The Starlight Club 4: Marilyn: Scarface, Goodfellas, Mob Guys & Hitmen (Starlight Club Mystery Mob)

by Joe Corso

  THE STARLIGHT CLUB 4

  BY

  JOE CORSO

  The Starlight Club 4

  Joe Corso

  Copyright 2013 by Joe Corso

  Published by

  Black Horse Publishing

  Cover Art by Marina Shipova

  Edited by BZHercules.com

  Black Horse Publishing

  www.blackhorsepublishing.com

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Dedication

  To Marilyn Monroe

  “Dogs never bite me. Just humans.”

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  EPILOGUE

  THE STARLIGHT CLUB (4)

  PROLOGUE

  Present

  Bobby was lying on his lounge on the rear deck of his home in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. The weather was comfortable, the sky blue as turquoise without a cloud to be seen. He loved sitting out here because of the breeze wafting in from the ocean. He put down his paper and sat up as the Jungle Queen slowly came into view. His eyes never left the famous boat. He watched it glide silently toward him, then pass slowly by his house, which overlooked the blue waters of the inter-coastal. The ship passed by closely enough for him to discern the faces of the passengers on the crowded deck. They waved to him as if noticing an old friend. Bobby smiled and waved back. Then, he watched as the boat slowly chugged past and continued its slow trek down the waterway until it disappeared from his view, leaving behind a churning white wake as it made its way further down the inter-coastal.

  Lynn opened the oven door to check on the Butterball turkey. She tried with difficulty to read the little gauge she inserted into the meaty part of the thigh. Finally, with a little trouble, she managed to read the temperature, which to her delight, indicated that the turkey was almost done. The inviting aroma of the cooked turkey escaped from the oven as she was trying to read the gauge, causing the scent to waft deliciously throughout the house, leaving a hint of the meal to come. Lynn insisted on giving her father a break. Today, she insisted she would do the cooking. Bobby didn’t cook much, but he could cook a turkey. There was one exception to his ban on cooking, though. Once a year on Thanksgiving, and only when he was with his family, he’d make his famous sweet potato casserole that he’d been making for the last twenty-five years. He made the sweet potato casserole because other than the turkey, it was his favorite part of the Thanksgiving dinner. He hadn’t made the casserole for a few years simply because there was no one to make it for. But today was different. Today, he had his daughter, Lynn, and her three beautiful kids: Tommy, Dylan, and Julia. While she prepared the fish and cooked the turkey, he made his sweet potato casserole. Too many cooks in the kitchen, he reminded himself, spoil the broth. When the casserole was finished, he retired to the outside deck to stay out of Lynn’s way.

  Bobby loved it out here on the deck, watching the boats pass by; either heading for the ocean to do some fishing or sightseeing, or just heading over to one of the many dockside restaurants for lunch or dinner. When the captains of the little boats arrived at their destination, they would tie the boat up on one of the pilings, or have one of the restaurant’s deckhands secure the boat for them.

  Bobby was shaken out of his reverie by his daughter calling him. “The turkey’s almost done, Dad. Come on … I’ll be taking it out of the oven in a few minutes. You’re the butcher, so get ready to carve this bird.” Bobby loved this. Loved being with his family and, most of all, he loved the fact that his beautiful modern kitchen was finally being used the way it was meant to be used. What good is a kitchen if there is no one to use it and no one to cook for? Just having Lynn and the kids here with him today made this Thanksgiving something special. It’s just too bad her husband, Ted, couldn’t be here to share it with us, he thought. The poor guy had to fly to Vienna on company business. Bobby knew Ted would rather be here with his family for Thanksgiving. He guessed that was the price you had to pay when you were a high-priced attorney who worked for an international law firm. The father- and son-in-law relationship was a good one and Bobby loved Ted. He felt bad that Ted couldn’t be here to share this holiday with them. Oh well he philosophized, maybe next holiday--God willing--we’ll all be together as a family.

  After dinner, Bobby walked out on the back porch and sat down on his comfortable lounge, allowing his body to sink deep into the soft leather. He reached into his pocket and took out his lighter to light up the Cohiba he had saved for this holiday, grateful his doctor wasn’t here. He positioned his lounge chair so that it had a clear view of the Fort Lauderdale Inter-coastal. He took a drag on his cigar, blew smoke rings over the deck, and watched them disappear over the water. He enjoyed the cigar. He’d stopped smoking them on a regular basis, but treated himself to one on special occasions; especially while he waited for his daughter to bring the small pot of espresso she had prepared on the stove for him to sip after dinner. A few minutes later, she placed the tray on the table and poured her father a cup of the strong Italian coffee that he loved.

  “Do you want me to pour a little Sambuca into your coffee, Dad?”

  “You bet. I enjoy my coffee with a healthy shot of Sambuca in it.” She started to pour the shot into the coffee and he reminded her to leave a little of the sweet liquor in the glass for him, in which to dip his cigar. Ah! Life is good, he thought to himself.

