Gangsters: Whiskey Empire, #2

Prologue

JANUARY 16, 1920 was a day full of promise in the United States of America. It was the day prohibitionists finally were able to pass a law to ban the manufacture, sale, transportation and the drinking of alcohol. It was intended to remove a great evil that was corrupting men and harming their families. What it did instead was create ruthless mobsters like Al Capone, Lucky Luciano, Bugs Moran, Dutch Schultz and many others who were willing to ignore the law to make millions of dollars selling alcohol to a willing public. A public who still wanted their drink. And the bodies of fellow mobsters and innocent citizens alike piled up as these ruthless men removed anyone who got in their way. American blood was spilled as the alcohol was poured. Corruption became rampant. Judges, police officers, customs officers, and politicians saw money pour into their pockets to look the other way.

In Canada, prohibition also struck. But a Federal law said you could make alcohol for export. And so began an era of rum-running and bootlegging, a lucrative but dangerous occupation of feeding alcohol to the mobsters in the United States. This is the story of Rocco and Besha DeLuca, rising from poverty to build a whiskey empire while dodging bullets, fire-bombs and those who would rip the future from their cold, dead hands.

By the start of 1921, Rocco and Besha DeLuca and their growing organization had shipped several million dollars of liquor to the prohibition-stricken United States. Young men were constantly knocking on the door of their two distilleries, looking for product to bootleg in the surrounding community or into the United States. But the Glen Gael Distillery and the DeLuca Distillery, both in Hamilton, Ontario, were running at full capacity, most of it smuggled in boats across Lake Erie to provide the gangster organizations run by Baby Face Monterosso in Buffalo and Black Sam Todaro and his brother Big Joe in Cleveland. The rest was 'short-circuited' back into Ontario for their own bootlegging operations.

Despite the dangers of rival gangs looking to muscle in, despite the constant threat of arrest by the local coppers or federal agents, Rocco, Besha and their two partners, Tony Genovese and Machine-Gun Tommy Giachetti, were carving out a life for themselves and those working for them. Rising from the grinding poverty of the old Italian neighborhood they all lived in, they fought shoulder to shoulder to spit in the eye of a system they felt was rigged against them.

Chapter 1

Hamilton, Ontario, Canada

MORE THAN SEVENTY-EIGHT PEOPLE have gone blind in the last two weeks. There are also reports of twelve deaths and many citizens suffering paralysis in the same time period. A report from Rochester, N.Y. tells of a man rushing in from a snow storm into the emergency room at Genesee Hospital, claiming Santa Claus was chasing him with a baseball bat, intent on killing him. Despite the efforts of the nurses to calm him, and before doctors could act, the man died. The alcohol-induced hallucination was just a symptom of his condition and one that has affected hundreds of our citizens - alcohol poisoning. Reports are also coming from–

Hey, pal? You gonna pay for that newspaper or you gonna just stand there beating your gums and entertaining yourself on my dime?

Tony Genovese lowered the newspaper he was reading and looked down at the old man in the newspaper stall.

The old man's eyes took on a look of horror. But his potential health took a bigger jolt when he realized who was standing next to Genovese. "M-Mr. DeLuca...I'm...I'm sorry...I didn't know it was you...."

Rocco DeLuca reached into a pocket and pulled out a bill, passing it over to the old man, No problem. We were just interested in the headline–

The old man waved his arms and refused to take the money, No, no, Mr. DeLuca. No charge to you. He passed his hand over the newspapers sitting flat on the small slanted front counter of his stall, Take whatever you want. I also got newspapers from Toronto, St. Catherines...look...I even have one from Buffalo. He picked it up and held it out, "It's...it's a day old but that's how I get them...."

Tony folded the newspaper he was holding under his arm and reached out, taking the Buffalo newspaper from the old man, I would suggest you take my friend's money...before he feels insulted.

Rocco's dark eyes stayed fixed on the old man as he held out the money.

Gulping, the old man's shaky hand reached and took the money. He finally averted his eyes as he looked down to open his battered cash box and put the money inside. He froze and then looked up, his voice raspy with fear, B-but...I can't change this. I don't have the–

I never asked for change, did I? Rocco gave the old man a nod and turned away.

