This is the next chapter in Braveheart's Sandbridge saga, which he never got to repost. Enjoy his work
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Welcome to Sandbridge – Luann and Katie
Legal Problems
A Sandbridge Saga Tale 8
Intro
Mob guys. I’ve dealt with them before in my previous lives as a reporter with the
Columbus Dispatch and as a private investigator when I was trying to make ends meet in New York. I had to research them when writing a movie script for a Drake Coburn production. I figured my job chronicling the catfight culture of Sandbridge, CA would get me away from them … hopefully. Silly me.
My name is Nick Sebastian and I’m a writer and assistant producer for my friend and fellow catfight aficionado Mr. Coburn. I’m sending him reports from this mostly suburban community for some reason even he’s not telling. I haven’t a clue, but for the past three months, things have been jumping. My assistant Marcia Monfort and I have been busy – there’s always something happening in Sandbridge. Now, my past life seems to be rearing its broken-nosed, cauliflower-eared, bullet-riddled head – dese, dem and dose included. I guess I’m just a sucker for a good catfight story, no matter what the fuckin’ risk.
To complicate matters further, I got this call from Drake yesterday. It seems that my ex-wife Jackie has a new job – a role on the daytime soap
The Edge of Darkness, shot out here in LA. That’s right, she’ll be moving from New York with our two boys to sunny SoCal. Good – it’ll be great to have Nicky and Alex out here. No more red-eye flights to NYC just to see them. Not so good – the fucking bitch will be right in my back yard. Bad enough, but Annie Coburn dropped a nasty rumor that the Red Riot wants me back in her life in more aspects than just the father of her kids. Annie’s pissed that Drake won’t let her pay Jackie a visit and kick her ass all over Westwood where she’s temporarily moving in with Lucy Trammel, her pal and former costar from back east. I suppose I’d better come up with a plan to deal with the worst case scenario – and fast.
I had that on my mind as I shuffled off that evening to The Sandbar for a good stiff drink or three. I was met by Big George the “Greeter” – the latter a euphemism for “official club arm breaker”. Even the massive former NFL lineman looked scared about something.
“For God’s sake, Nick. Don’t be pissin’ in Miss Katie’s coffee tonight! Lady’s in one foul mood.”
“That makes two of us, big fella. Let’s hope misery loves company.”
Welcome to Sandbridge …
Nick Sebastian, July, 1987
1
Folsom Prison Blues
I was working on my second Johnnie Walker at the bar when I’m approached by assistant manager Christine Leung. A former head waitress, this Chinese-American knockout was promoted to her position when Katie Pirelli became manager. Christine was Katie’s “very special friend”. It seems that her boss wouldn’t think of cheating on her incarcerated husband … with a man. The girl-loving Christine filled the gap for the switch-hitting Katie.
“Hey, Catfight Guy!”
“Hey, fortune cookie! What’s shakin’? Besides your hot little ass. Of course.”
“Come on, mister! I bet you say that to all the lesbians.” No, Chrissy didn’t give a shit who knew. That’s why we were pals. “Seriously, I’m glad you’re here. The boss said that if you came by, she wanted to talk to you. (Uh oh). She’s been in a rare mood since last night (Big uh oh). Dude, I can see the fear in your eyes – don’t worry, it’s not you … this time.”
Donatella Katerina Martello Pirelli was in her small office down the hallway behind the dance floor and to the left. Usually she was out mixing with the customers in The Sandbar and running the floor. Not tonight. She was afraid she wouldn’t be pleasant company. Katie was a big lady of about 40, 5’9” and between 140 and 145. She had a great set of 38Ds and was built like a brick shithouse. Never actually seen a brick shithouse, but I’ve heard the tough gal from Encino was built like one. She had a handsome face with Mediterranean features framed by slightly longer than shoulder length hair. Katie changed hair color as often as most men changed underwear – more than some of them I know, actually. Tonight she’d gone pretty conservative – dark brown with just a few blond highlights. It was probably closer to her natural color.
Katie was going over her ledgers when I knocked and entered. At least she managed a smile.
“Good. I hoped you’d come by. I need to talk to you about something. Have a seat.”
Yes ma’am. I told her how much I liked her hair.
“Thanks. I wanted to look a little more respectable for the hearing yesterday. I just got back from the pen at Folsom.”
Usually Katie and I joke around. A typical smartass response here from me might be, “Meet any new friends?” or “How was the Johnny Cash concert?” Nope. Not with the look in those cold brown eyes. Besides, I knew why she’d gone upstate.
“I guess Michael’s parole hearing went pear-shaped.”
“At least. Yeah, it was going OK. Mike had been a good boy and kept his nose clean. I did my part as the bereaved wife with the teenager who needed his father. Then this bitch shows up. Slimy whore lawyer from right here in Sandbridge. Luann fucking Preston! Yeah. Go figure. She used to be an assistant DA here and knew one of the parole board members. She lied that Mike had threatened to kill Frankie Antonelli when he got out since Frankie’s brother Tony ratted on him. Tony’s vanished into the state WPP, so he’d whack his brother instead. That is so much horseshit, Nick. I mean Big Mike is no angel, but he’s not fucking Al Capone!”
