To Kill the Duke (35 page)

“American gangsters don’t like anyone getting behind them,” Alexei later told Ivan after their meeting with Johnny.

Ivan had no problem believing that, because of the characters he and Alexei walked past to get to Stompanato’s table.

“It was a like a scene from central casting of
Seven Zeros
,” Ivan later told Alexei.

“I agree. It was like everyone that had shown up for our casting call on those few mobster movies that we made were at that bar,” Alexei said with a chuckle.

But this
wasn’t
a movie and the stakes were starting to get very real.

Johnny was sitting by himself, but both Ivan and Alexei could see that, from what was on the table, he hadn’t been alone for long.

There were empty shot glasses and a half-empty bottle of scotch in the center of the table. There was one fancy ash tray near the bottle of scotch that was over flowing with cigarette butts.

Ivan motioned to the ashtray and Alexei knew exactly what he was thinking.

Neither of them smoked and they were appalled by not only how many people smoked in Hollywood, but by how many cigarettes they smoked when they were with other people who smoked.

“A truly Russian advantage,” Alexei said as he emptied the ashtrays in the
Seven Zeros
meeting room a few days after they had met with Johnny.

“America has great toilet paper, but the cigarette smoking ruins that advantage,” Ivan responded.

“Give me vodka over tobacco any time,” Alexei said with a laugh. “I hate how my clothes smell after a night out at the clubs in Hollywood. It’s like everyone blows their smoke into my clothes.”

“It’s definitely a communist-versus-capitalist argument,” Ivan added. “Think of all the dry cleaning businesses that wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for tobacco.”

And they both laughed at that comment, because it overly simplified all the differences between the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and the United States of America.

Alexei pointed to a chair and Ivan sat down in it. Alexei took the chair next to it and waved for the cocktail waitress to come over.

“No need for that, gentlemen,” a deep baritone voice said to them.

Alexei recognized the voice of Johnny Stompanato and jumped up to shake hands with him. Ivan was introduced and Johnny waltzed over to the bar to get his companions some drinks.

Ivan noticed that Johnny Stompanto was every Hollywood casting director’s dream for an Italian mobster.
Classic Italian good looks with thick black hair, dark piercing eyes, dark skin, big shoulders, cut waist and those clothes!
Ivan thought as he studied the big Italian’s menswear.
Nice beige slacks that would look extra roomy on others his size, but fit him perfectly. Dark brown lizard-skin shoes, and sporting a matching belt with a huge, silver buckle. Tailored white shirt with no tie, open at the collar, and a camelhair sportscoat.

“Ever notice that gangsters dress like movie stars,” Ivan whispered to Alexei.

“I think it’s the other way around,” Alexei whispered back.

“Hey, no whispering allowed,” Stompanato said firmly as he returned with the drinks.

“That’s a nice bracelet you’re wearing Johnny,” Alexi said, changing the subject.

“You like it?” Stompanato asked them both.

“Let me see it first,” Alexei said. Ivan said nothing, following the orders Alexei had given him.

“I’m never taking this off, but you can look real close,” Stompanato said as he held out his arm for Alexei to see.

“Lanita,” Alexei said.

“That’s my girl. We have been dating on and off since early 1953. Now, it’s more ‘on.’” Stompanato said.

And both Ivan and Alexei knew he was referring to his girlfriend Lana Turner.

“To business,” Stompanato said as he held his glass up for a toast.

Both Ivan and Alexei were pleased to see that they would be doing a shot of vodka. Ivan noticed that Johnny was drinking whiskey or scotch as they clinked glasses and downed their shots.

“Hey, you guys want to see something?” Stompanato asked them.

“Why not?” Alexei shrugged.

“Follow me, boys,” Stompanato said as he walked to a door that was close to ‘his’ table.

At first Alexei smelled a rat, but knowing he was one of the toughest men in the employment of Mr. Zavert, he relaxed and followed Stompanato without letting Ivan think there might be something wrong.
Besides, I have my favorite pistol tucked away if things get out of control
, he thought.

Ivan, following Alexei’s lead, walked behind his partner.

Alexei smelled a rat, because he had gotten familiar with the under-belly of Hollywood gangsters and other riff-raff that seemed to dominate everything that wasn’t official Hollywood. There were smarmy con artists offering maps to the stars, which raped the tourists of $1 at every turn because the maps were full of non-existent locations. Then, there were the phony photographers who walked around the streets looking for parents with young children. These con artists were good. They could spot the tourists with kids much better than the tourists could spot the con artists. Within minutes of walking their children anywhere in the Hollywood vicinity, photographers would introduce themselves as paid talent scouts, for one of the studios always looking for the next child star. Before mom and dad could react, pictures were being snapped away. A photographer would then give the potential star-struck parents a card showing where they could pick up the photos and learn more about their child’s chances at becoming ‘discovered.’ Alexei had seen this so many times on the beaches of Malibu, where he loved to run and swim to stay
fit, that he knew right away it was a scam. He had vowed to try and help the next couple with children that he saw being hosed.

Sure enough, one Sunday, after a day of running on the beach and swimming in the Pacific, Alexei got to make good on his vow.

Alexei spotted a so-called photographer snapping away and fast-talking a couple with twins. He waited for the con man to leave and then calmly walked up to the beaming parents, who were already making plans to change their day’s activities so they could go to the place mentioned on the photographer’s card.

