Sorry for the second top
post of the day, but this has been bothering me since I watched Sean
Hannity's fabulous program last night, and the sense of guilt become
overwhelming after I read Ryerson's admission that he knew the late Jim
Tilden.
I feel the need to unburden myself before I close up my
store and skulk on home to work on my next Quiblit submission (a killer
interview with a top level NASA dude, well the answers are killer, the
questions are stupid because I asked them.)
Anyway, here's my confession.
I know gangsters.
I've worked for them.
I've made money off of the transactions.
One
cannot do what I do for a living, in this particular city, without
coming in contact with The Boys. Everyone knows who they are, and some
people are so frightened of them that they won't carry out a contract
for them. Not me.
I've performed duties for several people that I
know, with absolute certainty, are members of organized crime (and that
list doesn't include the Chicago city officials I've worked for, but
should.)
It all started back when my dad was alive, and was
running this company. He was generally accepted as the best at what we
do, and these customers didn't mind spending a little extra cash to
deal with someone who would carry out a contract with cool efficiency.
No fuss, no muss, that's the way they like it.
There was
Tony Spilotro's house. A beautiful set of French Doors, along with a
couple of top quality full-view storm doors (including custom satin
nickel hardware. very nice,)
Then came his cousin's house. new
Pella windows, a couple of (ugh) bathroom glass bolcks, and some
wrought iron ..ahem....treatments for the windows. It was a nice job,
but the unmarked car with the tinted windows was a bit of a
distraction.
**edit** forgot to mention the Arcardo job. 4 new doors with custom deadbolt locks. Very secure. Very.**
Then came Lefty Rosenthal's house, which was a
tricky job because he was in Vegas while we were working there. This
was not the time nor the place to forget to lock up when finished for
the day. Turned out nice, and I hear he was happy. (back in the late
70s)
There was the Giancana place, which wasn't nearly as fun
because the old man (Sam, not my dad) was already croaked. But
still,...it's Sam Frickin' Giancana's house.
I asked my dad once
if he worried about dealing with people like this, and he just smiled.
He suggested that they are more worried than we are. He said..."It's
all about trust. Do you think they trust just anyone to crawl around on
their houses?"
"But dad, that customer wasn't even home. He was in Vegas."
"Don't kid yourself Michael. Someone watched every move you made."
"Why?"
"Bugs. They're worried about bugs."
"Bugs? Your mean like those creepy earwig things that crawl out when I take off the old Z-Bar frame from the old storm do.."
"No you dumb kid. Bugs. Listening devices."
"Ahhhhhh....but they know you. They know you wouldn't...."
"Of course they know, that's why you're there. But they can't trust anybody too much, so they watch anyway."
"Do you worry that they won't pay their...."
"They
always pay. The last thing they want is to owe money to someone with a
contract. That's the lesson. People in that business can't afford
publicity, and they don't ever want to go to court. They always pay. I
wish everyone paid their bills like they do."
Stepping forward
30 years, I'll admit that I've worked for several more reputed mob
figures. They're not nearly as colorful as the ones I worked for as a
kid. They're not, for the most part, famous. They run funny hours, have
no visible means of support, and live in rather large homes. They pay
their bills, they're never a problem, and I'll leave it at that.
I've
also worked for investment bankers who ran funny hours, had no visible
means of support, and live in rather large homes. I'll also leave that
at that, although I'd suggest getting the cash up front with these
characters.
I've never felt like the jobs I do for any of
them in any way connects me to organized crime, be it hanging doors on
The Tuna's house, or replacing the windows for a guy who helped gang
rape the US taxpayers to the tune of 3/4 of a trillion dollars.
I'm sure glad I'm not running for public office.
I
think the voters might overlook my dad's profitable deal with Spilotro,
knowing that The Ant was at least keeping up the property values.
But I'm not so sure they'd like it if they knew how much I made installing those gold leafed mahogany doors on Keating's house.
**The above is at least partially fictional. To the best of my knowledge I never worked for Charles Keating, nor would I.**
