King of the Bootleggers

by Eugene Lloyd MacRae

  "What's wrong? Tongue-tied?" Her green eyes sparkled, fully aware of the effect she was having on him.

  "Uh, hi Elena...." He searched his mind frantically for something to say, noticing the deli bag she had in her hands, "What did you get?"

  Elena swayed her body a little, "Oh, just some sandwiches for my pop. He's working on the street crew one block over. I've never seen you in here before."

  Tommy felt awkward, "No. I've never...."

  Elena had a faint smile on her face as she watched him struggle with the question. After a moment she said, "Well, I have to go. It's a long walk." She headed for the door.

  Mrs. Piccolo appeared at the counter with Tommy's sandwich. He paid her quickly, grabbed the bag with his lunch and ran for the door. Outside he looked both ways on the plank sidewalk. Elena was a few doors down, her hips swaying enticingly. Tommy ran after her, "Elena."

  Elena turned and stood with her eyebrows raised as Tommy ran towards her, wondering what he wanted.

  Coming to a stop in front of her, Tommy spoke rapidly, "If you want, I can give you a ride." He gestured back beyond Piccolo's Deli, "I got my truck. Well, it's my pop's truck but I use it for work."

  Surprise registered on Elena's face, "You have a job?"

  "Yeah," Tommy said, feeling very proud of himself.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Oh...uh...well, this and that."

  Elena nodded and leaned her head out a little to look at the truck, "Okay. If you want to give me a ride...."

  Tommy eagerly led her back to the truck, still tongue-tied and trying to find something to say. Getting inside, he waited until Elena was seated on the passenger side, "Where did you say he was?"

  "Working on Mars Street."

  Tommy pulled out and did a U-turn in the road, heading past Piccolo's Deli towards the far end of the street.

  Elena glanced across at Tommy, "You're not going to say where you're working...?"

  Tommy glanced back at her and then shrugged, "It's no big deal. I...I just pick up stuff at Glen Gael Distillery–"

  Elena's ears perked up, "What do you do there?"

  "Drive truck. I use this one since my pop's been sick–"

  Elena leaned over a little and spoke in a hushed voice, "You're not dealing with bootleggers are you?"

  Tommy glanced over and saw the sparkle in her green eyes at the hint of danger. Looking straight ahead again Tommy smiled, "Well, I can't really say...."

  Elena sat quietly as they drove across the next block.

  Tommy glanced down at her legs, admiring what he could see below the hem of her skirt over her knee.

  Elena was very much aware of what he was doing and she lifted her legs onto her tip-toes, enhancing the shape of her calf.

  Tommy realized what she was doing, that she was fully aware of his looking at her legs and he blushed. He was relieved when he saw a work gang just up ahead, "That them?"

  Stretching her neck Elena looked down the road, "Yeah. There he is."

  A moment later Tommy pulled over.

  "Thanks, Tommy," Elena said as she opened the door.

  "You want me to give you a ride back to the neighborhood?"

  "No, that's fine." She stepped down onto the running board and then into the street. Before closing the door she looked across at Tommy, "But if you're making enough, maybe you could take me to a movie?"

  Tommy nodded eagerly, "Sure."

  "See ya in the funny papers."

  Tommy watched her walk down the street toward the working. He spotted her father, Roberto Borrasso, a tall muscular guy with a perpetual frown. Her entire family, from grandparents to newly born babies, had come from Caserta, North of Naples about fifteen years ago and Tommy vaguely remembered them being welcomed to the neighborhood. There were rumors that Roberto Borrasso was tied in with two Camorra crime families in Toronto, one through his father and one through his wife's family. But Tommy had never seen him actively engaged in any activities other than the roadwork crews. He looked back at Elena's swaying bottom and her long legs and he wondered what her father would say about what he wanted to do to his daughter right now.

  Chapter 19

  BACK IN THE REPPUCCI APARTMENT, Maria Genovese stood and stared at the paper in her hand, "You actually own a distillery, Besha?"

  "That's her name at the top," Andrea Reppucci said as she pointed at the top of the paper.

  Maria rolled her eyes, "I know that."

