Quagmire

Joe Spano

Description

Through a lot of time and effort “Every time He Gained Something, He Lost Something Else; friends, family, power and his life.
A young Italian immigrant, from Detroit who with his fists, friends, and wits, wanted to live the good life. He yearned to "be somebody" and that meant getting the money to have and do the things to get respect, wine, women, and power.
Lucky was going to prove his worth and be respected, one way or another. It started with muscle, continued with guts, and persevered with brains. It brought him and the men he called friends, into a Detroit union and into power, where elections, strikes, work disputes and schemes were all necessary to get the job done. Wherever there is power and money, you can find booze, drugs, criminal activity, violence, organized crime and ultimately treachery, because Every Time He Gained Something, He Lost Something Else

Sujets

• Convict
• Politician
• Thuggee
• Quagmire
• Thugs
• Joe Spano
• Novel
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse
• Date de parution: 12 janvier 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781728376943
• Langue: English

Extrait

QUAGMIRE
 
 
 
 
 
A Novel by
JOE SPANO
 
 
 

 
AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: [phone]
 
 
 
 
© 2023 Joe Spano. All rights reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
Published by AuthorHouse 01/09/2023
 
ISBN: 978-1-7283-7693-6 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-7283-7695-0 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-7283-7694-3 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023900422
 
