Toughs Page 31

  Loretto was looking at himself in the side window. "Nothing," he said. "I don't know. Just thinking."

  Gina asked softly, "What are you thinking about?"

  "I don't know," Loretto said again and then added, "It's hard to figure things."

  Gina nodded, as did Freddie, assuming Loretto was talking about Ercole and the funeral and the questions of life and death that a funeral might bring to one's thoughts.

  "Yeah," Freddie said. "Who knows?" and he fell back into his seat as the car went quiet for the remainder of the short drive home.

  Monday - January 4, 1932

  2:25 p.m.

  A window beside the closed courthouse doors offered Vince a clear view of the newspapermen and spectators crowding the steep steps that led down to the street. He was waiting for Leibowitz to escort him to his car. With Lottie by his side, Strenburg behind him, and a gang of coppers and guards swarming and buzzing around, he entertained himself by watching a couple of mugs with press cards sticking out of their headbands. They were shoving each other and appeared to be on the edge of throwing punches. "Look at those two birdbrains," he said to Lottie. Lottie picked herself up on her toes, peered out the window. "Dopes," she said. She gave Vince's arm a squeeze. "What's taking Leibowitz so long?"

  Vince stepped to the side for a better look at the black Lincoln with whitewall tires waiting for them on the street. The car was brand-new and flashy, with a spare tire on the running board, a rearview mirror belted to the tire. "Who's driving again?"

  "I don't know him," Lottie said. "Joe Evangelista. He goes by Jo Jo."

  "He's Castellammares'. Him and his brother Frank."

  "Yeah?" Lottie was more interested in Leibowitz's whereabouts than in hearing about Jo Jo Evangelista.

  "Jo Jo and his brother, it didn't sit well with them what happened to Maranzano."

  "Don't be thinkin' about that stuff now." Lottie straightened out Vince's jacket and adjusted the tilt of his hat. She had bought him a new pearl-gray fedora with a black band for his release. "First thing we do when we're out of here," she said, "is get rid of the mustache." She kissed him on the lips. "You're even handsomer without it."

  "Here's the man of the hour," Vince said.

  Lottie turned toward the commotion as Leibowitz made his way through the crowd. "About time," she said. She had begun to worry that something new had come up to delay Vince's release.

  Leibowitz put his arm over Vince's shoulders and pulled him away from Lottie. He left Strenburg to hold off the others while he had a few words with Vince in relative private. "We have a problem," he said. Turns out the Lennox Bonding Company put up your fifty-thousand-dollar bail."

  "Never heard of 'em."

  "But you have," Leibowitz said. "A little detective work and it's revealed that they're a front for Dutch Schultz and Owen Madden."

  Vince laughed. "I didn't know the boys cared."

  "Vince," Leibowitz said, "this isn't a laughing matter. Don't forget what happened to your friend Jack Diamond. He didn't last twelve hours on the street after he was acquitted."

  "I haven't forgotten Jack," Vince said, and his face reddened slightly. "I haven't forgotten Jack. I haven't forgotten my brother Pete. I haven't forgotten anything."

  "All the same," Leibowitz said, "I've arranged for a car to meet you at the side entrance." He took Vince by the wrist and tried to direct him back through the crowd.

  "Not on your life." Vince jerked his hand free and grabbed Leibowitz roughly by the arm. "We're going out the front, Counselor." He pushed Leibowitz ahead of him to the courthouse doors.

  Once on the steps, the crowd surged toward Vince, shouting a bar rage of questions. The bright midafternoon sun reflecting off sheets of snow and ice was blinding and Vince covered his eyes with a forearm. He understood that the photographers were shouting for a picture and the reporters were yelling out questions, but in the fury of all those voices trying to yell over each other, the only thing he heard clearly were the words Mad Dog, which it seemed everybody was shouting all at once, trying to get his attention. Strenburg and another lawyer pushed through the crowd, pulling Vince and Lottie along behind them while Leibowitz raised his hands and called out to the crowd, telling them he'd answer their questions. When they reached the car, Strenburg opened the door and Vince and Lottie piled into the back seat, where Vince looked up to see Leibowitz at the top of the steps, surrounded by a crowd of reporters jotting furiously in notepads. Behind them stood the three detectives— Givons, Dwyer, and Giovanetti—all three with their hands on their hips and identical angry sneers. They made Vince laugh and he saluted them as the Lincoln pulled out into traffic. "Boys," he said by way of taking leave, as if they could hear him.

