by Steve Shadow
THE SAVAGE LITTLE FLEA
A TALE WRESTLING, MOVIES, AND THE MOB
BY
STEVE SHADOW
ALSO BY STEVE SHADOW
SIN-EMA
ON THE GRIFT
LOU SILT: A TALE OF THE OLD WEST
STUMBLING THROUGH: A LIFE IN STORIES
WILTED STREETS: A NOVELLA AND STORIES
THE SAVAGE LITTLE FLEA
BY
STEVE SHADOW
A SHADOW PRESS BOOK
© Steve Shadow 2014
Cover by Vince Larue
(www.vincelarue.blogspot.fr)
Book designed by Ariel Amsden ([email protected])
Published by Shadow Press
All Rights Reserved
First Edition: September 2014
DEDICATION
To Balthazar Luna
La Pulguita Salvaje
Mi Amigo
PART ONE
CHICAGO
1
“Si, si, si, Jack, I tell you it will be good. You have to listen to Chuey. This is good idea. We will make mucho dinero. Oye, what you say?”
I got the feeling I was being hustled but who could resist chubby little Chuey? I smiled and shook my head. “Chuey, are you kidding? What the hell do you know about wrestling? I thought you and your family were strictly in the movie theater business. Now you want me to front wrestling matches?”
“Si, I no tell you before. I am campion in my country. Muy famoso, I fight many times. All the luchadores is mi amigos. We bring them to Chicago, make big fights, many Mexican people here they love the lucha libre.”
Well this was a surprise but maybe the little fella’ had something. Chuey and I had become good friends ever since I had hired him and his family to run my small neighborhood grind house. Chuey was the head of a family that included his wife and his two sisters and their husbands. Unlike the union ass wipes that could barely operate a carbon arc film projector, the Mexicans could run them, fix them and also knew heating, air conditioning and anything else that needed to be done. Plus by not being completely legal they worked cheap and the wives were wonderful cooks.
My theater, the Roxy, was a small operation. I had worked there as a teen-age usher and, years later, bought it when it came up for sale. I showed 7 different films a week at first but we were barely scraping by. This being Chicago in the early 70’s, I had to pay off everyone in sight just to stay open. Discovering the level of corruption that existed in the city was a mind-blowing experience for me and often left me wondering why I had bothered to get in this business in the first place. Having to bribe the fire inspector was almost the last straw. I had been looking around for another business or even for a legit side job when up popped Chuey with this wrestling scheme. Initially I put Chuey off because I did not take the idea all that seriously. That was until the day he showed up with a blonde, long haired beefy guy who followed Chuey into the theater.
“Jack,” said Chuey. “This is my old partner Danny. He fight with me in Mexico many times. He come when I call because I know you will help us.”
We were in the lobby of the theater on a cool spring morning. I was in the middle of changing the letters on the marquee. We were showing the latest Kurosawa film, Red Beard, in an attempt to try and find a different audience than the one that only came for the Abbott and Costello triple bill or monster movies. The old Hollywood Noir films from the 40’s, which I really wanted to show, drew very small crowds. I loved the smart dialogue and the black and white photography in those films but things change and no one wanted to see those films anymore. I had to change with the times or the place would be emptier than it already was.
I took a long look at Danny. He was heavily built but going to fat. His nose was bent at an odd angle and he looked like he had a lot of wear on him. He stood at a slant as if his internal gyroscope needed recalibration. He smiled, showing a huge gap in his mouth where teeth were missing. He nodded and stuck out his meaty paw.
“Pleased to meet ya’,” he said. “I’m Danny “Crusher” Carbona. Me and the little guy go back aways. I was scraping by in Milwaukee when he called and said we might have a match going. Me and the wife come down. Chuey told me all about you backing the matches, so here I am.”
Now I was mad. “Chuey, what the hell? I never said I was in on this deal. What are you doing? Don’t I have enough problems trying to keep this place afloat?”