“Why would she care what happened to that loser Frank Antonelli? Did Luann make the trip all the way to Sacramento just to keep Mike in the can? Does he have some sort of history with her?”
“He says no. Somehow, I believe him for once. I don’t even care why she did it anymore. I just want to beat the shit out of the bitch. I know I can’t just storm into a law office and start wailing away. I want her to want to fight me, too. In public, in private, whatever. Keep it legal. So long as we fight. Bitch won’t return my calls and her partner threatened me with a restraining order.”
“So you want my help? That might be a catfight for the books. I heard she’s usually not afraid to throw down. Do you know Rita Roberts? She’s the attorney who told me she’d scuffled with Miss Preston the night of the Clash at the Club (see
Country Club Chaos: the McCalls vs the Wests). Maybe I need to see her again. I’ll see what I can do. Also, I know this guy in LA. He’s a walking underworld encyclopedia. Maybe he can give me some insight into all this.”
“Thanks, pal! Nick, if there is anything I can do for you …”
“Well, as a matter of fact … I just heard my ex-wife is coming to town maybe to do a little big game hunting, with her prey being ol’ Mr. Hollywood. I’m writing a twisted screenplay of my own, just in case. I may need your help.”
Katie flashed me the first grin of the night. “Sounds like fun! I always wanted to be in a Hollywood production.”
2
Guys and Dolls
So at an undisclosed location, one that served beer, I sat down with “Bill White”. Naturally, it’s not his real name. There were a whole lot more vowels in that one. He’s afraid the disclosure of his identity would be hazardous to his health and by implication, mine too. I’m a real health-conscious sonuvabitch. So Bill White it is.
I met Bill while doing research for a screenplay some three years ago. He’s in his mid-60s and it’s amazing he’s still alive. At about 5’10”, he weighs in at about 300: diabetes or heart failure should have taken him out by now – not to mention acute lead poisoning. Bill is old school. He came out west from Brooklyn back in the late 40s with Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel and was nearby in ’47 when Bugsy took one of those lead showers in Beverly Hills right through his girlfriend’s picture window, courtesy of an M1 carbine fired by a still unknown shooter from across the street. I’d heard rumors that Bill White himself was the triggerman. I’ve never asked him.
Ask him anything else and he would tell you. Bill could spin an underworld yarn with the best of them – provided you weren’t wearing a badge. I asked him about Michael Pirelli and the Antonellis. I will try to translate his Brooklynese as best as I can …
“Nah. Pirelli ain’t no threat to take out anybody. He’s a tough guy, but he’s never made his bones. Lemme tell ya’ about the Antonellis. They worked for Handsome Johnny Roselli back in the late sixties. Roselli’s still a fuckin’ legend in these parts, and when he was alive, they did pretty good. Made lotsa dough. Now Handsome Johnny and this other boss, Sando Trafficante, didn’t get along too good, and Trafficante’s
capo Salvatore “Sonny” Martello (Katie’s late father) hated Johnny. Then in ’76, they find what’s left of John Roselli stuffed in a 55 gallon drum floatin’ in the bay off Miami. Fortunes took a dive for the Antonelli boys, too. Several years back they take in Martello’s son-in-law Big Mike Pirelli as a partner in the rackets, hopin’ it might extend their life expectancy. Then they all got busted by the state police two years ago. Tony ‘The Tiger’ Antonelli flips and Pirelli takes the fall. He goes to Folsom and Tony disappears into the WPP. Tony’s brother Frank the ‘Swordfish’? He don’t even get charged or nuthin’! He starts telling these stories about escaping the slams because he was screwin’ this blond doll who was an assistant DA someplace in the suburbs …”
I didn’t have to ask Bill the blonde’s name. I knew it … Luann Preston, Sandbridge attorney, candidate for city DA this coming November, and the woman whose hair big Katie Pirelli wanted to mount on her ’I Love Me’ wall behind the counter at The Sandbar. Wiseguy Frank Antonelli was her lover boy! Small world. When I saw Katie that evening, this news just made her day. She wanted me to give ‘Bill White’ a big kiss for her next time I saw him. Fat chance of that. She also had uncovered a rumor about Luann and Rita Roberts for me. It seems that last month’s brief catfight at the Country Club wasn’t their first – the earlier one had been a real winner and right in my wheelhouse! Interesting. It seems the good councilor Miss Roberts had held out on me the first time we’d met. Time to fix that!
3
A Legal Brief
Armed with this new information, I kept the appointment I’d made with attorney Rita Roberts. I was carrying my “man purse”. I guess the boy from Ohio had gone completely Hollywood. Inside was Roscoe. That’s right, my cassette recorder had a name now, courtesy of my girl Friday, Miss Marcia Monfort.
