Memories of Midnight (9 page)

Early the following morning Constantin Demiris was on his way to the United States to discuss large tankers. He was aware that the world petroleum reserves outside the United States and the Soviet-bloc territories were controlled by the seven sisters: Standard Oil Company of New Jersey, Standard Oil Company of California, Gulf Oil, the Texas Company, Socony-Vacuum, Royal Dutch-Shell and Anglo-Iranian. He knew that if he could get just one of them, the others were sure to follow.

Constantin Demiris' first visit was to the executive offices of Standard Oil of New Jersey. He had an appointment with Owen Curtiss, a fourth vice-president 'What can I do for you, Mr Demiris?' 'I have a concept that I think could be of great financial benefit to your company.' 'Yes, you mentioned that over the telephone.' Curtiss glanced at his wristwatch. 'I have a meeting in a few minutes. If you could be brief . . .' till be very brief. It costs you seven cents to haul a gallon of crude petroleum from the Persian Gulf to the eastern coast of the United States.' That's correct.' 'What would you say if I told you that I can guarantee to carry your oil for three cents a gallon?' Curtiss smiled patronizingly. 'And just how would you perform that miracle?' Demiris said quietly, 'With a fleet of large tankers that will have twice the carrying capacity of the present ones. I can transport your oil as fast as you can pump it out of the ground.' Curtiss was studying him, his face thoughtful. 'Where would you get a fleet of large tankers?'

'I'm going to build them.' Tm sorry. We wouldn't be interested in investing in . . .' Demiris interrupted. 'It won't cost you a penny. All I'm asking from you is a long-term contract to carry your oil at half the price you're paying now. I'll get my financing from the banks.' There was a long, pregnant silence. Owen Curtiss cleared his throat. 'I think I had better take you upstairs to meet our president.'

That was the beginning. The other oil companies were just as eager to make deals for Constantin Demiris' new tankers. By the time Spyros Lambrou learned what was happening, it was too late. He flew to the United States and was able to make a few deals for large tankers with some independent companies, but Demiris had skimmed off the cream of the market 'He's your husband,' Lambrou stormed, 'but I swear to you, Melina, some day I'm going to make him pay for what he's done.' Melina felt miserable about what had happened. She felt she had betrayed her brother But when she confronted her husband, he shrugged. 'I didn't go to them, Melina. They came to me. How could I refuse them?' And that was the end of the discussion.

But business considerations were unimportant compared to Lambrou's feelings about how Demiris treated Melina. He could have shrugged off the fact that Constantin Demiris was a notorious philanderer after all, a man had to have his pleasure. But Demiris' being so blatant about it was an insult not only to Melina but to the whole Lambrou family. Demiris' affair with the actress, Noelle Page, had been the most egregious example. It had made headlines all over the world. One day, Spyros Lambrou thought. One day . . .

Nikos Veritos, Lambrou's assistant, walked into the office. Vertos had been with Spyros Lambrou for fifteen years. He was competent, but unimaginative, a man with no future, grey and faceless. The rivalry between the two brothers-in-law presented Veritos with what he considered a golden opportunity. He was betting on Constantin Demiris to win, and from time to time he passed on confidential information to him, hoping for a suitable reward Veritos approached Lambrou. 'Excuse me. There's a Mr Anthony Rizzoli here to see you.' Lambrou sighed. 'Let's get it over with,' he said. 'Send him in.' Anthony Rizzoli was in his mid-forties. He had black hair, a thin aquiline nose, and deep-set brown eyes. He moved with the grace of a trained boxer. He wore an expensive beige tailored suit, a yellow silk shirt and soft leather shoes. He was soft-spoken and polite, and yet there was something oddly menacing about him.

'Pleasure to meet you, Mr Lambrou.' 'Sit down, Mr Rizzoli.' Rizzoli took a seat 'What can I do for you?' 'Well, as I explained to Mr Veritos here, I'd like to charter one of your cargo ships. You see, I have a factory in Marseilles and I want to ship some heavy machinery to the United States If you and me can work out a deal, I can throw a lot of business your way in the future.' Spyros Lambrou leaned back in his chair and studied the man seated in front of him. Unsavory. 'Is that all you're planning to ship, Mr Rizzoli?' he asked Tony Rizzoli frowned, 'What? I don't understand.' 'I think you do,' Lambrou said. 'My ships are not available to you.' 'Why not? What are you talkin' about?' 'Drugs, Mr Rizzoli. You're a drug dealer.' Rizzoli's eyes narrowed. 'You're crazy! You've been listenin' to a lot of rumors.' But they were more than rumors. Spyros Lambrou had carefully checked out the man. Tony Rizzoli was one of the top drug smugglers in Europe. He was Mafia, part of the Organization, and the word was out that Rizzoli's transportation sources had dried up. That was why he was so anxious to make a deal 'I'm afraid you'll have to go elsewhere.' Tony Rizzoli sat there, staring at him, his eyes cold. Finally he nodded. 'Okay.' He took a business card from his pocket and threw it on the desk. 'If you change your mind, here's where you can reach me.' He rose to his feet and a moment later he was gone Spyros Lambrou picked up the card. It read Anthony Rizzoli -Import-Export. There was an Athens hotel address and a telephone number at the bottom of the card Nikos Veritos had sat there wide-eyed, listening to the conversation When Tony Rizzoli walked out the door he said, 'Is he really . . . ?' 'Yes. Mr Rizzoli deals in heroin. If we ever let him use one of our ships, the government could put our whole fleet out of business.'

