Giancana said, “Over.”
“Over what, Momo? How much over?”
“Seven big ones.”
“How about twelve?”
“Seven. I had expenses.”
“Just exactly what are you doing in Vegas, Momo?”
“Relaxing — having a tood time.” Then explosively, his anger rushing to the surface, “What the hell’s eating you, Tony?”
“You know what the hell’s eating me, so asking me is just a lot of crap. I’ll tell you anyway. If you’re thinking of stepping on a few people’s toes so you can move in, don’t! That’s the word. You understand? Don’t!”
“I wasn’t thinking about it,” Giancana lied.
“The hell you weren’t! I’ve got it straight, so don’t lie to me. One bad move, Momo, is all it will take. The Council has had a meeting on you already. Is that clear?”
“It’s clear,” Giancana answered shortly, resentment and anger coloring his words.
“Okay, have your fun. Stay as long as you like. I don’t need you here.” Accardo hung up.
The last five words stung him like acid. He banged the phone down on the cradle with a stream of curses.
The blonde came out of the bathroom, stood in the middle of the room and waited for Giancana. He looked at her, wanted her, but all desire had been washed out of him. He was too upset. The turmoil inside of him was turning with the speed of an electric motor at its highest revolution. He nodded to her and she came to him. He handed her a hundred-dollar bill.
“Maybe next time,” he said. “Okay?”
She smiled provocatively. “Sure, honey, anytime.” She tucked the bill into her bra and left.
Giancana poured himself a drink, waited about ten minutes, then went down to the casino. The place was packed with players at all the games. He walked around, looking things over. At one of the roulette tables he saw two young women. One of them was Marjorie Pettibone, a Palm Beach society beauty. The other was a dark-haired, extremely attractive woman who reminded Giancana of a movie star.
“Could be,” he said to himself.
She wasn’t. Her name was Rosanne Ricotta. The two women had met at the swimming pool and became friends. Giancana stood behind them as they played, losing two bets in a row.
He leaned toward them and said, “Put all your chips on the black.”
Marjoire Pettibone gave him a quick look. “Really? I was thinking of red. How about you, Rosanne?”
“Just what I was thinking,” Rosanne agreed.
They placed their chips in four neat piles on red. Red came up and a dealer matched their chips.
“I think we’ll just leave it there,” Rosanne said. “What do you think, Marjorie?”
“I agree.”
Giancana said. “You’ll blow your money, I tell you; Take the black.”
They ignored him. When the wheel stopped spinning it did so on a red number.
“Well, Marjorie,” Rosanne said, “I think that puts us ahead. Shall we go?”
The two women picked up their chips and started from the table. Giancana followed them a few steps.
“So I misjudged the wheel.” He gave them his best smile. “I’d like to buy you two a drink.” He looked toward Miss Pettibone. “So you’re Marjorie, eh? Hello, Marjorie.” He looked toward Miss Ricotta. “What’s your name, Gorgeous?”
“Ann-Margret.”
“Could be. How about that drink?”
“We never drink with strange men,” Marjorie Pettibone said bluntly. “Besides, you’re not our type. Is he, Ann-Margret?”
“No, he isn’t,” Rosanne agreed.
Giancana’s temper rose but he managed to control it. “Very funny. Do you know who I am?” he asked.
The question was a mistake. Rosanne Ricotta cut him down with a sharp reply.
“Sure, we know,” Rosanne snapped. “You’re the guy who gives wrong tips to women. You’re a shill for the house.”
Giancana’s eyes narrowed. “I’m Sam Giancana,” he growled. “I run this place,” he lied, seeking to win some respect in their eyes.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Marjorie Pettibone said, “why don’t you run along. You’re tiresome.”
“They started away from him and Giancana took hold of Marjorie Pettibone’s arm.” He held on, tightening his grip. “Let go, you filthy beast!” she said shrilly.
The pit boss looked over to where the three stood and glared at Giancana. He let go her arm.
“If you ever annoy me again,” Marjorie Pettibone said angrily, “I’ll slap that ugly face or have you arrested. Do you understand?”
The two women walked into the bar and sat at a table. The pit boss came over and apologized for the incident.
“I’m sorry, ladies,” he said. “That was unpardonable. You’re guests of the hotel?”
“Yes, we are,” Rosanne said. “That man frightened us.”
“It won’t happen again, I assure you. Look, why don’t you have some champagne — on the house. I insist.” He nodded to a waitress. “A bottle of champagne for the ladies.” He made a quick gesture with two fingers. No tab. “You’ll forgive us?”
The two women nodded. When they went to their rooms later they found a bottle of champagne cooling in a bucket, a bowl of fruit and a beautiful bouquet of flowers in a vase. There was a card. It read Enjoy everything. The Management.
Friction
Two days later, Tony Accardo came to Las Vegas unannounced, in company with three of his lieutenants. He checked into a suite in the Flamingo and shortly afterward summoned Giancana to him.
“Sit down, Momo,” Accardo said and pointed to a chair. “There!”
Accardo remained standing, as did the other three men. He came right to the point. That was his way — direct. He had come up through the ranks under Capone, Nitti, Cherry-Nose Gioe, Paul “The Waiter” Ricca and the Fischetti brothers, all on the inside, next to Big Al.
He had outlasted them all by playing the game in strict adherence to the code. He carried tremendous weight with the National Council.
He said, “Momo, this is going to be a lesson in ethics as the Syndicate practices it. I’m going to lay it on the line. You take it or leave it. It will be your choice. You’ll go up or down, depending on how you decide.”
“What the hell did I do now?” Giancana asked angrily.
“You’ll talk when I’m finished, Momo. So for now, just keep quiet. The Syndicate, every unit, everyone connected with it, is tied together like this.” He interlaced his fingers tightly for emphasis.
“There are a thousand eyes and a thousand ears in this town, watching and listening to everything that goes on. Information on everyone who might have any ideas about muscling, heisting a joint, pulling off a gimmick that would throw the machinery out of gear, is reported daily. The town is clean and everyone wants it that way. No mayhem — no shootings, no killings, nothing to affect the flow of visitors, scare them or give the town a bad name.
“This isn’t Chicago or L.A. There are hundreds of millions of dollars invested in hotels and casinos. You made a very bad move a couple of days ago when you tried to pick up a couple of women at the roulette table. One of them has political connections in Palm Beach and Washington. You got that?
“We checked her out — Marjorie Pettibone, A society gal. The other one is Rosanne Ricotti, associated with the Corrections Department in Pennsylvania. Either one could throw more heat on this town than we care to think about. Both of them would burn the town up.”
“I was just trying to be sociable,” Giancana interjected.
“Yeah, sure. The word is that you are to stay away from the tables. You’ve two bad moves here against you. There won’t be a third. This is good advice, Momo. It isn’t a threat in no way, just to sharpen your mind in certain areas. That’s it. You can talk now. Go ahead.”