Miss Rita Roberts, Attorney-at-Law was behind her desk. Her office was pretty classy with lots of mahogany and leather. Law books were all around the shelves – probably one percent of the state’s legal code. That’s California. She was a divorcee and 44 years old. About 5’4” and 120 pounds. Well built – sort of like my friend Carly Monfort with smaller tits, maybe 34Bs. Brown eyes and a sexy crooked smile. She was wearing her otherwise shaggy shoulder length hair tied up, a pair of glasses and a conservative grey business suit over a white blouse. Very proper, but the story was that she had a wild side which not only surfaced during her brief struggle with her rival Luann Preston, but in her rumored liaison with her married senior partner and Luann’s opponent in the upcoming DA race, Walt Larkin. But that’s a story for another day. This afternoon, I wanted to discuss her relationship with Miss Preston.
My own relationship with lawyers is similar to that between cobras and mongooses in India. Yet I couldn’t help but like Rita. She was friendly, witty and pleasantly profane. She’d been in the Navy and I guess once a sailor, always a sailor. Any friend of
Examiner editor-in-chief Sue Ann West was a friend of mine – sort of. She was forthcoming in her account of the Clash and admitted she got plenty excited. Apparently that was Round Two with the blonde. I wanted to know about Round One. I decided it was not the time to let her know about what I’d heard about her rival’s relationship with Frankie “Swordfish” Antonelli. She’d know soon enough if I knew Katie Pirelli and the Sandbridge Gossip Machine. But Rita wasn’t going to get it from me.
“Councilor, I believe you’ve been holding out on the Catfight Dude. You and Miss Preston went round and round before, didn’t you?”
She laughed. “You got me Perry Mason! Why didn’t I tell you before? You didn’t ask! Like I tell my clients, you never volunteer information … you just answer the question.”
I pull out Roscoe and fumble around in my pocket for the mic. “I’m asking now. If you don’t mind. There it is.” Out comes the mic.
“I was about to ask if there was a microphone in your pocket, or were you just happy to see me. Okay, where do you want me to start?”
If it please the court, here is Exhibit A – my account based on Rita’s interview. It’s catfightin’ time! I rest my case …
4
Disorder in the Court
It was September, 1985 and court was in session at the Sandbridge City CH, the Honorable Roland “Hangin’” Harris presiding. There was a small-time car thief standing tall for practicing his profession and it was Judge Harris’s duty to give the guilty sonuvabitch a fair trial. For the past hour or so he had been subjected to the assistant DA, Miss Luann Preston, and the defense attorney, Miss Rita Roberts, bickering over every last detail of the other’s presentation. If he had to say “overruled” or “sustained” one more time, he figured he’d have to take a drink, something he was prone to do anyway.
These two were acting like the attorneys themselves were the ones on trial here. Snide comments, innuendo, and downright nastiness were there for everyone to see and hear, including the jury. It was bad enough that Miss Roberts was trying to make her client look like a candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize and for Miss Preston to make it seem that this character was the Son of Satan, but the hissing and snarling too? “Goddam white women” the Judge finally muttered under his breath before slamming down his gavel. He’d had enough. Out loud he announced …
“Will the attorneys for the prosecution and defense please approach the bench?”
They did so, glaring red-faced at each other.
“If I wanted a catfight in my courtroom, I’d had a mud pit installed up here, charge admission and have the bailiff go ‘round and collect side bets. You two can settle things between yourselves elsewhere later. But while I’m holding court, you *will* be professionals or you’ll have to brawl in a goddam jail cell! Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, your Honor,” from both.
After the trial, Miss Roberts was steamed. Not only did she have to watch her client led away in steel bracelets, she had to come to grips with the fact that her hated rival had kicked her ass in court. She wanted nothing more than to punch that smarmy blond bitch right in the jaw and fatten those red lips. She gathered up her books, last one to leave the courtroom. She was in a neat black business suit, modest heels and a blue blouse. She wasn’t surprised to see a smug Luann Preston waiting for her outside the door.
Luann at age 41 was a year younger than Rita. She had near shoulder length blond hair parted on top. Rita had to admit, she was a good looking woman at 5’6”, 126 who clearly spent a more time in the gym than she did. Small tits, sharp red nails and big hands and feet – she’d be hell if they did mix it up. The look on Preston’s face told Rita that was a definite possibility. She certainly hoped so. Luann was in a dark blue suit and red blouse. Like Rita, she was bare legged but wore higher heels – she liked showing off her impressive legs in court, especially when she was facing her brunette rival, whose legs didn’t quite match up.
“Mopped the courtroom with you again, Rita. It must suck to be you.”
“Fuck you, Luann.”
“Fuck *you*, Rita.”
“I’d ask you to step outside, blondie, but there are more cops outside than there are in here.”
“The jury lounge sweetie. I already talked to Deputy Johnson (the bailiff). He’d like me to kick your ambulance-chasing fat ass. He’ll make sure there’s no one around. I’ve had it with you. Let’s fight!”
“That’s the first thing you’ve said all day that makes any sense. I’ll fight you and I’ll beat you to a pulp.”
