King of the Bootleggers

by Eugene Lloyd MacRae

Sal Bertucci, one of their lieutenants and the man who had been running the liquor pickups on the shores of Erie, approached, "You wanted to see me, boss?"

  Black Sam nodded and scanned the area around them. Three other men smoking cigarettes were too close and he indicated with his head for Sal to move further down the sidewalk. Big Joe followed behind, glancing back to make sure none of the men had moved along with them, trying to overhear.

  Black Sam stopped and took a drag on his cigarette. "We're going to have a double shipment of whiskey coming in tonight."

  "Double?"

  "Yeah, with that Coast Guard ship intercepting that last load, we've fallen behind," Big Joe said.

  Sal shrugged, "Okay. No problem. I'll just take more men and a couple extra trucks." Then he looked at the Todaro brothers, a questioning look on his face, "But...why ask me to come here to tell me? You could've just–"

  "Because we're making a change," Black Sam said.

  "A change? What do you mean?"

  "We're worried that someone may have tipped off the feds on that last shipment."

  Bertucci's face showed surprise but he nodded his head in understanding, "Okay. So–"

  "So we told DeLuca to have his men drop it off further down along the shore," Big Joe added. "We're going to use the beach at Euclid Park."

  That surprised Bertucci as well, "Euclid Park beach? What about the amusement rides they run down there? We're gonna have people–"

  Big Joe Todaro shook his head, "No. We already took care of that. Yesterday we went down and paid the owner two full day's take to close it today. We can easily make the money back if we can get that shipment in safe."

  Bertucci looked from Black Sam to Big Joe, looking like he wanted to ask them something and then simply said, "Okay. I'll leave with the guys a little earlier too. That way we get down there in plenty of time."

  EUCLID PARK

  Sal Bertucci stood on the moonlit beach, watching the trucks cut their lights and pull off the road one by one before pulling to a stop in the darkness. The pungent smell of Lake Erie was carried by the soft, warm breeze and mixed with the scent of driftwood and beach grasses.

  Bertucci glanced down the beach. The four roller coasters in the distance, the closest being the Scenic Railway roller coaster, were all dark and quiet as his boss had said they would be. Looking along the beach in the other direction, Bertucci nodded to himself. Then he raised an arm and motioned for one of the trucks to drive forward and park right onto the beach. As usual, they would use the headlights to signal the boat that it was safe to come close enough to shore to allow the whiskey to be transferred.

  As the truck stopped in position, Bertucci's attention was caught by two sets of lights that turned off the road, drove through the darkness and parked next to the line of dark trucks.

  The driver of the truck got out and stood next to Bertucci, "Who's that?"

  "I have no idea." Bertucci watched intently as the two vehicles just sat there with their lights on.

  The moonlight glinted off the truck door of one of the dark trucks as it swung open. The driver got out, closed the door with a slight thud and walked over to the newcomers.

  "You think it's the feds? Maybe we should hoof it out of here?"

  Bertucci shook his head, "No, I don't think so. Probably just some idiots looking to take a ride at the amusement park, wondering why it's not open. If the guys don't get rid of them soon, I'll go up and scare them away."

  "What if they go tell someone we're here?"

  "You worry too much, Mazzotti–"

  The sounds of more truck doors closing sounded in the darkness and a few moments later, the two vehicles began slowly moving towards the beach, their lights still on.

  Bertucci pushed his flat cap back in his head as he watched his entire crew begin walking in a line behind the two vehicles heading his way, "What the–?"

  "What's going on?" Mazzotti asked.

  "I have no idea. But I'm going to give someone shit."

  The two cars stopped just ten feet away, their headlights illuminating Mazzotti and Bertucci as they stood side by side on the beach sand.

  Bertucci waved his hand and yelled, "Cut those damn lights."

  The passenger door opened on one of the cars and a man got out, leaving the door open. Another man did the same on the driver's side, leaving the door wide open as well. Both men began walking towards the beach.

  Bertucci's crew all gathered around the two cars, watching the two men heading for the beach.

  "What the hell are you guys–?" Bertucci went silent.

  Black Sam Todaro and his brother Big Joe strode across the sand to stand in front of the car lights, looking at Mazzotti and Bertucci.

