Secrets & Lies (24 page)

“I'd give you assignments. Sneak into here or there, find evidence of crimes, that kind of thing. I'd give you a camera, you could take pictures of mob bosses having secret meetings and such. I bet you could do that.”

“I
could
do that. I did it in New York. And I already have a camera.”

“See there? You're perfect for the job.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. He removed a business card and handed it over. “You think about it and call me.”

The card said: Barry Gorman, and it listed his office address on Fountain Avenue and a phone number.

“All right,” I said. “I'll think about it.”

“Thanks.” He stood and held out his hand again. After I shook it, he left the bar. Not too long after that, so did I. Coincidentally, I stopped a crime right there at the corner of Cherokee and Hollywood Boulevard. I was walking up to the corner when I noticed a teenager grab a woman's purse. He started to run toward me, but I was in the shadows and he hadn't seen the Black Stiletto standing on the sidewalk in front of him. I caught the kid, and shouted, “Hey!” I scared the thief so badly he nearly peed his pants. I pinched the boy's earlobe and ordered him to accompany me back to his victim. I made him give back the purse to the distraught woman and apologize. Then I let him loose. The woman thanked me profusely, and then I heard a pair of hands clapping. I turned to see none other than Barry leaning against a dark-green car parked at the curb. The vehicle had seen better days.

“Bravo,” he said. “You really
are
her. I knew it all the time.”

“Told you so.”

“Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

“In that? What is it?”

“Fifty-seven Ford Fairlane. Ain't she a beaut?”

“Sorry, Barry, but it looks way older than that. But, thanks. I prefer to walk. Or run, as the case may be.”

“Suit yourself. Call me, okay?” Then he got in his dumpy car and drove away. I changed back into “Trench Coat Judy” when I got back on Highland near my apartment building. Now I'm back home, safe and sound, and Barry's card is sitting on my kitchen counter.

I
will
have to think about his offer.

T
HE
P
AST

I've been so goddamned busy it's driving me nuts. I can't sit still in one place before I have to go somewhere else. With overseeing the warehousing business and the counterfeiting operation together, I barely have time to relax and see Judy or Maria or maybe even someone else.

Christina was stepping in at the office to help out. She always had a place in our father's company, she just never had any interest until she was released from prison. My sister threw herself into the business then and earned the respect of her fellow employees. I think everyone was afraid of her, too, and that's funny because it helped! Now that she was also on the management team, it freed me up to pursue my other activities.

The money paper arrived from New York, and we set up shop in a warehouse I own off of Alameda. It was empty and for rent, but I created a dummy company and rented it from myself. Now the space was owned by “A-1 Outriggers Inc.,” although it looked like no one worked there. More discreet that way. The equipment was set up in a remote part of the building, and the rest of the property was dark.

Now that everything was in place and the up-front money paid, production could begin. The plates were finished and Samberg tested them as soon as we got the paper. We decided to try and make
fives and tens to sell to Los Serpientes. The bills weren't bad, but they weren't perfect. We knew that would happen on the first try. Casazza didn't think they'd pass in this country, but Gabriel took them anyway. Samberg was in the process of perfecting the plates, so it won't be long before we're printing the big stuff.

I've also been placed in the middle of touchy situation between the Serpents and the Heathens. I didn't ask for it either. The Heathens and Los Serpientes have escalated their beef with each other, and there's been bloodshed. The other night, a Serpent was killed by the Heathens. It was getting nasty. The problem was that the war was affecting DeAngelo's business running guns. So I was unwillingly elected mediator since I knew Carlos. I had gotten close to Carlos Gabriel for the sake of selling funny money, but I wasn't involved in other deals.

The closest I've ever gotten to the gun business was that I leased warehouses to Casazza and, in turn, DeAngelo. I didn't know what they used them for, but I guess I had a pretty good idea. Now Casazza thought I had Gabriel's ear and he told DeAngelo that. The word came down that the boss wanted me to try and smooth things out with Gabriel so he'd make peace with the Heathens. It made me extremely uncomfortable to be put in that position, and the likelihood of making peace now was a big fat zero.

Nevertheless, I delivered the Mexicans' funny money personally so that I could suggest to Gabriel that the feud would end up hurting everyone's businesses, including ours. My speech didn't work. Two nights later, a Heathen was shot to death in downtown L.A. As a result, the cops stepped up patrols and started targeting suspected motorcycle club hangouts for surprise raids. I just hope my name stays out of it. Several Serpientes know who I am. I wouldn't want the Heathens getting a whiff that I'm doing business with the Mexicans.