Rita and Luann had been rivals almost from birth. Luann was from Sandbridge and Rita from rival Brookside. Rita had gone to USC Law School, Luann to UCLA. Luann was a Republican, Rita a Democrat. Rita had been a Navy officer, Luann one in the Army. They joined rival Sandbridge law firms at about the same time and had faced each other too many times to count in the courtroom. Being the only female attorneys in town hadn’t helped either – the two divorcees both accused each other of skanking it up in front of the male lawyers, judges and wealthy clients. Today’s verbal catfight in court was just the last straw.
Neither was an experienced catfighter, but Luann boxed in the police gym. Rita had grown up with rough and tumble brothers and knew how to throw a punch herself. Upon arrival at the lounge, they stuffed jewelry into their briefcases, took off their shoes, jackets, and glasses and Rita undid her hair, shaking it out. All the while, their insults and threats flew. Foolishly, their blouses and skirts stayed on … for now. Then they stopped talking and threw down.
What it lacked it science, it made up for with intensity and the desire to take out years of rivalry and resentment. The fists flew as first one, then the other had her enemy reeling with punches and slaps across the face. Luann was throwing combinations, scoring with straight punches to Rita’s reddening face and hooks downstairs. Rita’s punches were coming one at a time, but they were harder and were raising lumps on the slightly taller woman’s jaws and cheekbones. Blood was leaking from the corner of the brunette’s mouth from a knuckle sandwich and the blonde’s nose was weeping blood and snot from a sneaky overhand right smack in the middle of her face. Luann doubled up a pair of left jabs to the tits and followed with a chopping right to the jaw. Rita worked inside, throwing hooks to the ribs as they were forehead to forehead and as Luann’s arms came down, Rita’s right staggered her with a solid uppercut to the chin. The blonde bounced off the wall and drove her right fist into the middle of the brunette’s face, causing her eyes to cross.
She knew Rita was hurt by that one. She ripped open the stunned woman’s blouse and pulled it down over her arms, trapping them and baring her stomach and lacy bra. A big uppercut into the naked belly smacked right in there and as her enemy bent over with a belch, clocked her in the jaw with an uppercut. Rita did a funky little dance, then sat down hard, all fucked up and trying to free her arms from the torn blue blouse. She managed to ditch it just as Luann sank both fists in her hair and dragged her to her feet. She dug down into the hanging gut again and slapped her face twice before shaking the cooties out of all that brown hair.
Rita was getting beaten up again, just like she did in the courtroom. She sucked up the pain in her scalp and stomach, her nose and lips and the crashing of ocean waves in her head. This isn’t fucking happening. It won’t happen! With a “Bitch!” she grabbed two fistfuls of blond hair, twisted and enjoyed the yelp of pain from Luann. They stumbled around the carpet, colliding with couches and chairs, until they toppled to the floor. There was a desperate rolling battle with hair pulling, face slapping and leg thrashing, each trying to get on top and stay there. Rita’s arms were inside of Luann’s, keeping those sharp red nails out of her face, while her own shorter ones were scraping at the blonde’s cheek whenever she could get a hand free from the other woman’s grasp. Rita hooked Luann’s ankles with her own, trying to spread her nice legs and wallow on her. Rita had lost her bra, so she tit-washed Miss Preston’s face, drawing a gasping complaint from the blonde. Luann’s own blouse had been ripped open in the struggle and Rita tore at her black bra with her teeth and short dark red nails until the strap between the cups broke, exposing the small 34As. Miss Roberts mouthed a little white tit, chewing on it like gum and enjoying the scream of pain and humiliation it drew from the assistant DA.
“My goddam tit! Mother … fuck! Luann pulled Rita’s mouth off her chest by the sweaty brown hair and rolled her off. Both lawyers scrambled to their feet gasping for breath. Rita’s skirt was hindering her movement so she stepped out of it and glared at her enemy. She was half naked and trying to catch her breath. Her face was all bruised, a lip was cut and her nose was bloody, but she clearly wanted more of the blonde. Luann also removed her skirt and peeled of the torn remnants of her blouse and bra. Her face was in a little better shape than Rita’s, but she too had a bloody nose and bruises and she looked concerned with the nasty bleeding teeth marks on her left breast.
“Bitch, I’m, going to tear you to sheds! You maimed me!” she panted, red-faced and sweating.
“Whore, I’m just getting started! I want to fuck you up so bad I can taste you!” snarled the brunette with not a hint of irony in her voice.
Again they closed with their fists up and again Miss Preston got the better of the exchange. She snapped Rita’s head back with jabs, drilled a twisting straight right into her hanging left tit and drew a croaking low grunt with a left to the belly. Rita avoided a following right uppercut to the jaw that might have ended the fight and sank her own left into the blonde’s bare stomach, causing Luann to gasp and groan out a “shit!” Rita slapped Luann hard across the hanging face, grabbed her now stringy wet hair and dug a knee into her ribs. The tough blonde took it with another grunt and slugged the brunette in the ribcage, bending her sideways and forcing a release of her hair. She slapped Rita’s face first with a right and then a left hand, sending seat, spit and hair flying. Luann bounced a tit with an uppercut, snapped a jab into the brunette’s bloody nose, then stepped back and whacked a roundhouse kick to the jaw of the other lawyer.
