Chapter 19

Monday, June 28^th, 1943

My ride out to Sal's beach compound took about a half an hour. My first day working for Sal and his boys had me worried about what kind of work I would be doing for him. It wasn't breaking the law that had me worried. If legality were so crucial I wouldn't be working at the Second Hand delivering bologna sandwiches at fifty bucks apiece.

The road ran along the coast of Lake Michigan. The sky was as blue as I had ever seen it, and the deeper blue of the lake spread out to the horizon. A small shack sat by the tarred road to Sal's. A wire ran from the shack's roof to a pole at the top of the dune and then out of sight down the other side. No other beach road had such a shack guarding it. Two men sitting inside came out to greet me as I turned down the road marked "NO ADMITTANCE"

It was almost July and both men wore black pants and white long-sleeved shirts. I stopped at a raised hand. "No trespassing, kid."

Spinning the pedals backward I came to a skidding stop. I tried not to sound as scared as I was, "I'm here to see Sal DeAngelo."

The short tubby man laughed, "Yeah, right."

I passed over Sal's card hoping one of them could read. His smile faded. "What's your name, kid?"

I decided to hit him with all three names, "Calvin Coolidge Anderson, sir."

He gave me a glance trying to figure out if I was busting his balls. "Okay, wait here." He went into the shack; I could hear him dialing a phone.

Soon he was back with my card. "Ride up over the hill kid. Go up the steps at the main house and knock. They'll take care of you there."

As I pedaled off I heard them laughing about my name.

At the top of the dune was a large house with a porch running around the entire building. Down by the lake was a cabana tent. Half-dozen cars were parked alongside the road down to the house.

I knocked on the door of the two-story beach house and shortly a colored maid answered. "Sal DeAngelo?" I asked.

She bowed. "Missa DeAngelo be upstairs. He be expecting you." The maid turned away, and I followed her shapely form. Since fucking Alfie the other night, I had realized that colored girls loved to fuck as much as white girls. She was about my age and had an ass you could only draw with a compass. We passed an open door. My eyes glanced in and saw a woman breastfeeding an infant. Her dark eyes looked up at me. She made no move to cover a large breast with a dark nipple only partially blocked by the sucking infant. I held her eyes until I passed the doorway.

The maid knocked on a white wooden door. "Come in." Sal's voice ordered.

The door opened to reveal Sal and three other men in black suits. He waved me in and introduced me to three men from Chicago whose names I promptly forgot. He picked up a phone and pressed a button on a black box next to it. "Mario, I got a kid up here. He needs a driver's license and teach him how to use a piece."

A piece of what? I thought. A gun? Why did I need to know how to use a gun?

Sal hung up. "Go down to the kitchen and find Mario. He's going to take care of you."

Trying to look smooth, I said, "Thanks, Sal. I really appreciate this."

Sal grinned and waved, "Just do what you're told, Cal. You'll do fine."

I made my way downstairs and spotted the maid. She was dusting some old pictures on a shelf. "Excuse me, I'm Calvin."

"I's Elsie, Mr. DeAngelo's maid."

"Where can I find Mario, Elsie?" She had a plush figure and my frank stare at her body made her giggle.

"He's in the kitchen, Mr. Calvin." She pointed toward the door across the room.

I took her arm, "It's just Calvin."

She stuttered, "Y-Y-Yeah sir, Mr. Calvin."

I gave up and whispered, "You're very pretty, Elsie."

Her dark brown eyes glowed, "Thank you, Mister Calvin. You are a mighty handsome man yo' self."

"I'll see you around, Elsie."

"Yeah sir, Mister Calvin."

A short squat man with swarthy skin stood at the door. He glared at me. "You like fucking niggers?"

I shrugged, "I'm looking for Mario." I didn't see anyone past the fireplug in the kitchen.

"I'm Mario. And do you like fucking niggers?"

"Only fucked one, and she was alright." I stared him down.

He clapped me on the back. "I've fucked more than one, son, and they're fine fucking." He pulled me into the kitchen. "You hungry?"

"No, sir."

"You know how to drive?"

"No, sir."

