Holmes Becomes Consigliere

Luciano, Lansky, Siegel and Capone were in one car. Other men with interesting nicknames were in a second: Legs Diamond, Dutch Schultz, Kid Twist Reles and Lepke Buchalter. This last man would go on to found “Murder, Inc.”; literally contract killers with no allegiance to anyone or any group.

“It’s good we’re gonna get those guys now. By tomorrow, we’ll have to attend Mr. Rothstein’s funeral, if they let him be buried like he’s supposed to be,” Lansky said. “Ain’t no use in any of us stayin’ away as the cops know we all worked for him.”

All in the first car agreed.

It was early afternoon when the cars pulled up in front of Rusty’s, a bar on West Farms Square in the Bronx that was Malone’s headquarters. It flourished because it sat on a terminus of trolley cars, buses, an American equivalent to our underground called a subway, and only a few minute walk to one of the world’s truly great nature attractions, the Bronx Zoo. The lithe Bronx River ran along the exterior rear of Rusty’s.

The men in both cars had either pistols or “Tommy Guns”; so called because they were Thompson submachine guns from WWI. Neither car had any tags or plates of identification.

As Holmes had predicted, Malone and his men were inside drinking, celebrating their killing of Rothstein. They were sloppy and left no guards on the outside.

With almost military precision, all doors swung open and the men from both cars ran into Rusty’s. Malone, his seven men and the bartender were completely surprised and held their hands up in surrender.

“Now nobody is gonnna do nothin’ stupid,” Luciano said. “Guns out, barrel first, and throw ‘em on the floor! Now!”

When one of the men looked as if he was going to do something stupid, Siegel shot him in the head and said, “See what happens when you do something stupid?”

Schultz, Diamond and Reles waved all the men except Malone to the far end of the long, oak bar and stood there with their Tommy Guns on the remaining six, including the bartender. Malone remained at mid-bar. Buchalter remained at the front doors, watching.

Luciano walked slowly over to Malone with Siegel, Lansky and Capone right behind.

Malone was the same age and height and had the same ferocity as Luciano, but he didn’t have one tenth the brains. Luciano could see the fear in Malone. But Malone didn’t think he was showing it.

“So whaddayagonna do now, Charlie? That Jew ya worked for is dead. Why not join up with me and the guys and we can own this town?” Malone asked.

“I’m Jewish, too,” yelled Siegel and he shot Malone in the knee. Malone crumpled. His men made a slight move but Schultz, Diamond and Reles just waved their Tommy Guns and the men moved back.

As Malone lay on the floor howling in pain, Capone kicked him in the wound and said, “We ain’t even yet.”

Luciano then walked over to the men at the end of the bar.

“T’ hell with ya, ya dago piece of garbage,” said one of the men.

“See what I mean about doin’ stupid’ stuff. Now, how the hell stupid do ya have t’ be t’curse me out with me and my guys havin’ guns on ya and you got your brains up your ass?” Luciano asked.

Capone had come over. “Dago piece a crap, did ya say?” Capone shot him in the testicles. The other men recoiled and grabbed their own in reflex. Capone then gave a nod of the head to Schultz, Diamond and Reles who, with their Tommy Guns, dispatched the other men quickly, professionally, and with no wasted bullets. Diamond stood far enough back so that no blood would spatter his spats. He was unsuccessful.

This left only Malone, still on the floor and still howling in pain.

“Oh gee whiz, Numbers; you’re bleedin’ all over the nice floor and screechin’ like one of your freakin’ banshees. You’ll wake up the whole damn neighbourhood.

“I know, you need to cool off. How about I take ya for a swim? Would you like that, Numbers?”

With that, Siegel dragged Malone by the neck of his jacket to the back of Rusty’s, opened the back door and then dragged Malone down the rocky, little hill to the Bronx River.

“See, Numbers? You’re gonna cool off. Forever.”