Rita spun around, tripped over her feet and fell to the carpet belly first, all fucked up. (Miss Roberts doesn’t remember much of the fight after that, but with a little creative license and based on her description of her war wounds, this is what happened next). Luann was all over Rita, clawing her sweaty back with her sharp nails, then kneeling over the groaning woman and savaging her shaggy sweat mop with both hands. Pulling back on the half-conscious brunette’s hair with one hand, she inserted a pair of fingers into the bleeding nostrils and scratched around, drawing sobs from Miss Roberts. Releasing her hair Luann pulled back hard on her nose with her right hand and with her left dug fingers into Rita’s open mouth, clawing the insides up and fish-hooking her. “I must have looked fucking ridiculous with all those fingers in my face,” recalled Rita. “I’m just glad no one but the bitch could see me.”
Miss Preston dropped Rita’s face, letting her nose bleed on the carpet. Luann rolled her onto her back, pulled off her panties and plucked a few hairs from her pubic zone. The throbbing in her bitten left tit was bothering her, and she wanted Rita to experience it times two when she comes to. The blonde lowered her face to the sobbing brunette’s chest and have each bare breast a sound chewing until both were bruised and bleeding. Just for shits and grins, she placed another sawing bite on Rita’s right cheek. The Luann pulled the beaten, crying and semi-conscious defense attorney to her knees by the hair, then flattened her again with a big right to her left eye. Rita Roberts had been knocked out cold and her arch enemy, exhausted as she was couldn’t have felt better. Until …
There he was, District Attorney Sam Cronin. Her boss. Standing there with a mixture of shock, anger and revulsion on his face, right there in the jury lounge.
Rita laughed. “Old man Cronin! Maybe the only swinging dick in all Sandbridge who wasn’t a catfight fan! I wish I’d been awake to see it. Swear to God, Nick, It was almost worth it to get my ass thoroughly kicked just to be able to say I helped to get Luann fired from the assistant DA job. To imagine that look when he saw his assistant on her knees, half naked and bruised, sweating all over the carpet and me stretched out in the nude, totally punched out and a bloody mess? I’m amazed he didn’t charge us both with something! I guess he just wanted the whole thing kept quiet. The bitch went back to private practice and I missed about a week of work. She beat the living shit out of me, Nick. Real bad. I’m going to enjoy watching Walt do the same to the bitch this November come election time. Then maybe I’ll have another ‘conference’ with Miss Preston myself.”
5
“I Want to Pound the Stromboli Out of You!”
I was hanging out at the Sandbar that Saturday having a couple of drinks with Carly Monfort and her spacey younger friend and co-worker from the hospital, Alice Gellman. Alice had been wanting to meet me for some time after hearing what I’m sure were exaggerated stories about “Mr. Hollywood” from my friend with benefits. She’d been having trouble with a pesky nurse at the hospital and was enthusiastic about kicking the nerdy Valley chick’s narrow ass – Ali’s description, not mine. Carly and I promised our support and offered her discouragement at the same time. After all, Miss Gellman didn’t strike me as the brawler type.
Manager Katie Pirelli was circulating through the customers. She was in a black blouse and slacks, big earrings, big necklace, and big smile. She sure seemed a lot more herself since the rumor had spread – candidate for DA Luann Preston and underworld gadfly Frankie Antonelli were romantically involved? She gave us a wave and personally brought a thrilled Carly her favorite – a specially made Singapore Sling, crafted by the certified “mixologist” Katie herself. It was great to see the old Katie back.
Everyone was talking about the latest rumor. The
Sandbridge Examiner had gotten into the act – not confirming any of it but sarcastically asking questions about whether “character issues”, “conflict of interest” and “potential corruption” should be considered in this coming election, citing Miss Preston’s recent intervention in the Michael Pirelli case as a “potential stumbling block” for her campaign. An editorial just yesterday had endorsed her opponent, Walter Larkin for DA. Not everybody knew what I knew – the editor-in-chief of the newspaper, Sue Ann West, was a personal friend of Luann’s archrival, Rita Roberts and mine as well. You gotta love small towns – start a small fire somewhere, sit back and watch the whole damn thing burn down. That thing was Luann Preston’s campaign for District Attorney.
Katie was still at our table chatting with us when the subject of these rumors suddenly burst through the door. Big George Hendershot was right behind her like he was still a defensive end for the Rams, stalking a running back. Two other tough guys, George’s cousin Lamar and Katie’s nephew Rico Marchetti also began to move. Luann Preston was alone and if she was here to cause trouble, she wouldn’t have a chance.
She stopped right in front of Katie, her angry face red and her hands on her hips. Luann’s hair style was a little different than it was two years before – shorter with less on the sides and more on the top. Frostier with some black streaks. She was in black slacks and a white blouse, with no jewelry. She knew exactly what she was here for. Katie’s own hands were on her hips and glaring with a look Carly knew too well – one she herself had been scorched by just before Katie had beaten the stuffin’s out of her two years ago (
Married to the Mob: Katie and Carly).