Besides dealing with all that, I don't know what to do about Maria. She's been getting more affectionate, flirting with me, and making suggestions. We've gone out a couple of times in the last month, and on the last date in Vegas she came over to the hotel where
I always stay, and we spent some time in my room. She wouldn't go all the way, but we went far enough to make it interesting. When I took her back to DeAngelo's ranch, she told me something I didn't expect.

“Leo, Daddy keeps asking me if you and I are serious.”

“He does?”

“I think he wants to know if he should include you in more of his business.”

“Really? He said that?”

“In so many words.” She looked at me as I was driving and added, “I guess it depends on what happens with us.”

Christ. The opportunity to be a part of DeAngelo's inner circle was mighty attractive. The problem, though, was that I sure as
hell
didn't want to get married to Maria. I wanted to get her into bed, no question about
that
, but I did not want to live with her for the rest of my life. There was no woman alive that I'd be willing to sacrifice my freedom for. Judy was a lot of fun, and with her I got some action every now and then, but I didn't want to commit to her either. Everyone loved her at Flickers. Charlie said she's been a draw for repeat customers, just so they can see her pretty face and fantastic figure again. I couldn't blame them. Judy is one hell of a girl. It was probably a good thing I didn't get to see her very much. I didn't want her becoming too attached to me, but I thought she might be already. She's hard to read. Once she asked me if I saw other women, and I told her no. She didn't need to know about Maria. As long as I kept Judy away from Las Vegas and avoided her when Maria was in town, then I'd be okay.

So far it had worked.

1961

J
ULY
3, 1961

I called Barry Gorman and said I'd work for him. I figured—why not? It would be some extra income and it would allow the Black Stiletto to do some good on the right side of the law. And it might be easy as pie.

It was best that we weren't seen together again, so we agreed to meet in his car, which he'd park on the same block as Boardner's. Cherokee was dark enough, and I was able to creep along the street without attracting too much attention. When I spotted Barry's beat-up car, I first made sure no one could see me, and then I knocked on the window and opened the door.

We sat and talked for a few minutes. I told him I wanted to work for him, and we ironed out the relationship. First off, he gave me
200 in cash to start! I'd be paid per assignment for a fee no lower than that, but it could be a lot higher, depending on what the job is. Then I asked him what my first one would be.

“Judy, organized crime runs a little differently on the West Coast than it does in the east,” Barry said. “It's not so much family controlled because the territory is vast and spreads across several states. There're a lot of smaller organizations here, whereas in New York you have the Italian families, you know?”

“Okay.”

“It's not just the Italians here, although they are still powerful in the L.A. underworld. We have Mexican and Negro and Asian gangsters, and white gangsters that don't belong to any particular ethnic group. You know what a motorcycle club is?”

“I think so.”

“Have you heard of the Hell's Angels?”

“Oh, okay, and I saw
The Wild One
with Marlon Brando. Sure, I know what you mean.”

“We have a lot of that kind of thing to contend with in this state. Anyway, cooperation between these various factions is essential for anything to happen. They do deals with each other—you know, for distribution of whatever illegal product they're selling, or maybe for knocking off the leader of a rival gang. That said, there are some organizations stronger than others and they tend to be at the top of the pecking order. We're going after those.”

And then he shocked me, dear diary.

“Have you ever heard of a man named Sal Casazza or Salvatore Casazza?”

Of course I had, but I couldn't tell Barry how I knew him. I said, “I've heard of him. He's some kind of mafia boss?”

“You're right. We believe him and his crew are responsible for smuggling foreign arms through the Port of L.A. and distributing them far and near. They get stored in warehouses around the city before being moved. We're talking serious weapons, here. The kind that kill people.”

Dear diary, my sensory antennae perked up when he said, “warehouses.” Leo runs a warehouse business.

“Don't all weapons do that?”

“All right, these kind
over
kill people. We have to trace the pipeline up to the top. That's the goal. Sal Casazza actually works for a bigger fish in Las Vegas, a very wealthy man named Vincent DeAngelo. He's more of a New York–style gangster, his family
members have big roles in his organization, and he's a somewhat public figure because he owns a big casino downtown. That's who we want to get.”

“So why don't the police just arrest him?”

“There's no evidence. It's all speculation that he's involved. And that holds true pretty far down the pipeline. We have no evidence of the link between DeAngelo and Casazza, although we believe DeAngelo had the former L.A. boss whacked so Casazza could take over. Beneath Casazza on many levels are hundreds of smaller outfits that are hired out to perform tasks. It's a huge network that spreads all the way to Texas and across the southern states to Florida. In some circles we call it the Dixie Mafia. Have you heard of it?”