But Lefty wanted to check him out a little more. Rossi had booked the New York-Tampa round-trip flight for Lefty on his American Express card. By pretending to lose the ticket, Lefty wanted to see how Rossi reacted. If he was an agent, Lefty reasoned, he would get nervous because he would probably have to account for the ticket to his office, plus he would be worried that somebody “in the underworld business” might meanwhile find the ticket and check out the American Express number to see if it was a government number.

When I had a chance, I clued Rossi in so he could end the search. He told Lefty he would just cancel the ticket and order another one.

We went to the club. Rossi says, “Nothing for nothing, Lefty, but just so I understand, you want me to pay for your ticket to Miami, right?”

“Well, who we going down there to see? I’m gonna see this guy in order to make a move out here. I’m not gonna make this move for myself. Once this guy gives you the green light, you can go anyplace you wanna go. That’s his father-in-law. I meet the old man, he calls this guy over here, and then I get a proper introduction. Now, you gotta give me my regular two-fifty to take back to New York. And a buck and a half to entertain this guy over there.”

“In other words,” Rossi says, “you’re gonna meet with old man Santo.”

“No, he’s over here. Gonna meet first old man Meyer Lansky. See, you can’t get an introduction to this man over here unless he sends you over here. He makes one phone call in front of me: ‘Hello, how are you? A dear friend of mine, he’s gonna visit you such-and-such a day at three o’clock.‘ Now I go here. I explain what I’m gonna do in this town. And this is the moves I want to make. I say, ’Do we have your blessings, or do we have to go further with it?‘ Most likely he’ll say, ’You got my blessings.‘ That’s the proper way of doing things. You can’t do it no other way. Now we clear all the middlemen out, all the bullshitters. Now you do what you fucking want in this fucking town. Ain’t nobody can approach you and say,

‘Hey you, what are you doing here?’ Know what you tell them? ‘Go see this fellow—if you can see him, which I doubt.’ “

“So you’re arranging a meeting,” Rossi says, drawing him out to get it on the tape, “with Santo.”

“That’s it, I’m making a whole fucking move. Listen. We stood three days in a fucking room-Donnie could tell you-in Chicago. Three days they made me lay in. Finally: ‘Come on, get in the limousine, let’s go.’ I didn’t know where the fuck I was going, but I got in the limousine. They took me to a big, big fucking cabaret. It was closed. It was the off-season. ‘Wait here.’ And from there went to a fucking restaurant. ‘Wait here.’ Then the main guy come out. He said, ‘Come on, let’s go in the office. You’re well recommended.’ And that was it.”

I say, “He wants to make sure that when we make these moves, we get protection from anybody that wants to come in.”

“I know that,” Lefty says.

“Not you, Left. I’m not talking to you. Tony’s got to know it.”

“The thing is, Lefty,” Rossi says, “nothing for nothing, but I gotta start earning.”

“Just a minute,” Lefty says. “Are we opening the doors for you right now? Another thing, we gotta get a tent for here. Free food, free drinks. Gambling in the tent. Why should you lose a Friday night business in the club? That’s the biggest mistake you made. And what about a Sunday afternoon?”

“We gotta operate in the bigger cities,” Rossi says, “like Orlando.”

“They own Orlando too. That’s the first thing I’m gonna get is Orlando.”

“And Tampa,” Rossi says.

“He owns Tampa. This is what the fuck I’m making a move for. I was with the fucking people all day yesterday, in New York.”

“Don’t misunderstand,” Rossi says. “I’m not trying to be disrespectful. I got a lot of respect for you. But I got to work hard in my life. Stealing ain’t easy today.”

“Well, let me tell you something, my man. Just a starting point. You just caught the off-season. You got the football season. Donnie’s going out and help you. You’re gonna have a lot of fucking action over here. You can’t close on Sundays, though, because Sunday’s your biggest fucking day.”

“But you still can’t go on betting on the fucking come, you know,” Rossi says. “Eventually you got to start earning. And the big money is still not here.”

“It’s in Tampa,” Lefty says. “And what the fuck you think we’re going to fucking Miami for? You think I like to ride in motherfucking planes? I don’t like restaurants, for number one. I don’t like traveling in a suitcase, for number two. Donnie knows what I like. Fucking weekends I’m home watching fucking TV, me and my wife. I don’t even want to go to a fucking joint. I don’t even go to Mike’s no more because I’m sick and tired of a fucking joint.”

“You understand what I’m saying.”

“I understand. All right, Donnie, go get your clothes. Let’s get the fuck out of here, do what we got to do. You know what I would like, Tony? I can make it myself. A nice cold spritzer.”

Johnny Spaghetti picked us up at the airport in Miami and took us to Joe Puma’s Restaurant, Little Italy, at 1025 E. Hallandale Beach Boulevard in Hallandale, just outside Miami. Joe Puma was a Bonanno guy who had been under Mike Sabella until the Galante hit, then was put under Phil “Philly Lucky” Giaccone. Lefty wanted me to meet Puma and Steve Maruca, another made guy. Maruca had recently been released from prison. He was more intimidating than Puma. He was a rugged-looking guy, about 6’2”, with a big voice and big hands.

Puma and Maruca were both under Philly Lucky. There was nothing wrong with us getting together with guys under another captain, but with the unstable circumstances of the Bonanno family at the time, I didn’t know what was up with Lefty wanting me to meet these guys, what it might mean, who was on what side in the factions maneuvering for control under Rusty Rastelli. But I knew that Puma and Maruca were important in the family.

Lefty was exploring another route to Trafficante, through a relative of Santo Trafficante’s. Supposedly he would introduce Lefty to the relative, who would introduce him to Santo.

Neither of the meetings came off. Both guys were out of town.

Sonny called and told me that he and Boobie were flying down for Memorial Day weekend. I call Lefty to tell him. That set him off about his turf.

“What do you mean, Sonny’s coming down tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. I asked him if he had talked to you, because I wanted to make sure you knew about it. He said, ‘Don’t worry, there’s no problem with Lefty, I’ll see him tomorrow before we go.’ ”

“I don’t believe this fucking guy over here. This is my fucking operation.”

“Left, I’m gonna be with you, you know that.”

“Ain’t the question. Why’s he coming down there?”

“Maybe he wants to come down for a vacation.”

“Don’t give me that fucking bullshit, maybe he wants. He ain’t supposed to be in that town without me. Who’s paying for his fucking plane fare?”

“I guess we are, but he said he’ll straighten it out tomorrow.”

“Don’t con me, pal.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Who the fuck are you to accept confirmation on his plane ticket?”

“Lefty, I’m gonna argue with him?”

“Yeah, you cocksucker.”

I hang up on him.

He calls right back. “You fucking motherfucker! You don’t hang up on me!”

I can imagine his veins bulging. “Don’t ever call me cocksucker, Lefty.”

“I call you what I want! I call you a cocksucker, a—”

I hang up.

He calls right back. “Lemme talk to Tony.”

I give the phone to Tony.

“That fucking son of a bitch cocksucker better understand who he’s talking to, Tony. Nobody treats me that way, hanging up. You better talk to that guy.”