First Fall
Giancana added his own rackets to those given him by Accardo. It was a foolish thing to do because in case of a bust on any of the rackets he would be on his own. He could expect no help of any kind, financial, legal or political, from the Syndicate.
Accordingly, in 1939, he took a fall on a moonshining rap and drew a four-year sentence in a federal penitentiary. Had he had the influence of the Syndicate there would have been no charges, or at the very worst a Nol Prosse of the case. The Syndicate had some of the best and highest priced lawyers in Chicago on a yearly retainer. With this, they had contacts with agents of all the federal bureaus as well as district attorneys.
Giancana turned his sentence to advantage because he met Eddie Jones in prison. Jones was the policy king of Chicago, a numbers racket that netted him two million dollars a year.
When Giancana learned this through the prison grapevine he made it a point to meet Jones, become friendly with him. He picked Jones’ brains about the policy racket. Jones felt there was nothing to lose in talking about the policy racket, since he controlled the Black neighborhoods. A Whitey had no chance to muscle in. He didn’t know Giancana or the strenth of the mob behind him. Jones made a fatal mistake.
The Syndicate is all-powerful in Chicago. The gangs of thieves, robbers, muscle-men and killers have got away with murder for more than half a century. In the decade between 1920 and 1930, when Johnny Torrio and Al Capone were in power, a thousand men were killed in the city and only one, Dan Brothers, a St. Louis hood, was ever convicted. That was for the murder of a Chicago Tribune reporter, Jake Lingle. It was a bum rap for Brothers and he was released after serving ten years.
When Giancana was released from prison he was welcomed back into the Syndicate, after a serious talk with Accardo and the approval of the Council. He told Accardo about Jones and the enormous profits to be made from the policy racket. A meeting was held to discuss the matter and it was agreed that Giancana should set things up. He was to receive a straight thirty per cent of the net.
He was put in full charge and told not to bring any of his problems to the Council.
“You pick your own men,” he was ordered. “Organize it, take over. We’ll take care of the payoffs to any and all parties necessary. Understand?”
Giancana picked for his number one man a smooth, soft-spoken, handsome member of the Syndicate named John Roselli. From the mob he chose the toughest hoods, muscle-men and killers.
The mob moved in. First they killed Eddie Jones. Then they muscled all the writers, pickup men, collectors and payoff men. It was not a simple takeover. There were innumerable beatings of men and women, with broken kneecaps, broken arms, faces smashed beyond recognition. Others were killed and left lying in the streets or tossed out of speeding cars or slain as they walked the sidewalks or machine-gunned in their homes. When it was over, Giancana had control of the policy racket in Chicago.
The money rolled in — the pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters — the pitiful small change of the hopeful looking to win a few dollars with which to buy food, bread, milk, a piece of meat for a stew. They were cheated and robbed unconscionably. If there was a big payoff, the numbers were rearranged so that only winners of a few dollars were paid off. Giancana was smart enough to pay a hundred winners at five, ten or twenty dollars instead of one at five-hundred or a thousand.
With the policy racket under control and running smoothly, Giancana decided to have a look at Las Vegas, the dream that Buggsy Siegel brought to reality when he built the Flamingo Hotel, the first plush hotel and gambling casino on what is known today as The Strip. He sent John Roselli there to look things over. This was Giancana’s first big move as a preamble to the day when he would take over from Accardo.
Tough Tony Accardo had mellowed. He had a beautiful blonde wife, a family, a mansion in a suburb of Chicago and all the money he would ever need in a dozen lifetimes. The truth was that he wanted to retire, to get out of the rackets and live a quiet life, enjoy the fruits of his twenty-five years association with the Syndicate. He wouldn’t have to be pushed out, as Giancana thought.
Moreover, when he stepped down from active control, he would do so as a sort of Chairman of the Board and all those under him would be subject to his control. That was one thing that Giancana did not consider. Another was the fact that Accardo had a close working alliance with Carlo Gambino in New York, and Gambino was the Capo di Capi, the Boss of Bosses. Accardo had more brains in his feet than Giancana had in his head.
Giancana wasn’t the best choice for the top slot but he was the best around at the moment and the Council had voted him in.
Accardo saw the inevitable end coming sooner or later and sat back with a satisfied smile on his face. Giancana! A hood all the way with no style, no class, no common sense. He moved with the force of a tornado, blowing down everything that stood in his way. If Giancana didn’t know it then, Accardo did — that the irresistible force he had created would take him along in its fury because sure as hell he was not the immovable object.
Giancana set things up in Los Angeles, just as Siegel did with the exception that the wire service broadcasting races all over the country to bookie joints was controlled by the Syndicate. All other rackets he took over. Roselli came back with the report that Las Vegas had “spots open” that could be had.
It was bad information. After Siegel was assassinated, the big boys moved in because of the Las Vegas potential. The Fischetti brothers, cousins of Capone, Moe Dalitz of Cleveland, Dave Berman of Los Angeles, Benny Binion of Dallas, Texas, Lefty Clark of Detroit, Frank Costello and Joe Adonis of New York, and Jimmy Hoffa, murdered in 1975, moved in with heavy investments. Hoffa had loaned millions to the mobs and was given “consideration”.
Giancana flew into Las Vegas like an Arab Sheik. He took a palatial suite in the Flamingo Hotel.
Almost immediately telephone calls were made to Accardo, asking questions as to the whys and wherefores of Giancana’s visit.
“No reason,” Accardo replied. “Let him alone. Maybe he wants to do a little gambling and relax with some of the cuties in town. Until he makes a bad move don’t bother him.”
In the next several days, there were other calls to Accardo. The calls annoyed him. He called The Flamingo and asked for Giancana’s suite. Giancana was relaxing amid the splendor of the suite’s appointments. A portable bar had been set up and was stocked with a variety of assorted liquors.
In a chair opposite him sat a tall, luscious blonde showgirl, smiling, ready for his pleasure, whatever form that might take. Giancana had a self-satisfied smile on his face. He told himself he had arrived. He was at the top. Well, almost.
The jangling sound of the phone brought him to his feet. He rose from his chair, gave the blonde a quick smile and picked up the receiver.
The voice at the other end crackled. Accardo quickly brought home to Giancana the realization that he was not yet at the top or anywhere within a mile of it.
“Momo,” Accardo said, “I haven’t received all the information on the setup in L.A. Nor an accounting. Something like a hundred big ones. Am I right, Momo? I want to hear you say it!”
“Something like that, Tony. Yeah.”
“No, Momo, not something. Exactly.” There was a moment of silence, then. “How much over the figure?”
Giancana paused, looked over at the blonde, put his hand over the phone, said, “Honey, go into the bathroom and turn on the shower.”
“Sure thing.” She made it in five quick steps.