  Gino laughed. He was sitting around the kitchen table with Gianni, Tommy, and Ox.

  Rocco was leaning against the kitchen sink, swirling a glass of whiskey, thinking.

  "Why is it in your name," Ox complained. He glanced up at Rocco, "Shouldn't it be in your husband's name? That's how it's done"

  Besha put her hands on her hips, "And if Rocco gets arrested for running hootch, they could take it away from him. And then what have we got?"

  "Besha's right," Rocco agreed. He took a shot of his whiskey. "It's smarter to keep it separate. This way I do what I do and she does what she does."

  Andrea bent and gave Ox a disdainful look, "Women can own property now you know. The law says so."

  Ox sneered and tipped his glass back.

  Andrea shook her head at Ox and turned her attention to Besha, "So...how do you run a distillery?"

  "We're all going to run it together," Besha said.

  Andrea's eyes went wide, "We are? But...."

  "You and me and Maria will handle the paperwork," Besha explained. "We need to make everything legal, filling out bills of sale and paying the excise tax and that kind of thing. I'll have to continue working with Mr. Starkman three days a week to get the forms we'll use but–"

  "But...what about the actual whiskey?" Maria asked. "How do we do that?"

  "We don't," Besha said. "If we can't convince the workers who left to come back, we're going to have to recruit people. We just need their muscle. Mr. Kippen says the process itself is easy, once you know how it's done. You don't need a brewmaster like making beer. He'll show us how it's done–"

  "A lot of the boys from the neighborhood have struggled to find steady work since they came back from the war. I'm sure they'd appreciate the opportunity," Gianni offered.

  "I agree," Rocco said. "Plus they know how to handle a weapon. They can take care of things when Russo's boys show up looking for their whiskey."

  "We aren't going to give it to them, are we?" Ox complained.

  "No, they won't get any," Rocco said firmly. "But we're going to need the muscle to make sure they understand. Gianni, why don't you work with Besha to get the right guys for the distillery? Have them bring any weapons and ammunition they have with them."

  "You got it, Rocco."

  "And Tommy, I want you to sit on the distillery with that Thompson of yours. If Russo finds out about the change in ownership, he could send his boys in there to smash everything."

  "Okay. But any idea when we move more whiskey?" Tommy asked. "Little Jack is going to be wondering what happened by now. We were supposed to be back with 700 cases."

  Rocco swore, "You're right." He set his glass down, "I better go call him and explain what happened."

  Besha called out to Rocco as he neared the door, "Mr. Kippen says we have all the stuff in stock to make maybe 1,000 cases over two days to get us started. All we need are the workers."

  "Okay," Rocco said as he stepped into the hallway. He saw Tony coming from the stairwell and realized this might be a good time to address another subject. He stuck his head back inside the doorway, "Tommy." He gestured with his head for him to come into the hall.

  "What's up?" Tommy asked as he joined Rocco in the hallway.

  "Just hold on a second," Rocco said as he waited until Tony joined them. Huddling with the two men in the hallway, Rocco lowered his voice and filled in Tony on what Besha had done.

  "That's great," Tony said in an excited whisper.

  Rocco nodded but spoke seriously, "Just one more thing...about Besh
a owning the distillery...I had talked about us three being partners...."

  "It's okay, Rocco," Tommy said with a shrug, "I understand."

  "Yeah, it's okay, I'm happy for you and Besha," Tony said as he patted Rocco on the arm.

  "No, no," Rocco protested, "I'm not going back on my word. We're in this together. It's just...Besha thought it would be better if we did it differently."

  "Differently?" Tony shrugged, "She was always the thinker, what exactly does differently mean?"

  "Me and Besha will have 60%. Me and Besha will pay for everything through the distillery, the grain that we need, the whiskey bottles, wages for the men, trucks–"

  "Like I said, she's the thinker," Tony said, "I would've never thought about that stuff."

  Tommy nodded, "Me neither."

  "Here's the deal," Rocco said. "Each of you guys gets 20% of the profits after everything is paid for. How does that sound?"