Siegel turned Malone upside down so his head was in the water and he held his head down until Malone had, indeed, cooled off forever.

Siegel then joined the others and they went back to Manhattan.

In Capone’s apartment, Holmes had no idea of the savagery he had unwittingly unleashed. He would learn more, however, with time and become more inurned to it; drifting farther into a persona from which it might be impossible to disengage.

Upon their return, Luciano, Lansky and Siegel began to formalize their new partnership with Holmes; Capone would be leaving for Chicago in a few days and whatever his three colleagues decided was fine with him. He knew he’d get what he was due.

“Hey, Meyer, count good,” Capone said as a fond goodbye when he finally left for Chicago.

With Capone gone and many of his men with him, Luciano, Lansky and Siegel had to come to grips with the power vacuum left by Rothstein’s death; and if not handled properly, would most certainly lead to their own. There were much larger fish than Numbers Malone befouling the filthy waters of the Hudson and the East River.

Salvatore Maranzano and Giuseppe Masseria were the biggest of these fish. While these names remain unknown to most outside of the United States, to New Yorkers of this period, the names literally were equated with evil and death.

With Rothstein gone, the old “Mustache Petes”, as they were referred to by Luciano and other young gangsters on the rise, would soon begin a war to divide Rothstein’s territory and to enlist his young mobsters into their ranks.

After all, they reasoned, more territory needed more soldiers to protect it. Then you needed more soldiers to conquer more territory and to hold that territory. Ad nauseum. The Roman emperors had taught these men too well.

It was called the Castellammarese War because both Masseria and Maranzano had emigrated from that region in Sicily. And it was fought brutally and with no quarter. Right on the streets of New York.

Luciano, Lansky and Sigel, though very smart and very tough, did not have the numbers to overtly challenge either Maranzano or Masseria; even with Diamond, Schultz Buchalter and Reles. So they began to quietly gather other young mobsters who wanted no part of the Mustache Petes and who would gladly ally to eliminate Masseria and Maranzano.

The young Sicilian immigrants who fell in with Luciano would all to go on to criminal infamy: Carlo Gambino, Albert Anastasia, Frank Costello, Vito Genovese, and Joe Adonis, to name a few.

Yet in the midst of the war, Holmes continued the planning with his new business partners and tried not to become directly involved.

It was at an intense planning session between Luciano, Lansky, Siegel and Holmes, on how the spirits were to be delivered from Scotland to America that Lansky suddenly changed the topic.

Lansky said, “John, over the last few months, getting to know you and see how you think, and how you helped us with Malone, we agree that you think like Mr. Rothstein and not too many people could do that.” Luciano and Siegel nodded assent.

Luciano spoke next. “What Meyer is saying, is that with what we have going on, and which could hurt our business arrangement with you, we want you to be our consigliere.”

“I beg your pardon,” Holmes said.

Siegel said, “You know, our counselor. Like Meyer said, you got brains. You’re like Mr. Rothstein was, may he rest in peace.”

Lansky continued, “We need someone to trust as we go to war with them guys. Someone we can plan strategy with and bounce ideas off of, if you know what I mean.”

“A consigliere is a very special person in our thing. He’s the one who can see all the angles and help us play the right one,” Luciano said.

“I see,” said Holmes. And knowing that he could not refuse such an important request without fear of suspicion and then, perhaps, worse, he said, “Gentlemen, I am truly honoured that you hold me in such high regard and I solemnly accept your offer.”

“Good, it’s settled,” Luciano said and all three men rose from the table to shake hands with Holmes.

“Imagine that, a limey consigliere. It’s like a Hebe Pope,” said Siegel.

“Crude, but true. Welcome,” Meyer said.

“C’entanni,” Luciano said. “To a hundred years, John.”

“Yeah, right. We should live so long,” said Siegel.

And with what was to happen to Luciano in the midst of the Castellammarese War, that statement proved preternaturally prescient.