Mob Rule: Part 18
A spy heads into Hyannis Port
Jack packs his apartment and bids adieu to Vanessa as the plot thickens with a ruse that takes us inside the gates of the Kennedy compound
By John Armstrong
In the 15 hours since we’d left Vegas I hadn’t eaten anything but pastry and coffee on the plane; now that the adrenaline of the fighting had worn off it was a toss-up whether I could stay awake long enough to eat.
I had a flash and popped into Frank’s office and there it was in the little office fridge, wrapped in foil, the remains of the ossobuco from Rao’s. How old was it? Two days? I peeled back the foil and pried the lid up – it smelled fine. Problem solved.
“Tell Ricco bring a car around, and call this number, ask Vanessa does she want to come for dinner at my place, right now.” I scratched the number on Abby’s pad. “Tell her call my place with the answer, Ricco will come get her. Tell Frank and Meyer I went home to catch some sleep. And please call me there as soon ...
Mob Rule: Part 15
Sex in Vegas, Blood in New York
Jack and Vanessa get to know each other in a Biblical sense while an unholy gang war starts to ramp up on the streets of the big apple
By John Armstrong
Some time later I called the desk and asked them to tell Mr. Cohen we had been unavoidably detained. I lit a cigarette one-handed, as the other was trapped from the shoulder down beneath a large mound of hair snuggled into my chest and portions of a beautiful face peeking out here and there.
“This is exactly what I swore to my mother I would not do,” she said. “‘Mind you don’t get swept off your feet by some fancy hoodlum and wind up on your back’, she said, and here I am, on my back.” She tugged the sheet towards her. “My mother also believes the Catholics are taking over the world, through numbers. That’s why the Pope’s against birth control.”
“Absolutely true,” I told her. “We’re in a race with the Chinese for domination. It’s why the Earth tilts on its ...
Mob Rule: Part 14
What happens in Vegas...
Jack and Vanessa get a massage together, but if they don't get the message you will: He's strapped on his Doc Holliday double huckleberries, and he's ready for whatever happens next...
By John Armstrong
Normally I wouldn’t fall asleep while someone is kneading and stroking me and anointing me with oils, but I somehow managed it. I was in a half-dreaming state the details of which are not suitable to go into here, and only awoke when urged to turn over, something I found with some embarrassment I needed to do carefully. Vanessa was making very interesting and encouraging moans of contentment practically in my ear which didn’t help matters any. My masseuse showed admirable professionalism by completely failing to notice anything was amiss while casually folding a large towel and laying it on the sheet just where it would do the most good.
When they had done about as much as was possible unless we were going to give up on a any semblance of a purely ...
Mob Rule: Part 13
Checking in at the Flamingo
If things were hot in New York, they're scorching in Las Vegas, where our family guy is wise to the history of the syndicate, but looking to get a better look at the landscape from his suite on the 30th floor
By John Armstrong
It was just after 7 a.m. local time when we touched down in Vegas and the heat hit us as soon as they popped the cabin door, an instant, sweltering blast like being in the kitchen on Christmas Day when your mother opens the oven to check the turkey. It was already over 80 and climbing and I could feel myself starting to sweat through my ‘lightweight’ wool suit. Vanessa already had her sweater halfway over her head, revealing a shorter version of a man’s white tuxedo shirt under it. She got a pair of sunglasses from the shoulder bag and immediately looked ready for the Riviera.
“Don’t worry, the limo’s got AC,” Cohen said. “In Vegas, everything has AC – no-one goes outside except to get to the pool, and ...
Mob Rule: Part 12
Fasten your seat belt, the turbulence continues
Flying high in the night sky, Jack Kennedy feels a little lightheaded thanks to Vanessa's skin-tight pants and leather boots, but he's brought back to earth with a warning about Joe Kennedy -- yes, that Joe Kennedy...
By John Armstrong
At Idlewild the gatekeeper waved our little motorcade through the gates, and Ricco gunned the big armored Lincoln out onto the runway and right up to the wide-bodied jumbo jet gleaming on the tarmac. The escort cars parked in a protective cordon around us and uniformed Pan Am attendants ran to collect our bags while Mickey’s bodyguard helped him out of the car.
Vanessa had taken my advice and worn stretch pants, high leather boots and a thick, loose-fitting sweater that still managed to look sprayed-on. I assume this was what she regarded as comfortable travelling clothes; I’m sure they were, but the effect was anything but comfortable for me. I couldn’t help but be acutely aware of every man ...
