Licciardi banged the side of his fist hard against the door once and swore. "I'll kill you, Urwin," he yelled.
"You want one of us to stay–?"
"No. We'll come back later. Let's head down to the next one." Licciardi swore again and pumped his fist in the air as he led the five men onto the street and crossed to the other side. Moving down to the entrance of an alleyway, Licciardi turned in and marched through the darkness, gravel crunching under his boots, unafraid of anyone. The six men stopped halfway through the alleyway and lit cigarettes.
"I understand you've been interfering in my business."
The six men turned towards the voice and saw three men standing twenty feet away, in the direction they had just come from.
Pietro Licciardi took a deep drag on his cigarette and blew out the smoke as he took a step forward, "And who the hell would you be?" He stood firm with his feet wide apart. The other five men stepped up beside him and imitated his stance, sending a message of force and toughness to the three men standing calmly in the alley.
"My name is Rocco DeLuca. Mr. Urwin and his son sell my liquor. You're interfering with that–"
"I'm not interfering," Licciardi said. He put a hand to his chest, "All Mr. Urwin has to do is pay me for the privilege of doing business in my territory."
Rocco looked at Licciardi for a moment, "Who do you work for?"
Licciardi laughed, "Who do I work for?" He put the fingers of his right hand together and gestured towards Rocco, "Haven't you ever heard of Omertà, old-timer?"
A light grin on his lips Tommy looked at Rocco from the corner of his eye, his voice low, "Old-timer? How old does he think you are anyway?"
Rocco ignored the comments. Omertà was the code of silence for several Italian organizations such as 'Ndrangheta, Sacra Corona Unita, and even Camorra. It put him no closer to knowing who was pushing this. "You threatened to burn my friend's house down if he didn't give you $2,000," Rocco said. "That sounds to me like...La Mano Nera."
Licciardi blew out a puff of smoke, "I think you should scram, bonehead. Before you get knocked off."
No denial. Which confirms Camorra. Which leads to Roberto Borrasso,"Thanks for your help," Rocco said.
Licciardi looked to his pals like he had no idea what Rocco was talking about. He took a deep drag from his cigarette, blew out the smoke, dropped the cigarette to the gravel and crushed it underfoot. "I think this ends now–"
"I agree," Rocco said.
Tommy Giachetti calmly took two steps ahead, set his feet set wide apart, placed the Thompson at his hip and pulled the trigger. The steady rat-tat-tat beat of the machine gun echoed loudly off the buildings on either side of the alleyway. The flashes from the muzzle lit up the forms of Tommy, Gianni, and Rocco as well as the dancing figures of six men being pumped full of slugs.
Then it went silent. Wisps of smoke curled in the air as the three men turned and walked back to the end of the alleyway. Tommy kept the hot Thompson away from his body.
Off to the right up ahead, reporter Latimer Stealey appeared from the darkness of the street. His photographer, Joe Stripling, was right behind him, with his box camera on a tripod over his shoulder. The two men took off at a run down the dark alleyway, heading for the dead bodies, eager to get the newspaper-selling details of the crime scene.
Rocco reached out and grabbed Stealey's arm, stopping him in his tracks.
Stripling stopped right beside Stealey, both men's eyes shining with fear.
Gianni and Tommy continued walking.
Rocco leaned his head closer to Stealey, "Just make sure the headline on your front-page story mentions they were killed for black hand extortion. Got that?"
"I..I don't know what that is–"
"Black–hand–extortion."
"Y-yes, sir." Stealey's head bobbed up and down.
Rocco gave Stripling a hard look.
Stripling's body was shaking so hard his tripod was rattling. "He's the writer, not me," he protested. "B-but...yes...we'll be sure...."
After another hard look at Stealey, Rocco let go of his arm and continued out of the alleyway. Message sent.
Stealey and Stripling ran for the sensational pictures and headline grabbing story that would be splashed across the front page of tomorrow morning's early edition.
Chapter 85
The Barton Street Arena
ROCCO DELUCA MADE SURE everyone in his growing organization, including their wives or girlfriends, had seats front and center for the first game of the Hamilton Voyageurs. Their competition was the Montreal Huskies, a team that had finished second to the Renfrew Kings the year before. The rest of the seats were completely sold out and filled with cheering fans, eager to watch their first game of professional hockey.
Tony Genovese was behind the bench, acting as the coach because Johnny Malone was still sitting in Quebec City."
Besha leaned her head close to Rocco's ear, "Tony looks nervous."
Laughing, Rocco said, "He should be, he doesn't have a clue as to what he's doing. And what's worse, Malone was the team's best player and the top scorer in the whole league last year and they were still bad."
Besha covered her mouth with her hands, trying to stifle a laugh at their friend's expense.
Rocco looked over at his wife, "What are you laughing about? It's your fault."
Besha dropped her jaw in mock indignation, "My fault? Why would you say that?"
"Because if it wasn't for you, that man down there wouldn't be in this predicament of owning a professional hockey team and having to fill in as coach because he can't find anyone else willing to take the job."