Tony Genovese fell in beside his friend as they continued down the old, battered wooden sidewalk. He handed the Buffalo newspaper over to Rocco, You think it's our hootch that's killing these people?

I don't think so, Rocco said. He folded the newspaper under his arm. The rich scent of baking bread carried across the cold air as they walked past Taglianetti's Bakery.

How can we be sure?

We can't, I guess. But Besha talked with old man Kippen about it.

The old guy she bought Glen Gael from?

Yeah. She even paid him to come into both distilleries to look over the whole thing. He says there's no way our stuff could be killing or hurting people. There's nothing in the whole process that could be causing it.

Tony watched an attractive young woman pass by, giving her behind the once-over as she passed, That's a classy chassis.

Rocco didn't bother turning around or commenting.

Smiling to himself, Tony wiped a hand under his dripping nose, Can't get rid of this damn cold. He sniffed and glanced back at the young woman, Maybe she'll take care of me?

Rocco shook his head in amusement, Only if she's a dumb Dora.

Hey, that hurts, Tony said with a mock frown.

I'm sure you'll survive the pain.

Tony grew serious again, You think maybe our bootleggers are cutting the stuff with something? I've heard some guys use wood alcohol to cut their bottles, getting two or three times the alcohol to sell.

Could be, Rocco agreed. Kippen told Besha about different ways it could be done. He thought about it as they walked, I think we gotta have the guys warn our bootleggers when they drop off shipments. We can't have anybody doing that and causing a problem with the business.

Tony sniffed again as he took the newspaper from under his arm and looked at the headline again, Doesn't look likes it's stopping people from drinking.

No, Rocco agreed, but dead customers don't buy whiskey.

Chapter 2

Giachetti's Café

ROCCO DELUCA WAS ENJOYING an early morning coffee, reading the two day old Buffalo newspaper and catching up on events across the border. There were a dozen other people from the neighborhood enjoying a hot breakfast and hot coffee against the cold weather they had all been experiencing the last two weeks. The bell over the entrance jingled and Rocco glanced up to see Tommy Giachetti coming inside. Tommy's wave to his mom and pop behind the counter was cursory which told Rocco something was wrong. He set the newspaper down on the local one and watched Tommy approach, Morning.

Sitting at the table, Tommy only said, Morning, and waited for his mother, already on her way to the table, to arrive.

You want breakfast, Tommaso? Mrs. Giachetti asked in her light Italian accent.

No, momma, just coffee. I'll probably go right back out.

Mrs. Giachetti shook her head, You're going to be skin and bone. Up all night and no eat. Tommy's mother grumbled her way back to the counter.

What's wrong? Rocco asked, keeping his voice low. You have someone try to hijack you again?

Tommy leaned in, No. But we do have some problems, Rocco. The last month or so I noticed we weren't moving as much liquor to the bootleggers in the south part of the city. Corktown, Rosedale, Broughton, the mountain area...it's even down over in Ancaster Village and Duff's Corner.

Any idea why?

Stopping for a moment and leaning back in his chair, Tommy let his mother set a coffee on the table in front of him. Tommy leaned forward again as she left, still grumbling at him, Yeah. I finally got Arnold King in Corktown to fill me in. Apparently, two guys have been selling hooch to all our bootleggers, undercutting our pricing by half.

Half? Where the hell are they getting it?

Claims he doesn't know. Or cares. I didn't push him on it, thought I'd talk to you first. See how you wanted to handle it.

Rocco took a sip of his coffee as he considered what Tommy was saying. Then he cocked his head, reached over and pulled the local newspaper out from under the Buffalo one. He thumbed through until he found the 'Out of Town News' section and folded the paper over, looking through the articles.

Tommy sipped his coffee, What are you looking for–?

Rocco tapped the paper, That. The doc down in  Ancaster Village reported he had four patients with symptoms of alcohol poisoning.

Setting his cup down with a clink, Tommy said, That's the thing Tony was telling me about? People going blind and that? You think it's–?

Did Arnold King give you any names?

He said he heard them call each other Frank and Lanzo. But he didn't bother asking any last names.

Looking out the window, Rocco gave the matter some thought and then made the decision. You got your truck?

Yeah, it's just a couple doors down, Tommy said as he got up, Where we going?

For a drive.

