her, that she needed to show him something. She led him down the long jet-bridge leading to the aircraft.

  “I could only imagine how it felt in there for you,” she said. “I thought it best to take you to the aircraft first to get you away from the crowd.”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

  She led him to the plane, into the first class cabin and helped him get settled. Jimmy thanked her once again, giving her his boyish flirtatious smile - the one that oozed with charm but he knew where to draw the line, careful not to overdo it. The girl was his. He knew it. She felt it. The con was at work. Jimmy always had this way of wrangling his mark. When Jimmy was in his con man mode, he was at his best. He enjoyed his life and now that he had “arrived,” he intended to milk it, but secretly, he couldn’t wait to get back to The Starlight Club and Red and his pals, where he could be himself again. With them, he could be real. He didn’t have to put on this bullshit act for anyone. So he mused, it’s a tough life but somebody’s got to do it.