  The father and daughter chatted for a while before the inevitable question arose. “Since I’m down here for Thanksgiving and I’ve caught up on all the chores and while I have the time and we’re just sitting here, why don’t you tell me more about the Starlight Club?”

  “You know, Lynn, I’ve been thinking of the Starlight Club since you told me you were coming down here for Thanksgiving. I told you a lot of the interesting history of the Starlight Club since we last talked, but it seems my memory has been joggled and I remember a lot more about what went on back then. There’s a lot to tell because each man has his own story. But there was one incident that stood out
above all the others because of who was involved in the story.”

  Lynn’s eyes were wide open in anticipation. “Go ahead, Dad . . . don’t stop now. Tell me what you were just about to say.”

  “Well, I just can’t get into the particular story I want to tell you. I have to sort of lead up to it. That way, you can better understand how the boys got involved in something very big without ever really intending to. Where do I start? Okay! I’ll start at the Corona Gentleman’s Club.”

  “Wait a minute, Dad. Just who was involved in the story?”

  “Well, that’s just it, Lynn. I didn’t want to just come out and tell you. I wanted to lead up to it and surprise you.”

  “Come on, Dad, don’t do this to me. You have to tell me.”

  “All right, since you asked me. The story I’m about to tell you concerns Marilyn Monroe.”

  Lynn gasped. Marilyn Monroe was her favorite actress in the whole wide world and she had made it her business to see all of her movies. Her favorite was Some Like It Hot. “Marilyn Monroe? Dad, you have to tell me all about her.”

  “All right then. I have to backtrack a little and go back to January of 1962. Before John Kennedy was killed. Before the last story I told you ended. We’re going back to when the attorney general thought Red was dead and Red, in turn, was busy trying to clear his name after he had recovered from his gunshot wounds.”

  CHAPTER 1

  January 1962

  Corona Gentleman’s Club

  Angelo began the club’s second floor renovation. He closed the staircase leading to the second floor to everyone, including Big Red. Angelo took his time. He worked slowly but methodically. That was his style. He was a master builder who learned his trade from the great masters of Europe. During his apprenticeship, when he was young, he joined the Masonic Fraternity. He followed the traditions of the old master builders of the Middle Ages. When they completed a job in one country and they were forced to travel to another country for work, they didn’t know the language. But the Grand Master on the job site in the country in which he was working knew whether the man standing before him was an entered apprentice, a fellow craft mason, or a master mason because of certain grips and signs. Because of these signs, he knew what to pay the craftsman without a word being spoken. Angelo finished his apprenticeship and honed his skills, and when the guild felt he was ready to practice his trade, they accepted him into their fraternity. He joined them in building some of the great edifices in Europe.

  Angelo retired many years ago, but when Red asked him if he would complete the finishing work on the Starlight Club, he agreed to do it as a favor to Red. When it was completed, Red’s could have sworn Angelo read his mind, because that was how close he came to recreating the vision. He built the safe room at the club. He was then asked to work on the rest of the Club. Angelo knew he could build it close to what Red expected and possibly a little better.

  Even though Angelo was retired, he could never refuse Red when he asked him to do some work for him. Red was his padrone and had helped him when a gang of young ruffians spray painted his house and broke some windows. Red also helped his son Roberto and his friends at their Wall Street brokerage firm when mobsters forced them to turn their business over to them and even gave them a terrible beating. So whenever Angelo had a chance to repay Red, he never hesitated . . . he would always say in his thick Italian accent, “Yes I will fix-ah for you-ah, but do not-ah rush-ah me.” After Angelo was finished with the second floor renovation, Red inspected it. He loved what Angelo did to the room. Everything about it reeked of class. The beautiful oak paneling that seemed to glow from the sheen of the lacquered wood. The plush, thick taupe rugs that blended with the paneling and the new dropped ceiling complete with recessed lights. He liked that touch. He nodded at Angelo, marveling at his work. After seeing how nice the second floor came out, Red couldn’t wait for the first floor to be completed. Angelo told him not to put rugs on the first floor. That was where he conducted business and his men would track mud and snow throughout the first floor.

  “Put-ah tiles; they are-ah easier to clean-ah,” he advised and of course, he was right.

  “Okay, Angelo,” Red said.

  “Go out and buy an expensive Italian tile. One that’s easy to clean.” Red knew that with Angelo, he had to be patient. He knew that when he finished the renovation, no other stores in the area would compare to this converted store. Angelo bought a desk and had it brought upstairs. He set up a temporary work area where Red could work while he remodeled the first floor.

  As Red watched the progress Angelo was making remodeling the Corona Gentleman’s Club, he began to think that maybe he’d rebuild the Starlight Club. The thought appealed to Red even though he swore he would never rebuild it. He motioned for Tarzan and Shooter to take a walk with him. The three men left the club while Angelo continued to work his magic.