Crossing her arms again in mock indignation, Besha gave Rocco a stern look, "If I remember correctly, both of you own the team. Maybe I should march down there and remind Tony–"
Rocco put his hand on her leg, "You stay right where you are. You're not ruining this for anything."
Looking down at his hand Besha said, "Are you're getting fresh with me, Mr. DeLuca?"
"Yep. You can have your way with me tonight."
Besha looked down on the players of both teams, skating around the ice and warming up, "As wife of the owner, maybe I'd rather invite home one of those young studs down there on the ice."
Rocco wagged his finger at her, "You keep away from the players. Everyone knows an athlete can't have sex before a game. It drains all the strength. That's a scientific fact." He lowered his hand and then gave her a smile, "You'll have to wait until the off-season."
"Wouldn't you be jealous?" she asked with a coy smile.
Rocco shook his head as he watched the players skate, "No. There's a few girls over at the Paradise club–"
Besha gave him a poke on the arm, "Hey! That's not happening."
Rocco laughed.
Maria Genovese, who was sitting beside Besha, leaned her head closer, "I think that Newsy Lalonde on the Montréal team is cute."
Besha leaned her head over, "Rocco says we're not supposed to chase the players until after the season."
Maria gave her a mock frown, "What good is having a team?" The two women giggled and pointed out different players on the ice.
The referee down on the ice blew his whistle to get the game started and a cheer went up from the crowd. The two teams lined up and began to play the first game for the new Hamilton team. Tony's players helped him but it was basically an easy job, the best players out of his ten playing most of the game. The first goal in the game came at the 12:30 mark of the first period when youngster Babe Dye scored for Hamilton. The crowd went wild, stomping and cheering.
Rocco, Besha, and Maria visited the team in between periods and found an elated Tony who was having the time of his life.
At the end of the night, the Hamilton Tigers beat the Montréal Huskies 5-0. Babe Dye, the young player the Toronto team had sent them, turned out to be the best player on the ice. Despite being a slow skater, Dye had a hard and accurate shot the goalie couldn't handle. Dye scored two goals. For goalie H
oward Lockhart, it was his first National Hockey Association shutout. Billy Coutou turned out to be the real fan favorite, an aggressive defenseman willing to use his elbows and sticks to terrorize any opponent who came near his team's end of the ice.
Rocco and Tony took everyone from the two distilleries, the truck drivers, and the boat crews, to the Paradise Club for a party, giving everyone a $100 bill to gamble away that night. Drinks were on the house. Cuba Santoro gave Rocco and Tony each a hand-made Jose Piedra Cuban cigar from a box given to him personally by Black Sam Todaro on the last shipment of whiskey he made to the shores of Cleveland, Ohio.
Rocco and Tony were happily puffing away when an older, chubby man approached them. He had his arm around a large breasted hostess, wearing nothing but the typical high heeled shoes and black collar around her neck that served as her uniform. Her hairstyle was from Lillian Gish's latest silent movie, Way down East.
The man stuck his hand out to Tony and puffed his chest out, "Mr. Genovese. My name is Collin Charles Moxham, Member of Parliament for Hamilton East. I just wanted to thank you for the tickets to the game and congratulate you on the win tonight for the Hamilton Tigers."
Rocco and Tony gave each other a discrete glance, neither aware they had ever sent the man any tickets.
"You've done a great thing for the city of Hamilton, sir," Moxham said. "This will put a spotlight on us and only bring more prosperity to the citizens of our good city."
"Well, Mr. DeLuca here had a great deal to do with getting the team," Tony said.
Moxham shook Rocco's hand and smiled broadly, "I take it then you're the partner I heard about but have never seen,"
"I prefer to stay behind the scenes," Rocco said.
"What both of you men have done for the city is marvelous." Moxham leaned his head forward in a conspiratorial manner towards Tony, "You would be smart to think about running for the job of mayor in the next election."
Tony's surprise registered on his face, "Mayor?" He shook his head, "I doubt I'd–"
"Strike while the iron is hot," Moxham said. "That's one of the major rules of politics, sir." He winked at Tony, "With your popularity right now, you'd be a shoe-in–"
"Hey. Did you forget about me?" The young woman Moxham was with placed her hand on his crotch and groped him.
Moxham's face registered surprise and he gave her a lecherous grin, "Oh no, I haven't forgotten about you–"
"Then why aren't we going upstairs?" she said as she continued to grope his crotch.
Moxham looked at Tony, "You saw it. She's leading me astray." With a debauched laugh, he allowed himself to be led away towards the stairs.
"Something tells me Andrea Reppucci lured him to the game and then to the Paradise club," Tony said as he watched the man grope the naked woman's breasts.
Rocco took a deep drag on his cigar and blew it out, nodding, "And I imagine there's going to be some very interesting pictures taken tonight."
Tony shook his head as he blew out smoke as well, "I'm not sure I want to see naked pictures of that guy having sex. Her on the other hand...."
"She's already naked, Tony. What else is there to see?"
Tony shrugged.
"His idea might be a good one," Rocco said after a moment.
"What? Going upstairs?"
"No. The idea of you running for mayor of the city."
Tony blinked as he took a drag on his cigar. He blew the smoke in the air, "You're kidding, right?"