  From the driver's seat, Jo Jo said, "V'fancul'! What a mob scene!" Then, with his eyes on the road, he reached into the back seat for a handshake. "Congratulations, boss."

  Vince shook his hand. "Good to see you," he said. "How's Frankie?"

  "Eh, you know Frankie. Still betting the ponies."

  Vince hardly knew either Frankie or Jo Jo. They were among the older boys on the streets when he was a kid. Everybody knew to stay away from them. Jo Jo was crazy and Frankie was crazier. Later they were with Joe the Boss, and then Maranzano after Joe got his, and then he'd heard they'd gone independent after Maranzano got it because they didn't like the way that all happened. They were no fans of Lucky Luciano. "Glad you and Frankie are on board," he said. "I got big things planned."

  "Sure," Jo Jo said. "You're the big shot now. Mad Dog Coll. You're in all the headlines." He pulled the car into an alley, slid in close to a brick wall behind rows of garbage pails, and picked up a cannon—a big Colt .45— from under a newspaper on the seat beside him.

  "What's going on?" Vince glanced up and down the alley and started to reach under his jacket as if he were heeled.

  "We're switching cars," Lottie said, and right on cue a Chevy coupe pulled up next to them.

  Jo Jo got out of the Lincoln with his gun dangling at his side, and Mike got out of the Chevy with a tommy gun cradled in his arms.

  Jo Jo said, "Okay, boss," and Lottie took Vince by the arm as they switched cars.

  Patsy, behind the wheel of the Chevy, drove slowly toward the street, where he waited for a third car, a Packard Speedster, to pull out of a parking space. A moment later the three cars, the Chevy between the Packard and the Lincoln, were rolling in a caravan toward the Manhattan Bridge.

  After shaking hands with Mike, slapping Patsy on the back, and exchanging greetings, Vince settled into his seat and put an arm around Lottie. "Who's in the lead car?" he asked Mike.

  "Paul Martone and Anthony Domini, from the old days with Little Augie."

  "Jeez, those two," Vince said and laughed.

  Lottie said, "I hope you can control these guys."

  "Remember that thing on the bocce court," Mike said, "with the Evangelistas?"

  "What thing?" Lottie asked.

  "I remember it," Vince said. "It was some Polack."

  "So?" Lottie pressed when Vince didn't offer any further details.

  "Frank and Jo Jo are playing bocce with a couple of other cafon's," Mike explained. "This Polish guy comes around, doesn't know what bocce is. This and that, he makes some remark about bocce being a dumb dago game—and that was that."

  "Shoved a boccino down his throat," Patsy said.

  "Looked like one of those snakes that eats a cow," Mike added.

  Patsy said, "Here we are," and he pulled into an alley that dead-ended in a courtyard. He took a pistol from his shoulder holster and got out of the car along with Mike. The Packard pulled in behind them, and the Lincoln parked at the head of the alley, blocking anyone else from entering. With Jo Jo at one end of the alley and Paul and Anthony at the other, Mike and Patsy escorted Vince and Lottie through a back door, up a flight of stairs, and into a nicely appointed apartment, where Florence and Joe were waiting along with Loretto and Jimmy Brennan, a thick, bent-over mug with a beer bel
ly who looked like an older, beat-up version of the kid Vince had known all those years ago back in the orphanage.

  On a long table in the dining room, Florence had set out sandwiches and cold cuts along with plates of pastries and fruits. The apartment looked like it had been ft for royalty twenty years ago, and it was still impressively plush, with heavy rugs over polished wood floors, plaster ceilings with fancy carvings around the light fixtures, and tall, curtained windows. Florence had gotten dressed up for the occasion. She waited at the head of the table in a frilly blue dress, her hands pressed together as if her prayers had been answered. Vince nodded to her as the rest of the boys fled into the apartment behind him. Florence hadn't shown up for a single day of either trial, but then this was the same woman who wouldn't let Vince and Pete live with her when their mother died.