“I tried to stop her, Miss Katie, but she just …”
“That’s okay, George. I was hoping the good councilor would come by some time to say hi.”
“Hi my ass, you sleazy, disease-ridden cxnt! I know you are the one behind all those fucking rumors! You’ve ruined my campaign! You and your gangster-wannabe cocksucker of a husband. I saved his miserable life by making sure he stayed with his butt-buddies in Folsom – my Fran … I mean Mr. Antonelli would have greased him as soon as he hit the street. This is the thanks I get? But you! You rotten cxnt-eater! You’re nothing but a …”
“Bitch! We could stand here and call each other names all night. Why don’t you tell me what you’d really like to do to me? Either that or get out before I have these gentlemen toss you out on your street-peddlin’ ass.”
“Okay, bitch. I’m here to beat you up. I want to pound the Stromboli out of you! Send you back to the whorehouse where you belong!”
Katie laughed in relief. There it was! In front of witnesses and everything. “Well thank God,
puttana (whore)! I was afraid you’d slink away like the whipped dog you are. Yeah I’ll fight you! I’ll take that dyed hair and mount it on my … what do you call it, Nick?”
“I Love Me Wall?”
“Yeah, on that. But not here. Too much busted furniture. Rico? Is anyone at your pop’s warehouse tonight?”
“Not really, Aunt Katie. Just a couple of the boys guardin’ the doors.” Katie’s brother-in-law Pete was an importer of fine, uh … ‘coffee’. His ‘coffee’ was stored in a warehouse near The Sandbar. ‘Coffee’ from Mexico, Colombia, all over. Everybody liked ‘Ganja Pete’ Marchetti’s ‘coffee’, especially the hippies and the whores on Sunset Boulevard.
Katie said, “Keys?” and Rico Marchetti tossed a set to her. “Meet me outside,
pompinara (cocksucker). We’ll go someplace nice and quiet,
capisce?”
As Luann stomped toward the door, I said to Katie, “She’s a good fist fighter. Keep your hands up.”
Katie just smiled and put her hand on a grinning Carly’s shoulder. “Good as this one?” Carly and I shook our heads no. We all wished her good luck and Rico gave her a “
Buono fortuna!” He grinned at us and said proudly, “Thatsa my Auntie Donatella! Bing badda boom!”
“Oh wow!” blurted an excited Alice. “What a trip! Dudes! I can’t wait to call out that skinny skank Beth Leibowicz now! And who’s that cute guy? Bing badda boom!”
I mentally tell Woody to behave himself. I sure wished Katie had invited the three of us to come to Ganja Pete’s tonight. So did my two dates. I see now I’m going to have some serious recording to do soon. Especially if and when the Red Riot shows up and meets Carly. I know … it’s a dirty job but someone has to do it. Might as well be me.
6
Ganja Pete’s “Coffee” Emporium
The warehouse was just a couple of blocks from The Sandbar, so the two ladies walked to it in the streetlight-lit darkness, cursing and threatening the whole way. There were two husky guys smoking cigarettes outside the big sliding door in front. They were in civilian clothes and when they walked, they clanked. Amazing how a guy could conceal an Uzi under a “Members Only” jacket. Katie had a few words with them in a mixture of English and Italian. She unlocked the doors and the two human gorillas slid them apart. Katie hoped Luann had seen all the mob movies and thought she was going to an execution. A little Psych Ops never hurt before a catfight.
They entered, Katie flipped on a light switch and the sound of the doors slamming behind them sounded like prison gates. The warehouse was lined with boxes, some empty, some filled with “coffee” Lots of metal shelving, but there was a large empty area near the door. Except for the dirt-covered cement floor, it was perfect. Big ceiling-suspended flood lights provided plenty of lighting, and the 40 year-old club manager and the 43 year old attorney kicked off their shoes and stripped to their underwear. Katie was wearing no bra with her red panties and she shamed Miss Preston into removing her own bra to make things even – sort of. Mrs. Pirelli’s 38Ds put the 34As of the blonde to shame and Katie laughed and mocked, turning Luann’s face even redder with anger. Once she was down to her black panties and Katie had ditched her jewelry, they were ready to conduct business, stalking each other and circling like a pair of jungle cats, each sizing up the other.
Katie was three inches taller and about 12-15 pounds heavier. Luann was bound to be quicker, but she wasn’t as young as she used to be, and there was a little roll around her middle that wasn’t there when she’d fought Rita. Her nails were just as sharp and red though and time spent boxing at the police gym made her dangerous. Katie’s own blue-painted nails were a lot shorter – Christine Leung was grateful for that. She was a streetfighter with lots of catfighting experience. She knew she’d need all of it.
Luann threw a couple of tight-fisted jabs at Katie’s big swinging boobs and one landed with a painful splat. The brunette came back with a long-legged kick which wacked into Luann’s leading left thigh and she brought the same big size 10 back up and into her ribcage, drawing an “ugh” from the attorney. Luann returned with a one-two combination, each one thudding into a tit, and as the taller gal dropped her arms to cover her smarting fun bags, an overhand right from the blonde to the left cheekbone made Katie’s knees wobble. Luann backed Mrs. Pirelli into a wall of boxes, hammering punches into her ribs and dropping the Italian’s hands again. A big left-handed slap across the face stunned Katie, who fell into a clinch, trying to shake out the cobwebs.