"Okay, let's go out and get you learned how." He stopped at the backdoor of the house and pulled a key ring from a nail-covered board of hanging keys.

I followed the squat Italian out to a 1938 Ford Coupe. He got in the driver's seat and started the car. He backed out and drove the car to the beach road. He got out and grinned, "Your turn, kid."

The steering wheel was three feet across. The rumbling motor shook the car as Mario got in on the passenger side. He explained the clutch, the gears, and the parking brake. I knew what everything did already. Since I was a small boy I had quizzed my father and then my mother about the mechanics of driving. Carl's Ford was nothing new to me when I managed to use its power to winch the car over the beach drop off. I pushed down the clutch pedal and levered the column gearshift toward me and pulled down.

"Okay, now don't put your foot on the gas and just slowly let up on the clutch." I let up on the clutch. The car shuddered, lurched forward and died. Mario laughed loudly. "Everyone does that, kid. Try again."

This time I was determined not to kill the car. With infinite care I let the clutch rise. The car slowly rolled forward and picked up speed as I let up on the clutch. Without gas the car lumbered down the road at walking speed.

"Okay, kid. Hit the brakes." The car shuddered and died. "Shit, kid, you gotta push in the clutch."

After a few more tries I was able to get the car rolling and stop it. He then had me use the gas pedal to get the car moving. The co-ordination in the pedals proved more complex but soon we were zooming along in first gear. I ground some hamburger mastering going from first to second. Learning to go from second to third meant driving down the highway that ran along Lake Michigan.

As I drove us back, Mario asked, "How did you meet Sal, kid?"

So as I drove I related the story of the party. When I told him that I beat Sal in the dick contest he started laughing. Laughter turned to choking, and I thought he was going to pass out.

"Damn, kid. You got a bigger dick than Sal! What are you 15?"

"Sixteen, Mario"

"You been laid yet, kid?" He got his breath back.

"Yeah, got a nice blowjob that night at the party from one of the hookers." I gave him a big grin.

"You getting much?"

"Yeah, I bet you could say so." I smirked.

"Young fluff?"

"Not all."

"Older dames?"

I nodded.

"Fuck." He looked out the wind, and then turned back to me. "Be careful, kid."

I turned onto the beach house and drove past the guard shack. Mario waved at the guards. "Careful of what?"

"Sal's wife." Mario leaned toward me his hand over the top of the front seat. "She's got loose panties."

"Yeah?" This got me to wondering. "Does Sal know this?"

"Yeah he does."

"Why does he put up with it?"

Mario pulled a pack of smokes from his shirt pocket and offered me one. I took it. "You ever heart of Albert Anastasia?" Mario lit my cigarette.

I shook my head blowing the smoke out of my nostrils.

"He's one of the big bosses back in New York. Sal's wife is his daughter." He spit out a wisp of tobacco. "If Sal does something to Anastasia's daughter, something much, much worse happens to Sal."

"So Sal lives with it."

Mario laughed, "Yeah, but that doesn't mean that the dick gets away with it." He took a deep drag. "The last guy who made the mistake of banging Sal's wife ended up in the lake, cut up into a half-dozen pieces."

"Shit!" I pulled the car up to the back of the house.

"Okay, kid, looks like you've passed. Let's go in the house."

We went back into the kitchen. Mario pulled two beers from an icebox. He picked up an opener hanging from a string tied to the icebox door handle. He handed me a cold Budweiser. "Nothing better on a hot day, kid."

The beer did taste good. I had nipped sips for years from the unwatched bottles of adults. I followed him into a small office. Mario opened a drawer and pulled out two small cards. He rolled the first into a Royal typewriter. "Spell your name for me, kid." I spelled out my name. He carefully typed the letters as I recited them. "Your address, kid." He pecked this out without mistake. "Birth date." He typed a bit longer and rolled out the card. "Here, kid."

I now held a very authentic looking drivers license. Mario rolled the other card into the machine and typed without asking me any questions. I put the license in my wallet and waited for the thick-fingered man to finish typing. He ejected the second card and handed it to me.