“Good afternoon,” Alexei said to the couple.

“Hi,” replied the woman, whom Alexei couldn’t help noticing had beautiful skin to go along with dark eyes, and a nice physique that he could see because she was wearing a ruby-red, one-piece bathing suit. A quick glance at the children told Alexei that they were definitely lucky to have inherited their mother’s good looks, because their father was very plain looking. Alexei already knew the answer to why such a plain-looking man could have such a stunning beauty for a wife. Ivan had taught him this after a few months in Hollywood.

“If the woman is beautiful and the man plain, they are together because the man has power,” Ivan told his partner.

“Never saw a plain man with strength,” Alexei said.

“Not muscle power. Money power,” Ivan informed Alexei.

And Alexei learned another lesson about capitalism. All power has to do with money.

“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with the photographer. Do you think he is real? Do you think he really can make your children stars?” Alexei asked the couple.

“Excuse me, sir,” said the plain-looking husband, “what part of Russia are you from?” he asked.

Alexei froze.
How could this be? No one had questioned him on anything before. His accent, after months of training, was barely visible. It couldn’t be his looks. He knew he had never seen these people before and of course they had never
met him. How did this man know?
he was thinking when the man gave himself away.

“I know every Russian accent, because I was raised up north in the Russian River Valley,” the main said as he puffed out his meager chest.

“Don’t be a show off,” his beautiful wife said. “But it is true. My husband can spot a Russian accent anywhere, anytime and anyplace.”

Alexei relaxed and wanted to tell them a lot more than he should.
After all, they are fellow Russians
, he mused. But discretion being the better part of a spy’s valor, he stuck to the party line.

“I have some Russian blood in me. My maternal parents are from Kiev. My father’s side is from Holland,” he told the couple.

“Kiev is a beautiful place to make vodka, but a terrible place to make wine,” the man said.

“What?” a bewildered Alexei answered.

“My husband is the general manager of the best Pinot Noir winery in the Russian River Valley. Here is his card. It’s called
The Brumagin Winery
,” the woman offered up. “His father was the general manager before my husband, and his grandfather before his father.”

“That is how I have learned all about Russians. Of course it helps that my great grandparents were both from Moscow. Since the late 19th century, the winery I work for has been employing staff from all over Russia,” the man said.

“Better Russians from Russia than from Germany,” Alexei said smartly, as all three laughed over that.

That statement broke the ice, and the couple invited Alexei to grab some beach food with them.

They spoke about all things Russian, until it came to what brought them together in the first place — the photographer and his offers of fame and fortune for the couple and their children from the Russian River Valley.

“It’s a scam,” Alexei told them plain and simple. “A rather good one, but a scam nonetheless.”

“Why?” asked the good-looking wife.

“Yes, why prey on any people?” her husband asked.

“Because they can,” replied Alexei.

“We will take your advice. Thank you for helping us,” the good-looking wife said.

“Can I have the photographer’s card?” Alexei asked them.

“Why?” asked her husband.

“Just to have the name to warn others,” Alexei lied.

They gave him the card and everyone shook hands and said their good-byes. Alexei went to a phone booth to call the number on the card. He always used phone booths when he was going to conduct the business of dispensing justice. Alexei had made up his mind to help the little guy in Hollywood, and the photographer was going to be his first victim.

Alexei called the guy and set up an appointment. Alexei had no desire to talk to the man. He was going to burn his business to the ground.
Hopefully it will mean the end of his scams, and not that he will go out of his way to scam more people
, Alexei thought as he drove to the man’s office and cased out the joint.

Both Alexei and Ivan had been educated by Barney Rumberg about the various scams that were taking place daily in Hollywood.

“Every two-bit hustler trips over himself when he sees a good-looking child on the arms of parents who are obviously tourists,” Barney told them one night when they were all comparing notes about life on the streets in Hollywood.

“I thought they only went after the good-looking young girls,” Ivan said.

“They go after the good-looking young boys, too. But that’s all for sex,” Barney told them.

“Go back to the young kids,” urged Alexei.

“The two-bit hustler has a camera and snaps a few shots of the kid, and then he informs the parents that their child has the ‘look’ to make it as a star. The beaming parents are ready to put another mortgage on their house to finance the dream. The two-bit hustler then puts them on an elevator and never delivers on anything but manages to take a lot of money from the parents. Junior ends up not going to college and the parents end up moving into an apartment,” Barney said.

“What does an elevator have to do with a hustle?” Ivan asked.

“Its slang I picked up on the streets. It means you have the sucker going up and down.” Barney said.

Alexei had every intention to shut down this elevator. When the time for Alexei’s appointment had come and gone, the photographer left his tiny office, which Alexei guessed had been a garage that belonged to a house that was no longer around. It took Alexei 15 minutes to break in and set the place on fire so quickly that the fire department had no chance at putting it out. They concentrated on making the surrounding buildings safe. Alexei watched the whole thing — quite safe in the crowd that had gathered to watch the drama. Alexei took great pleasure in seeing the con man being repelled from trying to retrieve anything. The next day, Alexei read in the paper that the place was in total ruins and both the owner of the property and the business owner
didn’t
have any insurance.