Rocco had Tommy cruise the neighborhood and surrounding area until he spotted Constable Jimmy Hamilton of the Hamilton Constabulary. Rocco's partner, Tony Genovese, had worked with Jimmy on the constabulary and was now being paid to protect their bootleggers on his beat. Tommy pulled up as the constable walked his beat, twirling his baton.

Hamilton glanced over as the truck stopped beside him Rocco? Yeah, I thought that was you. He stepped over to the truck, How's it going?

Rocco stuck his hand out and shook hands with the constable, Good. It's a cold day to be walking.

Yeah, I can't wait till they start buying us cars. But the buggers are too cheap, Hamilton said as he stomped his feet to keep them warm.

Do a pair of bootleggers by the name of Lanzo and Frank mean anything to you? Rocco asked.

Yeah, Hamilton answered as his face grew serious, Lanzo Errigo and Frank Presutti. I heard Chief Constable Wherley was pressing the Inspectors to get on those guys. They had been working outside the city before, so it was outside of his jurisdiction. But once they started pushing inside, he's been hot to stop them.

Rocco cocked his head, Why these guys? And where are they getting their stuff?

That's where the problem comes in, Hamilton said. He glanced up and down the street, making sure no one was watching them before he continued. Apparently these two bozos are importing rubbing alcohol from the United States.

Rubbing alcohol? That's what they're selling? Tommy asked in surprise from the driver's side.

Not really, Hamilton said as he looked across at Tommy. From what I understand, they bring the stuff in by rail car, one or two tons at a time. Rumor has it they run it through a still on a farm somewhere outside Hamilton. I guess they screwed up on some of it because people have been going blind and even dying.

Tommy swore, Killing paying customers isn't good business for any of us.

Rocco nodded to himself, thinking back over the newspaper reports. He closed one eye and looked at Hamilton,  Any idea where these guys are? Or where the farm where they're operating is?

Hamilton shook his head, No. Not that I ever heard. There was a rumor that they stay at the Queens Hotel here in Hamilton, but no one's there by that name. Wherley's been on the warpath, pushing everybody to find them, but so far, no one knows nothing.

Okay, thanks. I'll have an extra $500 put inside your next envelope, Rocco said.

Really? Thanks.

You hear anymore, I'll double it. Let's go, Tommy. We need to pay a visit to someone.

That someone lived in an old clapboard home with peeling paint on the edge of the Corktown neighborhood. Tommy knocked on the door of Arnold King twice before it was answered.

The door swung open and a man about fifty, with two days worth of stubble and messy gray hair appeared. He pushed his braces up over his undershirt, Who the hell is–Tommy? He glanced at the man behind him and then asked, Why you here now? I don't need– A surprised look came over his face and then he looked back at the man with Tommy, realizing who it was. He staggered back a step, Oh shit.

Tommy moved inside as the man staggered back a few more steps, Morning Arnold. Thought we'd come over for a friendly visit.

Rocco followed in behind, his hands inside his bomber jacket and his flat-cap low over his eyes.

A teenage boy appeared beside King, What's wrong pop? He looked at the two visitors, Hey Tommy. What's up?

Tommy nodded a greeting, Morning Eric. We just need to talk to your pop is all.

What about? Eric looked at the man with Tommy and his eyes flew open as he pointed, Pop...that's...that's Rocco DeLuca–

Arnold King grabbed his son's arm and pulled it down, moving in front of him, W-what exactly do you want, Tommy?

Tommy's eyes hardened, We're just here about your friends, Lanzo and Frank.

King waved his hands as he talked. His mouth was dry and cracked, They...they ain't my friends... I just buy liquor from them–

At half the price, Tommy interjected.

Rocco remained silent, waiting.

Hey, it's just business, said King. He held his hands out to Rocco, You understand, Mr. DeLuca. It's just–

Rocco's voice was low and controlled but sent a definite message, "When someone interferes in my business, I'm not happy. And when I'm not happy...."

King held his hands out to Tommy in a beseeching manner, Okay. Look. When I get more money, I'll buy it from you guys again. Okay? Only from you guys. Honest. I just spent all my money buying from them cause I could see a big profit–

Right now this is about more than profit, Rocco said. His voice rose in anger, Your stupid greed is helping to kill our customers and that really pisses me off. He gestured for King to go with them, Let's go.

