The Gatekeepers, page 12
"Gonna need you to hang out for a while, "Jackie said calmly, "These three gentlemen are gonna remain in the limo with you. Don't let 'em drink too much"
Jackie grinned and nodded at Marv, Troy and Louie. Marv extended his hands with palms pointing upward.
"Really? We can't even go in? After all the shit we did??" Marv exclaimed in a louder tone that usual.
Troy and Louie looked for anywhere to stare but the eye of the situation.
Jackie angrily dashed over one step and positioned himself face to face with Marv.
"Hey, settle the fuck down, dick head. Don't make a scene. Keep your mouth shut and stay here. We need extra eyes outside just in case. This is what Vic wants and it's what the fuck is gonna happen, do I make myself clear?" Jackie asked in a glare of rage without blinking.
Marv bowed his head and focused at his snake skin covered loafers.
"You wanna earn ya bones?" Jackie whispered to Marv, “Then earn ya fuckin bones. Be the lookout. Don't break balls about it, because if you break my balls, ya breakin' the boss's balls, capiche? Keep your eyes peeled and keep that phone handy. Artie's got the other one. You see anything crazy, you fuckin' use it. If everything is lookin' good after a little while, we'll come get you. And wipe that fuckin' sour shit look off ya face. We all had to do it. See ya."
Richie also walked back to the car and smiled at the three men before speaking.
"Make yourselves at home, boys. Oh and by the way, my briefcase is in the lower left compartment. Make sure to grab that. See ya later."
After Jackie and Richie had rejoined the eight men (who were patiently smoking in an area that's illegal to do so), the party of extensively suited "gentlemen" all proceeded toward the Waldrof's entrance leaving a confused and slightly agitated Marv behind with Louie and Troy standing behind him. As soon as they approached the entrance with a chorus of tapping shoes, a white gloved door attendant in a blue and white tuxedo, which came complete with vest and bow tie, opened the door for the men and they entered.
"Welcome to the Grand Waldorf Astoria, gentlemen. Right this way to the ballroom," the door attendant announced after all of the men were inside the entrance and standing in the foyer.
The attendant led them toward the ballroom as they passed over the foyer's white and teal designed luxury carpet. After a few brief steps, the men arrived at the sensationally decorated entrance of the ballroom. They all stopped and stood to gaze at the marvelous and elegant establishment that was erected before them. From its golden spider light fixture to the tables filled with any food that anyone could ever want. The table cloth was fine white linen and the room was brimming with men in expensive custom made multi-colored suits and half naked burlesque cocktail waitresses serving them drinks and whatever else they could get for a wad of cash. The conductor on stage waived his baton in front of the orchestra as the played a rendition of the theme to "New York, New York" by Frank Sinatra. A young, blonde showgirl in a pink corset and black knee-high boots over fishnets was singing the lyrics and swaying with the music. Her voice was powerful yet angelic. None of the men had ever expected the party they were attending to be this extravagant. They stood entranced until the guest services attendant at the front desk politely addressed them. He was dressed exactly like the entrance attendant besides the gloves.
"Good evening, gentlemen. What name would your party be under?" He asked.
"Richie Rosavanni. Let Larry Sopriavasi know I'm here and I'm not alone." "Richie replied tapping the desk with his right middle and index finger.
"Yes sir, just a moment," the attendant said with a smile and nod.
He turned around and whispered into the ear of another nearby suited ballroom worker. The gentleman receiving the information nodded in a spastic fashion and dashed off into the sea of set circular audience tables covered in snow white table cloths and occupied by drunken men and the women provided for their entertainment. After a moment, a tall, staggering man in a white coat and pants over a black button down began to walk at lightning pace behind the attendant. He had both arms up in a hugging motion with a glass of brandy on ice held high in his right hand.
"OHHHHHH THERE THEY ARE!!! HOLY SHIT!!! YOU'RE HERE!!" The man exclaimed as the attendant removed the gate ribbon and rushed forward to wrap his arms around Vic.
"Larry, Jesus fuckin' Christ! It's good to see you, friend." Vic said as he also embraced Larry with a kiss on each cheek.
"How ya been, chief? You look good! Prolly the twenty year lack of alcohol!" Larry said as he belted out a laugh that reeked of liquor.
Larry went to each man in the group and drunkenly threw his arms around them.
“HEY, STOP THE MUSIC! STOP THE MUSIC!!" The man screamed at the stage.
All of the men, whether with girls at a table or sitting at the bar, cut their drunken conversations short to focus their less than accurate vision on the screaming Sicilian Capo.
"HEY EVERYBODY, LOOK AT WHO JUST BUSTED THROUGH THE DOOR!!" Larry belted out at the top of his lungs.