  Bertucci was both surprised and confused as he looked from brother to brother, "What...what are you two doing here? Boss? You afraid I can't handle things?"

  Shaking his head slowly, Black Sam Todaro spoke in a low voice, "Sal, Sal, Sal...."

  Bertucci put his hands out, "What? What is it? I don't understand–"

  Big Joe almost spit the word out, "Cascittuhni...."

  Silent for a moment, Bertucci shook his head, "I'm no snitch."

  The Todaro brothers stood silent. As did the men watching.

  Looking from one brother to the other, Bertucci's voice grew hard, "Who told you that? You tell me who, I'll kill them."

  Black Sam lifted an arm and signaled to the other car.

  Bertucci watched as someone stepped out of the vehicle's driver side and passed through the lights. Bertucci put his hands over his eyes trying to see who the dark form was against the lights, "Who is it?" He looked at Black Sam as he reached for his shoulder holster, "I'm telling you, Sam, I'll kill whoever that is–"

  Big Joe was already prepared and he lifted his own handgun from behind his leg where he had hidden it, "Keep your hands down, Sal." He stepped forward, watching for the slightest movement from Bertucci, pulled the man's weapon from its holster and stepped back.

  Bertucci blinked in confusion, "What is this...?"

  The man in the lights walked over to stand beside the Todaro brothers.

  "Sal, I'm sure you know our friend here," Black Sam said. "Special Agent in Charge Horton K. Saack from the Cleveland Division of the Bureau of Investigation."

  Saack smiled, "Hi, Sal, nice to see you again."

  Looking at Saack for a moment, Bertucci turned his attention to the Todaro brothers again, "I have no idea–"

  "I've been paying you for information, Sal," Saack said. "You're my little stool pigeon. And that last bit that I turned over to the Coast Guard about that rum-running boat...well...that brought me a telegram of congratulations from Director Stanley Finch himself."

  "I have no idea what he's talking about," Bertucci insisted.

  Black Sam spoke in a hard voice, "We watched you meet with him, Sal. We saw you. How many Feds are there in all of Cleveland, you dumb ass?"

  Bertucci shook his head no, still trying to deny it. Then he gave Saack an angry look, "You bastard–"

  Agent Saack smiled, "Sal, Sal, Sal. It was your greed that did you in, not me. I only make $1,200 a year, yet I was paying you more than I make. Plus you were still getting paid by your bosses here. You can't blame a man for trying to get ahead in life, can you? I mean, a telegram of congratulations from Director Finch is nice but...."

  Big Joe Todaro made a signal to the men waiting and watching.

  The men went over to the car the Todaro brothers had driven onto the beach and set to work taking something from the back seat.

  Bertucci watched as the men lugged ten cases of Glen Gael Distillery whiskey over and stacked them on the beach sand beside him. As the men stepped back, Bertucci looked at the Todaro brothers again, wondering what was happening.

  Special Agent in Charge Horton K. Saack walked a few feet across the sand towards Bertucci as he pulled his Smith & Wesson M&P .38 Special revolver, "Capturing a real life rum-runner should get me another telegram...although
I'd prefer a raise to tell you the truth."

  Bertucci put his hands up in fear, "You can't–"

  "Of course I can," Saack said.

  Big Joe Todaro tossed Bertucci's handgun over to land at his feet in the sand.

  "Especially since you resisted arrest and pulled your weapon," Saack added.

  Bertucci backed up, "No–"

  Saack fired twice.

  Chapter 83

  The Barton Street Arena

  ROCCO LED TONY through the heavy crowd outside the arena, all talking excitedly as they stood in the lines to show their tickets and enter the building

  "What's going on?" Tony asked as Rocco led him through the front doors. The crowd was loud and noisy inside the building as well.

  "Me and the boys wanted to put together something to celebrate you getting out of the hospital," Rocco said.

  "What do you mean?"

  Rocco led Tony over to a wall and pointed up at a large poster, "That."

  Tony looked up at the colorful poster and read it out loud, his excitement rising with each word, "Fight Night in Hamilton. The Boston Tar Baby vs The Leiperville Shadow. Canadian boxer Sam Langford vs George Godfrey in a ten round prize fighting match."