This license was issued to "Calvert Robert Albertson." The date of birth made me twenty-one. I looked up to see a wide grin. "Something you can use to get a drink kid." He slapped me on the back. "Let's get some lunch."

I moved to follow him. He left the office, but a woman of obvious Italian ancestry filled the doorway. She was short, five foot one or two, and wore a black swimsuit. The cleavage matched that of Gloria. She smoked a Lucky Strike, the white pack tucked under the strap of her swimsuit. She stepped into the office and extended her hand. "I'm Gina DeAngelo, Sal's wife."

I shook her hand. Her eyes burned with the fire of her lust. I knew this look well and locked on her gaze until she dropped her eyes. I released her hand. "I'm Calvin Anderson. I just started working here."

"I know. I've heard about you." She trapped me against the desk. "I also saw you watching me feeding Sal, Jr."

I know she expected me to back away in terror, but I didn't. I now realize why I stood my ground after Mario told me about the man who became salmon bait for clipping a piece of Sal's wife. I didn't fear women, but I had not yet developed a respect for angry husbands. Her rack grazed the front of my shirt. Knowing what she'd heard I shot back, "Looks to me you could feed Sal, Jr. Thanksgiving dinner. What did you hear?"

Her twin guns flattened my shirt as she closed in on her target. Her breath heated my lips. "I heard you got a bigger dick than Sal." Her crotch met my growing heat. "Is that so?"

I shoved back. "What do you think?" Blood filled my dick, starving the part of my brain that controlled self-preservation.

She squirmed against my hardness. Swaying to cover every inch, she measured me with her soft pelvis. "I think you might be." Gina stepped back. She turned and left me with the sight of her ass doing its best to escape from the tight suit. At the door, she turned, "I'll be seeing you around, Cal." As she left, the air in the room cooled, a whiff of Paris lingered.

Mario's voice called me from the bordello atmosphere Gina left behind. I found him in an equipment room. Rifles and shotguns hung from wooden racks on the walls. Mario stood before a metal cabinet. He drew out a gun I had only seen at the Saturday matinee. I shivered when I saw the cylindrical drum that held the fifty rounds of .45 caliber slugs that J. Edgar Hoover tossed at the criminals on the big screen. It was a "Tommy" gun. The famous Thompson machinegun looked far more dangerous close up. Mario yanked back the bolt and pressed a lever behind the trigger. The drum popped off. Mario opened the cover, and I could see it was full of gleaming brass cartridges. He reassembled the weapon and looked up at me. "Let's go make some noise, kid."

Mario pointed to a stack of targets. "Get one, kid, and grab the hammer."

The targets were two by two foot pictures of J. Edgar Hoover with a bull's eye on this nose. I thought I might be breaking a law just touching something so un-American, but I took one and Mario led me out to a section of phone pole with several nails driven into it. The phone pole was half eaten away by lead termites.

"Pull out a nail and nail up the target, kid."

I lined up J. Edgar for execution and drove a nail in his forehead. Mario walked about thirty feet away and pulled on the bolt. I stepped back from the target. Mario aimed at pulled the trigger. Five rapid bangs sent .45 slugs into the phone pole. The flying chips stung me, and I jumped back. The FBI director had two holes in his face.

Mario laughed, "Not, bad. Two in the face will do the job."

He held out the gun to me. "Your turn, kid."

I took it desperately trying not to let my hands tremble. "Okay, you just pull the trigger." He should have been a high school science teacher.

I raised the gun to my shoulder to aim. "No, kid. Don't bother aiming. That's why you throw all the lead. Aiming takes time. Just hold it at your waist, like I did."

I braced myself for the recoil and pulled the trigger. Nothing.

Mario chuckled. "Kid, if you don't take the safety off you're gonna end up dead."

He showed me the small button. "Now, put some lead in ol' J. Edgar."

I braced again against the gun's kick. The trigger squeeze was tight. The gun exploded in a spray of fire. When I got my finger off the trigger I could see that J. Edgar was unscathed from my fire and the gun was aimed at the sky.

"Hold her down kid. She'll climb on you." He moved the gun back down. "Now, keep her down, squeeze and let go.

He stepped back. "Nail the fucker, kid."

