Night Work (9 page)

    Fratenzza laughed lightly; turned to Vincent and Frank. "Let me tell you something. You can spend your lives working and sweating so somebody else can get rich, or you can put the same effort and dedication into making yourselves successful. I've never understood why anybody would want someone else to reap the rewards of their labor - it makes no sense to me."

    "That's exactly why we want to make this move," Vincent said quickly. "It's an opportunity to get inside a business that's nearly impossible for outsiders to break into. With the right financial backing I really believe Frank and I can make a go of this."

    "Why wrestling?" Fratenzza asked.

    "There's a lot of money to be made," Frank explained, gaining confidence in his ability to contribute. "With the right people involved."

    Vincent let his forearms rest on the table between them. "Right now everything is run by the old guard. I think we can bring a fresh perspective to the business."

    "The only reason I ask is because several good businesses exist for two enterprising young men like yourselves. Dry cleaning, for example, is a tremendous avenue. Liquor stores are another. When was the last time you saw one of them go out of business? Michael's involved with both types of operations, he can tell you how profitable they can be."

    "I've suggested several ventures I could help them with," Michael explained. "Businesses more mainstream in nature. But their only interest is in promotions."

    Fratenzza nodded thoughtfully. "I know nothing about the wrestling business myself, of course, but I'm sure you and Frank have given this a great deal of thought. If you're prepared, and Michael's kind enough to help you get started, I see no reason why you shouldn't go ahead with your plans."

    "Thank you." Vincent smiled.

    Fratenzza's eyes shifted back to Frank. "I'm happy to offer you advice and friendship, but unfortunately I'm not in a position to help financially. I've had only modest success in business myself, you understand."

    At least on paper, that statement was true. His oceanfront homes in Rhode Island and Florida were in his wife's name. All three of his cars were leases obtained for free through one of several dealerships he was involved with, and again listed in his wife's name. Although he owned an enormous amount of local commercial real estate, it too was listed in other names or under the umbrella of dummy corporations that could never be traced back to him. The only thing Fratenzza admitted ownership of was a modest cigarette and coffee vending machine business. As far as the IRS was concerned, he earned between thirty and forty thousand dollars a year. No one knew for sure how much he was actually worth, but between his legitimate businesses and his sizable take from all the loan shaking, bookmaking, protection, and drug trafficking in southeastern Massachusetts and parts of Rhode Island, Gino Fratenzza was a millionaire several times over.

    He'd run the area for years, and in what were known as "Fratenzza neighborhoods" life was good. In the community where Frank had grown up everyone knew that Fratenzza and his associates were in charge. Everyone knew they took money from local businesses for protection; operated as shylocks and bookmakers, and involved themselves in all sorts of sordid and illegal activities, only no one cared, because while these men terrorized other people in other places, in their own neighborhoods things could not have been safer. No drugs were sold in the neighborhood; no one worried about being mugged or raped; shootings and street gang warfare happened elsewhere. Fratenzza ran neighborhoods where old women could walk the street after dark without fear, and young children could play without being bothered or threatened. On those rare occasions when something negative did occur, those responsible for breaking the rules were dealt with harshly, and Fratenzza's men made sure everyone either heard about the punishments or witnessed them firsthand.

    A deliveryman who had lured a young girl into the back of his truck and then molested her was castrated and dismembered alive, the remains of his body then dumped at the edge of the neighborhood for the police to collect. A man who had stolen money from the local church had had his arm removed below the elbow and was made to volunteer as an evening custodian at the rectory for the remainder of his life. Two teenagers from the south end of the city who had sold drugs in Fratenzza's protected territory were executed, both shot in the back of the head and left on display on the same local playground where they had attempted to conduct business only hours before. By most Fratenzza and his men were viewed as heroes instead of gangsters, something that made the daily operation of their businesses that much easier.

    Michael Santangelo was the second in command beneath Fratenzza in the local area. His father, John, had grown up with Fratenzza and had been a close confidante and business associate for many years. When Michael was eighteen and Vincent just twelve, their father was sent to prison for multiple counts of tax evasion and racketeering. It was common knowledge that he had taken the fall for Fratenzza and several others and because of this his family was well provided for.

    Three months into his ten-year sentence, John Santangelo was stabbed to death in what was termed a "dispute between inmates". Fratenzza helped John's wife and two sons move from Rhode Island to New Bedford, and set her up with enough money to continue to enjoy the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed. A few years later she remarried and moved to Florida. Fratenzza gave Michael an apartment where he and Vincent could live and put him on the payroll.

    Michael began his career in the muscle end of the business. Although he was young, he was fiercely loyal to Fratenzza and quickly earned a reputation for being one of the bloodier, more dangerous enforcers in his stable. As the years came and went, Michael's responsibilities grew, and he eventually ended up working as private bodyguard to Fratenzza. Some time later he was given small interests in some of the loan-sharking, bookmaking, protection, narcotics, and money laundering operations. When he demonstrated a flair for business and began generating enormous profits, others above him were systematically removed, and soon Michael was running an area that included a piece of the profit from the region's enormous fishing industry, liquor stores, car dealerships, dry cleaners, nightclubs, vending routes, and even the sale of paper goods and concessions to local hotels and restaurants. Eventually, Michael took over all ventures under Gino Fratenzza's control, and was recognized by those in positions of power in Boston, Providence, and beyond, as his eventual successor.

    "You're advice and friendship is more than enough," Vincent said. "Obviously, Frank and I can learn a lot from you."

    Fratenzza smiled warmly. "You and Michael are like sons to me, you know that."

    "You've always been good to me, and I appreciate it."

    Fratenzza shifted his eyes between Vincent and Frank as he spoke. "It's important to remember who your friends are," he said softly, his face showing no expression. "Real friends never let anything or anyone come between them. Not money, not women - nothing. And of course no real friendship can ever be a one-way street."