  Tony look surprised, "That sounds good to me. I never expected anything like that."

  Tommy looked confused.

  Rocco looked at him, "What's wrong, Tommy? You don't like the deal–?"

  "No, it's not that." Tommy shook his head slowly, "It's just...."

  Rocco glanced at Tony, "It's just what?"

  Tommy looked sheepish, "I don't really know what 20% means."

  Slapping Tommy on the back, Tony laughed. He put his lips near Tommy's ear and said in a low voice, "It means, if there's a $1 million profit, you and me get $200,000 each."

  Tommy's eyes expressed his shock. He looked at Rocco, "You're kidding, right?"

  Rocco shrugged, "Not enough...?"

  Holding his hands up, Tommy shook his head, a lopsided smile on his face, "No, no. I'm fine." He stuck his hand out to Rocco, "Let's shake on it before they take you away to the loony bin."

  The men shook hands all around and then Rocco led them to the wall telephone down the hallway, "Okay. Let's see if we can start making that profit." A few minutes later Rocco connected with Buffalo. "Little Jack, it's Rocco."

  Little Jack swore, "Where the hell you been. Monterosso is on me big time–"

  "I'm sorry. We got snatched up by Russo–"

  "I don't give a shit what happened. I have a job to do down here and I had assured the boss we could count on you."

  Rocco clenched his jaw, "Look. I said I'm sorry. But it's all fixed. I got the whiskey–"

  "It's too late, Rocco."

  "What do you mean? I'm telling you we got the stuff. In fact, we got a–"

  "When you didn't show up for a few days, Monterosso went to the Frenchies."

  "What? He can't do that–"

  "Oh, you gonna tell Monterosso what he can and can't do? Leave me out of that conversation."

  Rocco felt his frustration and anger rising, "But we're right across the river. I thought he didn't want to bring it all that way–"

  "You think I like it? Now I gotta go all the way up to the north shore near that old fort to get the stuff. And I built that bunker south of the city. Now I'm working all night before I can get back into a warm bed with a warm dame beside me."

  "Look. We can do this–"

  "Not gonna happen, Rocco. Not unless the Frenchies screw up. Now, if you can get us some beer, we can do business. We can't get beer easy here either, Rocco. Call me when you do. Gotta go."

  Rocco looked at the telephone with anger when it went dead. He slammed it down on the cradle.

  Tommy glanced at Tony, "That sounds like bad news."

  The muscles in Rocco's jaw rippled, "Little Jack says Monterosso went with the Frenchies when we didn't show up."

  Tony cursed.

  Chapter 20

  Cootes Paradise

  TONY GENOVESE PULLED the truck off Longwood Road and parked on the flat area overlooking the waters of Cootes Paradise, an immense wetland, and marshland area, stretching along the bay west of Hamilton. He turned off the lights.

  Off to the right, along the shoreline, stretched a line of tar-papered and tin-roofed shacks. Scattered in front of those shacks and further down along the shore were dozens of beaten and weathered houseboats, many of them on stilts. The community here consisted of poor folks struggling to survive on fish and game from their harsh surroundings. To the left, on a spit of land that stretched into the bay, sat the two-story Paradise Club, a ramshackle building well known to the more pious of the Hamiltonian community as the proverbial den of iniquity. To the left sat another series of weather-beaten houses. Only the Paradise Club had lights on. All the rest of the buildings and the houseboats were dark and brooding.

  Gino and Ox jumped from the back of the truck to stand by the passenger side where Rocco sat.

  Rocco got out and walked with Gino and Ox to the edge of the flat area, their feet crunching through the light snow. The air was frigid and bit their lungs as the steam from their breath rose in clouds. All three wore old, woolen hunting coats, both to ward off the cold and to hide their handguns.

  Tony joined them, pulling the collar of his constable's coat up around his ears. It didn't do much and he shivered, "So how do you want to handle this Rocco?"

  "We'll take it from here, Tony," Rocco said. "We'll handle it."

  "But, I'm in–"

  "I know," Rocco said. He shook his head, "But not in your uniform. If we do find him in there and pop him, I don't want people seeing you around the place in your uniform."