I pointed the Thompson at Hoover's head. I held the gun down and pulled the trigger. A ripple of bullets tore into the picture until I ran out of ammo. The picture was shredded.

"Fuck, that's quite a shot!" Mario took the Thompson from me. We walked out to the post. He tore down the remnants of the picture. "Nice shooting, Cal." Cal—not kid. "Let's go get some lunch."

"I brought mine. It's out on my bike."

"Leave it! You can eat with the boys." He handed me the Thompson and headed back to the house. I followed, proud of the praise. Back in the equipment room Mario showed me how to disassemble the weapon and clean it. I returned it to the storage cabinet and then learned how to load the drum with .45 caliber bullets.

We entered the dining room and took the last two empty seats. Mario stood at the end of the table and announced, "Boys, this is Cal. He's a friend of Sal's and is going to do some driving for us." He tossed the shredded photo on the table. "Cal just popped the director."

Assorted "damns" and "shits" popped over the table in approval. Elsie carried an enormous platter of spaghetti from the kitchen. She set it down in the center of the table and fled for the kitchen. Trips with the meatball sauce and garlic bread quickly followed.

The talk was so busy I could follow little of it. I did know that I heard enough shop talk to put most of the men at the table in jail. Stories of assaults, batteries, and tales from the days of Prohibition flew around the table. The spaghetti was the best I had ever tasted. An enormous wine bottle went from hand to hand. Mario filled my glass without asking to see my fake ID card. I tried the heavy red wine. It burned, but when I sipped it between bites of the spaghetti and garlic bread, it went down nicely.

After two plates and three glasses I was ready for a nap. Mario had other ideas. We went back to the equipment room. Mario demonstrated how to clean a .38. He gave me four grimy looking pieces.

"I've got something to do. Clean these; I'll be back before you're done." He left me alone with my job.

So far the day had been a breeze. I learned how to drive, and for my success, received two driver's licenses. I had riddled a picture of the FBI director and been rewarded with the praise of my new colleagues. Now I was cleaning guns. I noticed deeply etched scratches on the stock of each. On the second I could make out a couple of numbers. Then I realized that the guns' serial numbers had been erased. This was right out of the movies.

I was in the middle of cleaning the third gun when nature called. The wine from lunch was seeking its release. I set down the gun and stepped out into the hall. From here I could see the kitchen door and two closed doors in the hallway. I tried the first on my left. I peeked inside and heard a muffled thud followed quickly by another one.

"Now, Charlie, I want to know what you told the cops." Mario's voice crackled with tension.

I pulled the door shut—almost. My curiosity stopped me from shutting it entirely. Mario stood over a man whose hands were tied behind his back. Mario was sweating from the heat.

"I didn't tell him nothin', Mario." The man's white shirt was soaked in sweat and the collar was pink from his blood.

"Then how did the Chicago police know about the truck? They were waiting for Al and Freddie." Mario pulled a .38 from his pants and pressed the snub nose up to Charlie's head.

The man sobbed. "I didn't tell them, I swear I didn't."

Mario pulled the gun's hammer back. "Only the three of you know about the truck."

"Mario, I've worked for you for years. I'd never give up Al and Freddie."

"Come on Charlie, tell me the truth that's all I want." He tapped on the top of Charlie's head with the gun muzzle. "Tell me the truth, and I'll make sure your wife and kids are taken care of." He centered the gun barrel on Charlie's nose. "But if you keep lying to me, it won't go well for them."

I was sweating in the hallway. Then I heard a soft alto voice. "Looking for something, Cal?" Shit, Gina!

"I... I... was looking for the bathroom." I stuttered.

She nodded at the other door. "In there." She had lost the swimsuit from the morning and wore a yellow summer dress that was cut low to show off her tits. My eyes paid tribute to her natural beauty.

I opened the door and saw the old toilet and sink. "Thanks." I was still shaking from watching Marco pressing the .38 against Charlie's head.

She held the doorknob as I tried to pull the door closed, "Need some help?"