    "Of course," Vincent said.

    Fratenzza looked over his shoulder into the kitchen. "Vic, have Dave get my car." He turned back to the table. "I'd love to stay and visit but I've got a full day planned with the wife. I wish you boys nothing but the best."

    After another round of handshakes Michael walked Fratenzza to the door. "That's it, Vin?" Frank asked in a whisper.

    "That's it. I told you, it's just a formality."

    "Now that I've met him, Fratenzza's not what I expected."

    "These guys never are."

    Michael returned to the table. "That went well."

    "When can we get this thing rolling?" Vincent asked.

    "Come by the office tomorrow and I'll take care of it," he said. "Just make sure you guys do the right thing, all right?"

    Vincent rolled his eyes. "Come on, Mike, don't bust my balls."

    "All I need is some sort of steady payment. If youse run into a problem, come to me and we'll work it out."

    "I understand," Frank assured him.

    Vincent folded his thick forearms across his chest and winked at his brother. "We'll have the vig paid in no time. Don't worry about it."

    Michael's face looked as if it had been set in stone. "I'm not worried."

    Frank felt a sudden chill and forced himself to smile. From the kitchen, Vic DeNicco announced that lunch was served and Michael invited them to stay.

    Frank was relieved when Vincent politely declined. He couldn't have eaten a bite if there had been a gun to his head. And in a way, there was.

 

    

    

    The Puma, in black spandex, leopard skin boots and a mask resembling the face of the cat for which he'd been named, bolted across the ring, hopped up onto the top rope and ran from one corner of the ring to the next with the skill of a high wire artist. Diablo Gonzalez had a hold of his wrist the entire time, finally yanking his opponent off balance, sending the Puma into a back flip in mid-air. Just before he crashed to the canvas the Puma tucked his knees against his chest and gracefully rolled through the fall, coming up on his feet on the far side of the ring. The fans exploded into cheers as Diablo stood in apparent awe of his opponent's recovery, then turned to sneer and hurl verbal insults at a particularly enthusiastic young fan seated at ringside. While he was distracted, the Puma ran the length of the ring, leapt into the air and locked both legs around Diablo's neck, taking him down to the mat with a spectacular flying head-scissors. As the Puma rolled off of his fallen opponent and climbed to the top rope, the fans began to chant his name. Diablo, obviously groggy, struggled to his feet and staggered about in an attempt to locate the Puma. But it was too late. Arms stretched toward the heavens like an Olympic diver the Puma launched himself off the top rope and onto the chest of Diablo Gonzalez. They fell into a tangled heap in the center of the ring and the Puma hooked Diablo's leg. The referee administered a dramatic three-count and the bout was over. A loud bell sounded above the roar of the crowd and the Puma's arm was raised in victory. As he left the ring, a throng of mostly young people mobbed him. Glistening with sweat, his sculpted chest heaving with each breath, the Puma patiently took time to sign autographs and briefly converse with his elated fans.

    At ringside, Gus looked at Frank and smiled. "He's good."

    Frank nodded. "I've seen them both on television."

    "How many people you figure Rain has jammed in here?" Vincent asked. "Seven, eight hundred?"

    "More like five or six," Gus answered quickly.

    "Ten bucks a ticket, you're talking about a six thousand dollar gate," Vincent said.

    "Rain's putting a couple thousand in his pocket tonight," Frank told them. "Easy."

    Vincent folded his arms. "Not bad."

    The ring itself looked enormous in the small high school gymnasium. In the center of the basketball court it was an impressive structure with neon ropes, a bright mat, and several canvas banners that read ECPWL draped along its skirt. An adequate sound system powered the announcer's microphone and was used to play music during the wrestler entrances and between matches. It was located at a long table that had been pushed directly against one side of the ring, where the timekeeper, Charlie Rain, and other officials were seated.

    Once the Puma had worked his way through the crowd and into the locker room, an announcer in black tuxedo with microphone in hand, climbed through the ropes into the ring and announced the next match.

    Charlie Rain sat at the ringside table beaming like a proud parent.

    Gus leaned over so he could make eye contact with Vincent. "What do you think of him?"

    "Haven't even met him yet."

    "What do you think so far?"

    Vincent grinned.

    Later, after two more matches had concluded, the announcer told the crowd there would be a fifteen-minute intermission. Charlie shot to his feet and approached his new business partners with the same energy he'd displayed in Providence. "Frank, you made it."

    "How are you, Charlie?" Frank smiled. "Great show."

    "Top shelf," Gus said. "Top shelf, Charlie."

    Charlie smiled at Vincent and offered his hand. "I don't think we've met."

    "We haven't."

    "Charlie," Frank said quickly, "this is my partner, Vincent Santangelo. Vincent, Charlie Rain."

    "Jesus, Frank, you got more partners than a law firm."

    "No," Vincent corrected him. "Only one."

    He glanced at Gus then looked at Frank with uncertainty. "A man likes to know who he's crawling into the sack with, you know what I mean?"

    "Vincent's my partner," Frank explained. "Gus is our sales manager. You'll be working closely with all three of us."

    "Sorry I couldn't make the Providence meeting," Vincent said. "I had a previous engagement, you know how it goes."

    Charlie offered a broad smile. "Hey, we're all here now, right? OK. Terrific. Can you guys stick around for a while?"

    "Sure."

    "Good, because there's a few people I want you to meet. I'd take you in the locker room but the boys get a little edgy about people they don't know wandering around back there."

    "We're going to be paying their salaries," Vincent said. "I suggest they get over it."

    Charlie's face turned bright red, and he forced a nervous laugh. "It's nothing personal, it's just the way it is. Like I told Frank, it'll take time to work you guys into the performance end of things."