“Ray Palermo.”
That was all Marcello said.
I stared at him with a blank face.
Mildred had called me and said John Marcello wanted to see me in his office as soon as I could get there.
“What’s it about, Mildred?” I asked.
“Max, Mr. Marcello wants to see you, I don’t. Just get over here.”
“Thanks Mildred. Have you been busy today?” I asked.
She hung up on me.
“Does that name ring a bell, Max?” Marcello continued.
“Yeah, I know who Palermo is, “I replied.
“Tampa” Ray Palermo is a mean son of a bitch who was an under boss to Frank Nitti in Chicago in the ‘30’s and ‘40’s before movin’ up here to Milwaukee.”
“That’s right, Max. They moved into Milwaukee and Madison to control gambling and local labor. After Nitti committed suicide, Paul Ricca took over as Chairman of The Board and Tony Accardo took over as The Boss.”
Well, Accardo and Palermo don’t see eye to eye on many issues, so Ricca told Palermo to take over the Milwaukee and Madison businesses which include gambling, prostitution and labor racketeering.
Palermo’s two top lieutenants are, or were, Joe Piscotta and Paul Godfrey. You getting the picture here Max? Paul Godfrey-prostitution-beheaded women? Follow the dotted line.”
“Yeaaaah.” I said, drawing out the word wondering where he was going with this.
“Paul Godfrey ends up face down munching garbage in a trash heap as soon as the authorities start looking at the mob. What do you think they would do to you Max? Do you think they would spare you so they could continue to read your column in that Daily Rag in Beaver Dam? I don’t think so. And this Joe Piscotta is one sleazy turd. You just better watch your ass Max. This thing is heatin’ up and you may want to consider backing off and leaving the digging to Marshall and that hot partner of his. That’s why they get the big bucks. Just keep in mind the St. Valentine Day Massacre in Chicago Max. These guys don’t mess around.”
“Pizza, they aren’t going to line me up and shoot me like they did those guys. Don’t they have bigger fish to fry than a small town newspaper reporter?”
“Max, they don’t give a rat’s ass how big the fish is. If it stinks, they will take it out. And to be frank with you Max, you are beginning to stink a bit, so keep your head down. Besides, you may be a small time reporter, but you work for an impressive private investigation firm headed by a former fed who personally put some of their pals behind bars or under the ground as plant food. If for some reason they thought they were getting back at me by snuffing you, it would just be frosting on the cake for them.”