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Epilogue
PROLOGUE
The first time the phone rang I was annoyed. Not annoyed enough to answer the thing and make it stop, but annoyed. The second time the phone rang I knew it was trouble. 7:30 in the morning, no one calls to tell you something good that early. I’d barely had time to make a pot of coffee before the phone rang for a third time. Taking a deep breath, I crossed myself and said a quick prayer that both my parents were still alive.
“Hello,” I answered, but it came out more like a question.
“Joe, hey, it’s your dad.” Hearing his voice, I knew at least one half of my prayer had been answered.
“Everything okay, dad?”
Something felt off. Normally, he’d launch into a series of questions that I’d come to refer to as the checklist: how’s the family, how you doing, how’s work. Always in that order. He took his role as head of what he called la famiglia seriously. When I was a kid, those duties were performed around the dinner table. As his kids grew up, the phone became his platform for ensuring the bonds of his loved ones remained strong. As a kid—well, let’s be honest, even as a young man—his constant questions annoyed the hell out of me. But now that I was a grown man with a family of my own, my irritation had turned to admiration and respect. I looked forward to those calls, knowing they were in limited supply. But the silence after our greeting made it clear that this was something different.
“Dad, you still there?”
“Yeah, son, it’s good to hear your voice.”
Great, as if an early morning phone call wasn’t a bad enough sign, now we had sentimentality and unwarranted nostalgia, too.
“It’s good to hear you too, Dad. Is everything okay? You usually don’t call this early, especially on the weekend.”
“Of course, of course, nothing to worry about, didn’t mean to startle you. Yes, yes, everything is fine. Everything is going good.” He paused and sighed into the receiver. “Well, except I guess maybe there is one little thing that’s bothering me. Your uncle, you heard from him lately?”
You couldn’t count all my uncles on one hand, but I knew right away which one he was talking about. There was only one my father’s brothers that my dad couldn’t handle. Uncle Lucky. I called him Uncle Doc. Dominick was his birth name, but just about everyone called him Lucky. You’ll understand why later.
“I dunno, dad, I guess I talked with him a couple weeks ago. But if I’m being honest, I don’t think he’s got much use for me since I left the union. And I don’t think he’s been relying on family as much as he used to.”
“Joe, that’s just it. You hit the nail on the head, and that’s what’s got me so worried. When exactly did this uncle of yours forget that blood is thicker than water? I mean, outsiders, they can be useful, but only to a point. They’ll only take you so far.” He let out a deep exhale, the kind that signaled he was shifting away from his ranting mode and into his reflective one. “If your grandfather was still around, he’d set him straight, I’ll tell you that much.”
I rolled my eyes, a little pissed off that he’d woken me up just to put me in the middle of a brothers’ quarrel. My dad was older than Uncle Lucky, but ever since Uncle Lucky became head of the Detroit Millwrights Union, it was like my dad and him were in a cold war over who was the head of our family. I didn’t really give a damn about it. So after a respectful amount of silence, I tried to appease him and pivot the conversation.
“Of course, dad,” I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee and relaxing into clichés, “grandpa was one hell of a man. Last I knew, though, Uncle Lucky wasn’t in the business of taking advice from anyone, not even grandpa. So, lay it on me: what’d he do this time?”
“Well, he, uh, well, we can’t find him. I don’t know, he, uh, took off or something. No one knows. Just no one’s heard from him last couple days. You two, you were always close, I thought maybe he might have reached out to you.”
Close wasn’t the word I’d use to describe my relationship with my Uncle Lucky. Not anymore. Not since that day he called me into his office and asked me to start a fight with Harvey Hemming because he thought Harvey was rallying votes against him. His mafioso comrade Frankie Q at his side, arms crossed in his cashmere sweater, mouthful of bright cigarette, saying to me over and over again in that deep mumbly voice of his: “do it for the family, Joe. Do it for the family.”
No, we weren’t close no more. Lucky was nothing if not practical, and you only stayed close to him if you stayed useful to him. I got myself so worked up thinking about my dad calling me and Uncle Lucky close that I hardly even cared about the big word: disappe ared .
“Alright, well, just calm down, Dad. You haven’t talked to everyone. You don’t even know most of these guys he hangs around with now.”
I was thinking about Frankie Q and about Eddie Balgoul, the leader of a bunch of Chaldean and Lebanese heavies my uncle had brought in—the Praetorian Guard, he’d taken to calling them. Probably my dad didn’t wanna know about them. And why get him more worked up than he already was. After all, it wasn’t unusual for Lucky to go on a quick weekend getaway without telling anyone.
“What about Ralph, Dad?”
“Ralph’s the one who called me, Joe.”
Ralph was Lucky’s right hand, at least he was before Frankie Q showed up on the scene. They’d grown up together, kicked ass together, broke into the union together. Ralph was gonna be my first call, and I figured that’s all it’d take to solve the mystery of the missing uncle.
Listen, you gotta understand this about my uncle, he wasn’t any ordinary man. Uncle Lucky was one part wrecking ball, another part pit bull, with a dash of Machiavelli thrown in. Guys like my uncle, no one gets the better of.
“Joe, it’s the first Saturday of June.”
It didn’t click at first. I’d been away from the union long enough to forget the significance of that date. The first Saturday of June was Election Day in the Millwright’s union. And while I didn’t have any doubt that Uncle Lucky would win, you’d think he’d at least show up to celebrate.
There was some turbulence, sure. I still spent enough time around the union guys to hear some shit. And don’t let them fool you, those guys were tough but they gossip like teenage girls at slumber party. I’d heard all kinds of things. Like that Eddie Balgoul, the head of the Praetorian Guard, was fed up with taking orders and was looking to make a move on Lucky. Or that Frankie Q had been directed by high-ranking members of the Detroit mafia to turn Lucky into their puppet, after all the ground they’d lost with the Teamsters. I’d even heard that Lucky had started working with the Feds—why the hell he’d be doing that, no one could say for sure. Repeating any of this to my dad wouldn’t calm him down one bit, so I decided to take a page out of ole’ Uncle Lucky’s playbook and just lie until I could figure out a truth that suited me better.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you that he and Ralph had some kind of falling out. Maybe Ralph was just using you to test the waters. Give me a little time, I’ll make some a few calls. I’ll let you know when I hear about him shacked up with some broad, and then you can go back to worrying about his soul rather than his life.”
I thought he’d laugh at that, but not even a chuckle. “Okay, Joe. You let me know.” He paused. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
My dad knew how disappointed I’d been about not being put in Lucky’s inner circle. Seemed like I was on the fast-track when I came in second place in the national millwright’s apprentice competition. Now, though, I think my dad was relieved that Uncle Lucky had kept me at a distance, maybe this call was as much about me as it was his brother. La famiglia , its shepherd looking after its sheep, black and white alike.
I wasn’t sure what was going on, but one thing I knew