Tony Rizzoli watked out of Lambrou's office in a fury. That fucking Greek treating me like I'm some peasant off the street! And how had he known about the drugs? The shipment was an unusually large one, with a street value of at least ten million dollars. But the problem was in getting it to New York. The Goddamned narcs are swarming all over Athens. I'll have to make a phone call to Sicily and stall. Tony Rizzoli had never lost a shipment, and he did not intend to lose this one. He thought of himself as a born winner He had grown up in Hell's Kitchen in New York. Geographically, it was located in the middle of the West Side of Manhattan, between 8th Avenue and the Hudson River, and its northern and southern boundaries ran from 23rd to 59th Streets. But psychologically and emotionally Hell's Kitchen was a city within a city, an armed enclave. The streets were ruled by gangs. There were the Gophers, the Parlor Mob, the Gorillas, and the Rhodes gang. Murder contracts retailed at a hundred dollars, with mayhem a little less The occupants of Hell's Kitchen lived in dirty tenements, overrun by lice, rats and roaches. There were no bathtubs, and the youths solved the shortage in their own way; they plunged naked into the water off the Hudson River docks, where the sewers from the Kitchen's streets emptied into the river. The docks stank of the stagnant mass of dead, swollen cats and dogs The street scene provided an endless variety of action. A fire engine answering an alarm ... a gang fight on one of the tenement roofs ... a wedding procession ... a stickball game on the sidewalk ... a chase after a runaway horse ... a shooting . . . The only playgrounds the children had were the streets, the tenement roofs, the rubbish-strewn vacant lots and in the summer time the noisome waters of the river. And over everything, the acrid smell of poverty. That was the atmosphere in which Tony Rizzoli had grown up.

Tony Rizzoli's earliest memory was of being knocked down, and having his milk money stolen. He was seven years old. Older and bigger boys were a constant threat. The route to school was a no-man's-land, and the school itself was a battleground. By the time Rizzoli was fifteen years old he had developed a strong body and considerable skill as a fighter. He enjoyed fighting, and because he was good at it, it gave him a feeling of superiority He and his friends put on boxing matches at Stillman's Gym From time to time, some of the mobsters dropped in to keep an eye on the fighters they owned. Frank Costello appeared once or twice a month, along with Joe Adonis and Lucky Luciano. They were amused by the boxing matches that the youngsters put on, and as a form of diversion they began to bet on their fights. Tony Rizzoli was always the winner, and he quickly became a favorite of the mobsters One day while Rizzoli was changing in the locker room the young boy overheard a conversation between Frank Costello and Lucky Luciano. "The kid's a gold mine,' Luciano was saying 'I won five grand on him last week.' 'You going to put a bet on his fight with Lou Domenic?' 'Sure. I'm betting ten big ones.' 'What odds do you have to lay?' 'Ten to one. But what the hell? Rizzoli's a shoo-in.' Tony Rizzoli was not certain what the conversation meant He went to his older brother, Gino, and told him about it 'Jesus!' his brother exclaimed. "Those guys are bettin' big money on you.' 'But why? I'm not a professional.' Gino thought for a moment. 'You've never lost a fight, have you, Tony?' 'No.' 'What probably happened is that they made a few small bets for kicks, and then when they saw what you could do they began betting for real.' The younger boy shrugged. 'It don't mean nothin' to me.' Gino took his arm and said earnestly, 'It could mean a lot to you. To both of us. Listen to me, kid . . .' 1

