Read Online The Day Steam Died by Dick Brown - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dick Brown
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“What did you mean about the kind of business Mr. Johnson was running here?”
“Pretty simple really. Not very legal, though. North Carolina don’t tax cigarettes but a couple of cents a pack. He has somebody paid off over at the Reynolds plant to lump his orders in with the legal wholesalers. The law don’t watch too close when he buys cigarettes by the truckload from Reynolds and ships ’em on that railroad where he’s some kind of big shot.
“My guess is those Mexicans Joey keeps hidden are illegal. They don’t speak English, so they ain’t going to talk to nobody. They live in the shadows, afraid of getting deported. They assemble the big boxes and pack them with small boxes containing cartons of cigarettes. An assembly line seals and labels the boxes headed to their destination. Most of them are sent to somebody up in New York where their taxes are ten times higher than ours. Some go to the Midwest. Anywhere he can make a profit. Honey, you’re looking at a tobacco goldmine here.” Marie looked Ann straight in her eyes. “You didn’t hear a thing I just said, okay?”
“Right. Not a word.”
“You look like a smart girl. Just do your job and don’t ask too many questions. We’ll get along just fine. And if Ronnie bothers you, just let me know. I’ll handle him. Well, now that all the pleasantries are out of the way, why don’t you make us some coffee while I figure out what to do with you?”
Ann started for the coffee maker, stopped, and turned around toward Alice. “There is just one question I’d like to ask.”
“Last one. Shoot.”
“Who was that man standing back there, just staring at us the whole time Ronnie was talking? He looked creepy.”
“Oh, that was Joseph Cordeleone. We just call him Joey. You don’t want to get to know him. He really runs this place even though Ronnie thinks he’s the warehouse foreman. Everything that goes on here goes straight to Sam Johnson. Joey’s the resident Mafia man.” Marie laughed, which launched her into a coughing spasm. She drank down the last half of a bottle of Coke that had gone flat sitting on her desk but never put down her cigarette. “He and I don’t get along too good, because I ain’t afraid of him or Sam Johnson.”
Chapter 11
“After the Civil War, railroads were the king of transportation, extended by the transcontinental railroad connecting the east to the west.”
Spring 1959
Life at the Nestlebaum house in Winston-Salem was a stark contrast to what it was back in Bankstowne. Red kept his promise to stop drinking, but it had already damaged his liver and he had become senile. For his own safety and the employees at the warehouse, he was forced to take disability. Although he no longer worked for Sam Johnson and was no danger to him, Red still received his paycheck every month. Most of his days were spent sitting in his favorite recliner watching TV. Occasionally he showed some attention to little Ricky when he chattered at Red in a language only he understood.
They lived more comfortably and could afford new furniture and a used car Ann could drive to work now. She enjoyed the independence from her domineering father, which allowed her to develop a closer bond with her mother. Little Ricky was the center of their lives, but Ann had allowed herself to enter a relationship with a young man she met at work.
They sat together as a family in their living room. Red watched TV with Jo Lee while Ann and Alice played with Ricky.
“Momma, you don’t have those stomach pains anymore, do you?” Ann said.
Alice shook her head. “Going on three years without much pain.”
“Since we moved,” Ann said.
“That’s right.”
“Think the move had anything to do with it?”
“That or this little fellow.” She picked up Ricky, who’d been playing with a set of blocks between the two of them.
At first they disagreed over naming her baby Ricky, but that had faded quickly with the loving disposition he showed toward
“Pretty simple really. Not very legal, though. North Carolina don’t tax cigarettes but a couple of cents a pack. He has somebody paid off over at the Reynolds plant to lump his orders in with the legal wholesalers. The law don’t watch too close when he buys cigarettes by the truckload from Reynolds and ships ’em on that railroad where he’s some kind of big shot.
“My guess is those Mexicans Joey keeps hidden are illegal. They don’t speak English, so they ain’t going to talk to nobody. They live in the shadows, afraid of getting deported. They assemble the big boxes and pack them with small boxes containing cartons of cigarettes. An assembly line seals and labels the boxes headed to their destination. Most of them are sent to somebody up in New York where their taxes are ten times higher than ours. Some go to the Midwest. Anywhere he can make a profit. Honey, you’re looking at a tobacco goldmine here.” Marie looked Ann straight in her eyes. “You didn’t hear a thing I just said, okay?”
“Right. Not a word.”
“You look like a smart girl. Just do your job and don’t ask too many questions. We’ll get along just fine. And if Ronnie bothers you, just let me know. I’ll handle him. Well, now that all the pleasantries are out of the way, why don’t you make us some coffee while I figure out what to do with you?”
Ann started for the coffee maker, stopped, and turned around toward Alice. “There is just one question I’d like to ask.”
“Last one. Shoot.”
“Who was that man standing back there, just staring at us the whole time Ronnie was talking? He looked creepy.”
“Oh, that was Joseph Cordeleone. We just call him Joey. You don’t want to get to know him. He really runs this place even though Ronnie thinks he’s the warehouse foreman. Everything that goes on here goes straight to Sam Johnson. Joey’s the resident Mafia man.” Marie laughed, which launched her into a coughing spasm. She drank down the last half of a bottle of Coke that had gone flat sitting on her desk but never put down her cigarette. “He and I don’t get along too good, because I ain’t afraid of him or Sam Johnson.”
Chapter 11
“After the Civil War, railroads were the king of transportation, extended by the transcontinental railroad connecting the east to the west.”
Spring 1959
Life at the Nestlebaum house in Winston-Salem was a stark contrast to what it was back in Bankstowne. Red kept his promise to stop drinking, but it had already damaged his liver and he had become senile. For his own safety and the employees at the warehouse, he was forced to take disability. Although he no longer worked for Sam Johnson and was no danger to him, Red still received his paycheck every month. Most of his days were spent sitting in his favorite recliner watching TV. Occasionally he showed some attention to little Ricky when he chattered at Red in a language only he understood.
They lived more comfortably and could afford new furniture and a used car Ann could drive to work now. She enjoyed the independence from her domineering father, which allowed her to develop a closer bond with her mother. Little Ricky was the center of their lives, but Ann had allowed herself to enter a relationship with a young man she met at work.
They sat together as a family in their living room. Red watched TV with Jo Lee while Ann and Alice played with Ricky.
“Momma, you don’t have those stomach pains anymore, do you?” Ann said.
Alice shook her head. “Going on three years without much pain.”
“Since we moved,” Ann said.
“That’s right.”
“Think the move had anything to do with it?”
“That or this little fellow.” She picked up Ricky, who’d been playing with a set of blocks between the two of them.
At first they disagreed over naming her baby Ricky, but that had faded quickly with the loving disposition he showed toward
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