Katie dug both hands into Miss Preston’s neat frosted hairdo and tried to tie the waves into knots. Luann yelped and slapped at Katie’s reddened ribcage and scratching welts across her back. Katie hung on and gave Luann’s hair the business. The groaning blonde wrapped Katie’s longer, mostly brown hair a couple of times around her own hands and gave it a hard yanking. Now it was Katie’s turn to cry out, feeling her scalp burn. She redoubled her own hair pulling effort and the two danced across the dirty floor, bare feet kicking at legs and stomping insteps and toes, grunting from pain and exertion.
Despite her enemy’s longer hair, Luann felt she was losing the hair pulling match. Katie had a head start on her and the brunette’s strength and hair twisting skill were killing her up top. She took Katie’s wrists, hooked an ankle with one of hers and took the bigger woman to the hard floor. They rolled all over the place, covering their sweaty bodies with dirt and pulling hair like there was no tomorrow. Their faces were together and Katie could smell the stink of beer on Luann’s breath. Liquid courage, she thought through the pain in her scalp. We’ll see how long that lasts. She concentrated on using her strength and weight advantage, staying on top of the gasping blonde as much as she could in the twisting and rolling tangle on the floor. Their hands were slipping on each other’s now sweat-slick hair, so it became a wrist control contest with each woman trying to trap and arm between her legs or under a body. The language was foul down there with words like “cocksucker”, “cxntlicker” “motherfucker”, and more inventive ones mentioned in two languages.
This sort of ground work was not Luann’s strength, so she got her legs into action, trapping Katie’s body between her thighs as their hands fought. “Oh! Fuck,” swore Mrs. Pirelli, reaching back to try unhooking Miss Preston’s ankles. This bared her big tits to Luann’s hands and the blonde took advantage. Katie bellowed in fear and pain as Luann’s sharp-nailed fingers dug in deep, kneading away and scratching. The brunette pushed those terrible big hands into her breasts to relieve the pain a little, but it still hurt like hell up there. She let Luann have her way with her boobs in order to do some tit twisting of her own, but the blonde was tearing her up, and the pressure on her throbbing ribs was crushing. Katie leaned forward a little and slapped the blonde twice across the face. Luann’s hands released the bruised and welted tits to cover her face and Katie breathed a big gasping sigh of relief. She leaned back and managed to break Luann’s crossed ankles. She took one of them and rolled the tired blonde over.
Katie locked the trapped leg between her own, wrenching Luann’s ankle. She brushed off the dirty sole of the blonde’s size 9 and sank her teeth into it. Luann squalled, slapping the floor. “Yeah, I may be a foot biter, but not a dirty foot biter,” commented Katie after the fight. She remembered how bad her own foot hurt during her second fight with the toe –biting Carly. She marked up the red-nailed toes with her teeth and examined a painful-looking bunion. Katie chewed on it and enjoyed the sound of Luann squealing like a pig. Dropping the wounded foot, Katie ground the aching white leg between her own and dug both sets of fingers into Luann’s hamstring, twisting away.
Luann was beside herself with pain. Her leg was going numb and she was frustrated not being able to get at the big woman who was torturing her. Katie pulled down the blonde’s panties, pinched her butt cakes and drilled a middle finger up her asshole to the knuckle. Afraid Luann was about to pass out, she untangled, got up and dragged Preston to her feet by the hair. She didn’t want to win that way – she wanted to pound on her some more.
Luann was hobbling around, but the tough cookie wasn’t done either. Panties around her ankles, she stepped out of them and fought Katie naked. Again, her fists made their mark on Katie. She targeted Mrs. Pirelli’s throbbing tits and her twisting punches drew tears. Katie stunned her with a hard face slap and nailed her with a stiff jab to the right eye. She thudded a roundhouse kick to the ribs, then just missed a spinning kick to the jaw. Luann’s counter right was blocked and Katie’s swift left cross to her puffy eye staggered her. Luann ducked the brunette’s haymaker, stepped up and punched her open bare belly right below the navel and punched her hard. “Awwoof!” croaked Katie, gasping for breath. “Shit!” The blonde slapped her face soundly, then kneed her flush between the legs.
The big Italian cried out in agony, hands grabbing down there. She sank to her knees bending over until her head touched the floor. “Right in the nuts, you big trannie!” snarled Luann, trying to catch her breath. She wanted no part of even a wounded Katie Pirelli on the deck. She raked the toenails of her uninjured foot down the sweaty tanned back, leaving painful marks. Yanking her head up by the hair, she repeated what she’d done to Rita Roberts and tried to pull the long nose of the brunette off her face with two fingers. “You’re full of snot aren’t you, Miss Piggy!” Katie was bawling, but she pulled Luann’s nasty digits out of there and into her mouth, giving them a hard chewing. Now it was the blonde’s turn to scream. Katie turned on her knees and gave Luann a forearm shiver right in the naked crotch.
