At about eleven o‘clock I went back to Jersey “to see my girl.”

Christmas Day, I went back down to Little Italy to spend the day with Lefty. We cruised around again to the different spots and hung out. At about four P.M., he packed it in for the day, and I went back to Jersey to spend the rest of Christmas with my family.

The day after Christmas, we were all back on the job, hanging out and hustling.

Lefty had finally gotten his son Tommy cleaned up and off drugs. He had sent him to a rehabilitation center in Hawaii. Then he had gotten him a job at the Fulton Fish Market. Tommy was living with a girl and they had a child.

I walk into 116 one afternoon and Lefty is there, steaming. He tells me that Tommy’s girlfriend called him and said that Tommy hasn’t been coming home, hasn’t been giving her money to buy food and necessities for the child. It looked like maybe Tommy was back on junk.

Lefty was seething because Tommy wasn’t taking care of his baby.

“Donnie, he’s supposed to meet me here so I can talk to him. He ain’t showing up. I want you to go find him. I want you to throw him a fucking beating. Then bring him back here.”

I couldn’t beat up his kid, so I stalled for time. “What’s the problem?”

“I just told you the fucking problem.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, is it drugs or the broad or what?”

“Donnie, just find him, do a number, bring him here to me.”

Luckily Tommy walks into the bar and comes over. Lefty lights into him, reads him the riot act about taking care of the child. Tommy tries to explain something, but Lefty won’t hear it. He just wants to ream his son out.

From the fall of 1979 through February of 1980, I gradually cultivated Lefty about King’s Court. I told him a guy I had known from Pittsburgh had come into the Tampa area as a strong-arm, then had opened up a nightclub, and he wasn’t connected with anybody, and he was getting hassled by half-ass wiseguys. There was a possibility that we could move in. Lefty was interested. He wanted me to keep looking it over. Meanwhile Rossi was introducing me to people as his New York connection.

Finally I called Lefty and told him that I was convinced we could make a good score by becoming partners with this guy, and that now was the time to lay claim to the place before anybody else jumped in.

“How much money can we get from this guy, Donnie?” Lefty asks me. “We gotta get at least five grand on my first trip because first I gotta get permission from Sonny to come down, and if he gives me the okay, I gotta give him twenty-five hundred, then out of the other twenty-five hundred I give you your end.”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure.”

But I tell Rossi, “Tony, we aren’t giving him five grand up front. Most we give him is two grand. He’ll push, but don’t worry about it.”

Rossi and I had the same relative roles as Conte and I had had in Milwaukee. I was the mob representative, he was the local businessman-though in his role he wasn’t as “straight” as Conte. I would handle Lefty or any of the other New York wiseguys.

In March, Lefty made his first trip down to King’s Court. Rossi and I picked him up and took him to Pappas Restaurant, a popular Greek place in Tarpon Springs.

“Donnie,” Lefty says, “tell Tony to tell me what the situation is.”

I ask Rossi to tell him. He tells Lefty about the club, the card games, the half-ass wiseguys around the club. He says that a guy named Jimmy East, a captain in the Lucchese family, has given him permission to operate games in the area. And that a couple of ex-New York guys named Jo-Jo Fitapelli and Jimmy Acquafredda did some jobs around the club and talked about having heavyweight contacts and were trying to get a garbagemen’s monopoly going.

“I’m disgusted with these guys,” Rossi says. “They talk about being New York wiseguys, but they don’t come up with anything. I want to get some things going-maybe over in Orlando, too, because I got a D.A. in my pocket. But I don’t want these guys to move in on me because they can’t produce.”

“Anybody else invested money in your club?” Lefty asks.

“It’s all my own fucking money.”

“You got no partners?”

“No partners. I’m on my own.”

“Since nobody put up any money and you got no partners,” Lefty says, “that means you and I can form a partnership. Anybody asks, you say I invested fifteen grand in this joint.”

The rule is, once a wiseguy puts money into a club or operation, he is a partner and no other wiseguy can muscle in, because he’d be taking the earnings from another wiseguy. That’s the protection you have with a wiseguy partner, the “peace of mind” you pay for.

We went down to King’s Court and sat at Rossi’s round table in the back. Waitresses knew never to seat anybody else at that table unless they were invited over. Behind it were French doors leading to the rear tennis courts. Rossi pointed out Acquafredda sitting at the bar.

Lefty says, “Tony, you go tell him that you would like him to meet a very dear friend of yours, Lefty, a wiseguy from New York City.”

Rossi brings Acquafredda over to the table and introduces him. Supposedly he is a tough guy, but his face is flushed and he seems nervous when he sits down opposite Lefty. Acquafredda says that he knew Rusty Rastelli and some of the other guys on the crew, and that he has a Cartmen’s Association going.

“I’m here for a few days,” Lefty says, “to visit my old friend Tony here, my partner. I just put a bundle of money into this club. Tony can tell you about that. I’ll come down here once in a while to make sure everything goes smooth. I got sixteen guys in my crew in the Miami-Lauderdale area, they’ll be keeping an eye on things too. Any problems about the club, I can be contacted in New York.”

Acquafredda nods respectfully and returns to the bar.

Jo-Jo is on duty at the door, which has a peephole and a buzzer for entry. Lefty tells Rossi to bring him over.

I knew from my first visits that Jo-Jo was interested in making a move soon on the club. I could tell he was disturbed that with my connections I might interfere with his plan.

After introductions Jo-Jo says he has a cousin in New York who has recently become a made member of the Lucchese family, and this cousin is planning to come down to the club next week to look it over.

“Since I’m Tony’s partner,” Lefty says calmly, “there’s no reason for your cousin to come down unless it’s for a vacation. If he wants to talk about anything regarding this club here, he can contact me on Madison Street or Mulberry Street. Just ask for Lefty, everybody knows me.”

Fitapelli nods and goes back to the door.

“You won’t be bothered now by nobody,” Lefty says to Rossi. He turns to me. “Okay, Donnie, let’s talk about money. Tell Tony how much money is he gonna give me.”

I start to ask Tony, but Lefty says, “No, Donnie, take him outside.”

We go through the French doors.

“What the hell is going on?” Rossi asks.

“This is the way things are done.” I explain that Lefty’s thinking—like a lot of wiseguys—is that if he doesn’t hear extortion or a conspiracy being discussed, he can’t be breaking those laws. “On the money, we’re gonna go back in and I’ll tell him your answer, then he’s gonna want something else, and we’re gonna walk outside again. But we won’t give him all he wants. Stick to the two grand, no matter what he says.”

We go back in and sit down, Rossi right across the table from Lefty. I say, “Lefty, I know I told you he was gonna give you five grand, but he only has two.”

“I told Sonny five, Donnie. I got to split with him, and I got to spread this around when I make appointments to see people regarding this situation. Talk to him.”

“Lefty, he says all he’s got is two. Maybe he can come up with another thousand by the time you leave.”