Everyone in the building immediately leaped to their feet (if sitting) and gave an ovation the likes of which the walls of the Waldorf Astoria had not felt the thunderous rumble of in many decades. The cheers and applause were more than deafening but it mattered not to the men. They stood with smiles and soaked it in for several seconds......the most entranced being Vic. Vic peered around the room at all of the "friends and family" that he hadn't laid eyes upon in what seemed like centuries. Retired bosses of families, capos, wise guys, all of which had never let go of La Cosa Nostra even if it had let go of some of them. Time had taken a toll on many of the men in the crowd as it was certainly obvious that they had seen more vibrant days in their time on earth. All of the Campangelli family was there, unless they were incarcerated or deceased. The seven men began inching closer to the middle of the ballroom as the applause continued.
"GET THESE MEN A FUCKIN' DRINK, WILL YA?!" Larry yelled toward the bar causing the bartender and servers to scramble frantically.
Larry stumbled over beside Claudi and put his arm around him. He took an enormous gulp from his glass of Crown Royal and Coke. The amount of Coke was less than apparent.
"Holy shit, kid. I haven't seen you since you were still wet behind the ears. I was there when you got your stripes! I remember you, uh, popped that kid through the eyeball while he was shittin’ on the gabinetto, ha-ha!" Larry screeched into Claudi's eardrum.
The crowd of men around them laughed as mobsters began to pour out of their sitting areas and make their way toward the center of the room to meet and greet the last sons of the Gio Dizio family. This was the amount of respect that the surviving mobsters of the area still had for these men. All with eyes and ears in the underworld can vividly remember the years when Rocko Dio Gizio and his family were feared and revered for their violent and ruthless actions toward their enemies. They were either found in pieces in several different places across the city or completely disappeared altogether. As the mobsters of yesteryear gathered around and embraced the family, the two-pat hugs and cheek kisses lasted for what seemed like an hour. Only after the titanic welcome and all of the men were supplied with drinks did they finally get a moment to settle in at the party. Larry raised his dark, sparkling glass of crown and ice and yelled for everyone's attention in the ballroom.
"A toast! To old friends......and new beginnings. It's been twenty years.......let's see if you can stay free for at least ten more, eh??! SALUTE!"
The mass crowd of Mafiosos gave a quick laugh and repeated in unison, "SALUTE!” before taking a hearty swig of their heavily doused alcoholic beverages. Vic and the rest of the family followed suit.
"Alright, we can get this fuckin' party started now! Play some music, god damn it!" Larry yelled as the crowd roared with animalistic delight and the orchestra ripped into the silence with a rousing swing chorus. As a large portion of the drunken suited men returned to their tables and spots at the massive bar, Victor began the first conversation of many between the family and their mafia confidants as an old acquaintance caught his eye in the surrounding men.
"Ronnie Cosola! How have you been, my friend?" Vic said as he embraced the man with a hug and kissed both cheeks of the black and grey haired man.
"Victor......I can't tell you how good it is to see you......and as a FREE MAN!" Ronnie said with joyous laughter.
Vic laughed as well, the most genuine laugh that his body had let free in a very long time.
"My friend, I received all of your letters. Thank you for going greatly out of your way to make the time to visit me. I will always remember it." Vic said with deep and heartened tone.
"Of course. We grew up in this thing together. I loved your father like he was my own. By the way, you look so much like him, Victor. That's a good thing." Ronnie said with a convinced smile and raised eyebrows.
"Thank you, my friend. How is the business coming along these days?" Vic asked.
Ronnie took a sip of his drink while smiling and then answered after gulping it down.
"The stores have never done better. We own way more of them now because a lot of them couldn't pay protection. I'd say we got about nineteen spots in all throughout the district. The moulinyoms go there mostly but the money is still green. Wasn't hard to put the boot down on the rag heads when we found out they were sellin' single cigarettes and that mojo shit in their stores. They packed up and ran like scalded fuckin' dogs with poison ivy in their assholes" Ronnie said, ending with a loud bellow of laughter that Vic joined in.
"I'm happy to hear of your success, Ronaldo." Vic said as he laid his drink-free hand upon Ronnie's shoulder, "I pray for abundance everlasting."
"Hey, Salute! May God rest his hand upon the shoulder of the new boss." Ronnie said as he tapped his glass against Vic's as a toast of thanks and praise.
By this point of the night, the seven men had spread out across the floor of the ballroom. In another section, near one of the extraordinarily long tables overloaded with food, Venny sat at a round and luxuriously dressed dining table with three other men. He was doing some re-connecting of his own.
"Hey Ven, you remember that night we was down in New Orleans at that big parade?" one of the men asked, who looked to be in his fifties with black hair combed over to cover the streaks of white.
Venny took a sip of his brandy on ice and smiled.
"Mardi Gras. 1987. Yeah, I remember," he said before licking his top teeth.
"That score was fuckin' ridiculous. That's when I bought that speed boat with the stripes. Had all the broads on the shore wantin' a ride and I ain't talkin' about the boat, ya know what I mean?" the man said with a loud and drunken laugh.
The rest of the men chuckled as well.
"Yeah, I remember that one too well. When Sammy told me how much we were bringin' in, I couldn't.....no......I wouldn't say no," Venny replied with a chuckle and continued, "too bad I almost shit a cinder block when the cops came pokin' around our spot in the quarter. If it hadn't been for that one broad who was workin' the front door, we probably would have been in the joint way before '95. What made you bring that one up, Petey?"