His eyes filling with fear, King shook his head.

Rocco opened the door and stepped outside, Let's go, Arnold.

Tommy gestured for King to follow Rocco outside.

Arnold King headed for the door, his whole body shaking. He grabbed his coat from the hook behind the door and looked back at his son, Tell your mom I love her. Okay? You take care of her now, you hear me–?

Tommy pushed King in the back to get him going.

Arnold stumbled against the frame of the door but managed to stay on his feet.

Eric King started after his father but stopped dead in his tracks when Tommy held up a hand. The gun he held spoke a language the teenage boy understood.

Chapter 3

ARNOLD KING SAT LOW in the seat between Tommy and Rocco as they parked in the truck across the street from the Queens Hotel. Two hours had gone by and all three men were cold and shivering under the heavy blankets they had brought. But Rocco wasn't giving up. He would stay all night and all the next day if he had to. He would freeze to death if he had to.

'There!" King said suddenly, sliding up in the seat, and pointing across the street to a man walking towards the front entrance of the Queens Hotel.

The man was burly, wearing a poor-boys cap and a sick, gray wool coat. He glanced towards the street as he walked.

King realized he might be seen and slouched back down and said in a low voice, That's Frank. That's him. That's the guy who came with his partner to sell me the hooch.

You positive? Rocco asked as he studied the man in the gray coat.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Rocco pushed the blanket off, opened his door and stepped out, Okay. Get out. You can find a jitney and make your way home.

Arnold King slid across the seat as fast as he could and almost fell out into the street beside Rocco.

Rocco grabbed the man's arm and looked into his eyes, "You better be right. If you're screwing with us...."

I'm not, I'm not. King looked relieved when Rocco let his arm go and the bootlegger took off down the street.

Stepping around the front of the vehicle as Tommy got out, they watched as the man King said was Frank Presutti walked inside the door of the hotel, the cold sun glinting off the glass as it open and closed.

What do you want to do? Tommy asked.

If it is him, we still need to make sure he's with the other guy. Rocco looked both ways, Let's go.

Together they jogged across to the front of the Queens Hotel where they peered through the glass of the hotel window.

I don't see him, Tommy said. We lost him already?

Not seeing the man either, Rocco cursed and moved to the front door, pulled it open and slipped inside. Tommy was right behind him and they now stood just inside, looking for this Presutti. The large hotel lobby was filled with old furniture that had seen its better day but the wall decor and chandelier were still impressive. There were a number of people around the lobby area, voices low but talking and laughing.

Tommy leaned his head closer to Rocco's and pointed, There.

Frank Presutti was off to the right, walking next to a thin, wiry man. They disappeared into a restaurant on that side of the building.

You think the other guy is this Lanzo Errigo? Tommy asked.

Don't know, Rocco said, trying to figure out what they should do now.

You think we should go in and have a bite to eat and watch them?

Rocco shook his head after a moment. No. I imagine those guys would have scouted out our organization. They would probably know you for sure. They would have followed you making your drops. He scanned the lobby and decided on a plan. I've got my pistol. You have iron on you? he asked in a low voice.

No, it's back in the truck, Tommy said.

Okay. I'm gonna grab a newspaper and wait in here. If they go upstairs, I'll follow and figure out which rooms they're in. I want you to watch from the truck. If I miss them and they get outside, you can follow them.

Okay, Tommy said. He turned and opened the door before looking back, Rocco?

Yeah?

The first sign of trouble, you call for me. Okay?

Rocco gave him a firm nod, Okay. And you do the same.

As Tommy headed back outside, Rocco grabbed a newspaper from the rack and sat down in the lobby to watch for the two rival bootleggers.

Chapter 4

AN HOUR LATER , just as the sun was setting, the men who were supposed to be Frank Presutti and Lanzo Errigo walked out of the restaurant and across the lobby. The tall, wiry guy was picking his teeth while Presutti was pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. The two men lit up cigarettes just inside the front door the Queens Hotel. They talked for a few moments, puffing on their cigarettes.

Rocco kept the newspaper just at eye level and watched them finally go out the front door. He threw the newspaper down and hustled over to the door, stepping halfway outside.

Frank and his buddy were just down the street on the left, heading for a Ford truck.

Sprinting across the road, Rocco jumped inside the truck and pointed to the men, Let's follow them.