Mob Rule: Part 11
Jack Kennedy and his family connections
Our risk-averse narrator may be related to an American dynasty, but as he explains in this instalment, he'll never be welcome in the inner circle
By John Armstrong
I called down and told Ricco to requisition some of the armored money trucks from Receivables to carry the Commissioners back to the airfield for their flights home and select drivers, shotgun men, and bodyguards to accompany them. After the Waldorf, I was taking no chances. As we were escorting them to the elevator Bobby took me aside.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get any time to really talk while I was here, Jack. Mother asked me to tell you everyone misses you and wishes you’d come home. I’d like that, too. I could really use you.” He pronounced it “awsked” with that funny upper-crust accent the whole family has, Boston by way of no-one knows where.
I was both flattered and suspicious. It’s hard to know how to take Bobby. Even in his forties ...
Mob Rule: Part 10
Mopping up after a bloodbath
The price of doing business in New York City gets pricier by the day, forcing 'family-style' operations to retreat behind the reinforced steel walls of a downtown fortress while the local chamber of commerce hides its anxiety behind a fake smile
By John Armstrong
When the first wave of medics had unloaded I went back down and found Meyer and Ricco then excused myself and headed for the nearest washroom, walking briskly but carefully; my bowels were sending urgent messages.
Meyer came in while I was still in the stall.
“You all right, Jackie?”
I was covered in sweat and felt like I might never eat again.
“Fine,” I answered. “Just need a minute.”
I heard Meyer strike a match and smelled cigar smoke, which was probably a wise idea on his part.
“It’s perfectly natural,” he said after a minute. “Survival mechanism. If you crap yourself you’re less attractive to predators. Saw it on a nature program. ...
Mob Rule: Part 9
A family reunion ends with gunfire
The mob bosses hope a friendly get-together at the Waldorf will defuse mounting tensions and expose the enemy, but the plan for peace is shattered like a ballroom chandelier, 'spraying shards like shrapnel from a crystal grenade'
By John Armstrong
I didn’t have a chance to phone Vanessa the next day until it was after 6 p.m. and when I did steal a minute, she wasn’t in. From the moment I stepped through the doors at work at eight that morning I’d been running back and forth from the Waldorf to the phone at my desk, overseeing arrangements for the meeting that night. The catering alone was a nightmare, given that many of the family Bosses were elderly and needed special foods – one could have no salt, another could have no dairy, another was allergic to shellfish, or nuts or something else – and then there was the problem of seating. Many of them were allergic to each other. Despite the long history of peace up to this point, there ...
Mob Rule: Part 8
Dinner at Number 4 Patchin Place
Voltaire said ‘the finest system would be democracy with the occasional assassination,’ and New York's established mob families couldn't agree more
By John Armstrong
Don’t ever get Joe started on his apartment, if you can still call it that.
Every time he buys a few more paintings or sculptures he ends up buying the next unit over and knocking out a few non-essential walls. It’s more art gallery and warehouse now than it is living space. It’s beautiful though, don’t get me wrong; just that I wouldn’t want to dust it.
Number 4 Patchin Place is in a gated cul de sac in the Village just off West 10th between Sixth and Greenwich, 10 or so three-story row houses in red brick and black wrought iron in close proximity to the coffee bars and galleries of the bohemian district. That would have been enough for Joey to buy it but it’s who lived there before him that sunk the hook. The poet e.e. cummings lived at No. 5, long ...
Mob Rule: Part 7 – continued
We met the Goombah
The date with the lovely Vanessa continues, but after surveying a history of violence, she asks her suitor some tough questions
By John Armstrong
I’ll leave out the details of our trip to the Museum of American History. Everyone’s seen the wing devoted to the Big Takeover a thousand times anyway, either in person or onscreen. That said, I still get choked up when I stand before the towering statues of the Great Outlaws – Dillinger gleefully burning the mortgage records after emptying a bank vault, or Pretty Boy Floyd delivering Christmas dinner to a starving family on welfare - and then the massive 20-foot painting that summarizes the Second Revolution, starting with the Bank Crash and Depression and then the breadlines, the Hooverville riots, and the government troops firing into hungry, unemployed, desperate crowds.
I’m always drawn to one section that shows union busters clubbing men and women on a picket line while fat, cigar-smoking politicians ...