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah, you stay back here with the truck."

  Ox Moreschi checked his Colt semi-automatic pistol for the second time, "Would've been nice to have the kid here with that ball-buster of his."

  "Yeah, I know. But we gotta protect the distillery. Let's go," Rocco said. He led the way as the three men walked to the shoulder of the road and headed for the rough laneway leading to the Paradise Club and the other buildings. Ten minutes later, they were approaching the Paradise Club itself. Four men were standing in a line across the veranda. All four wore knee-length brown-wool frock coats.

  Gino whispered to the others, "Hey guys? See how the bottom of each man's coat is sticking out? I bet they've got shotguns under there."

  Ox swore under his breath, "Makes sense. What if they search us?"

  Rocco gave it some thought. He considered turning around for a moment. "Okay, tell you what," he whispered, "act drunk. If we make ourselves enough of a nuisance, they'll probably shove us inside."

  "Probably?" Gino whispered.

  "You can stay here if you want," Rocco whispered as he kept walking, his eyes on the four men, watching for any indication they were going to pull weapons. He started to wobble on his feet.

  Ox did the same.

  Gino waited a moment longer, eying the men and then started a drunk walk like the other two.

  Ox broke into a drunken song and he threw his arm around Gino as they approached the stairs to the veranda.

  Rocco stumbled up the stairs and approached the man who was standing beside the entrance. He tapped him drunkenly on the chest with the flat of his hand, "My good man. Is this the place where we come to lose all our money?"

  The other three men moved cautiously and slowly towards the three drunks.

  Ox and Gino swayed and waved their arms and sang drunkenly.

  The man in front of Rocco looked annoyed and he waived the other three men off, "Yeah. Just get your asses inside." He stepped aside and pulled the door open, glaring at Ox and Gino, "And stop that stupid singing. You're pissing me off."

  Gino saluted the man and put a finger to his lips as he glanced at Ox, "Shhhhh."

  Ox giggled and the two men stumbled through the doorway, following Rocco into the building. Once inside, all three men straightened up and quickly moved away from the door. The place was large and noisy. Somewhere a piano player was belting out the Maple Leaf Rag. Cigarette and cigar smoke hung heavy in the air. Blackjack, craps and roulette tables were set in different spots around the room. Off to the left, were several tables with players in groups of four
, concentrating on their poker cards. Young women were moving through the crowds, taking orders for drinks from the men gambling. Here and there a few women gambled as well, hanging off the arm of an older man.

  Rocco put his hand out abruptly and stopped the other two from moving any further.

  Ox's hand went towards his weapon under his wool coat, "What's wrong?"

  Rocco indicated stairs at the back that led to the second level. Several men were stationed around the upper railing. And one man stood at the top of the stairs, looking down over the scene below.

  "That's Marino, Russo's right-hand man," Rocco said.

  Ox looked up at the man with sullen eyes, "So that's The Enforcer? Doesn't look so tough to me."

  Gino began scanning the crowd around him closely, "But him being here means Russo must be around here somewhere as well."

  Rocco looked around as well, considering the situation. "I doubt we'd be missing Fat Sal if he was down here."

  "Maybe he's at one of those tables playing cards," Gino offered.

  "Maybe," Rocco said as he scanned the tables that he could see from this spot. He looked back up at the men around the railing, "The problem is...if he's up there...we're not going to be able to fight our way upstairs to find him."

  Ox clenched his teeth and looked eager, "Maybe we just come back with the kid and more petrol bombs and wipe this place out."

  "If we have to. Right now, you two stay here and see if you can spot Russo," Rocco instructed.

  "Where you going?" Gino asked him, a worried look on his face.

  Rocco jerked a thumb to the left of the building, "Tony said the shack next door belonged to Russo's family. I'm gonna see if I can take a quick look."

  "Watch your ass," Ox warned as he kept an eye on Marino at the top of the stairs.

  Rocco nodded as he headed back to the entrance. He stuck his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket and lifted his shoulders up against the cold as he stepped outside drunkenly. He whispered to himself as he stumbled across the veranda to the stairs.