  "What do you think?" Rocco asked as he looked at his friend's surprised expression.

  "Friggin' Sam Langford? The Sam Langford?"

  Rocco nodded.

  "He was the World Colored Heavyweight Champion, Rocco."

  "I know. We talked about him–"

  Tony began counting off on his fingers, "He fought Fireman Jim Flynn, Gunboat Smith, Fred Fulton, Stanley Ketchel, Sam McVea, Harry Wills–"

  "I know, I know–"

  Tony shook his head in anger, "None of the World Heavyweight champs would give him a shot. Jess Willard, Jack Dempsey, not even Jack Johnson, another colored–"

  "I know," Rocco said, laughing as he pulled Tony along the corridor, "You can't see them fight if you die of a heart attack." Leading Tony to a dressing room door, he slipped between the two large guards and went inside.

  Reporter Latimer Stealey was inside, writing in a notebook. Beside him was his photographer, Joe Stripling, working behind a box camera on a tripod and taking pictures of a number of men working around a table in the middle of the room. One of the men was tying the laces on a boxing glove on the left hand of a black man, dressed in a white robe and sitting on a long table.

  Stealey nodded at Rocco.

  Tony was surprised, "You got Stealey in here?"

  "Yeah. I promised him exclusive pictures. And he's gonna cover the hockey club. Should be good publicity."

  Tony slapped Rocco on the shoulder, "That's good thinking."

  "Mr. DeLuca?"

  Rocco turned to see one of the men, wearing a battered fedora and smoking a thick cigar, waving him over to the table. Rocco walked over, shook the man's hand and introduced Tony, "Gus O'Malley, this here is Tony Genovese, my partner."

  Gus took a step and pumped Tony's hand vigorously, "Very nice to meet you. Thanks for bringing us up here–"

  "Yeah," the fighter on the table said. He slipped off the table to stand on the floor. The fighter was a little over 5 ft-7 inches and 185 pounds. He stepped past Gus to Tony, holding out his taped right hand, "I'm Sam Langford. No one ever paid me as much money to fight another man before. Thank you."

  Tony glanced at Rocco in surprise, "You're very welcome, Sam. I'm glad we get a chance to see you fight tonight."

  "I promise I'll do everything I can to give the fans a show out there," Sam said. "Can't promise a knockout, but I can promise you a good fight."

  "Hey. We ain't gonna have a fight if we don't get his gloves on," an older, wiry man complained, tapping the top of the table.

  "Mind your manners, Porky," Gus grumbled. "These guys are paying the freight."

  Porky waved him off, unimpressed.

  "It's okay," Rocco said, "we'll let you guys get ready. C'mon Tony, let's go find our seats."

  Tony waved a goodbye as they headed back out into the corridor and down through a tunnel. The boards around the rink area were gone and in the center of the building stood a boxing ring. Rocco led Tony onto the ice-pad area where a large number of chairs were set up.

  "We got front row seats," Rocco said.

  Several scantily clad women were walking around the inside of the ring, holding cards advertising the upcoming hockey season for the Hamilton Tigers.

  "Looks like you've thought of everything, Rocco," Tony said as he eyed the shapely women.

  "Yeah, I wanted them naked, but I didn't want to piss off any lawmakers off who might be in the crowd and screw up the arena and the team down the road," Rocco admitted.

  "They're damn near naked, works for me," a voice said.

  Tony tore his eyes away from the women and realized it was Gianni Reppucci, who reached out and shook Tony's hand, "We didn't think a little gathering at Giachetti's Café was good enough celebration."

  Tony shook his hand and was surprised to see all of the neighborhood men working for Rocco were in chairs around the ring. They were all waving hello at him. He took the time to walk over and greet them as many as he could personally.

  Rocco felt a hand on his back. He turned and saw Lorrimer Urwin, one of those top bootleggers he was protecting from the police. He had sent complimentary tickets to the fight to a number of the bootleggers who were moving a lot of whiskey for him.

  Urwin was holding a battered fedora in both hands, "Rocco...Mr. DeLuca...could I speak with you for a minute?"

  "Sure. Something wrong?"

  Urwin's eyes glanced nervously to the side.

  "It's okay. All these men work for me."