Tommy ripped off the heavy blankets, rubbed his hands together to improve the circulation and started the truck.

The men got in the Ford and a moment later it pulled out and headed towards Tommy and Rocco's position.

Both Tommy and Rocco pulled their caps low and kept a hand up near their face as the Ford truck passed them.

Tommy gave them a minute and then did a u-turn in the street and followed. The two bootleggers led them south through the city, climbed to the mountain area and turned left along Mud Street. It wasn't long before they left the lights of houses behind. I just hope we got enough gas, Tommy said.

Rocco pulled out two cigarettes, lit them both and passed one over to Tommy, Just keep following. If we run out, we run out. We can come back tomorrow and try it again.

Tommy nodded as he took the cigarette, I bet those guys are going out to that farm the constable talked about.

Either that or they have another spot where they keep their hooch. Try to stay as far back as you can.

Gotcha. Tommy allowed them to get a little further along and followed the faint glow of their lights as they traveled through the darkness. They passed the lights of a house through the trees on the right and then everything on both sides of the road went pitch black for a long stretch. The trees disappeared on both sides of the road as well as they moved into a flatter area. Passing two farmhouses on the right, the faint glow from the house lights bounced like fireflies as the truck rode over a long bumpy stretch. After twenty minutes the soft glow of the truck ahead of them swung to the right and faded. Hold on, Tommy said as he sped up. Not sure if they turned a corner or what.

Rocco pulled his Browning semi-automatic pistol out and checked it, They might have realized we were following them.

Got mine here too, Tommy said as he took the pistol he had sitting in his lap and set it on the seat beside him, patting it a couple of times. He slowed the truck as they reached the spot where the truck lights had disappeared. The ground on the right side went down into a snowy gully and then climbed on the other side to a farmhouse they could barely make out in the darkness. What do you think?

Rocco could see tire tracks in the snow, There's a road up to the house. Turn the lights out and follow their tire tracks up there as best you can, Rocco said. He set his arm over the door on his side and leveled the pistol, ready to shoot if someone tried to surprise them.

Tommy slowly turned the truck until he was on the tire tracks. He cut his lights, picked up his own pistol and held it with his left out the window. Then he began driving slowly down into the gully.

After a few moments, Rocco whispered, Stop.

Braking to a stop, Tommy held his pistol at the ready, watching and listening. When Rocco gave the okay, he began the slow climb to the dark farmhouse, keeping the speed low as they drew closer.

Stop, whispered Rocco again.

Tommy put the brakes on, What is it? He brought the weapon up, his eyes darting from the windows to the doors at the farmhouse.

Rocco pointed off to the right, behind the house, There.

The soft glow of lights came from under the big front doors of a massive, old barn.

Turn the truck off and let's go. Keep your eyes peeled, Rocco said.  He got out and softly closed the door. Walking to the front of the truck, he kept his eyes on the barn.

Tommy got out and lightly closed his door. He headed to the back of the truck and picked up a gunny sack in his left hand before heading to the front of the truck.

Rocco led the way, the snow crunching lightly under their feet. The air was crisp and sharp, with the scent of a wood fire carrying from the barn area.

Chapter 5

ROCCO DELUCA AND TOMMY GIACHETTI stood on either side of a barn window, pistol at their shoulders as they looked inside the massive barn. Lights hanging from the ceiling cast a large circle of light around the central interior of the barn. A large copper still stood prominently in the light, surrounded by other equipment, barrels, and jugs, some of them empty.

The two were busy loading barrels of their product onto the cargo bed of the truck they had backed into the barn.

Rocco ducked under the window and came up on the other side and near the side door.

Tommy crouched and crept under the window, set down the gunny sack and stood up just behind Rocco, pistol up.

Rocco reached down to the doorknob and slowly turned it. Pulling the door open, Rocco slid inside.

Tommy was right behind him.

The sharp smell of alcohol hung in the air.

Frank Presutti saw them from the corner of his eye and dropped the barrel with a bang to the bed of the truck and brought his hand up to his coat

I wouldn't do it if I were you, Rocco said, his weapon trained on the man's chest.