  "Let's toast!" Florence said. "Come on, boys!" She gestured toward a table in the kitchen where a dozen glasses were waiting beside several bottles of whiskey. "Pour yourselves a drink so we can toast to Vince!"

  Vince followed Lottie to the kitchen table, shaking hands and exchanging greetings along the way. He poured himself a drink and looked around the room at the assemblage waiting to toast him. Loretto and Jimmy Brennan were face to face by a front window. They looked like they'd been talking for a while, Loretto fresh-faced and sharp in a pale blue double-breasted suit with a pocket square, Jimmy rumpled and sour-looking under a messy clump of barely combed Irish-red hair, wearing a cheap suit, his tie loosened and collar open. He looked like he already had a few drinks under his belt. Jo Jo had gone straight to his brother, Frankie. Jo Jo was slim, looked to be in good shape, and wasn't a bad-looking guy if you discounted the scar that ran from just under his chin all the way down his neck, where it disappeared under his collar. Frankie, his older brother, was bulky, with fat cheeks and droopy eyes that made him look a little drunk even when he was completely sober. Of the two, Frankie was the stronger and Jo Jo the smarter. Paul Martone and Anthony Domini had taken up positions on either side of the front door like a pair of palace guards. Mike and Patsy poured themselves drinks and pulled up seats across from each other at the dining room table, next to Florence's Joe, who looked like he always did, as if he'd just got off work at the docks.

  Florence held up her drink. "To Vince," she said—but before she could say anything more Vince cut her off.

  "First drink is to Frank and Tuffy."

  "Hear, hear," Mike said, and they all threw back their shots.

  "And this one's to Vince," Florence went on, "the toughest son of a bitch in the whole feckin' country!"

  Before downing their drinks, the Evangelistas, unaccustomed to Florence's foul mouth, exchanged looks as if their sense of propriety was offended.

  Vince put his glass down. "Let's get to the business at hand." He pulled up a seat at the head of the table and gestured for the others to join him. Loretto and Jimmy kept their places by the front window while the rest of the boys crowded around and pulled up seats. Lottie perched on the armrest of Vince's chair, her arm around his shoulders, while Florence sat next to Joe, glanced quickly at Lottie, and just as quickly looked away.

  "I'll keep this simple for now," Vince said. "First . . ." he lifted his glass and looked to each of the new recruits. "Paul, Anthony, Frankie, Jo Jo, and Jimmy . . . I'm glad you mugs saw ft to come in with us." He threw back his drink and the others followed. "With you mugs on board, there ain't a tougher bunch in the country."

  "Or a crazier one," Jimmy Brennan said. When everyone looked at him, he added, grinning, "I mean that with the utmost respect," and drew a cautious laugh.

  Mike said, "Once Dutch gets word of this, he's going so deep into hiding, he'll have to look up to see his own ass," and drew another laugh.

  Vince knocked on the table. "Here's the down and dirty," he said. "This time next year, we're all gonna be so rich the Vanderbilts will be comin' to us for loans."

  Jimmy said, "And just how are we gonna manage that, Vince, if you wouldn't mind fillin' in the peasantry?"

  Jimmy's tone walked a fine line between belligerent and amused. "Ah, Jimmy Brennan," Vince said, putting on the Irish, "if you'll shaddup, I'll be telling you."

  "Aye," Jimmy said, "I'm quiet as a ghost."

  "This is how we're doing it," Vince said. "We're gonna cripple the Combine's ability to produce and distribute beer here, in and around the city, and then we're gonna control all the routes in and out. Once we accomplish that, they'll all be on their knees to us, them that are still alive— and I'll tell you right now, that won't include Dutch Schultz."