  "Oh. Okay. I don't mean to bother you...but I thought you should know...."

  "Know what?"

  "There are some men in my neighborhood. They're demanding...protection money from me. And I found this left under my door."

  Rocco took a note from Urwin's hand. The note was hand-printed in black ink and it read; 'pay $2,000 or your house will burn'. It was signed by a black knife stuck through the palm of a black hand. Rocco knew immediately what it was; a Black Hand extortion letter, threatening violence if the demands weren't met.

  "The next night the men showed up, asking for the money–"

  "Did the men who showed up ask for exactly $2,000? Did they say they would burn your house down if you didn't?"

  Urwin shrugged his shoulders, "I...I don't remember...I just thought they were connected...."

  Rocco folded the note, thinking. Maybe the note and the men aren't connected.

  "Normally I would just pay, Mr. DeLuca...but...then they threatened two of my best customers...."

  Rocco felt his back stiffened, "That affects my business."

  Urwin nodded.

  Rocco's thoughts went to Guido Vitale. He was taking care of the protection racket ever since they had removed that Charles Corman down in St. Catherine's. Is Vitale screwing with me? "Did you know the men who showed up?" asked Rocco.

  "There were six of them, all young men led by Pietro Licciardi," Urwin said. "I don't know much about it, but I was told they are...Camorra. Does that make sense?"

  Rocco nodded and it struck him. Roberto Borrasso. This has to be his work. He's testing me–

  "Mr. DeLuca?"

  Rocco was jarred from his thoughts. He looked at Urwin, "Did you pay them?"

  "Not yet," Urwin said. "But they told me they would be back tonight at 11 o'clock and they said I better have the money ready. That's why I thought I'd–"

  "Leave it to me, I'll take care of them," Rocco told him.

  Urwin looked somewhat relieved. Thank you." He turned to leave.

  "You should stay for the fight," Rocco said as he put a hand on the man's shoulder.

  "Thank you, but I have to get back. My son is taking care of things, but he's only a teenager. If those men come back–"

  Rocco gestured to one of the arena workmen who was in charge of assembling and ma
intaining the ring for the fight, "Charlie?"

  Charlie stepped over to Rocco, "Yes sir, Mr. DeLuca."

  "Charlie, I want you to take Mr. Urwin here back to the ticket office. Make sure he gets two tickets so he can come back in." He then looked at Urwin, "Is there anyone else at home beside your son?"

  "No, but–"

  "No buts. You go get your son and bring him back here for the night. That way you're both out of the way when the men come back. I'll take care of the rest."

  Charlie hustled off with Urwin.

  Rocco gestured for Tommy Giachetti and Gianni Reppucci to join him and he filled both of them in. They were eager and willing to help out.

  Tony stepped up beside them, "Everything okay?"

  "Yeah. Just taking care of some business. Why don't we sit down," Rocco said, "it looks like we're about to start."

  Tony looked up and saw a man in a suit standing in the middle of the ring. Around him were four scantily clad women. Boxers in robes were shadowboxing in each corner, surrounded by their manager, seconds and cut men.

  Tony took a seat front and center next to Rocco.

  "We brought in four good middleweights from Buffalo for a couple of preliminary matches," Rocco said. "Little Jack said they're really good."

  Tony rubbed his hands in anticipation as they sat down.

  Rocco enjoyed all of the fights, but half his mind was somewhere else. The main fight between Sam Langford and George Godfrey had the crowd standing on their feet at times. At 5 foot, 7 inches and 185 pounds, Sam Langford looked small against the 6 ft 3 inch, 220 lb George Godfrey. But with over 200 bouts under his belt, he proved to be more than a match for the younger fighter. It was a brutal bout with Sam knocking the bigger man out in the second round just as Rocco was leaving with Tommy Giachetti and Gianni Reppucci to perform their own knockout. They left the others behind to celebrate with Tony.

  Chapter 84

  PIETRO LICCIARDI BANGED HIS FIST against the front door of Lorrimer Urwin's house. He waited for a moment and banged the door again, "Open up, Urwin."

  A young man in a flat cap came around the side of the house to join the four standing on the short, dirt path leading to the house, "I checked the back door. It's locked and I don't see anyone inside."