  The three men walked the short block until they came to the ruins of the Starlight Club. Red stood there and quietly stared at it for a few minutes. His men knew he was making an internal decision, but they had no idea what it could be. Then Red snapped out of it. He walked up the stairs and passed through the front door, which hung on a funny angle with one hinge off-kilter on the jam. From what they could see, the front bar wasn’t badly damaged, but a few feet into the bar area, they could see that there was extensive damage caused by the bombs Lonegan’s men tossed into the room, which blew out the ceilings and walls. Strangely, the bar remained untouched. Red nodded, making a mental note. Then he walked past the bar and into the foyer that he once had his contractor friend Artie convert to an inner bar to segregate the Gallo crew from the regular customers. This area had also suffered damage, but he realized that it wasn’t beyond repair. His eyes scanned the remains of his office and he shook his head. Why? he asked himself. Why did this have to happen? He walked into the ballroom. His masterpiece . . . his beautiful ballroom. It was in a shambles. He walked gingerly around clumps of debris littering the floor and carefully made his way to the back door, stepping around three of the four columns Angelo had built for him. Only one column remained upright; the other three were destroyed and they were lying in sections on the rubble-strewn floor. He found himself standing near the spot where Moose had dragged him back into the building after an agent shot him five times in the upper chest when he attempted to kill him. Red couldn’t remember the moment he was shot. All he had were vague memories of that moment as he absentmindedly shoved some debris aside with his foot. The shifting of the debris left an empty space on the floor that revealed a large stain of congealed blood that had dried and was still visible on the oak floor.

  “Come on. I’ve seen enough. Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said angrily. The men walked back through the rubble to the front door, then they stood outside at the bottom of the steps for a moment. Red still was mulling something over in his mind. Then, apparently making up his mind, he came to a decision. He barked, “Come on! Let’s get back to the Club! I have a few phone calls to make.”

  Red picked up the phone in his office and dialed a number, which was answered on the second ring. “Artie! It’s Big Red?” Artie was Red’s contractor friend. “I need you to do something for me.” Artie sounded relieved and happy to hear his friend’s voice.

  “Man, it’s good to hear from you. I thought you were dead. I’m glad you’re all right. What can I do for you, Red?”

  “I want you to rebuild the Starlight Club exactly the way it used to be. I have the blueprints if you need them.”

  “Yeah, sure. That would be a big help. When do you want me to start?”

  “Start as soon as you can. This was a snap decision, so get started before I change my mind.”

  “Well, I have a few things to clear up, so how about I start on Monday?” Red’s heart was racing now that he made up his mind to rebuild the Starlight Club.

  “How long will it take to complete? Just give me a ballpark estimate. I won’t hold you to anything, so don’t wor
ry.”

  “If money isn’t a problem, I could have two or three teams come in, so while one crew is working on the front bar, the others could be working on the ballroom.”

  “Yeah – that sounds good. Use as many men as you need to rebuild the place quickly. And listen. When you’re almost finished, I want to bring Angelo in to do the finishing touches. He needs to rebuild the three columns, re-do the floors, get the ceiling looking like it did, and I want him to repaint the murals. You know, the work that man did in the ballroom and the murals he created, well I want him to do it all over again. Okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m with you. This guy is old school. I was impressed with the work he did. That man’s an artist and it’d be an honor to work with him. I’ll send one of my men to pick up the permits. Hopefully, I’ll have them by Monday.”

  Red’s voice was firm and he cautioned him coldly, “If some son of a bitch gives you a problem with the permits, call me right away and I’ll make sure you get them.”

  “Will do, Red. Hopefully, that won’t be necessary.”

  Tarzan and Shooter listened to every word Red said. As soon as he hung up the phone, Shooter exclaimed excitedly, “Boss, did I hear right? Are you really gonna rebuild the Starlight Club?”

  “Yeah, I am. I made up my mind while I walked through the rubble and I thought to myself, ‘The Starlight Club deserves better than what it got. I was shot and I fucking survived and that club deserves to survive too.’ The Starlight Club was bombed and almost killed, but like me, it didn’t die. I’m gonna rebuild the Starlight Club exactly the way it was. It’ll be as beautiful as it ever was. And when it’s finished, we’re gonna have ourselves a blast at its grand opening.”

  Red turned to Tarzan. “There’s no sense me hanging around while Angelo is working on this place. I’m taking a flight to California Monday. I’ll take Shooter and Joey Bones with me. I want to make sure everything is in place at our production company. It’s costing me a fuckin fortune and we haven’t made one picture yet. I’m hemorrhaging money and I have to stop the god damned bleeding. I don’t mind paying, but I don’t want to be made a fool of either. I wanna make sure the people I hired are doing the job I hired them for . . . and they’re not slacking off. I want them to know exactly who they’re working for. It’ll keep them on their toes.