The fight with Lou Domenic took place at Stillman's Gym on a Friday afternoon and all the big boys were there Frank Costello, Joe Adonis, Albert Anastasia, Lucky Luciano and Meyer Lan-sky They enjoyed watching the young boys fight, but what they enjoyed even more was the fact that they had found a way to make money on the kids Lou Domenic was seventeen, a year older than Tony and five pounds heavier. But he was no match for Tony Rizzoli's boxing skills and killer instinct The fight was five rounds. The first round went easily to young Tony. The second round also went to him. And the third. The mobsters were already counting their money 'The kid's going to grow up to be a world champion,' Lucky Luciano crowed. 'How much did you bet on him?' 'Ten grand,' Frank Costello replied. 'The best odds I could get was fifteen to one. The kid's already got a reputation.' And suddenly, the unexpected happened. In the middle of the fifth round, Lou Domenic knocked out Tony Rizzoli with an upper cut. The referee began to count. . . very slowly, looking apprehensively out at the stony-faced audience 'Get to your feet, you little bastard,' Joe Adonis screamed 'Get up and fight!' The counting went on, and even at that slow pace, it finally ri reached ten. Tony Rizzoli was still on the mat, out cold 11 'Son-of-a-bitch. One lucky punch!' i'll) The men began to add up their losses. They were substantial Tony Rizzoli was carried to one of the dressing rooms by Gino , Tony kept his eyes tightly closed, afraid that they would find out | he was conscious and do something terrible to him It was not until Tony was safely home that he began to relax 'We did it!' his brother yelled excitedly. 'Do you know how much fucking money we made? Almost one thousand dollars.' 'I don't understand. I . . .' 'I borrowed money from their own shylocks to bet on Domenic, and got fifteen to one odds. We're rich.' 'Won't they be mad?' Tony asked. Gino smiled. 'They'll never know.'

The following day when Tony Rizzoli got out of school there was a long black limousine waiting at the curb. Lucky Luciano was in the back seat. He waved the boy over to the car 'Get in.' Tony Rizzoli's heart began to pound. 'I can't, Mr Luciano, I'm late for . . .' 'Get in.' Tony Rizzoli got into the limousine. Lucky Luciano said to the driver, 'Go around the block.' Thank God he wasn't being taken for a ride! Luciano turned to the boy. 'You took a dive,' he said flatly Rizzoli flushed. 'No, sir. I . . .' 'Don't shit me. How much did you make on the fight?' 'Nothing, Mr Luciano. I . . .' till ask you once more. How much did you make by taking that dive?' The boy hesitated. 'A thousand dollars.' Lucky Luciano laughed. That's chicken feed. But I guess for a ... how old are you?' 'Almost sixteen.' 'I guess for a sixteen-year-old kid, that ain't bad. You know you cost me and my friends a lot of money.' 'I'm sorry. I ' 'Forget it. You're a bright boy. You've got a future.' Thank you.' 'I'm going to keep quiet about this, Tony, or my friends will cut your nuts off and feed them to you. But I want you to come and see me Monday. You and me are going to work together.'

A week later, Tony Rizzoli was working for Lucky Luciano. Rizzoli started as a numbers runner, and then became an enforcer He was bright and quick and in time he worked himself up to being Luciano's lieutenant When Lucky Luciano was arrested, convicted and sent to prison, Tony Rizzoli stayed on with Luciano's organization.

The Families were into gambling, shylocking, prostitution, and anything else in which there was an illegal profit to be made Dealing drugs was generally frowned on, but some of the members insisted on being involved, and the Families reluctantly gave them permission to set up drug trafficking on their own. The idea became an obsession with Tony Rizzoli. From what he had seen, the people who were in drug trafficking were completely disorganized. They're all spinning their wheels. With the right brains and muscle behind it. . . He made his decision.

Tony Rizzoli was not a man to go into anything haphazardly He began by reading everything he could find out about heroin Heroin was fast becoming the king of narcotics. Marijuana and cocaine provided a 'high', but heroin created a state of complete euphoria, with no pain, no problems, no cares. Those enslaved by heroin were willing to sell anything they possessed, steal anything within their reach, commit any crime. Heroin became their religion, their reason for being Turkey was one of the leading growers of the poppy from which heroin was derived The Family had contacts in Turkey, so Rizzoli had a talk with Pete Lucca, one of the capos 'I'm going to get involved,' Rizzoli said. 'But anything I do will be for the Family. I want you to know that.'

'You're a good boy, Tony.' 'I'd like to go to Turkey to look things over. Can you set it up?' The old man hesitated. till send word. But they're not like us, Tony. They have no morals. They're animals. If they don't trust you, they'll kill you.' till be careful.' 'You do that.' Two weeks later, Tony Rizzoli was on his way to Turkey He travelled to Izmir, Afyon, and Eskisehir, the regions where the poppies were grown, and in the beginning, he was greeted with deep suspicion. He was a stranger, and strangers were not welcome 'We're going to do a lot of business together,' Rizzoli said Td like to take a look at the poppy fields.' A shrug. 'I don't know nothin' about no poppy fields. You're wastin' your time. Go home.' But Rizzoli was determined. Half a dozen phone calls were made and coded cables were exchanged. Finally, in Kilis, on the Turkish-Syrian border, he was allowed to watch the opium being harvested at the farm of Carella, one of the large landowners 'I don't understand it/ Tony said. 'How can you get heroin from a fuckin' flower?' A white-coated scientist explained it to him. 'There are several steps, Mr Rizzoli. Heroin is synthesized from opium, which is made by treating morphine with acetic acid. Heroin is derived from a particular strain of poppy plant called Papaver somni-ferum, the flower of sleep. Opium gets its name from the Greek word opos, meaning juice.'