  "How do you plan to do that?" Anthony Domini asked. He was short and squat, with meaty lips and a ruddy face. He looked like a little freplug, like it would take a truck to knock him off his feet. "They got a lot of breweries and a lot of men."

  "A lot of men," Vince said, "but this is what come to me when I was in the Tombs: not that many breweries." He paused and smiled as if giving everyone a second to think. "One brewery in particular probably serves half the city its beer."

  "Big Owney's," Frank Evangelista said. He seemed amused.

  "Home of Madden's Number 1," Vince said, and Lottie gave him a squeeze, as if excited for him.

  "That place is a fortress," Brennan said.

  "No. It ain't," Vince answered.

  "You can't park a car on the street there without coppers coming from every direction to give you a ticket!" Brennan took a step toward Vince as if he wanted to make sure he was being heard. "Madden's got every flatfoot within a mile of 25th Street on his payroll. You can't get near the place."

  "Sure, we can get near the place," Vince said. He gave Lottie a kiss on the cheek and pointedly didn't look at Brennan. "In fact," he added, nodding to Mike, "we can get inside the place."

  "Piece of cake," Mike said. With his thumb, he massaged the scar over his eyebrow and waited till everyone's attention was riveted on him. "We've got the addresses and schedules of everyone who works at Madden's famous Phoenix Cereal Beverage Company. We've bought the ones we need to buy, and when we're ready, we'll walk right in, along with all the rest of the workers."

  Frank Evangelista scratched his head. He looked uncertain. "I heard they got machine guns set up at all the windows and on the roof."

  "Not every window," Mike said. "Four facing 26th Street and four more up on the roof. Thing is, they're the big belt-fed jobs, and they'll be facing the wrong way. We won't be out on the street or up on the roof. We'll be inside. Behind them."

  Paul Martone laughed like he was in on the joke. "They won't have a chance." He was a tall, good-looking guy who was making an effort to keep his eyes on Vince and not to notice Lottie.

  Brennan still wasn't buying it. "So we're just walkin' in the front door? Just like that?"

  "No, a little more complicated than that," Mike said.

  Patsy turned to Brennan. "You'll see when the time comes," he said, making no effort at being pleasant.

  "See," Vince said, "Madden's gotten soft. He thinks he's one of those movie stars come to his clubs all the time. We're gonna remind him the nature of his business."

  "You don't say." Brennan put an arm around Loretto's shoulders. "I count ten men in this room. You know how many men Owen alone has on his payroll? Let alone the rest of the Combine?"

  "Sure," Vince said, "but they can't kill us if they can't find us. My sister, Florence, here . . ." Vince nodded to Florence and she puffed up and looked around the room. "Florence has rented places for us spread around the city. And Joe," he nodded to Joe, who awkwardly saluted the table, "Joe has rented some more places. I'm the only one who knows all these residences. Before you leave, I'll give you an address, and the first thing you're gonna do is take what you need out of wherever you're staying now and move to the new place, where, if you're smart, you'll stay inside and keep your head down. Plus, every week or so we'll move everybody around. I'll know where to find you, but you don't know how to find each other, and nobody knows how to find me." Vince p
aused, turned to Brennan, and added, "Like I said: they can't kill us if they can't find us."

  Brennan lifted his glass to Vince. "You've got moxie!" he yelled. "I'll give you that!"

  "I'm telling you, Jimmy Brennan," Vince said, and he turned on his charm, making an effort to convince an old friend, "these mugs have gotten soft, Madden especially. Once they see we mean business, they'll get out of our way. They'll either get out of our way or we'll put 'em in the ground."

  "Sure," Jimmy said, and again he lifted his glass to Vince. "You picked the men to do the job, there's no arguing with you there."

  "We're starting right away," Mike said, "so you boys might as well enjoy yourselves while you've got the chance."

  Paul Martone asked how soon, and Mike told him soon enough.

  "Tomorrow," Vince said, "we start hitting their drops and taking out their trucks. The Cotton Club, the Silver Slipper, the Napoleon, the De Fay—these clubs should have a hard time satisfying their customers' thirst if we do our job right."