Rocco looked at his cigar for a moment before answering, "We thought you being one of the Hamilton coppers would help us out. Considering how things are going, maybe having someone in the mayor's office would be a good thing. Think about all the inside information you'd get in that job."
Tony looked at Rocco, his arms outstretched, "What the hell do I know about politics?"
"About as much as we knew about the whiskey business when we started."
Tony opened his mouth and then closed it. He took a drag on his cigar. He had no answer for that.
Chapter 86
IT WAS LATE AT NIGHT before Besha finished her hot bath and crawled into bed, snuggling up to Rocco. He put an arm around her, pulling her close and they lay that way for ten minutes in silence.
"Something bothering you," Rocco asked finally.
Besha didn't answer right away.
Rocco gave her a slight nudge with his arm, "C'mon, out with it."
With a slight shrug of a pink shoulder, Besha said, "It's just...I received a telegram from Alonzo Fernández in Cuba this morning."
"Who's that?"
"He owns Grupo Cuba in Havana. That's the company we've been using to create the false documents to ship the whiskey."
"Okay."
"He says he knows where I can get rum out of Georgetown, Jamaica. We can bring 4,000 5-gallon kegs on the same ship the other stuff comes on."
Rocco was amazed. He looked down at Besha, "What are they gonna charge us?"
"He says we can buy it for .36 cents per gallon."
Rocco perked up at the news, "Thirty-six cents? That sounds great. I found out rum sells for 2.50 a gallon to a bootlegger. But even better, they sell it for $25-30 gallon. We can also make a good profit moving it at the Paradise Club."
Besha nodded, "That's good."
Rocco had a sinking feeling, "If it's so good, why do you look so worried."
"Mr. Fernández also told me he's closing his business and retiring. He's moving to Spain where his wife is from."
That sinking feeling grew, "So...?"
"Once he does, we're screwed if the government decides at some point to take a closer look at our purchase orders for the whiskey going to Cuba."
"Why would they do that?"
"Because of all the whiskey we're beginning to push through customs."
"I know that Besha, But, if they haven't done it before...?"
"I never expected them to ever contact Grupo Cuba before. But if they had, at least they would have found an existing business. I could have worked around it. Figured out something. But now...."
Rocco now understood, "With no real company to ship it to, they'll know it's being sold here and in the U.S."
Besha swore, venting her frustration, "All my work to make everything legal, creating those purchase orders, filling out all those bills of sale, even paying the damn excise tax, all of it was for crap."
Blowing out a soft breath, Rocco knew exactly what this could mean as they continued running the whiskey, "I wonder which American penitentiary I'll serve my time in? After I serve time in Canada, of course."
"Don't even joke like that."
Rocco gave their problem some thought, finally asking, "Why don't we just ask this Fernández to let us buy his company?"
"And who runs it for us in Cuba? Fernández was down to doing everything by himself and he was finding it difficult to keep up with us. The three women that worked for him passed away, two over the last nine months, and the last one just a month ago."
"Something happened to them? It wasn't because of our business with him, was it?"
"No. Just old age. All three of them were in their late seventies and they were in poor health. But they had to keep working to help their families. And Fernández just turned eighty. He says he doesn't have it in him to train new staff."
It was Rocco's turn to swear again, "We just get started and life pisses on us again."
Besha was silent, thinking. "You're right, though," she said. "We have to get a business in Cuba somehow."
"Can we buy one?"
"How? We'd have to go down there and look for one."
"How long does it take to get there?"
"I have no idea," she said, "a week or two by boat, I guess. But it doesn't matter. How do we find someone down there that we could trust? Once the person we hire knows what we were doing–"
"They could turn around and blackmail us. Or turn us in for a reward." Rocco cursed again. Besha was right. They were hitting a brick wall with no wa
y out...except maybe prison. But they had no choice except to continue. To do otherwise meant they sunk back into a life of grinding poverty.
Besha knew what he was thinking because she felt it herself. She brushed her hand gently across his chest, "Let's not think about that part right now. Think about the good things. It's been going pretty good for us the past year."
Rocco looked up at the ceiling and nodded, "You're right. We've ended up owning two distilleries–"
"I own the distilleries," Besha said nonchalantly.
"Right, smart-ass."
Besha giggled.
"And when I think about me coming back from the war...we didn't have much–"
"Not even a pot to piss in. We had to use one of our old cups," Besha said.
Rocco snorted, "And then we used it for tea because it was the only one we had."
"Yuck."
Rocco's eyes explored the cracks in the ceiling, "Now we've got a bigger apartment, a car, some money, we've helped our friends and others in the neighborhood...."
"And we own the import-export business," Besha added, "I almost forgot about that."
And the hockey team, thanks to you." Rocco pulled his arm tighter around her shoulder.
"It was fun watching Tony coach the team tonight," Besha said.
Rocco nodded, "Yeah. I think he nearly had a heart attack at the start. But they ended up winning their first game, scoring five goals, and he partied harder than the players."
Besha laughed and then put her lips to Rocco's ear, "Well, if you don't start scoring yourself, I'm going to go looking for one of those young hockey players."
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