A wide-eyed Luann groaned, her hands shooting between her legs to try putting out the fire in her cxnt. The big gal plowed her fist to the wrist into the tough blonde’s navel. The brutal belly punch dug through the slack abdominals and well into her guts. “WAUGH!” blurted Luann, all of her breath escaping. Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor in front of her enemy, trying to gulp in more wind. A pair of quick face slaps scrambled her up. Katie took her by the hair and chewed on the forehead right below the hairline until she bled freely. She spun the groggy and exhausted blonde around, knelt on her upturned feet and reached into her small breasts from behind, biting knots on her shoulder blades and trapezoids while she twisted scratched and pulled.
“You’re so small I can hardly find you,” growled the younger woman. “
Mangiare merda e morire, si cagna padre (Eat shit and die, you fatherless bitch)!” She released the crying attorney, gave her a fist to the kidneys and ripped her short blue nails down the filthy back. “Get the fuck up! Let’s fight some more. I’ll pound you shitless.” She stood up painfully, her crotch and stomach churning, dragging the wounded and bloody blonde with her by the hair. Luann clung to Katie’s wet mop, placing a painful bite on her right cheek, but she was about done and both knew it. Katie responded to the face bite with another harder one of her own on the swollen right cheekbone. Shaking the loopy gal by the hair, she slammed her against a row of “coffee” crates and gave her a beating with her fists.
None of the punches had much on them, but Katie took her time placing each one accurately, big square fists targeting a different part of the beaten broad’s face and body, working her way down – the cut forehead, each eye, her nose, the mouth, the jaws and both little bruised and twisted tits. Every time the blonde would begin to slump to the floor, Katie would catch her and prop her up again. She saved her hardest one for last – a sickening uppercut to the stomach. As the broken Luann toppled forward, this time, Katie let her fall. Luann just laid there groaning, her ass totally kicked.
Her
vendetta nearly satisfied, Mrs. Pirelli rolled her over, stripped off her own panties and sat squarely on her face. “Eat me,
puttana!” she growled. Heaving for breath herself, she gathered her hair and rested, using Luann’s face as a stool. “You don’t start licking, I’ll kill you!” Eventually a tongue wormed its way up in there, and Katie laughed. “You dumbass! Shit, do I really have to show you how it’s done? You’re no fucking Chrissy Leung, that’s for goddam sure!” The big bisexual bent over, spreading Luann’s legs, brushing back her blond- streaked brown hair and lowering her face to the other woman’s twat. She gave Luann an expert eating out, stopping just as the blonde was on the verge of climax. “I won’t give you the satisfaction.”
She climbed off the beaten, frustrated and bloody Luann Preston, stomped her anxious groin once just for the hell of it, toweled off with Luann’s clothes and got dressed. “Oh, I forgot. Nick’ll get a kick out of this, skank.” She knotted her hands in the sweaty frosted hair and yanked until she came away with a haunk of it. “For my ‘I Love Me Wall’ bitch!”
That Monday, Luann’s law partner announced that Luann Preston was withdrawing from the DA race. Miss Preston was unavailable for comment.
Speaking of the news, jumping ahead a couple of weeks later, I got a call from Sue Ann West. A report came to her from the AP wire service that afternoon that a bullet-riddled body had washed ashore on Venice Beach stuffed in a 55 gallon steel drum. The deceased was identified as one Frank “Swordfish” Antonelli, a small-time hood whose brother had testified for the state two years ago in a racketeering case against other mob figures. There were no suspects in the homicide. She told me the story would run in the next morning’s paper. Even though Sam Trafficante and Sonny Martello were no longer with us, it’s clear to me that their finisher is still being practiced by somebody.
Funny thing though. When I went that evening to The Sandbar and broke the news to Katie Pirelli, she wasn’t a bit surprised, even though the paper hadn’t come out yet.
She just smiled. I asked her no questions. Bing badda boom.
7
The Return
I suppose it had to happen. Marcia was off the Monday after the warehouse brawl and I was reading in the paper about Mrs. Preston’s sudden withdraw from the DA race. There was a knock on the door and I said “Come in,” absent-mindedly, still thinking about Katie dropping in later in the week to give me her account of her splendid victory. As the door opened, I looked up.
There she was.
As magnificent as ever. A 5’4” package of red-headed Jersey dynamite. In Sandbridge. In my damn office.
“Hey big fella! Aren’t you going to welcome me to California?” Before I could answer, she was sitting on my lap and it was seven years ago. Aw fuck me. Through the window I swear I could see shitstorm clouds gathering.
The Red Riot had returned to my life.
The End.
Incidentally – Sando “Sam” Trafficante, Jr. (1914-1987), “Handsome” Johnny Roselli (1905-1976) and Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel (1906-1947) were all real wiseguys. Roselli and Siegel met their demises exactly as Nick and “Bill” said they did. The other underworld characters mentioned are all fictional … I hope.
//Braveheart