Chuey gave me that sweet forlorn look of his. His round face broke into a smile and the sparkle on his two big front teeth made him look like an innocent child from an “Our Gang” comedy.
“Jack, I tell you it is good plan. We only need you for get license. You know I can’t and Danny, well, he has poco problemas. You get money and we bring mi amigos from Mexico and we make big fight.”
They both stood there with stupid grins on their faces. I knew I should probably avoid this little plan like the plague but I found it hard to say no to Chuey. He had proven to be a life saver with the theater when the union was jacking me up. I guess I really had nothing to lose. The theater was on its way down the tubes anyway so I might as well try this while I still had some money in the bank.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s get some food and talk this over. I need to know a lot more before I commit any cash to this wacky undertaking. Help me get the ladder and letters inside and I’ll buy you two some breakfast.”
After getting everything stowed away and locking up the theater we piled into my car. I drove them to the Gold Coin. It was one of those Greek joints that stayed open 24 hours. I spent a lot of mornings there, sitting in a booth wasted after an all night drug binge. Danny brought his wife along. She had been waiting in Chuey’s car. She was a bottle blonde who might have been a real knockout in her day but that day had passed a long time ago. She seemed bored with the whole scene and did not say much except to tell me her name was Shelly. She threw nasty looks at Danny for not introducing her. He and Chuey were occupied with slapping at each other and laughing like kids.
I led them to the back of the restaurant and poured them into a large circular booth. Sophie, my favorite waitress came by and checked out Shelly. She gave me the old fish eye.
“So how’s ya’ doin’ Jack? I see you and the little fella’ got some company here. Ain’t seen you in awhile; you been a good boy; not cheatin’ on me, are ya?”
I laughed and introduced Danny and Shelly to Sophie. She was a classic diner waitress straight out of a Hollywood B-movie. She was ageless with dyed blonde hair still done up in a bee-hive, a pencil behind her ear, bright red lipstick, a raspy voice and a wise-crack for everyone. I loved seeing her and trading insults; she was classic Chicago.
“Get whatever you want,” I said to everyone. “It’s on me.” I could afford to buy as the prices were so low at this place. Sophie took everyone’s order and we got down to business.
“Now let me get this straight. You need me to apply for the state license and front the deposit for the arena? And you guys are really wrestlers? I know that stuffs all phony and scripted: Is that how you guys do it in Mexico?”
They just grinned at me. Shelly lifted up her giant handbag and removed an envelope. She opened it and spread out a series of pictures of Danny in various poses in the ring. It was like a models portfolio. These pictures were obviously from many years ago. In them he was a muscular long-haired blonde he-man. He had, as I noticed before, not aged well.
“Here,” she said. “I brought these for the publicity and the posters. Danny hasn’t fought in a while but he can do that wrestling shit in his sleep. Right, Danny?” She poked him in the ribs and he nodded his head
“You see, Jack, I tell you we do good.” Chuey was getting all excited. “I call t
o Mexico and we get maybe 6 guys. We do 3 matches and then we have, uh, uh, como se dice?” He looked at Danny.
“He means tag-team. You know, 4 guys, 2 on a team.”
“Yes, I know. I used to go to the matches here at Rainbow Arena. I knew Andre the Giant and Dick the Bruiser and I even remember Ruffy Silverstein.”
They both looked surprised. “Man, the Rainbow was the big time. Them bouts was on television,” Danny said.
“Oh yeah,” I said. “I remember when they used to work out at the park on the lakefront. Me and my buddy Rory would go and watch. One time Dick the Bruiser used me and my pal as dumbbells and lifted us over his head. It was pretty cool.” Shit, now I was getting all worked up about this deal. Well, I thought, in for a penny in for a pound.