Petey sat his drink down with a mouth full of liquor and gulped through his wide grin. He nodded his head and began waving his diamond ring wrapped pinky as he replied.
"So get this. That very same girl that was workin' the front? Guess what? That was Milo's gumar. She was watchin' over the spot the whole time. Milo never missed a fuckin' step." Petey yelled gleefully as the he took another generous gulp of liquor.
Emilio "Magic Milo" Pachisellio was the boss of the Givallos family, a longtime ally of the Gio Dizio clan. Milo was indicted on three separate murder charges and was sentenced to life in the Federal Correctional Institution in Raybrook, New York. He earned the name "Magic Milo" because he was known to make money out of thin air and make people disappear into the same.
"Get the fuck outta here! That was his dame? Holy fuckin' shit! I gotta tell him thanks for that when I pay him a visit." Venny said.
The band played on with high stepping tunes flooding the audible airways of the ballroom all night and into the morning. Artie had a burlesque girl under each arm sitting on a golden legged barstool which had a white seat and back rest. He spent a large portion of the night switching between girls to drunkenly flirt with and slip his tongue into their ears and cleavage. The girls always giggled after and gave Artie a light slap on the wrist. While he conversed with two more girls at his spot at the bar, Larry Soaps and Johan Eisenfelt (the Compangelli's family attorney for over two decades), walked past in mid chatter when they both stopped beside Artie.
"Ladies, betta make this one wear a rubber. His dick's been places I wouldn't go in broad daylight!" Larry loudly bellowed as Artie gave a laugh with his head tilted backwards.
"Not even back twenty four hours and this guy is already breakin' my fuckin' balls like I never left." Artie said with a sarcastic grin.
Larry chuckled and feebly squeezed Artie's left shoulder.
"You seen Mickey tonight?" Larry asked.
"I seen him when I walked in. Where is he?" Artie asked while looking out into the crowd.
Larry looked around while cupping his drink with both hands. His body jerked abruptly and he pointed into a crowd that was gathered near the dining area.
"There he is! Hey, Mickey! Mickey! Yeah! Come here!" Larry yelled with a voice that rivaled the auditory projection of the band.
"Hey Artie, you remember my lawyer, right? Johan Eisenfelt? Kept me and Richie outta the can in seventy nine.....and again in eighty four?" Larry asked with a slight giggle at the end.
"Oh yeah, how ya been, Mr. Jo? Been a long time." Artie said with his hand outreached.
"I'm well, Arturo. I'm happy to say that you look very well and healthy. It's good to see you're out I pray nothing but good fortune comes to you." Johan said while gently shaking Artie's hand.
"Well, thank you sir. It's good to see you too. If it's any consolation, these two little kittens definitely reminded me how well my body still works!" Artie drunkenly exclaimed.
Johan raised his glass with a smile and firmly said "Salute!"
Artie returned the gesture. Johan adjusted his wire framed glasses and took a closer look at Artie.
"I will say this....you definitely look more like your father now than ever." Johan said.
"You knew my pops?" Artie asked intently.
Larry's eyes widened as he took a long gulp of his drink and looked away.
Before Johan could answer, Mickey Rockford (a long time Campangelli associate), staggered between Mickey and Johan and put his hand on the back of Artie's neck before kissing him on the cheek.
"What's goin' on, guys?" Mickey asked while spinning around toward Larry.
"I was just telling Artie how he looked like Paulo." Johan replied.
Mickey raised an eyebrow and looked at Artie with a hysterical grin.
"Yeah? You know what? He does, eh? Holy shit, I hope you ain't cut from the same cloth, though, cause tha-"
"Yeah, he definitely looks like Paulo." Larry said, abruptly interrupting Mickey and giving him a sharp punch in the ribs behind his back.
"Ah, what the fuck, Larry?" Mickey roared as he cringed in the sharp pain in his kidneys.
"Wait, what was that last part? You hope I AIN'T cut from the same cloth? What the fuck is that? What the fuck does that mean?" Artie boisterously asked while breaking away from the grasp of the now startled burlesque girls.
"Ayyyy Artie, he didn't mean anything ill." Larry said placing his hand on Artie's shoulder with a forced smile intended to calm.
"Well, what the fuck did you mean, Mickey?” Artie asked, now standing with his head cocked upwards and his eyes fully aglow with pending rage.
Mickey extended both hands, palms upward, and spoke.
"I meant ya father was a hot head, that's all. He was still the best of the best regardless."
Artie took a step in Mickey's direction while Johan stepped back and Larry watched with his jaw partially drooped. Artie looked up at Mickey and spoke in a shaky and maniacally lucid tone.
"My father was a fuckin' capo in this family. You fuckin' hear me? I don't give a fuck if he was Charles fuckin' Manson. Any of us would be lucky to have the balls that man had. Is that makin' fuckin' sense to you cause I don't like repeatin' myself."
