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Array
(
[sid] => 133827
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Big Al 2
[time] => 2007-04-26 10:41:36
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => “Where you staying?” “ The Regent.” “Wait there for a call. Casino will let you know if he’s interested.” They got up and left. I waited for Jean. She came and we left. I took her to her apartment and dropped her off. I was living at the Regent this year, a brown stone flat on Miller Street not far from where I had an office on the fourth floor of the Jergins building on the corners of Mason and Blodget Streets in this Chicago. Not much of an office, just a couple of rooms for showcase. On the upper glass part of the outer door was written Alfred Berger - Importer Of Antiques. That was for the noisy. I had offices like this in several other cities too. I made my contacts from these different offices brokering deals between people in Chicago, Saint Louis, Kansas City, Saint Paul, Montreal and a few other Canadian and Mexican cities. Business was good and I hadn’t yet been loser between rival gangs. A dangerous game, but the money was terrific and the feds hadn’t caught on. I let myself into my flat with a key and went to the kitchen where I kept a bottle of Scotch. Mixing a drink, I took it and sat down in my favorite brown leather chair away from the windows with shades pulled down. Next to the chair was a lamp table with a single drawer where I kept a 38 special. A Luger was always in its holster under my left arm. A candlestick phone rested on the table. I was reading from Melville when the phone rang. “Casino wants to see you. We’ll pick up you up in front of your place in twenty minutes.” “ Sounds right.” The phone went dead. I continued reading, finishing my drink. When I left my coat was on. It was raining. I waited under the Regent’s awning out of the rain for Casino’s car. It was one o’clock in the morning. There was no traffic on the wet street, streetlights reflected glow on cement and asphalt. Water ran in the gutter. Wind was blowing. I turned my collar up and fished a cigarette out of its pack and lit it. A car came around the corner with headlights full on. It was a large Packard, Casino’s car. It stopped at the curb and I walked over opening the rear door getting in. Bob Lupota was driving ,Glen Madaly next to him. Madaly spoke. “You’re a lucky man, Big Al. Casino wants to talk with you.” “Where’s that?” “At his home on the lake.” We drove without anything else being said. Casino’s place wasn’t any larger than Windsor Castle. It was enclosed by a high brick fence with double iron gates. Madaly got out, unlocked the gates and we drove in following a circular driveway. The mansion sat back from the main gate about a hundred yards behind an expansive lawn. Alyssum edged the entire inner part of the driveway. A large water fountain was in the center. A triple car garage adjoined the house extending its facade another sixty feet. The whole place had a Gothic look. We stopped in front of a garage and before we got out, Lupota asked for the Luger. A cement walkway led to triple tier steps that brought us up to a double door of oak and iron knockers. Madaly lifted a knocker and deep within a chime sounded. A black servant in a tuxedo answered the chime. Both men pushed by him. I followed, passing through a massive entry hall of lion and tiger mosaics in the tiled floor. Gold frame landscapes hung on the walls. Just because my mouth fell open I wasn’t overly impressed. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 245 [topic] => 65 [informant] => ramfire [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => toughstuff )
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