I asked a bunch of questions about the nuts and bolts of the promotion of the bouts. Chuey, bless his little Mexican heart, had it all worked out. He had a compadre who did posters and artwork for the Mexican newspaper, he said radio ads were cheap and he had a crew to put up signs all over the Mexican neighborhoods. All told, he would need about 1,500 bucks in cash to get the ball rolling. I was sure the bank would cough up that much. I was all paid up and this deal seemed a reasonable pause in the disaster that was coming my way. We babbled on. Shelly was falling asleep. Sophie kept our coffee cups filled while we went over everything in detail.
I asked where Danny and Shelly were going to stay. Chuey said he was putting them up at his apartment. I said we should get together in the morning and work out more of the figures. Chuey said some other Mexicans he knew wanted to put money into the promotion and he needed me to meet them. I told them I had to get back to the theater to deal with some of my vendors who were delivering popcorn and candy.
I paid the bill, left Sophie a big tip and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
“Hey, watch it Buster,” she sneered at me behind a big grin. “You take any more liberties and I’ll have to teach you some manners with the back of my hand.”
“Any time doll,” I shot back and blew her a kiss as we walked out.
I drove them to Chuey’s place. I pulled up in front of the two story brownstone and parked. We all got out into the chilly air. We shook hands and said goodbye. When I shook Shelly’s hand she held me tight and just a little too long. She looked me in the eye with a leer that made me wonder just what she was up to. I had enough problems without getting sex vibes from some washed up wrestler’s main squeeze. I wanted this to be all business and to not get caught up in some domestic intrigue. I had been down that path before and it never ended well.
2
Driving back to the Roxy I began to think about all the good that could come from a new career in wrestling promotion. I hated to admit it but the theater was right on the edge of failure. I did not know how much longer I could juggle my bill paying Ponzi schemes and still keep the place open. I was going to be in deep to all my vendors and I soon would owe the distribution company a bundle. All it would take was one bad month for the entire operation to come crashing down. I was never very good at the nuts and bolts of the business stuff; all I saw was the romance of the films I loved and being able to show them. I also never figured on the corruption I had to deal with and the payoffs I had to make.
I pulled up in front of the theater. It was a no parking zone but the local cops knew me and never bothered me about parking in the space. As I was getting out of the car I came face to face with one of my worst nightmares. Mort Schnedlin was a bagman for the projectionists union. I had been contributing to their “benefit fund” on a regular basis. In return they let me use Chuey and his family rather than union stiffs. I hated this fat sleazy bastard.
“What the hell do you want, asshole?” I said. I tried to walk around him without waiting for an answer when he grabbed my arm.
“Jackie, boy, not so hasty, we need to talk.”
I pulled away from his grasp. He was a short, heavy greasy creep with a lame comb-over. He wore a threadbare suit with a
fat food-stained tie leftover from 1948. I hated having to deal with him but that was the price of doing business in Chicago.
“Look, rat face,” I barked at him. “I got vendors to deal with. Get out of my way and let me open the place.”
I brushed past him and unlocked the doors. He followed me inside the lobby.
“Jackie, Jackie, why do you speak to me that way? I am only doing my job. I don’t think Mr. Jules would like it if I told him the way you speak to me.”
Jules was the union president and connected to the local mafia. “I give a shit what you tell him. I’m about tapped out here so pretty soon he won’t be getting anything from me anyway. Maybe your fat ass would like to have the theater. Do you think you’re capable of an honest days work? Why does Jules use you anyway? You got pictures of him screwing a sheep or something?”
I stopped and turned to him with my hands on my hips. “All right, what’s so important that you had to show up and ruin my day?”
He leaned his fat ass against the wall and pulled out a cigarette. After lighting it and enjoying every second of making me wait he pulled a big grin. “Mr. Jules feels that what you are paying him is not enough to cover the loss of a union job. Therefore, starting on Monday he will be sending you a union man to run the booth. You can keep the beaners if you want but this is non-negotiable. Our man will be here at 5 PM so you can show him around. He will inform you as to the nature of his compensation.”