Errigo was frozen in place, holding a barrel as his eyes darted between the two men who had so suddenly appeared. Then Errigo slowly placed the barrel he was holding onto the floor and then stood up, keeping his hands open and in front of him where the two men could see them. He wasn't taking any chances with a misunderstanding.

Rocco gestured with the gun, I take it you're Frank Presutti and you're Lanzo Errigo.

The two men appeared startled that he knew their names. Then Presutti slowly took on a taller stature, his hand still near his jacket as he assumed a tough guy look, You guys are making a big mistake.

"Oh? Why don't you tell us why we're making such a big mistake," Rocco said.

Presutti watched Tommy edge over towards the jugs and barrels on the floor near the still.

Tommy nudged one of the stoneware jugs with his foot then glanced at the still before putting his eyes back on the two men.

I'm still waiting for an answer, Rocco said.

Sneering, Frank looked at Rocco, We work for Bruno Tramontozzi, out of Guelph.

Rocco didn't say anything, just looking at the burly man for a moment. Glancing at Errigo and then back at Presutti, Rocco said, Is that name supposed to mean something to me?

Looking at Rocco like he was an idiot, Presutti said emphatically, Black Bruno?

Still nothing, Rocco said.

Presutti's voice rose in anger, Tramontozzi runs all the rackets from Guelph to London.

He does?

Yeah. He does.

Then aren't you guys far from home? Tommy asked. That ain't anywhere near here.

Presutti opened his mouth, a scowl on his face–

And who got the idea to run rubbing alcohol through the still? Rocco asked.

That comment definitely surprised Errigo and Presutti. They exchanged brief glances and Presutti narrowed his eyes again, Who the hell are you guys? You ain't coppers.

Rocco ignored the question, I want you to take a message back to this Tramontozzi. He stays out of Hamilton or I go looking for him.

Shit, Presutti said, I think you two are just a couple of hick farmers way in over your heads. His hand shot into his coat for his weapon.

Pulling the trigger three times, Rocco then swung the weapons towards Errigo as Presutti's body fell backward to the barn floor with a thud, dust and straw kicking into the air.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, yelled Errigo as he backed away with his hands up, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and any bullets that were about to fly. I'll take a message to Black Bruno. That's what you want, don't you? I'll take a message. Just don't shoot, please.

Then stop moving, yelled Tommy.

Errigo stumbled a couple of steps, desperately trying to stop himself, Okay, okay.

Step back up here, Rocco ordered, waving the weapon for the man to hurry up and come forward.

Stumbling and shaking, the tall, wiry man stepped forward, hands in the air, mumbling that he was moving and doing what they wanted.

As the man came closer, Rocco said, Okay. That's far enough. How do you guys bring in the rubbing alcohol?

Errigo's mouth opened and closed, not sure if he should talk about it and then decided he had better, It...it comes in on the train from Buffalo–

How do you get it?

It's...it's offloaded at the freight shed just west of the train passenger depot–

I know where that is, Tommy said.

You have someone there working with you?

Y-yeah. Guy by the name of Alonzi. He gestured to his dead partner, Frank knew him–

Tommy glanced at Rocco, We got everything you need?

Yeah.

Okay. Give me a minute to set things up. Tommy headed for the open door where they had first come in. Retrieving the gunnysack, Tommy walked back over to the still and placed the gunny sack on the barn floor. Getting down on one knee, Tommy placed his pistol on the floor and opened the gunny sack. He pulled out four sticks of dynamite and began to twist the fuses together in a pigtail.

Errigo's voice was shaky as he glanced between what Tommy was doing and Rocco with the gun, You're...you're going to let me go, right? If I'm gonna deliver a message, you have to let me go. Right?

Shut up, Rocco said.

Yes, sir. I'm shutting up. You don't have to tell me again. No, sir.

"Shut–up...."

Errigo opened his mouth and shut it again.

Tommy set the bundle of dynamite against the bottom part of the still. Retrieving his pistol and slipping it into his waistband under his jacket, Tommy then pulled out a book of matches.

Rocco stepped towards Lanzo Errigo and spoke in a hard voice, You tell your boss to stay out of this town. He doesn't send liquor down here and he doesn't send any men down here to do anything. I don't care what other rackets he runs, he doesn't run them anywhere down in the Niagara Peninsula. Do I make myself clear?

Errigo nodded.

Tommy lit a match and stepped towards the