I remembered that Gina was the daughter of one of the big bosses back East. I remembered that Mario was in the next room beating up a man he suspected of betrayal. I remembered that Gina had a fucking outrageous set of tits and that she loved big dicks, so I said, "Sure, why not!" While walking on rubber legs, I moved to the toilet.

She gave a look down the hall to the kitchen and checked for any witnesses before entering behind me. She leaned her plush body against the locked door. "So, you gotta piss. Piss."

I unzipped and pulled out my dick. "Nice." She sighed.

Taking my cock in hand I aimed for the bowl and begin to piss. Gina pulled up her skirt and reached under it. An expensive pair of panties came sliding down her legs. I grinned at her when she tossed them on the rim of the sink.

She pulled the front of her skirt up to her waist to show me a pussy covered in dense black hair. Gina was an old style Italian girl who believed in shag carpeting. As I pissed, she dug into the rug, "I like big cocks, Cal." Watching Gina pleasure herself pushed my worries out of my mind.

As the last drop fell from my cock, I said, "I like having a big cock, Gina." It was level to the floor now. I turned toward her letting my pants fall to my ankles.

She left the door. "We don't have much time. That little nigger girl's gonna come looking for me soon." Sitting down on the toilet she took my cock in her hand and covered the head with her mouth. Sal's wife was giving me a blowjob. I should have been afraid. This was lunacy letting the wife of my boss gobble on my rod, but she did give some good head. This was a woman who had grown up with a cock in her mouth. In two strokes she had my whole cock down her throat. As her lips pressed against my pelvis she chewed on my rod with her juicy lips and thick Italian tongue. She slipped the straps down off her shoulders exposing two huge titties that hung low and swayed as she sucked me off.

Her hands left my cock and she pinched her nipples between her thumb and forefingers as she fucked my cock with her mouth. She twisted her tongue around the shaft wrapping me in a warm wet blanket so much like a pussy. She fucked my cock with long strokes. I think she was expecting me to cum in her mouth. I wanted more.

I pulled her up from the toilet and took her place. She grinned at me as she lifted her skirt to bring me face to face with the Everglades, a dense growth of the black hair that covered her pussy and slowly thinned out down her thighs. Her fingers plunged deep into the forest to spread open her moist cavern.

A scream filtered through the thin wooden walls from the next room. Gina looked up at the wall and licked her lips. "Oh, fuck," she murmured. My mental state was so crazed that I started to reach for my pants to get a rubber.

"What the fuck are you doing?" She snarled.

"Uh... getting a rubber?" I burbled.

"What? You got the syph? You think I do? You little shit!" She slapped my face. The bitch had a strong right. My head cracked against the pipe running from the tank to the toilet. Stars floated before me. My hands seized Gina's hips and yanked her down driving my cock deep inside her.

"Oh, shit!" She yelped. "Take it easy. You'll hurt a sweet little Italian girl with a prick this big." Her anger melted around my dick. She wiggled her bottom on my lap giving her pussy a better grip. "Mm, you are bigger than Sal."

At Vicki's party the cock contest was, I thought, all in good fun, but as word of my victory spread, I was worried that Sal might not like the news to spread past Vicki's house. Right now I was expecting to read of my victory on the sports page the next day. CAL BEATS MOB BOSS IN COCK SIZE COMPETITION WINS BULLET TO BRAIN.

This headline drained my enthusiasm for screwing the daughter of a mob boss. I leaned back on the porcelain tank and let Gina work for her pleasure. Her eyes were tightly closed and her face was flushed from her exertions. Her tits bounced before my eyes hypnotically. I wondered who she was really fucking. I pulled her over me and buried my face in her breasts. Her hands came up and squeezed her tits around my face. "Yes, baby." She shoved a nipple toward my mouth. "Suck it, honey!" My mouth closed over the nipple and drew it into my mouth. "Harder, suck it harder!" She gasped. When the flood of milk poured into my mouth I was transported back to Alfie's dark brown full breasts, Gina clutched my head and smashed my mouth over her big tit. "Suck it!" Her hips pistoned on my cock; while I had a second lunch from her flowing tits. Gina's tight pussy carried me along the road to orgasm. My cock plowed through her wetness. Her skirt draped over us creating an oven around our union.