He dropped his cigarette and ground it into the carpet. He pushed off the wall sneering like a tough school kid. Burning a hole in my carpet was the last straw. I caught him with a vicious right hand to his ample gut and followed with a knee to his sinking chin. He fell to the ground holding a hand to his gushing nose. I guess I had missed his triple chin.
“Get up, you piece of crap. I’ll do and pay what I have to but hell if I’ll take shit from a fat ugly scumbag like you.”
He got up with the help of the wall. I reached around the candy counter and got some paper towels. “Here, dick head. Hold these to your nose and go in the washroom and stand over the sink until the bleeding stops.”
He stood there shaking like a leaf in a windstorm. “You are finished,” he sputtered. “When Mr. Jules hears about this you will wish you were never born.”
“Yeah, of course; like he gives a shit about you. Wake up, you jerk; you ain’t crap. Now get in the washroom and clean up or get the hell out of here. The sight of you makes me want to puke. I ought to make you get on your hands and knees and clean up that carpet with your tongue.”
He turned and started to waddle towards the door. He was trying to lift his head up to stop the bleeding but his fat neck would only bend so far. He passed the vendors coming in.
“Hey, Jack,” said Shorty, the Coke delivery man. “What’s up with that guy? He come looking for payment? Am I next?”
I held out my hands. “Fellas, come on. You know I’m good for it. I’m just a little short this week. We had some extra expenses this month. How about if you carry me for a few weeks? I promise next delivery I’ll have all the bills paid.”
We came to an agreement after I slipped them each a $20 and they restocked the soda machine and left popcorn, butter, and oil. I still had enough candy on hand.
I wanted to hold off emptying my bank account so that I would have cash for the wrestling license and rent on the arena.
It was a Friday night and we had a pretty good crowd for the new feature but after I paid the staff, I did not have much left.
I was in the office totaling receipts when my private line rang. I picked up the phone. “Roxy Theater; this is Jack Sennett.”
“Jack, just what do you think you’re doing?” It was Jules. Shit, just more crap coming my way.
“Hi, Mr. Jules. Look before you go off on me I just want to say I got no beef with you or you sending someone here. You know I do what I have to. But it’s that little turd Mort. He come here talkin’ shit and putting smokes out on my carpet
. I mean, what the hell is that all about. Why didn’t you just call me? I thought we had a good relationship. Why did you send that fat asshole?”
“Look Jack if I send Mort to see you with a message then that is just like me coming around. He represents me and when you mess him up, well then you are messing me up. You ain’t got proper respect. You wanted favors, I took care of you. Now here you are acting like some cowboy. I am not sure our deal can continue like this. The puny contributions you’re making to the fund ain’t enough for me to put up with this kind of behavior. You know what I mean?”
“Well, what you get is what I can pay. I told you business is not great. I’m trying some new things but I’m only hanging on week to week. You keep squeezing me and the whole thing will go south in real short order. Then you got nothing. You tell Mort I’m sorry. And this guy you’re sending me; can he work? Whatever I pay him will have to come out of the fund contribution. I am down to the bone now as it is. I already owe all my vendors. I’m putting in 15 hours a day, 7 days a week. Cut me a little slack and when I prosper, you prosper. I’ve always been straight with you but that fat turd just really pissed me off and I lost my temper. You understand don’t you? I’m under a lot of pressure here and the last thing I needed was to be treated like a punk by that scumbag.”
There was a long silence. “You know, Jack, I am not sure you understand how things work. You got to do what you are told. Life can get very complicated if you try and fool with the system. Are you listening to me? You’re a good kid but you got to play your part. I can’t have my people coming back with bloody noses; it looks bad and reflects on me. I am not going to be doing this again. You got to understand that consequences arise from actions like this. This is the last time we have this talk and I mean it. OK, Jack, lets see how things go. Bucky will be there on Monday. He is a friend, so treat him right. He’s a veteran and needs a hand up. You take care of him and I’ll overlook this little problem. Just don’t let it happen again. Are we straight, are you hearing me?”
